Wu Shizhen still couldn’t hear clearly Xufengnian’s murmurs, despite pricking up his ears. Observing a flood of Taoist priests pouring out from Qingyang Temple, he suddenly felt emboldened, quickened his pace away from Xufengnian, who carried twin swords, and pointed at a stone tablet outside the hall, smirking lightly, “It says, ‘Dukes and marquises dismount here.’ His Majesty granted these words personally.”
Xufengnian cast a sidelong glance. The handwriting was indeed the emperor’s—neat and regular, like the calligraphic plaque over the Jiulong Pavilion at Tingchao Pavilion—but it lacked any hint of vigor or charm.
Ignoring it, Xufengnian raised his whip and rode up the temple steps on horseback, each hoofbeat ringing clear against the white jade stone.
Master Wei Shuyang followed closely behind. Lü Shu and Yang followed in similar fashion, especially Lü Qiantang, who found it immensely satisfying. Dukes and marquises dismount? Lü Qiantang, a commoner from a lost country, could now ignore it completely.
Shu Xiu, nearly given to Qingyang Temple by the young master, wore a bitter expression, her horse’s hooves striking the stones especially heavily.
Wu Shizhen made no attempt to halt them. The young son of Qingcheng Wang, who prized decorum above all, adjusted his headpiece and robes, then gracefully ascended the steps, while more than fifty experts surged out from Qingyang Temple.
Master Wu Lingsu founded the Shenzong Sect, a tremendous feat of establishing a school of his own, and had been granted the title of king. Though he expelled the Jiudoumi Taoists, he gradually attracted many capable individuals, eventually amassing a group of thirty-six who formed the Shenzhong Sword Formation. Once invoked, the formation’s thirty-six swords would roar with thunderous energy.
Wu Shizhen recalled how, as a child, countless old Jiudoumi Taoists from Qingcheng Mountain had come to Qingyang Temple to argue, only to be soundly defeated by the Yu Xiao Sword Formation, then composed of just eighteen members. Now, Qingyang Temple was a formidable force on Qingcheng Mountain. Yu Xiao Formation claimed invincibility against opponents below the second-grade cultivator level, while Shenzhong Formation could rival even those of the first grade. Though Wu Shizhen was no narrow-minded fool, he understood his formations still trailed behind the world’s three most renowned sword arrays, which had earned fame over centuries. Still, he wondered—could these people here possibly hold out?
The big swordsman was somewhat troublesome. The snow-handed guards might also possess hidden techniques, but the old Jiudoumi Taoist nearest to the young nobleman was one he had always disdained.
Feeling fully confident, Wu Shizhen then pondered his dilemma. Qingyang Temple excelled in the dual cultivation arts. Over recent years, he had engaged in some not-so-honorable deeds. However, he abided by the proverb: “Don’t eat rabbit near the burrow.” Even among female pilgrims arriving with exquisite looks and superior spiritual roots, he dared not act too scandalously, bound by his father’s strict orders. Only when encountering perfect spiritual vessels would he act. The two most favored maidens from the temple, now his concubines, had been captured last year—after he had their servants killed and their bodies dumped in the wilderness, then blamed a band of hill rogues. Otherwise, what was the use of keeping those mountain brigands alive? Did Wu Shizhen care about the few hundred taels of annual offerings?
These two female Taoists were aunt and niece. Initially strongly resisting, they had gradually acquiesced after experiencing the dual cultivation arts of Qingyang Temple, now living here like carefree celestial beings. Compared with the mundane worries of ordinary women in the mundane world, what woman didn’t long for a secret to eternal youth?
With skills in appraising both horses and people, Wu Shizhen had selected only one particular type of assessment—how to identify the ideal vessels for dual cultivation. At Zhuheting Pavilion, he instantly recognized superior vessels among the female pilgrims, the so-called “Shu Dame” being of high quality, while the green-robed maid driving the carriage and the peerlessly beautiful servant who had peered out once were of the highest caliber.
And the woman riding a horse while holding a dark-skinned girl—her allure was of the immortal variety. She nearly embodied the second-rank celestial aura described by his father—the “Seated Lotus Bodhisattva.”
Wu Shizhen became infatuated. His only dilemma was not whether to fear the formidable followers of this young Beiliang nobleman. Whether you were the descendant of any Beiliang general, it made no difference—unless you brought thousands of ironclad riders to Qingcheng. Would Yuzhou, fortified like an iron barrel by General Gu Jiantang, ever allow Beiliang troops to march unopposed across half the region?
Both being warriors of renown from the Spring and Autumn Campaigns, why did Xu Xiao earn the title of Grand Column-General, become King of Beiliang with the weight of a military talisman like a mountain, while Gu Jiantang remained only one of the eight High Column-Generals, serving in the imperial court with meager military authority? Wu Shizhen didn’t believe Gu Jiantang was magnanimous enough to let matters rest. Over the past decade, Yuzhou had seen frequent rotation of military officers, many of Gu’s former subordinates quietly placed back into positions—intentionally or not. At the beginning of the year, his father had quietly said while drinking: “General Gu has clashed with that crippled old fox, Xu. Gu, though slightly inferior in schemes and strength, possesses youth—he is only forty-three, and that, in itself, is enough.” If even Xu Xiao was in such a difficult position, what hope could his Beiliang generals have? Wu Shizhen feared none of them. Moreover, the real power in Beiliang’s thirty thousand cavalry resided in the hands of the six young adopted sons. None of them were as old as this young nobleman.
Thus, Wu Shizhen’s difficulty lay in how to distribute the women: whether to give a few to his father or hand over the lotus-bodhisattva girl and keep the rest, or to take the one he craved most like sipping from an endless stream. Would his father, obsessed with dual cultivation proof of transcendence for all to see, even agree?
On Qingcheng Mountain, King Qingcheng, Wu Lingsu, was the heavens themselves. Wu Shizhen was therefore practically “the Son of Heaven.” When troubled, he instinctively twirled the twin sashes of his leisure hood with his index fingers, a sight that made over a dozen female Taoists rush out of the hall to admire him. These maidens adored Wu Shizhen’s little gestures the most. In bed, however, they preferred his unrestrained vigor. Compared to the rigid, textbook-based movements required during dual cultivation sessions with his father—where deviation was never permitted—they all preferred the stormy passion of young Wu.
This affectionate young immortal wielded a peach-blossom beauty fan, blew a jade ocarina of pure white jade, and played a zither that lured birds to sing in harmony. Even the beautiful pair captured and brought to Qingyang Temple ended up willingly staying without a thought of returning home. Compared with them, how much easier were the young female Taoists taken to the mountain at an early age?
Looking up at Xufengnian riding majestically astride a red horse, Wu Shizhen said, “This horse belongs to me now.”
Xufengnian glanced sideways as eighteen people instantly formed a sword array and turned to Wei Shuyang, asking, “Master Wei, does this formation have a name?”
Calmly stroking his beard, Wei Shuyang replied, “If this old Taoist isn’t mistaken, it’s the Yu Xiao Sword Formation—Wu Lingsu secretly learned it from the Dragon-Tiger Mountain’s Laojun Pavilion secret array. In a way, it could be said to surpass the original. Wu Lingsu was a genius who could extrapolate ideas and grasp concepts fully—something even the Dragon-Tiger Celestial Master acknowledged. Unfortunately, his heart bore ill intent. He lacked perseverance and sought shortcuts, unwilling to pursue the grand path. At one time, the Celestial Master deliberately criticized Wu Lingsu and left him cooling off at Liantan Cliff, intending it as a lesson to temper Wu’s willpower. However, Wu Lingsu, filled with resentment, left Dragon-Tiger Mountain. Though his life appeared prosperous, he eventually outsmarted himself. Otherwise, he might have become a non-clan Celestial Master of Dragon-Tiger Mountain itself.”
Xufengnian chuckled and asked, “Putting aside King Qingcheng, with these eighteen encircling the sword formation, what of the other forty or so sword-bearing Taoists? Are they just there to watch?”
Wei Shuyang’s expression turned solemn as he shook his head. “That is Qingyang Temple’s primary formation. Wu Lingsu, who calls himself the Shenzong Celestial Lord, has certain grounds for his pride. Somehow he figured out the Thirty-six Heavenward Sword Formation of Shenzhong, and its power is no small matter. Even this old Taoist wouldn’t dare to challenge it lightly—I’d likely be defeated and might even perish. It’s one of the most famous formations in the world today. The sycophants who support Qingyang Temple have praised it loudly in the court and beyond, claiming that its ability to summon heavenly thunder rivals the great Three Sword Formations without the slightest inferiority. Three years ago, Wu Lingsu returned to the capital and personally brought the thirty-six sword-wielding Taoists. It’s said that outside the Yinghua Hall, sword light gleamed, turning clear skies into thunderous heavens, competing even with the sun and moon. Some even claim that Zhao Tianren, the Celestial Master present in the capital, lost color from his face merely watching.”
Xufengnian scoffed, “I believe that the Shenzhong Formation is strong, indeed. Yet if you claim the two Dragon-Tiger Celestial Masters were terrified into silence? Not in my lifetime! Old Huang once told me about the Three Great Sword Formations. He never visited the Wu Sword Tomb, so he said nothing of it. But the Dragon-Tiger Sword Formation is truly number one under heaven. Those two Celestial Masters are gourmands who’ve tasted the rarest delicacies—how could any small fry impress them? At most, they’d only say, ‘Fine taste.’ This is just Wu Lingsu shamelessly embellishing his already aged face.”
The Dragon-Tiger Mountain formation, known as “One Hundred and Eight Swords, a Massacre at the City of the Dead,” was formed by a hundred swords. It guarded the Demon-Slaying Platform.
The Wudang Mountain Taiji Sword Formation consisted of ninety-nine swordsmen wielding peachwood swords. It was said to be ceaseless and inexhaustible, its sword momentum like rolling billows, with no casualty as long as its central swordsman remained alive, and it had never tasted defeat.
The Wujia sword grave claimed to have nine swords destroy ten thousand cavalrymen, though this remains an unfounded and absurd legend. Two hundred years ago, nine Wujia swordsmen left their tombs to rescue a single person. The nine greatest sword experts rode to the north, nine horses, nine swords, to confront the most elite Bei Mang elite—the Ghostbear Heavy Cavalry. Whether the tale was true or false, half those nine were slain or wounded, and only three returned to the Wujia Sword Grave. The sword grave lost most of its power then and remained in decline for centuries.
The carriage stopped at the foot of the steps. Jiang Ni and the old sword sovereign alighted, the former trembling with reverence for gods and ghosts, fearing that a thunderbolt might strike down at any moment from heaven. The young master’s sins were grave—he might surely incur the wrath of Qingcheng Mountain’s immortals. Books said that the grander the mountains and rivers, the more one must avoid loud speech, for fear of startling celestial beings. If misfortune struck and Jiang Ni were caught in the ripples, she would perish in vain. He had committed countless sins, but Jiang Ni had been a good person, even leaving food for starving mice in a draughty thatched cottage in Beiliang. In summer, enduring endless mosquito bites without killing them, only wrapping herself tightly in her quilt.
Seeing Jiang Ni repeatedly glancing upward, flinching at any rare cloud passing overhead, the one-armed old sword sovereign chuckled and teased her: “Jiang girl, what’s there to fear? I already told you that even if thunder and lightning strike, I can slice them away with a single sword strike. Not a hair on you would be harmed. So go ahead and pray for a storm. Let dark clouds cover the skies. Best if a lightning bolt kills that great evildoer Xu Fengnian.”
Standing at the steps, Jiang Ni chose a spot as far from Xu Fengnian as she could find and dared not approach further, feeling gloomy: “But you don’t even have a sword.”
The old sword sovereign scoffed, “Earlier on that muddy path, I used nothing but a small umbrella and demonstrated a single sword technique that made the immortals kneel. To me, anything under heaven can be a sword. Only until I hold a real sword again, will I regain even a fraction of my old sword intent—Wooden Horse Ox, for example. That was part of a pre-arranged pact with the Butcher when I left Tingchao Pavilion. I cannot easily break it. Little girl, do you know how the sword technique, ‘One Sword Makes Immortals Kneel,’ got its name?”
Jiang Ni constantly kept watch of the skies while glancing at the tense situation unfolding on the square below, unsurprised and uninterested. “Don’t want to know.”
The old sword sovereign rolled his eyes.
Earlier, Xufengnian had spoken loudly to Wei Shuyang, and Wu Shizhen had heard everything. Crossing the stone courtyard, he retreated to the temple entrance, smiled, and called out: “Whether Qingyang Temple’s two sword arrays are as formidable as they claim—you will soon find out.”
Xufengnian laughed, “No need for bloodshed. I came with too few people to do battle here. Qingyang Temple is the abode of immortals, so let’s not ruin the peace. I’ve only come seeking longevity. I’ll repeat—I’ll offer Qingyang Temple a thousand taels of gold if you pass down any immortal techniques. If not, even if you offer superior techniques of the boudoir, such as ‘Shu Dame’ herself—what loss is she? I already have countless such women in my mansion. If Qingyang Temple wishes to forge a bond with me, I’d gladly offer an annual tribute.”
Wu Shizhen, his patience finally spent, tore off his friendly mask and darkly declared, “Did you see those four words, ‘Dukes and marquises dismount here’? I warned you. Your riding up the steps is a capital offense!”
Xufengnian feigned surprise, “Oh?”
Wu Shizhen pointed sequentially at Shu Xiu, Yu Youwei, Qing Niao, and finally at Jiang Ni in the distance. “If you hand these four over to me, not only will I forgive your capital crime of riding, I’ll even offer you several secret dual cultivation manuals, or perhaps even have my father personally teach you the secret arts of immortality. How does that sound?”
Xufengnian smiled sweetly, “Lü Qiantang—go break the formation.”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage