The spectacle atop Lotus Peak was unprecedented, likely owing to the celestial aura of Wudang Mountain. People from all walks of life mingled harmoniously on its slopes. Against this backdrop, the return journey of Wang Yuanran’s group at the foot of the mountain in Taoshu Town appeared particularly desolate—almost everyone bore injuries. Their departure was even more conspicuous than their arrival, with the hospitable Eagle Battalion Commander Luo Hongcai dispatching a hundred cavalrymen as escorts. Amidst this, one incident left the mountain’s visitors utterly baffled: it was said that Deputy Secretary of the Central Secretariat Zhao Youling, Minister of Personnel Yin Maochun, the newly appointed Jinglue Envoy of Huainan Circuit Han Lin, and the children of the Duke of Yan were personally greeted at the foot of the mountain by none other than the Northern Liang King himself. The two parties seemed to have “regretted not meeting sooner.”
The stark contrast in treatment between these two groups of aristocratic youths nearly led observers to believe the Liyang Dynasty was on the verge of upheaval—until a shocking rumor began circulating. Qi Jiajie, the top swordsman of the capital and one of the Jianghu’s Ten Greats from the Great Snowy Plateau, had mysteriously vanished without a trace, absent from the departing procession. In his place stood Chai Qingshan of the Eastern Yue Sword Pool. After careful consideration, the truth dawned on everyone: the Northern Liang King had played a cunning and ruthless hand, not only striking covertly but deliberately ensuring those high-ranking officials would lose sleep over it. If word of this spread to the Central Plains, while Zhao Youling and his ilk—close confidants of the emperor—might weather the storm by clarifying matters, given His Majesty’s wisdom and magnanimity rivaling his predecessor’s, Han Lin, freshly departed from the capital after resigning as Vice Minister of Justice, would face dire consequences. The notoriously unruly soldiers of Huainan Circuit would surely seize any excuse to stir trouble.
With this realization, sympathy grew for promising young talents like Yin Changgeng, particularly among the literati of Jiangnan Circuit. Many vowed to prevent Northern Liang’s crude tactics from succeeding, pledging to defend the innocence of Yin Changgeng, Han Xingyan, and others—future pillars of the Liyang Dynasty—who had suffered grave injustices at the foot of Wudang Mountain. Numerous refined scholars even planned to jointly visit the newly appointed Jinglue Envoy of Huainan Circuit on their return journey to lend him support. Vice Minister Han, renowned in the capital for his bold remonstrations and philosophical discourse, must not be allowed to falter in his post! As fellow scholars, they felt duty-bound to stand by him, even if they had never met.
Bai Lian, having recently befriended Eagle Battalion Commander Luo Hongcai and Sui Tieshan, the second-in-command of Youzhou’s intelligence network, learned of the happenings both on and off the mountain through candid conversations. The indignant outcry of Jiangnan’s literati drew only a dismissive smile from Bai Yu, though it deepened his reflections. Beyond the petty calculations of these cultured elites, and beyond Xu Fengnian’s sudden departure to Liuzhou to temporarily assume the post of Liangzhou General—originally held by Northern Liang’s Protector Chu Lushan—what struck Bai Yu most was Northern Liang’s habitual silence in contrast. Even when Sui Tieshan spoke of the Central Plains literati’s movements, it was merely as a joke. Even Luo Hongcai, a hardened veteran who had crawled through battlefields, showed no trace of resentment before Bai Yu.
Both men left Bai Yu with the impression that Northern Liang cared little for Liyang’s deep-seated misunderstandings. “Liyang curses us? Let them. We can’t be bothered. Draw blades against them? The thought crosses our minds, but we won’t act on it.” From Grand General Xu Xiao to the new King Xu Fengnian, Northern Liang had grown accustomed to venting their frustrations on the Northern Mang barbarians rather than stooping to the level of scholars. Of course, if someone like Wang Yuanran came knocking with a punchable face, begging for a beating, they wouldn’t hesitate to oblige—thoroughly.
Bai Yu dwelled in a solitary hut within the Violet Sun Palace atop the mountain, encircled by Wudang Taoists—unlike other honored guests who resided in close proximity. The cottage had been vacated by a “Jing”-generation Taoist who had urgent matters calling him down the mountain.
Many disciples sought Bai Lian’s scholarly guidance until the stern reprimands of Elder Chen Yao, the temple’s enforcer of discipline, finally granted him respite. Bai Yu himself remained unperturbed by these exchanges; much like the chorus of spring frogs and autumn cicadas, what some might dismiss as mere noise could, to others, resonate with profound Zen wisdom.
He suspected Zhao Ningshen’s decade-long “penance” on Wudang Mountain was driven by curiosity: how could such a worldly peak—a Taoist sanctuary where monks routinely divined fortunes and penned letters for pilgrims—give rise to eccentric figures like Huang Manshan, Wang Chonglou, Hong Xiangxiang, and Li Yufu in recent centuries? None had sought celestial ascension, yet their legacies eclipsed even those of Dragon-Tiger Mountain.
If not to become immortals, why practice Taoism at all?
Upon learning Bai Lian was in the Purple Sun Palace, Chang Sui, Xu Huang, and others paid him visits. Perhaps wary of overstepping bounds, both sides stuck to discussing local customs, avoiding state affairs. The real surprise came from Li Dongxi and the young monk Nanbei, whom Bai Yu had met once before. The girl barged in clutching live chickens and ducks—by then too exhausted from flapping to protest—declaring that since outer-clan Taoists on Longhu Mountain could eat meat, she’d bought the plumpest birds in Taoshu Town for Bai Lian to “build his health.” She even thanked him for serving them tea at the Heavenly Master’s residence years prior, leaving Bai Yu both touched and amused by her nostalgia. At dinner, she personally stewed the chicken in the palace kitchen, while Nanbei, too guilt-ridden to join, muttered prayers by the door. Before Bai Yu could take more than a few bites, an irate woman stormed in, led by a young acolyte and trailed by a white-robed monk. Recognizing Bai Lian, her expression softened slightly, though she grumbled about her “silly daughter” gifting the largest poultry without considering household thrift—”takes after her father!”
The monk gestured for Bai Yu to resume eating, remarking, “I hear the Wu family’s envoy bearing the imperial decree has arrived below, though they show no intent to ascend yet. With Han Gui of Green Mountain Temple and you here, Bai Lian, it seems this poor monk stands alone against formidable opposition.”
Bai Yu abruptly posed an untimely question: “Do you know who leads the Zhao Gou?”
Li Dangxin deflected, “For the White Lotus Scholar—honored by the late emperor—to address me as ‘sir’ is flattering.”
Typically courteous, Bai Yu uncharacteristically pressed, “Some say it was Yang Taisui, dead beyond the Pass. Others claim it was the late ‘Human Cat’ Han Shengxuan, or Liu Haoshi, the former gatekeeper of Tai’an City.”
Li Dangxin replied bluntly, “Cao Changqing once sought me at Liangchan Temple. Even he, Zhao Gou’s greatest foe, remained uncertain, suspecting only the vanished Imperial Tutor Yuan Benxi. Of Zhao Gou’s five operational heads, Cao encountered three, killing one stationed in Guangling. Another once commanded all northern Qi refiners, now stripped of power. A third oversees Jianghu figures under the Ministry of Justice’s ‘Copper Fish Sachet’ registry. The fourth replaced the deceased Guangling watcher. The fifth remains shrouded—rumored to handle critical moves against Northern Liang. After Yuan Benxi’s disappearance, even the emperor may not know their identity.”
“Why ask?” inquired Li Dangxin.
Bai Yu smiled. “I plan to spend two years in Cool Breeze Mountain. I’d prefer not to die there.”
Li Dangxin frowned. “You suspect the leader is within the Northern Liang residence? Impossible. With Xu Xiao and Li Yishan—”
Bai Yu interrupted, “Not necessarily a long-term infiltrator. It could be someone who arrived later… like Song Dongming, Deputy Jinglue Envoy of Northern Liang.”
Rubbing his shaved head, Li Dangxin fell silent before chuckling. “Regardless of Song’s allegiance, your ploy to borrow a blade for murder is hardly noble.”
Bai Yu set down his chopsticks, having eaten little. “Harm none, but trust none. My suspicion of Song is baseless, yet if I’m to survive two years in Northern Liang, I must employ unsavory means. Frankly, even had you not come today, I’d have sought you tomorrow to accompany me to Cool Breeze Mountain. Thus, I eat Dongxi’s meal with a guilty conscience—were it not for my gluttony, I’d not have taken a single bite.”
Li Dangxin mused aloud, “If Yuan Benxi truly headed Zhao Gou, then Song Dongming—once favored then discarded as heir-apparent—might indeed belong to them. Yet if both were Zhao Gou, Song could also have genuinely switched allegiance to Northern Liang.”
Bai Yu nodded. “The emperor’s killing of Yuan Benxi wasn’t mere ingratitude. He feared Yuan’s control over Zhao Gou. After the late emperor’s death, Yuan became too unpredictable—a whisper beside the throne, more unsettling than Northern Liang’s distant thunder. With Yang Taisui, Liu Haoshi, Han Shengxuan dead, and Xie Guanying gone, who in Tai’an could counterbalance Yuan, who once stood equal to the late emperor? If Yin Maochun or another was Yuan’s true chosen successor, relegating Song to shadow heir, even if Song grew disillusioned after Yuan’s death… I fear the ‘what if.'”
Li Dongxi, overwhelmed, focused on devouring her meal, while the woman served Nanbei a bowl of rice piled with vegetables at the doorstep.
Li Dangxin studied Bai Yu. “Seeing once surpasses hearing a hundred times.”
Bai Yu self-deprecated, “More likely, I’ve disappointed you.”
Sighing, Li Dangxin gazed at the feast. “Northern Liang now carries the stench of court politics. It looks and smells delectable, yet may taste otherwise. No wonder emperorship holds little appeal—no wonder that Xu boy…”
Li Dongxi slammed her chopsticks. “Dad! If you’re going to ramble, ramble! But don’t insult my cooking!”
The monk hastily fetched another bowl, praising before even tasting, “Delicious!”
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