Resenting the Passing Waters

“How could a ghost ever match immortal talent?” The opera actor’s shrill aria still echoed in the air. Li Zhouwei merely stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his index finger resting upon his other wrist and tapping rhythmically, as though keeping time with the pipa below. Below, the middle-aged man narrowed his phoenix eyes slightly, a hint of a smile showing on his face. Still saying nothing, he brought the hand previously held behind his back to the front and untied the gourd at his waist with one hand. The gourd was petite and lovely, holding who knew what sort of wine or brew. Holding it in his hand, the middle-aged man took a sip. His other hand rested at his waist, his index finger resting upon the hilt of the central sword among the six small blades. This careless, uninhibited demeanor made him look remarkably like a petty official from a neighboring town who grew a plot or two of vegetables for himself and, having finished his duties and tilled his fields, had strolled over here at leisure to listen to an opera tune. Li Zhouwei, however, did not relax in the slightest. Within his golden pupils, five terrifying beams of colored light were gestating inside this person, like coiled dragons deep within the abyss, slumbering in the profound darkness of the Great Void, resting within his flawless Dharma body—consummate and reaching the utmost peak, unified and perfectly attuned. *A Great Real Person... a Great Real Person of the Hongxia Path! A great cultivator of consummate divine ability!* When Jiangnan cultivators congratulated one another on divine abilities, they often spoke of “Achieving the Five Arts.” Those of older and more exalted status would even say “When the Five Arts reach the pinnacle, one escapes the Great Calamity”—which referred to the very first step toward ascending to a fruit position: the realm of consummate divine ability that the person before him possessed! This was undoubtedly the foremost cultivation level beneath contemporary True Monarchs. In all the world, the Violet Palace cultivators who could attain this realm while still walking the mortal plane could be counted on one’s fingers. Even within the Taiyang lineage, only the “Two Zi” among the Three Yuan and Two Zi had attained it, and of those living today, only the rumored, trace-less Zimu was definitely known to possess consummate divine abilities... Outside the Taiyang lineage, there was also Jiang Boqing, though he belonged to eras unknown years past. As for the others, whether it was the earlier Chi Wei or the later Si Boxiu, they had only assembled the five great divine abilities near the end of their lives. As for the supplementary or substitute elements they had employed, how effective were they? Whether they could truly boast consummation was something only they themselves knew. A peak Violet Palace cultivator with consummate divine abilities and a long remaining lifespan, who had the leisure to wander the red dust—in all these years, the Li family had never encountered one. The man before him was the very first. And the last person to walk freely with consummate divine abilities was now one of the Three Shamans and Two Invocators, True Monarch Yuzhen Liujiu Hexu—a figure seated upon the divine altar! And which sect could possess the Hongxia nature? Mount Luoxia! *Becoming a ghost... could this be hinting at the Nether Office?... Setting aside whatever intentions the Nether Office harbors toward Li Qianyuan, how could they ever stand behind me? They only hope that more people will attempt to break through to True Monarch and leave behind golden natures for them!* He had originally been cultivating on the northern shore when he suddenly felt an unseen pull in the dark, as though guided by karmic mandate. On the other hand, the cooling sensation within Shengyang would not cease, giving him the sense that his life hung by a thread. He had no choice but to ride the wind and quietly follow the pull... Although he had known early on that the other party would come—even Real Person Tianhuo of the Jinyu Sect had secretly warned him, saying an honored guest was heading south and asking if he truly had to linger in this place—now that he saw him, what an immense figure he was! *Did he come specifically for me, or did he merely come south in passing to observe?* *What is the meaning of this unhurried pace? How many days has it been since I attained the Violet Palace! With the speed of divine abilities, it would have been enough for me to run several round trips to the Cape! If Luoxia truly wanted to keep me within the sea and have me break through right under their noses, why drag their feet like this?* *It is as if they were desperate for me to leave, but were only putting up a front. Seeing that I refused to leave, he only came by in passing. Yet if I had truly fled overseas, what consequences would there have been!* His expression darkened. His golden eyes stared intently ahead, thoughts shifting and rising within him without pause. *To dispatch anyone at random and have it be a Great Real Person of consummate divine abilities... just how many Real Persons and True Monarchs does Luoxia possess?* While Like Tower was exceedingly noisy, his thoughts and mind remained exceptionally calm. Beside him, however, Li Zhouluo was drenched in cold sweat. Li Zhouwei had arrived at this tower by divine ability without cause, and had secretly arranged for someone to escort the two away first; there was undeniably an anomaly. And for a Violet Palace master to personally move his exalted presence—could there be someone with divine abilities hidden within this place! He could only set down his chopsticks, exchange a glance with Li Jiangzong, and rise silently. The manager of Like Tower, who should have been attending nearby, had already vanished. Li Zhouluo secretly sighed with relief. Pretending to have business, the two headed down the stairs from the side. The table in the very center of the tavern had originally been the most prominent, every movement drawing notice. But at this moment, the actor was weeping so movingly that no one noticed that only two empty seats were left behind. Li Zhouwei raised his head slightly and listened as the actor above began pleading to Heaven, longing for Heaven to return his clansmen, singing: “Bones pile high, spring freezes the blood. Across the river, crimson tears drift like red ribbons, leaving me alone as a ghost... O father, O brothers! Where have the days of old gone? Leaving only my spirit cold... My body like withered wood, like water without a root; even tattered clothes cannot shield me. Whose desolate soul am I?...” The middle-aged man sighed silently as he listened. On stage, two more actors in splendid attire appeared, draped in white silk at their waists to symbolize soaring on clouds and mists. The spoken song from above rang out: “Inviting the Immortal Peak, seated upon the Golden Terrace, watching the rosy glow take leave of half the celestial scene. Snow-white candles and gorgeous spirit robes—is all well settled in the mortal dust? Resenting that one is not a floating cloud. Retainers follow the kylin-hoofed steed in the mountains, gazing up at elegance beneath the mystic window. O young scions! How did you come to be ghosts?!” Listening through this part, Li Zhouwei stopped tapping his wrist and said nothing. The people around him began cheering and shouting, every sentence touching upon matters of immortals and ghosts. Someone even sighed: “If there are immortals and one does not seek them, what point is there to living!” Amid the chatter, the old man who had previously played the demon-ghost took the stage once more, aggressively tempting with seductive words: “Erect jade-green palaces, pave jade towers, radiance reflecting the ghostly wind and blood upon the brow. Three palace halls, bright moon and rain; gathering the nature naturally forms a golden rainbow. If there is a Dao to becoming immortal, would it ever be left for you to obtain? I fear only—windblown branches play flutes in disarray, while dragon drool incense smolders of its own accord.” When an opera reached this point, it was inevitably the climax. Spectators from all sides craned their necks, gazing intently at the stage—on one hand worried that the lead actor would be led astray by the demon-ghost, and on the other terrified that the immortal gods would turn away in disappointment and abandon him. The lead actor immediately broke into weeping laments. Both sides sang back and forth, taking turns on stage. As the pitch of the melody rose higher and higher, the atmosphere in the hall was heightened to its utmost peak. Everyone set down their cups and laid down their chopsticks, neither moving nor speaking, gazing intently at the stage. Li Zhouwei’s expression gradually grew complicated. As he shifted his gaze toward the middle-aged man beneath the stage, the man was no longer engrossed; he turned his face slightly, revealing his dignified and upright countenance. And those phoenix eyes bridged the distance between them, gazing quietly over. From his originally brown pupils burst wisps of multicolored light, like a vast, surging vortex of rosy glow twisting within his eyes. At that moment, the distance between them felt as far as the edge of the sky, yet as close as right before his eyes. *A sword...* From the man’s pupils, Li Zhouwei sensed a sharp aura so piercing it stung his eyes. Though held back and unreleased, it felt as if it could soar into the distant heavens at any moment. This sharpness lurked within the rosy glow, like a swimming dragon surfacing on water, showing but a single scale and claw. Back then, the Li family had risen as a sword immortal clan; not only did the clan possess a sword canon that stabilized the family’s fortunes, but they also had several ancestors with formidable attainments in the sword dao. Naturally, Li Zhouwei was no stranger to swords. With just this single look, he sensed a profound strangeness. *It is not sword intent... it is another path distinct from sword intent. It is also a sword... but a sword of cultivation, a sword of spellcraft, a sword of divine ability.* Li Zhouwei knew that Li Xizhi possessed a spell-sword technique, the Five-Colored Deep Broad Sword Art, which was immensely renowned and likewise connected to rosy glow! *Perhaps it is when this sort of spell-sword art is cultivated to an exceedingly profound realm that the sword dao becomes hidden within the divine ability, so wherever the divine ability passes, the brilliance of the spell-sword shines forth!* And this expanse of rainbow sword qi gave rise from the bottom of his heart to an intense, life-threatening sense of danger, even causing him to reckon in an instant: *This sword is by no means inferior to ordinary sword intent, and its power is beyond measure... Mount Luoxia... I fear that neither Chi Wei nor Jiang Boqing would be his match. Even Duanmu Kui, who dominated an entire generation back then... was likely nothing more than this!* That vortex of rainbow sword qi seemed almost an illusion; it surfaced before his eyes for merely that instant before vanishing, revealing the other’s brown pupils once more. This Great Real Person of consummate Violet Palace divine abilities showed no abnormality, merely watching the pair of golden pupils hidden in the pavilion with a calm gaze. The cheers from all around surged like an ocean tide, yet the two seemed severed from this world and this stretch of time, forming a world of their own and locking everything within this fleeting moment of mutual gaze. Yet through it all, an aria rang out, melodious and lingering, lilting and sweet, echoing faintly by his ear: “A fair youth of Long Commandery, with robes and hairpins through successive courts; obtaining the Roc’s ocean, occupying the Phoenix Pond. Were it not for a single clan ruling the whole commandery... how could ten generations have perished? Immortals are not revered, gods are hard to worship; no need for demons or ghosts to exert their might. Without you! How could the descendants of a whole house be restored to life?” At that instant, Li Zhouwei slightly lowered his brows. The Huayang King Battle-axe at his waist gleamed a deep brownish-gold in the shadows. Within the tower, the cheers rose ever higher, like a mountain collapsing and an ocean surging. “Crossing Penglai from Pingjin as morning light first descends; a hundred and twenty layers of sword chains. The kylin grieves leaving its homeland—so long as the seat has a master, who cannot sit upon it! The aged father desires in his heart to strike down his son, yet alas, immortal gods suppress the Yellow Springs... Were it not for flying rosy clouds watching from the heavens, how many would survive in the commandery!” Li Zhouwei’s pupils dilated slightly. Resting both hands against the gallery railing, the expression in his eyes grew increasingly grave, causing that golden light to shine even brighter. He narrowed his eyes, still silent and motionless. *The aged father desires in his heart to strike down his son...* By his ear once again surfaced the airy voice and chilly words of Qing Yuqian: *Sons slaying fathers, fathers killing sons, fathers seizing sons’ beloveds, sons seizing fathers’ authority...* *When the son is strong and the father weak, how could he not seize his position?... Yet Mingyang detests inverted hierarchy, so how could the father not dread his son!* A glint of cold light flashed through Li Zhouwei’s eyes; in an instant, he seemed to understand many things. The middle-aged man before him, however, slowly shifted his gaze away, turning toward another side. His gaze was like a sharp sword parting the sea and cleaving waves, compelling one to follow it and ignore all the din and distractions around, coming to rest beside a small table farther toward the periphery. This small table was barely two feet square, counting as quite an inexpensive spot within Like Tower. A youth in white robes sat beside the table, holding a small cup in one hand and chopsticks in the other, staring intently at the small dish on his table in deep thought. Upon that dish lay two very thick slices of pickled radish, leaving him at a loss as to where to place his chopsticks. He turned them over and over with his chopsticks, seemingly studying the purpose of this object. As the middle-aged man looked over, the youth simply tossed down his chopsticks and raised his head, revealing a chilly and exquisite face, as soft as a woman’s. His black hair cascaded like a waterfall, and he was as serene as cold ice. His features were handsome, and his hands and feet were no different from an ordinary person’s. However, an extra ear grew upon each cheek—pointed and long, stretching along the jawline all the way behind his original ears. This immediately transformed his demeanor completely, rendering him aloof yet demonic and alluring. Though he made no movement, a ring of colored light faintly flickered behind his head, radiating in a circular shape, appearing and disappearing intermittently. It dispelled much of his eerie, monstrous aura, making him appear sacred instead. Compared to the other’s relaxed ease, his expression was aloof, even somewhat grave. Yet it was precisely as he lifted his head that all the noisy sounds vanished at once. The entire Like Tower fell dead silent. All around had turned into a tableau of living beings in all their forms—some craning their necks to shout, some shaking their heads in sighing, some whispering in secret, some evaluating loudly—yet all remained frozen in place like statues. Chopsticks lifting meat stopped in midair; pouring wine hung suspended like crystal; even specks of spittle were fixed in midair, frozen motionless. Yet the actors on the stage were entirely oblivious, performing with ever greater freedom and ease. The long-prepared golden flowers and colored ribbons fell in sheets from above, signifying divine blessings from the immortals and the retreat of demons and ghosts. The protagonist finally ascended to immortality, and the surrounding actors all bowed down. “Receiving the immortal seat, clad in divine light; sincerely receiving the favor of immortals. Yang mists, dragon banners and streamers, magnificent music flying on clouds and wind. Half an incense stick, striking the bell and kowtowing—the touch of immortality is truest of all!” A trace of amused exasperation appeared on the face of this Great Real Person of consummate divine abilities, as if marveling at the other’s overreaction. His interest in the actors on stage was still greater, and he was immediately distracted by the commotion, turning his head back toward the stage. Yet taking a look at the stage, he found with some regret that it was nearing its end. Giving a couple of soft praises, he hung the gourd back at his waist, patted the dust from his sleeves, brushing away the mundane air of mortal life along with it, and smiled gently toward Li Zhouwei. In the very next instant, that seat was completely empty. Where was there any sign of a person? Li Zhouwei immediately turned his gaze. The table in the corner was likewise empty; even the wine had been taken away, leaving only two slices of radish behind. “Splendid!” Someone’s shout of applause broke through the silence of the entire tower. In a flash, stillness within the whole tower turned into motion: suspended wine splashed down into cups, meat caught between chopsticks finally entered mouths, and an endless roar of clamor erupted once again! “Splendid!” The clinking of copper coins rang out as people from all sides began stepping onto the stage to present tips. After an unknown amount of time, the crowd escorted the actors out. The commotion gradually subsided, and the entire tower suddenly dimmed. Yet at the highest point, the man clad in scale armor still stood quietly in place. In the dimming light, only those golden pupils flickered in the darkness, striking a bone-chilling dread into onlookers. The entire tower suddenly fell quiet, so quiet that not a sound could be heard. A black-robed man came up the stairs, arriving tremblingly beside Li Zhouwei. He fell to his knees first, saying respectfully: “Real Person...” Li Zhouwei’s expression revealed nothing, but his pace of speech had slowed considerably as he said in a heavy voice: “What opera was this?” As soon as he spoke, Chen Yang buried his head even lower: “It was *Resenting the Passing Waters*...”