Chapter Twelve
In the year 1020, the proud mortal Chen Shimin succumbed to despair under the weight of intense longing. He divided the pinnacle of sword intent into two levels: the sword surpasses the absence of sword, and the heart surpasses the absence of heart. From that time forth, for a century, the martial world echoed a saying: those who cultivate the Way value emotion and loyalty, while those who cultivate the sword are cold-hearted and desireless.
After the passing of Chen Shimin and Master Wu Qianjun, no one claimed the title of the world’s greatest in the martial realm for a hundred years. That was until Baiyun Peak produced two prodigies: San Qiu Dao and Guo Tianhua. The martial world then plunged into turmoil, with countless warriors fighting and killing for the title of supreme. They disregarded the livelihood of the people and ignored the affairs of the state; this period came to be known as the “Era of Martial Ambition.” It was said that countless martial arts techniques and numerous third-rate sects emerged during these years, yet only five names stood out from the rivers and lakes: Deng Qiuxiu of the Deng Family Sect, Yang Feng of the State of Lu, San Qiu Dao Guo Tianhua of Baiyun Peak, and Qu Yuansong of the Nanyang Sect. Their strengths were evenly matched, earning them the title “The Five Pillars of the Martial World.” The century-long strife only ceased when the nation was struck by its worst drought in a hundred years, forcing these five to abandon their rivalry.
Twenty years ago, after Song Lianxiang’s death, the feared “Twin Fiends” couple vanished from the martial world. Yet San Qiu Dao, leveraging his influence, became a bandit leader beneath Jiuling Peak with a vast following. In that region, young people, unable to grow crops due to famine, found that becoming bandits ensured they would not starve. Several government campaigns to suppress bandits failed, and no righteous warriors rose to the occasion. Ultimately, the common people suffered the most.
At the Fortress of Fushou Mountain—
San Qingfeng led Mu Xiangming to a bamboo forest where towering stalks flourished despite the harsh drought, resembling a winter-born, spring-living paradise. Such a bamboo grove in a year of drought was nothing short of a fairyland.
Nearby, the soft, sentimental strains of a qin floated through the air, tinged with sorrow—as if the music embodied the beauty of the bamboo forest yet could not forget the suffering beyond.
Mu Xiangming was deeply immersed in the melody, feeling as if it were composed just for her.
Seeing her fondness, San Qingfeng said, “This piece was created by Master Wu Qianjun and Jiang Ling’er after their countries separated. It was originally filled with deep sadness and longing, but five years later, upon their reunion, Wu Qianjun revised it to blend romance and gentleness, though a trace of sorrow remains.” Mu Xiangming said nothing and kept walking. San Qingfeng smiled to himself.
Following the music, they came upon a woman in white, her face veiled, ethereal as a celestial being. She knelt among the bamboo, her wooden qin resting on her lap as she played.
As they approached, the woman remained absorbed in her music. Mu Xiangming, no longer moved by the tune, turned to San Qingfeng and asked, “Where is my teacher?”
San Qingfeng smiled and said, “Why don’t you look up?”
Mu Xiangming raised her eyes and saw an elderly man standing on one foot atop the bamboo canopy. Clad in a brown cloak, with thick brows, flowing hair, and a goatee, he smiled warmly down at her.
Feeling uneasy, Mu Xiangming quickly drew silver needles, ready to strike.
The old man laughed uproariously, his laughter infused with terrifying inner energy, like a thousand horses charging, shaking the surroundings and sending countless bamboo leaves fluttering to the ground. Even the strings of the wooden qin snapped.
“Since I became the bandit king, no one has dared to attack me first!” he declared.
Mu Xiangming had never encountered such overwhelming power, as if pressed under a tidal wave weighing thousands of pounds. Her expression turned grave. This was none other than San Qiu Dao, one of the Five Pillars.
“Bandit! Where is my teacher?” she demanded.
“If you want to save your teacher, why attack me so fiercely?” he replied.
“Did you summon me here to have me purge the poison in your teacher?” she asked.
San Qiu Dao placed his hands behind his back and leapt, flying southward. “If you want to save your teacher, follow me!”
Without hesitation, Mu Xiangming sprang up and pursued him. Their lightness skills were evenly matched, but San Qingfeng’s were not swift enough to keep up.
---
Within the Wuling Immortal Cave—
Lin He’s eyes burned with determination. Recalling the techniques his grandmother taught, he moved his sword slowly yet powerfully, balancing strength with stability. In less than an hour, he had perfected a form that surpassed ordinary understanding.
Suddenly, Lin He stopped, repeatedly practicing the form but sensing something amiss. He asked his grandmother, “There’s a move in the Moon Red Immortal Sword technique that feels weak.”
The elderly woman, already observing his sword method closely, grew intrigued. “Which move do you think is weak?”
Lin He demonstrated: “The ‘Dragonfly Skimming Water’ form is excellent, effective both near and far. But if the order of the ‘upward strike’ and ‘sword stand’ were reversed, I believe it would be much faster.”
The grandmother scoffed, “That move is the essence of the first twenty forms. What nonsense are you talking about?”
Lin He nodded, “Indeed, it’s excellent. The revised sequence isn’t for offense or defense, but it flows more naturally.”
The grandmother took his sword, mimicked the original form, then switched the order as Lin He suggested. The new form was undeniably swifter and more versatile. She was astonished and double-checked the difference.
Lin He explained, “The upward strike connects to the sword stand, but the left chop isn’t as fast as the sword stand. Switching them makes the movement smoother.”
The old woman looked at Lin He, deeply impressed. If this young man had appeared forty years earlier, their names might still be renowned today. Unless fate was cruel, he was destined to become a new pinnacle of the martial world.
She tossed the sword back to him and said, “Your idea isn’t wrong. With your innate ‘Desire Sound of Nine Heavens,’ you won’t need much time to train before your skill leaps dramatically.” Lin He caught the sword, and the grandmother continued, “Once you master four sword techniques, I will teach you another skill. But tell me, can you stay here long enough?”
Lin He pondered the sword in his hand. “Enemies pursue me. Without martial skill, I cannot protect myself, let alone those dear to me. How can I hope to find my mother and father otherwise?”
He bowed deeply. “Grandmother, your great kindness will remain in my heart forever. When I find my parents, I will repay your grace.”
Suddenly, the grandmother laughed—a bitter, sorrowful sound that puzzled Lin He. Her gaze darkened as she looked toward the cave’s mouth, saying calmly, “I have stayed in this valley twenty years... almost forgot there’s a world above.” Then she slowly walked out of the cave.
Watching her retreating figure, Lin He sensed a story too painful to speak. He was certain she was no ordinary person.
She left him with one warning: “If anyone asks about me, never reveal a single detail.” Her stooped form vanished into the cave, leaving Lin He alone.
---
At the Fortress of Fushou Mountain—
Night approached. The winter moon shone brightly as children drifted into dreams beneath dim lights. Elders would urge them, “Sleep quickly, sleep quickly; the winter wolves will carry you away. Sleep fast, sleep fast, so you may feast in your dreams.”
Mu Xiangming followed San Qiu Dao to the mountain fortress. It was vast, built entirely of earth and stone. Unlike the outside world, there were no elderly or children, only strong, vigorous bandits. The horses were well-fed on grass, just like the poor commoners outside. The bandits drank, ate meat, and sang loudly. Mu Xiangming was puzzled—why did suffering not punish these evildoers, but instead afflict the weak common folk?
San Qiu Dao led her to a large earthen building, three stories tall, surrounded by watchtowers manned by bandits. They climbed to the second floor, turned a corner, and stopped before a door guarded by two bandits dressed like soldiers, armed and armored.
San Qiu Dao signaled for the door to be opened. Inside, an old man lay on the bed—his face darkened, lips purple, lifeless—none other than Tao Zhiming.
At the moment the door opened, Mu Xiangming’s nose twitched, her mind blank as if struck by lightning. She could never have imagined such a kind face reduced to this. Blurred vision filled with tears, she wiped them away and ran inside, collapsing on the bed. Her throat quivered as she whispered, “Teacher... teacher...” Reaching into the covers, she found his hand icy cold. Touching his darkened face, she choked out, “...Teacher... Xiangming is here... please open your eyes...” But the cold stillness showed no sign of life. Tears streamed down her face onto the blanket. Despite six years of change, her starry eyes still evoked deep sorrow.
Seeing this, San Qiu Dao spoke, voice low with grief, “My brother’s poison is from the Poison Matron’s withered corpse. I sought the best medicine in Jiulong City, but it can only extend his life by a month at most. Sigh...”
Mu Xiangming steadied her emotions and asked, “Where is the antidote?”
San Qiu Dao confessed, “The poison came from the Poison Matron’s hand. Only she holds the antidote.”
Mu Xiangming had heard from relatives that the Poison Matron was a madwoman, notorious for her deadly poisons. Twenty years ago, San Qiu Dao’s wife lost her newborn child to her, suffering a devastating blow that drove her into madness and violence—she killed on sight and was nearly impossible to approach.
Mu Xiangming shook her head, disappointment shadowing her face. “I can’t defeat her... How can I get the antidote...?”
San Qiu Dao stepped close. “Girl, I didn’t bring you here to get the antidote. Though her poison is fierce, her skill can’t match mine. If you teach me the Desire Sound of Nine Heavens, I won’t fear her poison, and then I can get the antidote.”
Mu Xiangming looked at him. His face was cunning, but her resolve to save her teacher made her trust him immediately.
“You can defeat her with the Desire Sound of Nine Heavens...?” San Qiu Dao snapped as if provoked, pointing outside, cursing loudly, “If I hadn’t been poisoned by her back then, would she still be alive today?”
Mu Xiangming only nodded slightly, then gazed at her teacher and shook her head.
“No... there’s not enough time.”
“What time isn’t enough?”
“The Desire Sound of Nine Heavens is best learned from childhood. The older one is, the longer it takes. Teaching it now will take at least half a year, and the teacher can’t wait that long.” Suddenly, San Qingfeng burst through the door!
“Then teach me!” he said. He had been eavesdropping on their conversation.
Mu Xiangming shook her head. “Teaching you is just as difficult...”
San Qiu Dao narrowed his eyes, threatening, “Are you lying? Are you trying to trick me?”
Mu Xiangming lowered her voice. “If it were about saving the teacher, why would I lie? I can try to help purge the poison...”
Failing to achieve his goal, San Qiu Dao paced bitterly in the room.
“Fine! Fine! I’ll give you twenty-five days. If it doesn’t work, you come with me to Baiyun Peak for the antidote!”
San Qingfeng’s eyes widened. His right hand secretly gathered power, ready to strike down Yang Feng. Just as he moved, an inner force stopped him. Fortunately, Mu Xiangming did not notice, but his father did.
San Qiu Dao’s face turned serious. “Qingfeng, come with me.”
The two men left the room.
San Qiu Dao’s expression darkened. “Qingfeng, what was that strike just now?”
After a moment’s thought, San Qingfeng replied, “With her weak skills, she can’t save him. Prince Zhong Er ordered her death. Why keep such a plague at home?”
San Qiu Dao frowned. “When we caught her, you didn’t feel that way.”
San Qingfeng said, “If Father has other plans, I promise not to harm her.”
San Qiu Dao laughed darkly. “Qingfeng, do you really not understand? I insist on keeping her not just to save Tao Zhiming, but because she has the Desire Sound of Nine Heavens!”
“So Father means...?”
San Qiu Dao grinned evilly, “First stabilize my friend’s poison, then bring her to Baiyun Peak. Thirty days from now is the Baiyun Peak’s Newcomer Martial Competition; she will be useful then!”
---
After winter passed—
On a rainy night in early spring, children did not sleep, nor did the farmers, while officials rested soundly. The streets and fields were filled with people of all ages, shouting and laughing loudly, releasing pent-up emotions. At that moment, the farmers truly felt like masters of the country, daring to express their feelings and grievances. Perhaps they lacked a leader, but who cared? They only knew the wheat would grow tall this year; children could play freely after meals without fear of hunger. Maybe they wouldn’t sleep tonight, and another seven children would be born this year—that was enough.
A martial artist sipping tea said, “This morning, many were killed on the town’s streets, in the city streets!”
An official asked, “Who did the killing?”
“The farmers,” replied the martial artist, taking a sip.
The official was puzzled, “Farmers dare to fight whom?”
The martial artist smiled bitterly, “They fought other farmers!”
The official was surprised, “That’s unusual.”
The martial artist said, “Yes, everyone was scrambling to buy grain seed to plant. Those who lost the fight were beaten.”
The official laughed, “Were there many?”
The martial artist nodded, “Many! These years, even we began receiving government rations, let alone them!” He stood to leave.
The official stopped him, “Hey! Sit and talk more!”
The martial artist shook his head, “No, in five days is the Baiyun Peak Newcomer Martial Competition. I must hurry there!”
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