Chapter 264: Counting the Heroes of the Age (III)

Wudang Mountain, the morning bell tolls.

The eighty-one peaks bow toward the grand summit. In front of the Daoist temple on the main peak, after the young Shishuzu (Junior Patriarch) became the Abbot, it was always he who led the martial arts training. But now, whether the Abbot ascended to immortality or perished in battle, he is no longer among the living. A new figure now leads the practice, yet still young.

Li Yufu, who is only one generation junior to the late Abbot Hong, yet even younger.

The summit is shrouded in swirling mist. Hundreds of Wudang Daoists move in unison, their robes fluttering in the wind, stirring clouds and summoning storms. The young Abbot created one hundred and eight forms, which the young master Li Yufu simplified into seventy-two. Not only did he not lose the essence of the Dao, but the movements became even more harmonious in their yin and yang balance. Even novice disciples who had just arrived at the mountain could follow suit effortlessly. After Wudang sealed the mountain, only pilgrims were allowed to enter and burn incense. Regardless of the height of the peak or the seniority of the Daoist, as long as one was willing, every morning at the sound of the morning bell and every evening at the toll of the evening drum, all could practice with Li Yufu twice daily. Those who arrived early stood in the front rows, while even senior elders like Master Uncles Song Zhiming and Yu Xingrui, if late, would simply stand in the back rows without fuss. Naturally, no matter wind or rain, the summit practice never ceased for a single day.

After the training, Li Yufu patiently answered questions from some younger Daoists before walking with his quiet waiting master, Yu Xingrui, toward the peak of Xiaolianhua (Little Lotus Peak). Arriving near the stone tortoise stele, the old Daoist, whose inner power once rivaled only that of the eldest disciple Wang Chonglou, sighed deeply and said, “Yufu, do you ever resent that your Uncle Hong didn’t leave the sword of Master Lü to you, but instead gave it to the Longhushan Celestial Master, Qi Xianxia, an outsider? And one from the very Dragon and Tiger Sect, no less?”

Li Yufu, hands tucked into his robe sleeves, smiled, “When my Junior Master taught me this form, he had already clearly stated that the sword of Master Lü would be gifted to Qi Xianxia of Longhushan. He even asked if I had any resentment in my heart. I dared not deceive him, so I honestly admitted I felt some Unconvinced (resentment). My Junior Master said Unconvinced was good, and that once my sword skills matured, if I surpassed Master Xiao Wang, I could go reclaim it from Qi Xianxia. But I made a pact with my master beforehand—should I fail to achieve mastery in swordsmanship, he must not mock me.”

Yu Xingrui walked to the edge of the cliff, stepping on the soft earth, and chuckled, “If your sword training doesn’t pan out, you won’t let us old men laugh at you? Back then, among us old fellows, only the Abbot, who cultivated the Great Huangting, and Wang Xiaoping, who practiced the Silent Sword, amounted to anything. The rest of us were pretty much failures, and our only joy was teasing your Junior Master. Oh, we’d catch him sneaking a peek at forbidden books, and then we’d laugh and scold him. Oh, he’d fall asleep while riding his ox, and we’d lecture him with lofty words. Oh, he’d be daydreaming about that red-robed maiden from his youth, and we’d gleefully mock him. Oh, he’d cast a bad fortune-telling hex again before heading down the mountain, and we old men would just burst into laughter. Truth is, the more time passed, the more your uncles and I thought it better he never left the mountain. What would the greatest swordsman under heaven do once he descended? But in the end, your Junior Master still left.”

Yu Xingrui sighed deeply, his voice low, “Riding the ox, reading Daoist texts, carving waterfalls with peachwood—watching the clouds rise and fall between the peaks, following the natural way. That should have been your Junior Master’s Dao. But then he rode a crane down the rivers and mountains, slashed at the fate of empires with his sword, and even chose to dissolve his body, allowing a woman to ascend. Where was the natural way in that? If I had been there, I’d have grabbed him by the ears and cursed him soundly. We old men don’t grieve for Wudang’s rise or fall—we just ache for him.”

Li Yufu murmured, “It’s the white-haired mourning the black-haired.”

Yu Xingrui gave a heavy sigh and smiled, “So you, boy, stop stirring things up. Don’t carry burdens. As for the Abbot’s passing, don’t think those uncles of yours seem so calm and indifferent these days. I bet they’re even spacing out during meals. Thank the heavens my young brother Wang isn’t on the mountain now, or he’d surely have stopped Xixiang’s sword from tearing open the heavens. And your Uncle Song? He hasn’t been able to focus on refining elixirs all year—he’s been too worried.”

Li Yufu asked softly, “Was the Abbot both the reincarnation of Master Lü and of Qi Xuanzhen?”

Yu Xingrui smiled, “Probably true. Who cares anyway.”

He patted his apprentice’s shoulder—the one he had personally brought from the East Sea to Wudang—and said gently, “You take after the Abbot’s temperament, boy. Eating well, sleeping well—that’s a blessing from heaven.”

Li Yufu scratched his head, embarrassed, “Back when the young Prince came to the mountain, my Junior Master could still keep that young noble in check. I’m afraid I’d just end up beaten up.”

Yu Xingrui laughed heartily, “Don’t believe the little novices’ tall tales. Your Junior Master got beaten and scolded plenty by that Prince too. When the Prince came to train with the saber, your Junior Master took quite a few beatings. But it was precisely because he could find joy in hardship that we old men took such delight in his misfortunes.”

Li Yufu was stunned.

Yu Xingrui pointed toward the view beyond the peak, sincerely smiling, “Right here, the Abbot took one step into the Heavenly Phenomenon. And right here, he entered the realm of the Earth Immortal. Just one step each time.”

Li Yufu snapped out of it, filled with longing, and whispered, “Seems like just one step, but it was built on a thousand before.”

Yu Xingrui nodded with satisfaction, “Exactly. When one pursues the Dao with single-minded devotion, one doesn’t count the steps taken. Only by forgetting the self can one ever hope to take that one step into the Dao. As for what ‘forgetting the self’ truly means, your old teacher is stubborn and dull-witted, and wouldn’t dare mislead others. But I do know one thing for sure—those who diligently cultivate day after day, yet keep tallying every step they’ve taken, are not walking the true Dao. That’s where my younger brother surpassed us older ones. I don’t seek the Dao, yet the Dao comes to me naturally.”

Li Yufu nodded, “The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. The profound cannot be put into words.”

Yu Xingrui slowly left the peak of Xiaolianhua, glancing back at his apprentice, who was now chatting with the reclining ox, and smiled knowingly.

If the younger brother truly was Master Lü, then one final saying would be as if spoken by Master Lü himself.

Wudang shall rise. It shall rise with Yufu.

※※※

The Jing’an Mansion. It is said that Princess Pei had devoted herself entirely to Zen, and had not appeared in public for a long time. The mansion, already quiet, had grown even more desolate.

The sky was overcast but not raining, cool but not cold, like a woman with words unspoken.

Zhao Heng, the Prince of Jing’an, who had spent half his life in the capital and half in Xiangfan, sat beneath the eaves of the Buddhist hall, gently turning a string of sandalwood prayer beads wrapped around his hand.

Only one other person sat opposite this great prince, whose fortunes had risen and fallen like tides.

It was the young blind lute player, Lu Xu, who had gouged out his own eyes to abandon the path of officialdom. Born into a scholarly family, his father and ancestors were all great Confucian scholars of the age. But because he wrote the history of the Western Chu with unflinching honesty, he was framed by petty villains and condemned by the imperial court. For ten years he lived in poverty, playing the lute for courtesans in pleasure houses, and surviving by gambling on chess in the Yongzi Alley. No one knows why, but his fortunes turned. He not only entered the Jing’an Mansion, but became a trusted strategist, highly valued by both father and son. Even now, the young man, who had risen from the alley to the emperor’s court, still felt as if he were living in a dream. The saying goes, “The carp leaping the Dragon Gate—thousands fight, heads bloodied, how many truly leap through?” For Lu Xu, a man under sentence, to be favored by Prince Zhao Heng was beyond reason and expectation.

Zhao Heng closed his eyes, turning the beads that calmed his mind, and asked calmly, “Lu Xu, do you know why I did not let you accompany Xun to the capital?”

The blind young man shook his head, “I do not.”

Zhao Heng opened his eyes, gazing at the gray sky, and smiled, “These past days, I’ve had you take on false identities and serve as minor clerks in various bureaus. Have you ever felt resentment?”

Lu Xu shook his head and smiled, “I am deeply content.”

Zhao Heng turned his head slightly to glance at the young scholar, “You authored the Two Memorials and Thirteen Strategies, determined to bring peace to the realm for the Emperor. The first memorial addressed succession, court strategy, and the reduction of feudal lords. Xun was trembling with fear as I pushed him to present it to the Emperor, provoking His Majesty’s wrath. The second memorial contained ten strategies, all concerning the war against the Northern Man. One discussed the two clans of the North and the Northern and Southern Dynasties. Two predicted the enemy’s division of forces. Three outlined responses to attacks. Four addressed border defenses and cavalry. Five discussed troop deployment. Six focused on the Liaodong front. Seven dealt with marriage alliances. Eight covered logistics. Nine proposed reclaiming the Dragon’s Waist Prefecture. Ten aimed to destroy the Northern Man. The Emperor was furious again. But Xun sent a secret letter back from Xiangfan, saying even Zhang Julu and Gu Jiantang had taken it seriously. Even the old Western Chu Grand Chancellor, who rarely praised anyone, had spoken a few kind words in court. Of these three, Zhang Julu chose the logistics section to expand upon, using it as a foundation for his political reforms. Gu Jiantang favored the ninth strategy, reclaiming the Dragon’s Waist Prefecture. And Sun Xiji, head of the Menxia Province, wholeheartedly accepted both memorials, praising Xun as a statesman capable of governing the realm, not inferior to Chancellor Zhang. Zhang Julu even laughed, saying he was not just not inferior—he was already beyond his reach. That’s what calmed the Emperor’s anger. But I, of course, know the truth. Of the Thirteen Strategies in the Two Memorials, except for the first point about succession, which touched the Emperor’s most sensitive nerve and truly enraged him, the other twelve, especially the strategy to reduce the feudal lords, struck right at his heart. I know my elder brother too well.”

The blind man spoke softly, “My original plan was to wait a few more years, until the dust settled after the seventh war between the two dynasties, before presenting the Two Memorials and Thirteen Strategies.”

Zhao Heng stopped turning his prayer beads.

Lu Xu lowered his head slightly.

Zhao Heng smiled, “You are undeniably clever. I’ve killed countless fools in my life, and in my years, only you and one other young man noticed that I press the beads before killing. But don’t worry—I won’t kill you. If I did, half of the Jing’an Mansion would collapse. My momentary killing intent just now was merely a dark habit, not true intent. I can’t wait until the seventh war ends. I fear I’ll lose the gamble. Lu Xu, with your sharp mind, can you guess what I mean?”

Lu Xu gritted his teeth, knelt, and said solemnly, “If our army loses, the Thirteen Strategies will still benefit the Jing’an Mansion. But if we win, they become two pieces of worthless paper. In that case, the young Prince will have no chance of inheriting the title forever!”

Zhao Heng burst into laughter, “Rise.”

Lu Xu stood and sat again.

Zhao Heng spoke softly, “My luck at gambling has always been poor. Once, in a great gamble, I lost the entire empire. That’s why I sent Xun to the capital in haste—it was just a small gamble. They say small gambling brings joy, so I thought I might win this one.”

Lu Xu broke into a cold sweat.

Zhao Heng continued turning his prayer beads, smiling, “You’ve figured it out, haven’t you? Yes. If I don’t die, or if I simply grow old and pass away slowly, even if I win this gamble, it will be useless. Xun will never become the Prince of Jing’an, only reduced in rank by one degree, from a feudal prince to a duke.”

Lu Xu knelt again.

To indirectly force the death of a healthy feudal prince—how amusing is that? How many lives does the small strategist Lu Xu have?

Zhao Heng stood, “Don’t kneel. In my life, there is only one person I truly want kneeling before me. You know who he is. Of course, it’s not you, Lu Xu.”

The Prince of Jing’an personally helped the blind young scholar, his strategist, to his feet, his expression gentle and kind, “Back then, that man relied on the unparalleled scholar Xun Ping to achieve his current position. We father and son have you, and I believe we won’t be far behind. Come, you’ve seen the splendor of the Jing’an Mansion. Now I’ll show you some of its filth.”

Lu Xu was taken by the incognito Prince Zhao Heng to the door of a quiet private residence in the city. After stepping out of the carriage, the most accomplished of the seven feudal princes, both in literature and martial arts, Zhao Heng, allowed only the faintest trace of bitter amusement to touch his lips.

Zhao Heng gently pushed the door open.

In the small courtyard, orchids bloomed. A woman lazily leaned against the wooden railing beneath the eaves, her beauty otherworldly.

Zhao Heng said indifferently, “To the common eye, nine out of ten people would mistake this woman for Pei Nanwei.”

When Lu Xu heard this, he paused, then confirmed that the woman was not the Princess of Jing’an, Pei Nanwei, and was shocked by the young Prince Zhao Xun’s audacity. For a man of such wealth to keep a secret concubine was nothing unusual. Even if he already had a Princess, keeping a beauty was not seen as rebellion. But when this woman bore such a striking resemblance to the Princess, it was shocking. Lu Xu immediately understood why Prince Zhao Heng had called it a filthy affair. He lowered his gaze, not daring to look at the beautiful woman who was now lost in thought.

The woman finally noticed them. Seeing Zhao Heng, who looked strikingly like Prince Xun, she immediately knelt, trembling all over, unable to speak a single word.

Zhao Heng slowly walked to her side, reached out, and grasped a string of wind chimes hanging beneath the eaves, silent.

Tears streamed down the woman’s face. After a long time of trembling fear, she lifted her head, bit her lip until it bled, and said, “I do not fear death, but I beg the Prince of Jing’an not to punish the young Prince.”

Zhao Heng released the wind chimes, lightly flicked one, letting it ring with a tinkling sound. Without looking down at the woman kneeling on the floor, he coldly said, “Are you worthy of speaking to me?”

The woman lowered her head, tears flowing.

Listening to the sound of the wind chimes, Zhao Heng spoke slowly, “From the day you first stepped into this courtyard, I already knew. But this disgrace meant nothing to me. Xun did not cross the line.”

The woman continued trembling like a delicate orchid in the storm.

Zhao Heng continued, “Now, for Xun’s sake, you must die. Are you willing?”

Zhao Heng and Lu Xu left the courtyard.

Before getting into the carriage, Zhao Heng paused, smiled softly, and said, “I treat you as a national scholar.”

Lu Xu, who did not speak, bowed deeply.

After the sound of the door closing reached her ears, the woman wiped away her tears, chose a hairpin gifted by Zhao Xun from her jewelry box, came beneath the eaves, lay on the floor as he had done, and gazed up at the wind chimes.

Before the pin pierced her neck, she softly and sorrowfully whispered, “Xun.”

When the young Prince Zhao Xun was in the capital, a piece of news as shocking as the Two Memorials and Thirteen Strategies spread: Prince Zhao Heng of Jing’an had died suddenly of illness. Princess Pei Nanwei had committed suicide in grief.

The news reached the capital. It was said that Prince Xun vomited blood and fainted.

That very day, imperial grace was bestowed.

The Emperor issued an edict: Zhao Xun would inherit the title of Prince of Jing’an with hereditary succession.

He became the second among the seven feudal princes to be granted hereditary succession, yet the first to actually ascend as a prince.

After thanking the Emperor in the palace, Zhao Xun rushed back to Xiangfan, met with Lu Xu, and donned mourning clothes.

Late into the night, the soon-to-be new feudal prince of the dynasty sat alone in the mourning hall, expressionless, tossing handfuls of yellow paper into the fire.

After mourning ended, he had servants help him don the dragon robe of a feudal prince. Now the Prince of Jing’an, he dismissed the servants, stood in the room, ten fingers gripping his face, twisting and contorting, neither crying nor laughing.

He lowered his head, tears streaming down his face.

If anyone had witnessed it, the young prince’s expression at that moment would have been unfathomable.

But even the newly favored Lu Xu could only stand outside—and besides, he was blind.

Inside the room, the new Prince Zhao Xun.

Covering his face, his lips curled in a smile.