Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng led her company into Yunjin Mountain, choosing a secluded path winding into the depths in search of mystical treasures. Besides Song Chufeng, the young scholar with a sword at his waist, the Xuan-Yuan family had more than a dozen tough, seasoned retainers in their entourage. Mount Longhu, the ancestral temple of Taoism, naturally deterred anyone foolish enough to cause trouble here. Born into a martial family, Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had a solid foundation in martial arts, yet even she found the journey along the rolling stone beach arduous and exhausting. In contrast, Song Keli, the well-read Confucian scholar, moved with unexpected ease and grace, stepping lightly over rocks and across streams, almost as if he had mastered supreme internal techniques and returned to simplicity. This impressed the young swordsman, who had initially looked down on him, enough to make him observe the scholar warily and with newfound respect.
They had walked for nearly two hours without realizing it. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had come seeking three rare treasures. The first was the giant salamander, not uncommon in itself, but one with a horn upon its forehead was exceedingly rare. The second was the red-backed newt, and the third was the black-footed snow weasel. The latter two were relatively easier to find, but the giant salamander was a treasure one could only encounter by chance. Ancient texts stated that a salamander lived for a hundred years before growing a horn, and after another five hundred years could transform into a mountain dragon. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng did not dare hope for such fortune on this trip; she had already scoured these mountains tirelessly dozens of times.
As they rested on a stone, Song Keli glanced at the sky and smiled. “Miss Xuan-Yuan, if we do not return soon, we may have to spend the night on the mountain.”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng hummed in agreement. Their harvest had been meager—only a few newts had been caught, and not a single snow weasel had appeared, which was understandable. These creatures usually emerged only at night, fox-like in appearance, but possessing a natural musk used to make the finest sachets for ladies’ chambers, though the process of harvesting the musk was notoriously cruel. As Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng playfully teased a captured newt inside a glass vial, she considered turning back. At that moment, the silent young swordsman narrowed his eyes toward the forest depths and said calmly, “Go five more miles.”
Song Keli smiled gently, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, recalling her father’s words about the swordsman’s rare intuition, nodded after a moment’s thought. “Then we go five more miles.”
She turned to Song Keli with a glance. “What do you think, Master Song?”
Song Keli chuckled. “I can still walk.”
With a deep breath, Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng rose and led the way.
They found nothing further. Just as Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng was about to turn back, she spotted a small emerald-green pool in the distance. The water was vividly green and deep, though not large. Strangely, a middle-aged Taoist priest sat cross-legged at the edge of the pool, his back to them.
Song Keli furrowed his brow. The young swordsman gave a cold laugh.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had no fear of bandits in Mount Longhu, especially with over a dozen skilled martial artists at her side. She leapt lightly over several stream stones and stood near the pool. She saw the Taoist priest wore patched robes—simple and plain, not the luxurious yellow and purple garments of the Celestial Master’s household. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, ever cautious, deliberately landed with heavier steps as she stepped onto a mossy stone near the spring, but the middle-aged priest did not react immediately, his breathing and cultivation appearing only mediocre. The priest focused intently, facing the deep pool, holding a bamboo fishing rod as if he were fishing. The long line extended into the water—unlike those pretentious scholars who pretended to fish without a line. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng had long grown tired of such fame-seeking scholars. If this Taoist priest cast his line without bait, she would surely give him a thrashing!
Beside the priest sat a small bamboo basket filled with fragrant, bright red wild fruits.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng smiled. “Have we disturbed the Immortal’s fishing?”
The middle-aged priest did not look away, but smiled and shook his head. “No matter. It won’t scare off the fish I wish to catch.”
Song Keli glanced around and sat down calmly. “May I ask, Master, what bait you use? And how deep is this pool?”
The young swordsman had already gripped his sword hilt.
Even Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng sensed the killer intent radiating from this man, who was said to one day rival Gu Jantang in swordsmanship. Once he made a decision, he acted without hesitation—whether climbing the cliffs of Huishan or meeting her. Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng could do nothing about it.
The middle-aged priest seemed utterly unaware of the danger around him. He pointed to the wild fruits in the basket as the first answer, then said calmly, “As for the depth of the pool, even I do not know.”
Song Keli, still composed on the surface, asked, “Then, what exactly are you fishing for?”
The priest did not hesitate. “A giant salamander. It once swallowed an object that belongs to me, and I wish to retrieve it.”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng asked cautiously, “Are you fishing for the horned giant salamander?”
The middle-aged priest, truly naive to worldly matters, nodded. “Yes.”
The young swordsman gave a cold laugh, ready to draw his blade. He never hesitated once he decided to strike, and he cared little whether the Taoist priest sensed his intent to kill.
I have a blade—what head cannot be severed?
The priest sighed gently, set down his rod, glanced at the basket, and turned to smile. “I won’t catch it today. These remaining fruits are for you, if you don’t mind the wild fare.”
Song Keli smiled but remained still.
The young swordsman, suddenly relaxed, sat down and grabbed a fruit, offering it first to Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, who shook her head. He then tossed it into his mouth, eating the remaining three or four in the basket.
The middle-aged priest smiled.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng asked, “Where in the mountain do you cultivate, Immortal?”
The priest shook his head. “I wander like a lone soul, with no fixed abode. Fortunately, this great ancestral temple of Taoism still has room for me.”
Song Keli suddenly asked, “I have a question, Master. May I seek your wisdom?”
The middle-aged priest nodded. “Please speak.”
Song Keli gracefully sat down, as if ready to debate. “My father once discussed the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism. He said, ‘Buddhism is gold, Taoism is jade, but Confucianism is grain. Gold and jade are precious, but their presence or absence matters little. Yet the world, like the human body, cannot survive a day without grain.'”
The middle-aged priest interjected in a dry tone. “Actually, one day without grain is fine. People don’t die from hunger so quickly.”
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng was stunned, deeply disappointed. What kind of absurd debate was this? The image of a divine immortal she had formed upon seeing the priest fishing for a horned giant salamander in a secluded pool vanished entirely.
The young swordsman burst into laughter.
Song Keli, with remarkable composure, did not show the slightest anger.
Fortunately, the priest added, “But if the famine lasts too long, trouble will indeed arise.”
Song Keli continued calmly. “My father acknowledged the distinction between right and wrong, but denied the division of the three teachings. What is your view, Master?”
The middle-aged priest nodded. “Well said.”
Song Keli’s expression grew more solemn. “Yet my father feared the unresolved debate between righteous rule and Overbearing (hegemony), profit and righteousness, in the court and among the people. He dared only to publicly declare that the essence of all three teachings must serve the people, proposing the four words: self-cultivation and benefiting others. If Confucianism strays from this path, it ceases to be Confucianism. If Buddhism strays, it ceases to be Buddhism. If Taoism strays, it ceases to be Taoism. Regardless of the teaching, as long as one consistently performs good deeds, remains loyal, filial, trustworthy, and sincere, fulfilling one’s human duties, one is not far from the Great Dao.”
The priest smiled. “A gentleman does not stand beneath a crumbling wall. That was said two thousand years ago by Master Zhang. For your father to have such insight and courage is no small feat. I believe that if a person can correct their mind and body, gathering true essence and spirit, they can give rise to great talent and virtue. As for the root—whether it lies in Confucianism, Buddhism, or the Taoism I follow—it matters little. However, since Taoism begins with the word ‘Dao,’ regardless of centuries or millennia, future generations will always recognize its primacy. As for the sages’ writings compiled by Master Zhang’s disciples, they may have explained all the principles, but they carry a strong scholarly air, setting rules that also become cages. Master Zhang and the sages are beyond doubt, their virtues towering beyond reach. But even the highest sects have their own biases. If I had been born two thousand years earlier, I would have dared to say to Master Zhang: ‘What you call reckless words, I call the true path of the Dao.'”
Not only Song Keli and Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng, but even the young swordsman—who had never touched a book in his life—was left speechless.
This Taoist priest looked barely forty, yet his words could swallow heaven and earth!
Master Zhang had explained all principles two thousand years ago, but this priest today spoke as if leaving no room for anything else.
Song Keli rose and bowed respectfully, though no one could tell what thoughts stirred in the heart of this young heir of the Song family.
Xuan-Yuan Qingfeng took her leave and led the way out.
After walking some distance, she instinctively turned back. The Taoist priest, whose martial skill seemed ordinary but whose words were terrifying, had not moved.
Once the group had gone far enough, the middle-aged priest flicked his wrist. The fishing line soared into the sky.
It had no end. For a long time, the hook did not appear.
How long was this line?
A hundred zhang?
Two hundred zhang?
The middle-aged priest waited calmly for the hook to emerge from the water, murmuring, “Well then, I shall wait another ten years.”
※※※
The bamboo raft drifted from Qinglong Stream into Longwang River, where the current was swift, yet the raft remained steady. The old Taoist, Zhao Xituan, had merely brought his apprentice to see the view of the sword-split valley along the riverbank. Xu Longxiang squatted on the raft, no longer afraid of the water as he once was.
The old Grandmaster was deeply pleased. Huang Man’er was born with a rare King Kong (Diamond) body, a physique as extraordinary as the young Taoist master Hong Xixiang of Wudang, who was born with a naturally open heart. Hong Xixiang possessed an extra heart, from which all things could arise. Huang Man’er was the opposite—born with one less heart, never needing to worry about the Daoist adage: “After years of cultivation without attaining the Dao, the heart is clogged with dust, blocking all wisdom.” Thus, the old Taoist taught Xu Longxiang the Dream of the Spring and Autumn Periods, perfectly tailored to his nature. While the world cultivates to nurture energy, Zhao Xituan did the opposite, requiring only that Xu Longxiang maintain a single breath to support his King Kong body. When he reached perfection, he would achieve the ancient saying: “Three hundred years of spring and autumn dreams, a single breath piercing Kunlun.” Previously, when Xu Longxiang tried other supreme Daoist techniques from Mount Longhu, he made no progress. Now, his violent aura had gradually receded, and he was nearly at the small immortality Realm of “Prosperity and decay at one’s fingertips.” Now, Zhao Xituan only needed to wait patiently for his apprentice’s final leap. Could he not be happy? Happier than an old man having a child in his later years!
Having spent nearly two years with Xu Longxiang at the Xiaoyao Temple at the foot of the mountain, Zhao Xituan had grown fond of him. Now, he no longer needed the Prince’s letters threatening him—who dared harm Huang Man’er, he, Zhao Xituan, second in seniority in the Celestial Master’s household, would be the first to oppose. Was he just an old relic on a shelf? The old Taoist’s mood soared, and he pushed the raft with greater force, like an arrow flying swiftly. Suddenly, he saw his apprentice rise, stretch his neck toward the Demon-Slaying Platform atop the peak, and let out a deafening roar. Zhao Xituan paused, then heard a roar from the Demon-Slaying Platform, like the howl of a beast from the wilderness. The old Taoist was stunned for a moment, then clapped his hands and laughed heartily. “Good! Good! Good! To resonate with the black tiger under Qi Xuanzhen’s disciples—indeed my apprentice. Truly, one mountain cannot hold two tigers.”
Xu Longxiang was about to leap from the raft, rushing across the river, but Zhao Xituan quickly shouted, “Apprentice, no rush, no rush!”
If this were when Xu Longxiang first came to the mountain, he would have long since leapt into the river, fighting the beast without hesitation. In his youth, he had torn apart several tigers, leopards, and bears with his bare hands, his strength surpassing even the mightiest warriors on the battlefield. But now, when the old Taoist stopped him, the naturally dull-witted boy actually obeyed, though still displeased. He glared at the old Taoist and sulked, squatting by the edge of the raft. The old Taoist, his heart filled with joy like fine wine, laughed heartily and said with deep feeling, “Apprentice, that black tiger is no ordinary beast. It was once the king of beasts on Mount Longhu, nearly twice the size of a normal tiger, pitch-black in color. Somehow, it went to the Demon-Slaying Platform to listen to Qi Xuanzhen’s lectures for many years, gaining great wisdom. Heh, in terms of seniority, that beast would be of the Jing generation. Your master had already been thinking of arranging a match between you two. There’s no need to rush. You’ll have your chance soon enough.”
Xu Longxiang grunted.
Perhaps mentioning the black tiger under Qi Xianren’s disciples stirred his thoughts, Zhao Xituan murmured softly, “Apprentice, let me tell you a secret. I must speak, or it will weigh on my heart. In my view, there are few true immortals in the Daoist sect today. If it weren’t for Hong Xixiang of Wudang, after Wang Chonglou’s passing, the number has become even fewer. For Mount Longhu, having reigned supreme for so long, the younger generation may mistakenly believe they are the best in the world. That’s not a good thing either. Let me think… My elder brother, of course, and Danxia can be counted. Zhao Danping is too clever, always scheming, which ironically harms his fortune. Bai Yu and Qi Xianxia are both rare talents—one resembles my father, the other resembles Lü Dongxuan. I believe they will become immortals in time, but they still need time. As for the rest of the Jing generation, it’s uncertain. The Zhao family of the Celestial Master’s household will struggle to bear great responsibilities in the future. As for the northern Daoist sects, there are still a couple of wandering immortals, but they are very old, and who knows when they may pass. Sigh, counting them all, there are only a few. It’s truly a sad state, far inferior to Buddhism.”
Who knows whether Xu Longxiang was even listening. Zhao Xituan didn’t care. He turned the raft back, gazing at the endless mountains, and suddenly smiled proudly. “But it doesn’t matter. Mount Longhu still has a terrestrial immortal guarding it.”
Xu Longxiang tilted his head slightly.
Zhao Xituan, seeing his rare audience, stroked his beard and smiled. “Before the age of sixty, the world only knew my father and Qi Xuanzhen, but they didn’t know that beyond immortals, there are immortals.”
The old Taoist had intended to tease with a riddle, but seeing his apprentice immediately lower his head to catch fish again, he hurriedly continued, “But how this immortal became an immortal, even I cannot say. I only remember encountering a middle-aged Taoist when I was young while gathering herbs in the mountains. Later, more than twenty years after Qi Xuanzhen’s ascension, I met that same Taoist again, and he had not aged a bit. I was so curious that I asked the old patriarch, and do you know what he said? He said that even he, in his youth, had met this Taoist several times! Apprentice, can you imagine how old this person must be? Song Zhiming of Wudang lived to 150 and was called the longest-lived man in the world, but I estimate this Taoist in the mountains must be even older. Of course, this is like the question of whether there is a jade seal in the mountains inscribed with ‘Feng Tian Cheng Yun’—it’s hard to verify.”
Xu Longxiang rolled his eyes—a habit he had learned from his older brother.
Zhao Xituan chuckled, slowly pushing the pole, smacking his lips. “Back then, when your father led his army to Mount Longhu, under great pressure, even the old patriarch could not openly block the way. Everyone knows that six couriers died from exhaustion delivering the imperial edict to the foot of Mount Longhu, but what few know is that the last courier and his horse had already perished sixty miles away. A nameless middle-aged Taoist took the edict, and with his body, he reached the Northern Liang King in half a watch of time. Arrows could not pierce him, swords and spears shattered upon contact. During that time, more than twenty of Northern Liang’s top experts could not stop him, not even glimpsing his face. His Taoist robe remained spotless, not a speck of dust upon it.”
The old Taoist looked wistful. “Wasn’t that a terrestrial immortal? I wonder if I shall ever see him again in this life.”
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