That night, the one who descended the mountain alone was no longer Jiang Ni, the Princess Taiping of Western Chu. Xu Fengnian didn’t fly into a rage and destroy her rebellious cursive. He merely lay on the stone steps drinking most of the pot of rice wine and finishing all the beef. Only when the east showed its pale belly did he leave Taiqing Palace. That day, Xu Fengnian continued his diligent blade practice. The stupid bird flies late—it must always suffer some hardship. After dawn, a young Daoist sweeping the grounds saw the scrawled characters on the plaza and was startled, thinking an immortal had descended to write a heavenly text. He dropped his broom and ran back into the hall calling for his master. Then the master looked and called for his master. Finally, all six of Wudang’s most senior Patriarch Uncles were gathered together.

Sect Leader Wang Chonglou, the only person in the Daoist tradition in nearly sixty years to successfully cultivate the Great Yellow Court barrier.

Chen You, who managed Wudang Mountain’s moral discipline and precepts—rigid in character but not inflexible, over ninety years old yet still physically robust. He most enjoyed pacing the Nine Palaces in circles to scold that junior martial brother of highest talent on the mountain. Every time, before finishing his rebuke, he’d start feeling heartache, resulting in much thunder but little rain each time.

Song Zhiming, who’d lived two full traditional lifespans at a hundred forty years old and thus had oddly low seniority. He’d emerged from the Final Prison barrier seven or eight times—in sheer number, if not the realm’s first then certainly its second. He also managed the refinement of external elixirs. Wudang’s nearly hundred various immortal pills and miraculous medicines mostly came from his hands.

Yu Xingrui, just returned from travels to the East Sea, dressed slovenly. His internal cultivation was second only to Wang Chonglou’s. Having just reached sixty, he’d picked up a disciple of exceptional bone structure along the way. The child wasn’t yet twenty. Wudang seniority often bore no relation to age—this was the root cause.

The sword-obsessed Wang Xiaoping, more silent than a mute, still as an ancient well. In this lifetime, aside from the sword, he seemed to have no attachments whatsoever.

Plus finally that Hong Xixiang, who throughout all of Wudang Mountain was probably the least dedicated to proper duties, exclusively pursuing that ethereal and ephemeral Heavenly Dao.

“Excellent calligraphy,” Chen You praised sincerely.

“Absolutely marvelous,” Yu Xingrui nodded in agreement.

“The literary talent is what’s truly good. Aside from the final seven characters, this text has great masculine vigor—grief and indignation without yielding. I’ve never seen its equal in my entire life.” Song Zhiming, whose age was double that of ordinary people, sighed heavily. Bending at the waist, standing at the beginning of the piece, he carefully examined it, stroking with one hand that white eyebrow long as a vine. Having spoken, he immediately made a sound of surprise. “Pondering carefully, it seems those seemingly superfluous seven characters at the end are actually the finishing touch. What a magnificent ‘vow to kill.'”

“Excellent calligraphy—compared to contemporary cursive, even more vast and unrestrained. The dragon leaps through heaven’s gate, the tiger crouches on the mountain ridge. Rarely seen. Even better is the literary composition. Hard to imagine it came from a woman barely twenty years old.” Wang Chonglou’s words settled the matter with finality.

“Shh, shh, shh! Keep your voices down,” the young Patriarch Uncle said nervously.

“What’s to fear? The Crown Prince is practicing blade down below,” Wang Chonglou teased.

“Either way, when misfortune comes, I’ll be the only one suffering,” Hong Xixiang muttered.

“Young people communicate well with young people. We’re all getting on in years,” Wang Chonglou said with a beaming smile.

“Eldest martial brother, just because I’m young, you’re pushing me into the fire pit?!” Hong Xixiang said with grief and indignation.

“Junior martial brother, you must have the awareness of ‘if I don’t enter hell, who will?’ The Heavenly Dao is nothing more than this.” Wang Chonglou laughed it off. Before his martial brothers, where was any transcendent sage-like bearing of a Daoist immortal?

“Bullshit! That’s Buddhist language!” Hong Xixiang shouted.

“All rivers flow east to the sea. The words differ, but the principle is the same,” Yu Xingrui said with a great laugh, kicking him while he was down.

“Hear that? Your martial brother Yu speaks sense.” Wang Chonglou patted his junior martial brother’s shoulder, then exchanged a smile with Yu Xingrui. Everyone was getting on in years with no hope of ascending to immortality. Their greatest pleasure was nothing more than teasing and joking with their junior martial brother a few times. Who knew when they’d kick the bucket and lie in coffins? Better say a few words while they could.

Wang Chonglou said: “Junior martial brother, your calligraphy is best here. While the weather’s clear, you copy it and place it carefully preserved on the top floor of the Scripture Pavilion.”

Hong Xixiang rolled his eyes. “I won’t write it. If the Crown Prince finds out, I’ll lose a layer of skin.”

Wang Chonglou smiled: “At most just don’t copy the final seven characters. What’s to fear?”

Hong Xixiang muttered: “Either visit our site way, eldest martial brother won’t be the one getting beaten.”

Wang Xiaoping, who hadn’t opened his mouth in sixteen years, stood transfixed in contemplation for a long while before finally saying hoarsely: “There is sword intent within the characters.”

The four even older martial brothers looked at each other, then all broke into knowing smiles.

Hong Xixiang, who since coming up the mountain had never heard sixth martial brother speak, felt delight followed by despair: “I’ll write it!”

Three days later, thunder rumbled greatly.

Xu Fengnian held an oiled paper umbrella as he returned to Taiqing Palace. After light rain, only a ground of ink-black remained. The rain gradually strengthened, raindrops pouring onto the umbrella surface with a pounding sound. He saw a lean figure bearing a peachwood sword arrive at the plaza, standing in another corner.

Xu Fengnian didn’t know whether the white-haired Old Kui had left the Prince of Beiliang’s palace. Otherwise he could call him here to spar with this sword obsessive. Having fought desperately with that Eastern Yue blade warrior, watching masters exchange moves was already different—no longer just watching excitement. Dismissing this tempting thought, Xu Fengnian turned to descend the mountain.

Outside the thatched cottage, Qingniao, first-rank head maid of Wutong Courtyard, stood in the thunder and rain, holding an oiled paper umbrella painted with a blue luan, quietly awaiting the Crown Prince.

Qingniao brought a letter personally handed to her by the Great Pillar of State.

Xu Fengnian walked into the room so packed with secret manuals there was almost nowhere to step. The bed board and table and chairs were already piled full. Only a corner by the wall remained clear—without accident, that would be where Jiang Ni slept. Xu Fengnian sat atop a pile of books, tore several pages from a Tiger Pass Blade manual to wipe his face, tore a few more pages to wipe the rainwater from his hands, and only then opened the letter. In it, Xu Xiao had personally written that he’d already sent people to the capital to gather intelligence. Moreover, he hadn’t concealed that he’d begun preparing to install a Buddha in the palace to suppress that blind Eunuch Sun—not sooner, not later, but in two years, he’d make that surnamed Sun lose his position. What truly stunned Xu Fengnian was that Xu Xiao had finally revealed the mystery of why he’d had him come to Wudang: he wanted Wang Chonglou to transfer his entire penetrating-mystery cultivation to Xu Fengnian’s body like grafting a flower onto another tree!

This was heaven-defying business, wasn’t it?

Weren’t they afraid of being struck by heavenly thunder?

Xu Fengnian destroyed the secret letter, his heart surging with towering waves. Raising his head [unauthorized copy]to look at Qingniao standing in the doorway, he asked: “Internal power can be transferred to others? If so, one need only pass on cultivation like a seat before death. Wouldn’t sect masters become stronger with each generation?”

Qingniao said flatly: “Whether a pill or a bowl of rice enters the belly, the effect varies from person to person. Internal power transfer loses at most half. In the martial world there was once a demon who had deep internal cultivation and most loved forcibly transmitting internal power into people, personally watching as their bodies couldn’t bear the burden, ultimately exploding in the limbs while only a complete head remained.”

Xu Fengnian said speechlessly: “There are actually such lunatics who harm others without benefiting themselves?”

Qingniao nodded.

Xu Fengnian asked: “Do you think this was Xu Xiao’s idea or my master’s suggestion?”

Qingniao answered honestly: “I dare not say.”

Xu Fengnian said helplessly: “Then it must be Xu Xiao.”

Qingniao looked around the room and actually smiled.

Xu Fengnian said gently: “Wait until the rain lessens before descending.”

Qingniao made a sound of agreement.

Even heavy rain eventually lightens. Qingniao still had to descend the mountain eventually. Xu Fengnian saw her off to the Dark Martial Flourishes memorial arch before turning back.

Returning to outside the thatched cottage, Xu Fengnian looked at that muddy vegetable plot, chuckling softly: “If you hate me, why express it in writing? If second sister finds out, won’t you be in for another beating? A girl who remembers beatings but not kindness.”

The Crown Prince continued burying himself in blade practice, except now he audaciously began seeking discomfort in that purple bamboo grove on Great Lotus Peak—you must know that place was Grandmaster Wang Xiaoping’s forbidden territory. Even martial brothers of the same generation on Wudang Mountain didn’t dare disturb him there. Only the young Patriarch ​unauthorized copy​Uncle would go to graze his ox or find suitable slender purple bamboo for fishing rods. The first time Xu Fengnian went to the purple bamboo grove, he was forced out by a single sword that severed dozens of purple bamboo stalks. The second time, not knowing death, he stubbornly endured one sword and ended up lying on the wooden plank bed for half a month, causing Wudang to produce several more bottles of premium pills. When Xu Fengnian could slash open the waterfall with a single diagonal strike, he visited the purple bamboo grove again. After one sword he was forced to retreat. He still hadn’t seen that sword obsessive’s face. Only this time he didn’t immediately collapse—at least he could stagger back to the thatched cottage. He came close to eating pills like meals.

Wudang and Dragon-Tiger Mountain, both of the Elixir Cauldron lineage, differed slightly. Not only did they emphasize Dragon-Tiger fetal breathing and internal elixir cultivation of expelling old and absorbing new, they also accepted “cooking and refining metal and stone” external elixirs that Dragon-Tiger Mountain denounced as heterodox. Azure Cloud Peak had several cauldron furnaces weighing thousands of catties. The pill-refining Daoists were the mountain’s most willing to eat bitterness. Each year they consumed nearly ten thousand pounds of charcoal—a magnificent operation. Last month Xu Fengnian had observed a cauldron-opening ceremony at Azure Cloud Peak, which occupied a corner to itself. This mountain peak was said to be second only to the Lotus main peak in being impervious to evil influences. They had to select an auspicious day, build an altar and burn talismans. The pill-refining Daoists knelt at the peak’s base holding medicine furnaces, facing south to pray to the Great Dao Celestial Worthy. Only afterward could they ascend. The Crown Prince finally understood that cultivating the Dao was not easy and refining pills even harder. But this didn’t stop Xu Fengnian from chewing peonies—eating pills like an ox. Hong Xixiang, who’d finally persuaded third martial brother Song Zhiming to permit the Crown Prince to enter the mountain to watch pill refinement, felt extremely indignant. His flirtatious glances had been thrown to a heartless blind man. No helping it.

Eldest martial brother’s claim that young people communicate well—these words truly had not a shred of truth!

The osmanthus flowers on the mountain became fragrant.

Besides struggling against the waterfall below Hanging Immortal Peak, Xu Fengnian went every few days to the purple bamboo grove to spar with Wang Xiaoping. Finally he could barely withstand one sword without falling.

Don’t underestimate “just one sword”—whether he fell or not meant whether Xu Fengnian’s blade practice had properly entered the gate.

Perhaps suddenly discovering the sharp reduction in purple bamboo, the sword obsessive’s next strikes showed even more ghostly unpredictability.

Few could have predicted that the notoriously infamous Crown Prince could truly remain on Wudang Mountain for half a year. Some young Daoists who’d had contact with worldly affairs were all guessing whether the Crown Prince had hidden a dozen beautiful maids on the mountain, or whether he ate fish and meat daily. Incidentally, they saw the young Patriarch Uncle less frequently, so more young Daoists spread rumors that the Crown Prince was originally a reincarnated demon who required suppression by the young Patriarch Uncle, the reincarnation of True Martial Great Emperor. The rumors grew increasingly wild—gossip of all kinds, strange and fantastic.

The ox-riding Hong Xixiang turned a deaf ear and didn’t actively explain anything. Only when encountering junior Daoists younger than himself who asked such questions would he smile and answer: “The Crown Prince is reading texts like Cloud Bookcase Seven Lots and Essential Meaning of Daoist Teachings. Very earnestly.”

If someone else said it, naturally no one would believe. But coming from the Patriarch Uncle’s mouth, people were half-believing, half-doubting.

Occasionally, Daoists of considerable seniority and qualifications would ask indignantly: “Patriarch Hong, why doesn’t that surnamed Xu do his proper Crown Prince duties instead of coming to Wudang Mountain to throw his weight around? Who’s he practicing blade for?!”

The young Patriarch Uncle would say with a chuckle: “Probably practicing blade for himself to see. The Crown Prince was born into great wealth and nobility—his hobbies will naturally differ from ordinary people. Eh, he is indeed somewhat eccentric.”

Inevitably someone would sneer: “He must be stealing ​unauthorized copy​our Wudang ultimate techniques to practice blade, then descend the mountain to commit evil!”

At such times the junior Patriarch Uncle would fall silent.

Today he let the ox go free, walking alone through mountain forests toward Hanging Immortal Coffin. He saw a Zhenma Dan autumn cicada unique to Wudang Mountain flash past before his eyes.

Without any apparent quickening of pace, Hong Xixiang walked a few steps like a drunkard and caught up to the autumn cicada, gently pinching it. He stopped it precisely before it crashed into a spider web.

The young Patriarch Uncle lowered his head and bent his waist to walk past the spider web, only then releasing his fingers to let the autumn cicada go free.

Actually, after this cicada molted from larva to adult, its lifespan was at most three months.

Yet Hong Xixiang still saved it, without any reason. He’d merely done a small thing that couldn’t be more natural.

This Patriarch Uncle who’d been on the mountain over twenty years had probably always done such small things. Everyone had always considered him the best candidate for comprehending the Heavenly Dao, yet he himself seemed never to know what the Heavenly Dao was, never exerted effort to ponder deeply. Eating, drinking, shitting, sleeping, herding oxen, reading books, appreciating scenery—plain and simple.

Hong Xixiang slowly walked to outside the thatched cottage, seeing the Crown Prince picking a cucumber from the vegetable garden and biting into it.

Hong Xixiang wanted to take advantage of the Crown Prince’s inattention to secretly pick a cucumber to taste, but Xu Fengnian used Embroidered Winter’s sheath to slap away his paw.

Having no choice but to squat on the side and watch, Hong Xixiang asked curiously: “Crown Prince, do you truly not miss the palace’s tender wine-flushed faces, clear singing voices, mountain and sea delicacies, and brocade bedding?”

Xu Fengnian smiled: “If you lived like that every day for over ten years, you’d be willing to give it up too.”

Hong Xixiang shook his head: “This humble Daoist couldn’t give up this mountain.”

Xu Fengnian said contemptuously: “You’re just cowardly. Two different things.”

Hong Xixiang pursed his lips—this was the young Patriarch Uncle’s greatest protest.

Xu Fengnian mocked: “I even dare come up the mountain to practice blade—don’t you dare descend the mountain? Are there hordes of demons and monsters down the mountain or evil spirits everywhere? Taking a step back, even if there truly were, isn’t that precisely when you Daoists are needed to slay demons and eliminate evil?”

Hong Xixiang still shook his head vigorously.

Xu Fengnian stopped wasting words, asking: “I’m going to the purple bamboo grove. Coming along?”

Hong Xixiang shook his head even more like a rattle drum, waving his hands: “Not going. Little martial brother Wang won’t even let me graze oxen there anymore.”

Xu Fengnian chewed his cucumber, lifting Embroidered Winter to leave the small vegetable plot, saying indistinctly: “What’s so remarkable about being number one under heaven? Not as good as being the one and only under heaven. Everyone competes for number one—fighting back and forth, there’s only one person. But the latter—everyone has hope of achieving the Dao. That’s the Heavenly Dao.”

Hong Xixiang squatted on the ground, hands supporting his cheeks, falling into contemplation. “I understand a bit. And don’t understand a bit.”

Walking away with his back to Hong Xixiang, Xu Fengnian snorted coldly: “Don’t steal any more cucumbers. I’ve counted them all. If I come back and discover one missing, I’ll beat you bloody in all three legs. Do you understand that or not?”

Hong Xixiang forced out a smile: “Very much understand!”