Standing atop the most panoramic vantage point of the Great Lotus Peak, one could gaze down upon the two bustling mountain paths, north and south, teeming with pilgrims like two majestic dragons coiled upon the sacred Wudang Mountain.
As one of Wudang’s most renowned scenic spots, the Elephant Washing Pool was particularly crowded, with families and devout visitors lingering in fascination. A loud-voiced rogue from the martial world stood atop a bluestone by the pool, regaling the crowd with tales of its wonders—how the sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping of Wudang once secluded himself here to comprehend the essence of swordsmanship, leading to his legendary duel with Wang Xianzhi of the Martial Emperor’s City; how the current Liang King trained here for years with his blade, mastering a strike so powerful it could reverse a waterfall’s flow, its thunderous roar echoing for miles… The younger devotees listened with rapt attention, their hearts stirred, while fledgling heroes and heroines of the martial world swelled with excitement, as if witnessing the peerless grace of that young grandmaster themselves.
Near the pool stood a pavilion, between which and the water sprawled a lively market—vendors sold incense for worship, offered divinations, peddled trinkets, and even set up makeshift stoves to serve Wudang spring pancakes, Taoist vegetarian stir-fries, calming herbal soups, and more.
A young nobleman, shouldering water buckets, stood dumbfounded at the edge of the dense crowd. How was he supposed to fetch water through this throng? Resigned, he retraced his steps along a secluded bluestone path back to the thatched cottage where the lady of the house was temporarily absent. Setting down his yoke and buckets, he scooped water from a gourd ladle and ambled to the vegetable patch, leisurely watering the plants. The autumn greens lacked the vibrancy of spring and summer, appearing somewhat forlorn. Finally, he crouched at the edge of the patch, lost in thought.
Sensing a familiar aura deliberately revealed, he rose and walked toward the cottage, spotting Deng Tai’a leading a donkey outside the low purple bamboo fence. Only upon seeing the host did the Peach Blossom Sword Deity gently push open the gate, tether the reins, and settle onto a small bamboo chair brought by the young man, the coolness seeping into his seat.
Xu Fengnian, having soared up Wudang Mountain carrying Li Dongxi, had reached the summit earlier than Deng Tai’a, who had ascended step by step. Smiling, he asked, “Been to the Ancestral Lu Pavilion?”
Deng Tai’a nodded. “Wouldn’t have recognized it without that stele.”
Xu Fengnian pressed, “How were the characters?”
Deng Tai’a replied indifferently, “Unremarkable.”
Xu Fengnian chuckled. “Back then, I hadn’t even reached the first-rank realm before descending the mountain. Lack of vigor is understandable.”
The humble Ancestral Lu Pavilion was built seven centuries prior. Local records recounted how the young Lu Zu, before making Wudang his cultivation ground, once climbed the mountain alone with his sword. At the halfway point, an old man leaning on a locust-root cane appeared, inquiring about the path to immortality. Lu Zu responded with cryptic verses, aiding the elder’s enlightenment. A poem attributed to Lu Zu later spread far and wide:
*Alone I walk, alone I sit,*
*Unknown to all beneath the sky.*
*Only the ancient locust spirit,*
*Knows a celestial passed by.*
The poem was inscribed on an ancient stele by Wudang Taoists, though time had nearly eroded the characters. Before Xu Fengnian descended the mountain with his blade, a young uncle-master—pushed forward by his senior brother—had asked him to rewrite the stele in cursive script.
Deng Tai’a glanced around, perfectly at ease.
Xu Fengnian joked, “Martial grandmasters are practically a dime a dozen on Wudang now. Just from the southern borders alone, we have the blade master Mao Shulang, Cheng Bai Shuang striving for Confucian sagehood, and sword grandmaster Ji Liu’an. From Shu and Zhao, there’s Wei Miao and Xue Songguan.”
Deng Tai’a dropped a bombshell. “On my way up, I saw Gu Jian Tang. Then, in the Ancestral Lu Pavilion, I spotted Xuan Yuan Qing Feng.”
Xu Fengnian frowned. “Gu Jian Tang’s ascent escaped my notice, which isn’t surprising. But Xuan Yuan Qing Feng being so close…”
Deng Tai’a cut to the chase. “After the battle outside Tai’an City, Cao Chang Qing seemed to take a liking to that woman who blocked his path. Xuan Yuan Qing Feng benefited greatly—now, she’s likely just a hair’s breadth away.”
Xu Fengnian sighed. “So that’s it. The mistress of Great Snowy Ridge has always defied conventional logic when it comes to opportunities. Liu Song Tao, Zhao Huang Chao, Wang Xian Zhi, Cao Chang Qing—each either imparted everything or provided pivotal guidance, making her one of the era’s rare grandmasters.”
Deng Tai’a smirked. “You missed the most important one, didn’t you?”
Xu Fengnian’s face instantly flushed with embarrassment.
Deng Tai’a abruptly asked, “Need me to fend off Gu Jian Tang for you? His intentions are unclear.”
Xu Fengnian was baffled. Why was this aloof Peach Blossom Sword Deity suddenly so charitable? Wang Xian Zhi had long ago concluded that Deng Tai’a’s devotion to the sword made him utterly detached—and thus most aligned with the Heavenly Dao. Moreover, Gu Jian Tang, currently under imperial scrutiny, had left his jurisdiction to visit Wudang incognito, venturing deep into Northern Liang territory alone. Clearly, he wasn’t here to stir trouble. Even if Xu Fengnian weren’t at his peak, his odds against the long-concealing Gu Jian Tang remained favorable.
As Xu Fengnian puzzled over this, Deng Tai’a gave a light cough—and vanished. Xu Fengnian instinctively looked toward the purple bamboo fence. Even the old donkey was gone.
His face darkening, Xu Fengnian stiffly turned his head. Sure enough, the northeast corner of the vegetable patch, once lush and thriving, had been ravaged—like a masterpiece landscape painting defaced by a child’s crude gouge.
Once, a white-robed monk had stormed into the cottage to fetch a cleaver. Now, Xu Fengnian did the same, gritting his teeth as he dashed inside, snatched the Liang blade from the wall, and burst back out, fuming. “Deng Tai’a! If you’ve got the guts, don’t run! Tonight, I’ll treat you to donkey meat pancakes!”
As a fellow grandmaster, once Deng Tai’a concealed his aura, even Xu Fengnian couldn’t trace him.
Crouching on the ground, Xu Fengnian sighed. What an absurd, undeserved calamity.
Sometimes, when the heavens punch you, they don’t follow up with a sweet date—just another punch to the face.
When Xu Fengnian caught sight of a distant figure in flowing robes approaching leisurely, he froze as if struck by lightning. Misfortune never comes singly!
True to his titles of Honorary Prince and Grand Pillar of the State, Xu Fengnian acted decisively. Forget “you can’t hide forever”—every extra day alive was a victory.
As he fled at full speed, Jiang Ni’s furious voice rang out behind him: “Xu! You’re dead today!”
Jiang Ni, carrying a sandalwood case on her back, soared into the sky atop the Great Liang Sparrow Sword, her killing intent so overwhelming it shook the heavens.
That a humble vegetable patch could deter two martial grandmasters was nothing short of unbelievable.
Defying expectations, Xu Fengnian didn’t bolt straight down the mountain. Instead, he cunningly hid among the crowds near the Elephant Washing Pool, crouching behind a bustling stall where he bought two Wudang spring pancakes from the still-charming proprietress. He chewed slowly, as if savoring his last meal. The woman, puzzled by the handsome young man’s refusal to sit, blushed slightly—was he harboring untoward thoughts? Though not particularly flustered, she mused that she should’ve charged him two extra coins.
Next to her stall, an old Taoist with a goat beard offered love divinations. His patched robe marked him as an outsider to Wudang. A polished bamboo tube sat on his table, from which clients drew their fate.
Xu Fengnian was surprised by the crowd—thirty or forty hopefuls waited their turn. The old Taoist sat serenely, stroking his beard as a curvaceous young woman from Jiangnan shook the tube. Her petite frame and youthful face belied her ample bosom. The Taoist subtly adjusted his seat for a better view of her slender waist—so delicate it seemed it might snap in a breeze.
Xu Fengnian smirked. In his destitute days, he’d dabbled in this scam, but never enjoyed such success. Back then, even after bustling temple fairs, he’d barely had a handful of clients.
Noticing his expression, the proprietress whispered, “Master Wu may not be a Wudang Taoist, but his love divinations are famed for their accuracy. I’ve seen noblewomen from Liangzhou make special trips for his readings. Some even return with silver—up to ten taels—when their wishes come true.”
Xu Fengnian took a big bite of pancake and scoffed, “If I set up a stall, I’d hire actresses to fake results too. After a while, even lies become truth.”
The woman stifled a laugh. As a widow who’d once drawn a fortune herself, she couldn’t refute his cynicism. “You do love your jokes, young master.”
Xu Fengnian shrugged it off.
The buxom young lady, trembling, handed her drawn stick to the Taoist. “Master, what does this mean?”
The Taoist sipped tea before answering gravely, “‘Try again.’ The twenty-eighth fortune—not the best, but favorable. If your beloved rejects you once, persevere. Success will come.”
Relieved, the girl tipped generously and left, her grace nearly entrancing the old man.
The next client, a burly youth, slammed his stick down. “What’s this one say?!”
The Taoist deadpanned, “‘Fei Changfang could not shrink the land of longing.’ Sixteenth fortune—ill omen.”
The youth roared, “That girl got a decent one at twenty-eight! Why’s mine crap?!”
Unfazed, the Taoist intoned, “Fei Changfang was a famed immortal of the Great Feng Dynasty—a close friend of my sect’s founder. They ascended together, a peerless event in mortal history.”
Cowed, the youth paid and slunk away.
The incident only bolstered the Taoist’s mystique, his tattered robe now radiating timeless wisdom.
Xu Fengnian, impressed, watched as subsequent fortunes—drawn from Wang Chu Dong’s *First Snow*—ranged from mundane to poetic. One young hero got *“Light as spring soil, sharp as a blade,”* while another received *“Cannot bear to see your dark locks fade, yet meet a traveler in yellow.”*
Each familiar line made Xu Fengnian smile wistfully. He recalled a woman who’d adored *First Snow* before her distant marriage.
Sighing, he stood—then abruptly crouched again.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage