The Taoist Patriarch Wang Chonglou of Wudang Mountain passed away atop the Xiao Lianhua Peak.
As this news spread from Beiliang to the east, west, and south, the entire Taoist world trembled with shock. Wasn’t he the one who severed the Canglan River with a single finger? Hadn’t he just mastered the Great Huangting cultivation technique? Then how could he suddenly attain “ascension”? People knew this was not the same ascension as the one spoken of in Longhushan—a transcendent transformation—but rather, simply death, the same kind of death any ordinary person might face from illness or old age. Wudang made no attempt to conceal this truth. When the world learned of Wang Chonglou’s passing, they were astonished to discover that the next patriarch of Wudang would not be Chen You, the second-oldest and most respected elder on the mountain, nor Song Zhiming, the venerable master of Dan Ding methods, nor even Wang Xiaoping, the mute swordsman with unparalleled sword skills. Instead, it was Hong Xiangxiang, the Wudang sect’s young patriarch, barely thirty.
Who was Hong Xiangxiang? Even many pilgrims from Beiliang didn’t know his name. The more informed might have known that this junior disciple, favored by the late patriarch, was known for his lack of ambition—his days filled with leisurely rides atop an ox, annotating sacred texts, and tending to alchemical furnaces. Occasionally, when literary scholars or noble officials arrived to compose poems or burn incense, they would never catch a glimpse of the reclusive young Daoist.
Atop the Turtle-Carrying Stele of Xiao Lianhua Peak, a young Daoist who had grown up on this peak changed into a fresh ceremonial robe. His white socks and cloud-patterned boots complemented a finely woven Taoist robe, its wide sleeves flowing elegantly. His hair was pinned in a topknot using a sandalwood hairpin engraved with the Tai Chi emblem. Attached to the robe were two long sashes shaped like swords, known as the Lotus Wisdom Swords—unique to the Wudang sect. Six hundred years ago, the immortal Lü Dongxuan had flown to Wudang upon a crane, bearing his divine sword and establishing these sashes as symbols of severing afflictions and cutting away worldly roots.
To the Wudang sect, ever since their revered ancestor Lü Dongxuan—peerless in sword cultivation and Daoist transcendence—had ascended to the heavens, each successive generation grew weaker. In the past century especially, the grandeur of the ancestral temple had steadily declined.
The young Daoist lightly leapt onto the Turtle-Carrying Stele and gazed toward the spirit path winding up the mountain through layers of mist. As a child, he had walked those steps as a thin, weak boy, his legs faltering beneath him. Back then, the Wudang mountain was consumed by blizzards, and the stone steps were buried under thick snow. The Daoists barely had time to clear the paths, so his elderly master had carried him up the mountain. It was said that the eldest disciple had waited a full day and night beneath the gate of Xuanwudangxing. The young Hong Xiangxiang had stolen glances at his senior brother, who each time welcomed him with a warm smile—a hearth that glowed steadily without burning too hot. At that time, the senior brother had only gray streaks at his temples. As he grew older, those gray strands spread until he, like his master, bore hair as white as frost.
The eldest disciple never looked much like a Wudang patriarch—chopping firewood, stoking fires, preserving vegetables, cooking meals, building homes, sweeping snow—doing every menial task. His kindness, his warm nature, all came from this eldest brother. It was this same elder brother who told him he was the hope for Wudang’s next hundred years. Though he was timid and prone to avoiding problems, he had never fled. He studied Daoist morality with the second elder, Daoist Laws of Prohibition, with Master Song Zhiming he explored Dan Ding theories, with the fourth elder he studied the Jade Pillar cultivation techniques, and he watched the fifth elder practice sword techniques. As for understanding the Dao of Heaven, even his brothers had studied for decades without reaching a conclusion, so he wasn’t in a hurry. He believed that as long as he remained atop the mountain, one day he would come to understand.
At age fourteen, while riding an ox, he encountered a woman clad in red robes. She remained in his thoughts, causing him to neglect his studies. The eldest brother never scolded him. Later, when they met again, she told him she was leaving for Jiangnan and would never return. He summoned his courage and told his elder brother he wished to descend the mountain. His senior asked whether he would return. He had no answer—because he never lied.
The eldest brother was not offended, simply replying, “Little brother, wait a while. Once I complete the Great Huangting, you can leave.” He added, “Back then, Master said you had to become the greatest cultivator in the world before you could descend—that was a lie. You’re a grown man now. Sticking around the mountain with a group of old men really isn’t becoming.” Later, he patiently waited until his senior completed the Great Huangting. Yet when the elder emerged from retreat, Hong himself hesitated. Each time he reached the gate of Xuanwudangxing and gazed up at the four characters inscribed by Lü Dongxuan’s sword, he silently turned back to the mountain.
In the end, the eldest brother sacrificed his entire Great Huangting to save someone. Knowing death was near, he ruffled Hong’s hair while smiling and said, “Let the second elder take over as Patriarch. You go down the mountain. If you refuse, I’ll kick you down myself. These days of Xuanwudangxing—just let things take their course. There’s no sense forcing you to carry such a burden.” Before his death, the eldest finally understood a truth: “Height of heaven isn’t the highest; the human heart reaches higher. Greatness of Dao isn’t the greatest; human feelings surpass the Dao. Our cultivation of the Dao is ultimately cultivation of the heart.”
Unknown to Hong, the second elder, Chen You, had quietly arrived at the peak and chuckled: “Patriarch, from now on, if you wish to read forbidden texts, do so a bit more openly.”
Hong turned, squatting down on the stele with a pouting expression. “Second elder, Big Brother originally intended you to be the Patriarch. Aren’t you angry with me?”
The elder Daoist laughed heartily. “Let me be the Wudang Patriarch? Big Brother sure had some wild ideas! Clearly, I can’t even match four Heavenly Masters of Longhushan in a fight, and in arguments, I’d lose to that Bai Lian scholar too. That’d be a disgrace for Wudang. Don’t just consider me—go ask Song Zhiming or Yu Xingrui. Who would actually want to be the Patriarch? Tell this to the fifth elder, and your little Wang Brother might even cut you with his sword!”
Hong rubbed his cheeks as he sighed: “Second elder, when it comes to fighting or arguing, I’m really not suited either.”
Chen, usually solemn and stern, now cracked a rare joke: “Master once said that the five of us together aren’t worth half of you. Besides, Wudang has never sought conflict. Whether it was the imperial advisor or the feather-robed noble official—Wudang’s lineage has never coveted such titles. For centuries, Longhushan has strived to reach the capital, but we have always refused such invitations. Our ancestor Lü Dongxuan long ago made it clear: palaces are the most tainted, darkest places in heaven and earth. They must be avoided. Although the incense offerings atop the mountain are few nowadays, we won’t starve. The mountains are fresh, the waters clear. The younger disciples respect you—they call you their Patriarch, or even Great Patriarch. But it’s not fear; it’s genuine reverence. And who wouldn’t want to help you feed the ox? That’s not how things are in Longhushan. There, the Celestial Master Mansion is one entity, while Longhushan itself is another. Separated like the Jing and Wei rivers. They lack the harmony we enjoy atop Wudang. Big Brother once said privately that harmony brings prosperity in the mundane world. On the mountain, harmony brings the Dao. I thought his cultivation was high, but he never won an argument with me since childhood. Except for this time—I think his words truly hit the mark.”
The young patriarch murmured worriedly, “I wonder how Wang Xiaoping’s sword cultivation is progressing on his journey down the mountain. I hope he doesn’t end up fighting in the Sword Ancestor’s graveyard or provoking Longhushan.”
Chen reassured him, “Fifth elder’s sword Dao talent and achievements are unparalleled on the mountain. Although he can’t heal like Big Brother, he surpasses him in harming enemies. Before he left, you even gifted him the *Can Tong Qi*. I believe if he dedicates some time to shifting from Dao to technique, it will greatly benefit him.”
Hong, now uneasy at being called Patriarch, awkwardly admitted, “That *Can Tong Qi* I wrote was just nonsense.”
At that moment, the evening drum echoed through the mountain, and the mist parted as if by an unseen will, revealing the panoramic beauty of the Great and Lesser Lotus Peaks.
Hong rose to his feet, gazing into the distance, lost in thought.
Chen smiled and said, “What harm is there in calling you Patriarch? Doesn’t calling you by title mean you’re no longer our little junior brother? Does Big Brother’s death mean Wudang will collapse? Does the gate of Xuanwudangxing failing to bring prosperity for five centuries mean you’re no longer Hong Xiangxiang? Back then, when Master brought you up the mountain, he indeed hoped you’d carry Wudang’s future. But more than anything, he wished you to live freely and joyously. Big Brother too. These years, you rode your ox backward, carrying books upon your horns—like an immortal, carefree. We old fellows envied you. Each day casting a divination, frowning—yet even watching you suffer made us secretly glad. So whether you descend or not, we don’t mind.”
Chen’s discipline, Song’s Dan Ding, Yu’s Jade Pillar, Wang Xiaoping’s sword intent—and above all, Big Brother’s practice of martial arts and cultivation of the Dao.
Beyond the gate of Xuanwudangxing, all on the mountain share love and kinship.
This is Hong Xiangxiang’s home.
Riding the ox, reading books, alchemy to pass time, and taking eight steps to catch cicadas, all for the sake of a spiderweb. Letting the summit winds guide his movement, simply for the view beyond the mountains. Feeding cranes and chatting with crows for joy’s sake.
This is his Dao.
I do not seek Dao, yet Dao naturally comes to me.
The youngest patriarch in Wudang’s history said nothing. He simply exhaled deeply.
Then he stepped forward.
A single stride of ten zhang.
He stepped off the Turtle-Carrying Stele, beyond the Xiao Lianhua Peak.
The seventy-two peaks of Wudang bowed toward the Great Summit.
Clouds and mists swirled from all seventy-two peaks, converging toward Xiao Lianhua.
Hong Xiangxiang rode atop a yellow crane, soaring into the azure heavens.
Chen You looked skyward at the omen and whispered, “Master, Big Brother, you truly should have seen this—our little junior brother has just reached the celestial realm in a single step.”
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