Upon learning that the Daoist youth was the Wudang Sect’s young patriarch, the elderly pilgrims would never dare to trouble the mountain’s most venerated immortal to carry their belongings. However, the young patriarch, unable to resist the elders’ insistence, ended up accompanying them all the way to the entrance of the Xuanwu Hall atop the Grand Lotus Peak. The number of pilgrims was sparse. The young Daoist stood beneath an ancient camphor tree, watching silently as the devotees offered incense to the four directions before casting it into a colossal incense burner. At last, Mount Wudang was filled once more with wisps of fragrant smoke.
Suddenly, he turned his head and saw a Daoist clad in outer-mountain robes. The man held a white-tasseled fly whisk and pinned his hair with a yellow sandalwood stick; his countenance was solemn. Slowly stepping through the gate, he bore himself with such purity as though untouched by worldly dust. In terms of bearing and grace alone, even the young Wudang Sect leader—standing beneath the camphor tree—seemed far inferior. The young Daoist nodded respectfully toward the unexpected guest.
The older Daoist, however, paid no heed, merely gazing into the vast Xuanwu Hall. Through the doorway, one could vaguely see the majestic statue of Zhenwu the Great Emperor, towering several zhang high, with disheveled hair and bare feet, clad in golden chainmail armor, his foot resting upon the back of a black tortoise.
The Daoist glanced at the red-bronze statue, then shifted his gaze to the incense cauldron outside the hall. Shaking his head slightly, he murmured, “Enforced to subdue multitudes of fiends and rule the north—I wonder, is only Xuanwu worthy of this mantle?”
The young patriarch of Wudang, who had grown mysteriously silent since becoming sect leader, stood at a distance and overheard this Daoist’s question, but instead of answering directly, he merely replied ambiguously, “Perhaps so?”
The visiting Daoist furrowed his brows: “Even you are uncertain?”
The young sect leader—never quite someone who could state anything with certainty—smiled slightly and asked, “They say in Longhushan you are a reincarnation of the third ancestor, and that Lüzu once divided the Green Gall Sword Embryo into three, with you obtaining one fragment. So tell me, is this true or false?”
To the young Wudang leader’s surprise, the other Daoist shook his head without hesitation: “False.”
Startled and rendered momentarily speechless, the new Wudang patriarch remained still. Meanwhile, the Daoist from Longhushan, now visibly aggressive in his stance, finally deigned to look at the Wudang leader, a man whose spiritual presence fell short even of a common temple janitor from Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall. He asked, “You’re Hong Xixiang?”
Hong Xixiang nodded, then squatting directly on the stone steps. They regarded each other—Hong squatting, expression neutral. Though the visiting Daoist from Longhushan exuded a domineering presence, the young Wudang leader, displaying neither anger nor eagerness, simply regarded his guest like a distant acquaintance—neither overly warm nor coldly dismissive. Thus, the confrontation, rather than turning hostile, became absurdly comical, like a chicken conversing with a duck.
The visitor knew him already as Hong Xixiang. And since Hong Xixiang recognized the mention of the Green Gall Sword Embryo, he must have known the visitor’s identity—Qi Xianxia of Longhushan. Not only because the name stuck in anyone’s mind upon first hearing, but also because Qi Xianxia’s name was known throughout the entire Taoist sect of the world as a foremost prodigy destined to uphold the Daoist tradition. If one were to ask why he was so formidable: From what Wudang had heard, Wang Xiaoping’s sword skills were already unmatched. However, the Grand Elder had once declared that in Taoist sword mastery, Wang Xiaoping merely claimed third place. The one who stood second was an elder from a cave-heavenly realm, and both were eclipsed by the young Qi Xianxia of Longhushan.
Of course, such claims were just that—claims. The truth required observation. In Hong Xixiang’s eyes, Qi Xianxia wielded not only his horsehair fly whisk as a sword, but even the ancient camphor tree beneath which he stood was transformed into sheathed swords. Rumors of the phrase “I do not hold the sword, yet ten thousand others do” across Jianghu were likely inspired by none other than Qi Xianxia himself.
Hong Xixiang, squatting on the stone steps, let out a heavy sigh. Look, the world below was full of capable and dangerous people—it was terribly perilous.
As for why Qi Xianxia had come to Wudang, Hong Xixiang wasn’t an ignorant fool. Although Wudang possessed only a handful of monasteries, there was no shortage of monasteries, and minor disputes often broke out among them. Discontented with one another, they would frequently arrive for verbal confrontations, and when words failed, fists prevailed. Hong Xixiang, as a child, had often wandered the mountains on an ox and stumbled upon younger disciples secretly meeting in secluded spots to settle matters physically. He had always observed such scenes with amusement, but now, as sect leader, he could no longer cheer and clap. He simply waited for the fights to end before intervening with a few words of Persuasion.
For the Longhushan visit, besides Qi Xianxia, no one else fit the role. The Four Grand Masters were far too old—their victory in debate or boxing would have carried no honor. Among the younger Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment., the Bai Lian scholar was unbeatable in argument; yet if one simply agreed with everything he said, Bai Lian himself must feel helpless. Qi Xianxia was different. He needed no verbal sparring—merely standing there imposed a heavy pressure. What could one do? Would it truly come to blows?
Though Qi Xianxia declared that the Green Gall Sword Embryo was a falsehood, Hong Xixiang examined him from every angle. Despite his words, the man radiated such sharp brilliance that it was difficult to escape the impression of an unstoppable blade.
As Qi Xianxia observed the Hong’s troubled expression, he felt it was genuine. Though his heart remained as still as still water, he had anticipated countless scenarios and never imagined finding Wudang’s new patriarch to be such a man devoid of ambition or responsibility. Had he not witnessed Hong carrying belongings for pilgrims upon arriving at the mountain, Qi Xianxia would have long shattered the statue of Zhenwu the Great Emperor with a few flicks of his fly whisk. As for the possible enmity between Wudang and Longhushan or Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall punishment for such an act, Qi Xianxia cared little. Within Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall for centuries, there had existed a complex and indescribable attitude toward Lüzu. Regardless of how poetically sublime and swordsmanlike Lüzu was, he had been a venerated immortal of Wudang. Though Longhushan itself had countless immortals and several powerful ancestral spirits, none seemed as approachable or beloved as Lü Dongxuan. Qi Xianxia had long believed that, compared to Lüzu, the ancestral spirits on the Zhao family’s ancestral tablet at Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall were like statues in a temple—rigid, distant, incapable of a hearty draught or an exuberant verse. They appeared lofty only to inspire awe, not connection.
For a moment, the atmosphere before the Zhenwu Temple grew awkwardly silent. The older Daoists kept their distance, except for a few naive little acolytes who huddled together to gossip about the unusual visitor. In the children’s eyes, their younger Master Uncle, whether patriarch or not, was the strongest in the world. Take the eldest son of Beili, Prince Xufengnian, for example—arrogant enough, yet he had still been subdued by Master Uncle. Of course, this was mostly because they had not witnessed the scene of Xufengnian brutally beating Hong Xixiang. But even if they had, the little monks would only think Master Uncle too magnanimous to deign to notice an ordinary man.
Qi Xianxia finally broke the silence: “Is it true you wrote *Participation in the Concordance*? Or did one of your seniors write it secretly for you?”
Hong Xixiang’s answer strayed from the question: “We have nothing much to offer the guest here. I’ll give you a copy later.”
Qi Xianxia furrowed his brows.
Suddenly, Hong Xixiang asked, “How is the landscape of Jiangnan? Is it beautiful?”
Qi Xianxia remained silent.
Hong pursued, “I heard Longhushan is quite near Huting Prefecture—surely the weather there is no longer cold?”
Qi Xianxia, apparently growing irritated with such inane questions, replied coldly, “Then why don’t you go see for yourself?”
This time, it was Hong Xixiang’s turn to fall silent. Perhaps recalling the rumor that Hong had never left the mountain, and linking it to an occasional whispered secret once overheard at Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall, Qi Xianxia’s expression turned odd. Hesitating briefly, he coldly added, “It’s not particularly cold in Huting nowadays, though there’s been a great scandal. Your Northern Cool’s eldest daughter, Xu Wei Xiong, has caused much public outrage with her scandalous conduct. Even the palace in the capital has taken notice—there’s a certain palace lady known for her *Female Admonitions* who’s very angry. There’s talk of bringing that married princess to justice.”
Hong Xixiang, expression serious, asked, “Justice for what crime?”
Qi Xianxia replied indifferently, “Is this all you care about as the Wudang sect’s leader?”
Hong smiled, pointing toward the statue of Zhenwu the Great Emperor within the hall: “That one is the true guardian of the people. As for me, I’ve never harbored dreams like your Tian Under the guidance of the sage, the path of wisdom unfolded before him, leading into a realm of boundless mystery and enchantment.Hall of benefiting the world. I only worry about the mountain’s peace and warmth. As for what happens beyond the mountain, I merely ask. Ah, right, tell me—exactly what crime?”
Qi Xianxia ignored him. Again gazing at the darkened hall’s statue of the Demon-subduing Lord, he murmured softly, “Cast a thousand years ago.”
Then, turning, Qi Xianxia cast one final sentence: “Our Dao is different; our words cannot be shared. I am off to Tai Xu Palace to claim the ancient sword Lüzu once hung at the eaves. What crime? I don’t know. I only know that back then, when that princess wished to ascend Longhushan to offer incense, she was stopped outside the mountain.”
Hong Xixiang rose.
He took one step forward.
That very step, years ago, had propelled this young master uncle into the Tianxiang realm.
But today, within that An Inch Away distance, he snatched Qi Xianxia’s fly whisk right from his hand.
On Mount Wudang, winds and thunder erupted—the long-awaited storm had arrived.
※※※
The Grand Commander Xu Xiao led the civil and military officials along the imperial axis. At the end of the thoroughfare lay the majestic Baohé Hall, towering upon a triple-tiered foundation. This was the heart of the dynasty, the center to which ten thousand dragons bowed.
For the entire realm, this Baohé Hall was but a small space, occupied by no more than a hundred people.
Yet the rise and fall of the empire depended on these individuals and their decrees. Every subtle breath within these halls decided the empire’s health.
Upon the third tier of the grand foundation: white jade balustrades, vermilion pillars, azure beams, and golden glazed rooftops.
Utterly majestic and resplendent.
In recent years, a fire at the imperial palace had destroyed countless halls, requiring the reconstruction of many buildings. Stone and timber had been exhausted in the hundreds of miles surrounding the capital. Xu Xiao’s Northern Cool had dispatched countless ancient stones and trees from his lands to the capital. One particular dragon-carved stone slab for the rear eaves of the palace had weighed no less than three hundred tons, indicative of the extensive toil and financial burden. At the time, complaints echoed from the people, and censors had been ecstatic, condemning Xu Xiao as a treacherous minister, accusing him of flattering the court and plundering the common folk. Some even cried out with the slogan: “As long as Xu Xiao lives, the nation’s calamities shall never cease.” And yet, whether or not the censors were truly incorruptible—the so-called clean-handed critics—Xu Xiao remained the same Xu Xiao, always having his way, immune to change.
Now, walking along this imperial axis, nearing its end, one needn’t lower one’s head to behold the sight: an enormous embedded nine-dragon wall, its golden dragons so lifelike they seemed poised to ascend into the heavens at any moment. Flanking the wall were stone stairways leading into the great hall—left for civil officers, right for martial ones; no deviation was permitted. Over the centuries of the Liyang dynasty, no official had ever dared step upon the wrong side. Old hands knew that every time the old Xu the Lame set foot upon the right stairway of the dragon wall, he paused, muttering under his breath. No one ever understood what he said. Being a martial man by nature, Xu Xiao had always walked the right path, just as he had upon his first visit to the capital. The imperial court had bestowed upon him the title of Grand Commander. Considering everything, the gesture now seemed somewhat playful, explaining the uproar when it was first announced—officials wept, knelt, and raged, all in a chaotic display of emotion within the hall.
Now, trailing behind Xu Xiao on the imperial axis were most civil and military officials who had never before stood alongside this foreign prince to deliberate in the hall, so many of them deliberately watching Xu Xiao’s footwork as he ascended the steps. True enough, Xu glanced back toward the southern imperial gate, though what thoughts swirled in the mind of this Butcher of Men was known to none.
Xu Xiao thought of the threshold before him—once beyond that gate, freedom was no longer his own.
Ordinary folk approaching the gate would have been punished; the privilege of entering to deliberate was great, but what sacrifices had been made to achieve such glory? Each family bore its own silent burdens, even the one seated upon the throne inside the hall—how could he find peace with the dynasty’s endless trials? Ever since its foundation, Liyang had known no respite—the first rebellions, the secret assassination plots by eunuchs during the Huan and Ling Emperor’s reign, the Jia’an Sixth Year’s East Palace Pole Incident, the Caoren Figurine Case and the Rentai Emperor’s mysterious death from red pill poisoning fifty years ago, the Yi Palace Shift and the Sanguan Temple Controversy, and now, the recent White-robed Incident…
White-robed…
Muttering the words twice, Xu Xiao turned toward Baohé Hall. His eyes darkened with cold resolve.
At the Xiama Wei inn, he had already received the news—not only had Fengnian provoked the Green Prefecture Naval Command on the Spring Spirit Lake, but his eldest daughter Xu Wei Xiong, married far off to Jiangnan, couldn’t even live peacefully.
Behind him, these bastards truly believed his sword, worn at court, was purely decorative.
That day, thunder and lightning erupted within Baohé Hall.
The world would only hear later that after the audience, before even leaving the palace gates, Grand Commander Xu Xiao had beaten a third-grade minister unconscious with his sword scabbard.
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