Pingyuan Commandery’s city was ringed by mountains on three sides and water on the fourth, its walls winding for tens of li.
It stood at the easternmost edge of Yunzhou Prefecture and held hundreds of thousands of households, bustling with life.
At the Chen hour, the city gate was crowded with carts and horses, and streams of people moved through.
Merchants driving large carts, herb gatherers with medicine baskets on their backs, jianghu folk with blades at their waists, and rogue Qi Refining cultivators of unknown origin—all manner of people, jumbled together, entered and left in an orderly fashion under the eyes of the city guards.
From Yuansong Temple down the mountain ran a broad bluestone road capable of allowing eight carriages to race side by side.
Vermilion buildings and green tiles lined both sides, shops stood in dense rows, and pill shops, artifact pavilions, and spirit-tea houses could all be found.
“Senior Brother Qin, do you know why the city of Pingyuan Commandery is called Luo City?”
Liu Xi and Yu Han looked at Qin Xuan. The previous day, the two of them had lingered on the second floor of the pavilion for a long while and found that this rather mysterious senior brother was actually easier to get along with than many of the older figures in the temple.
On the way down the mountain this morning, their conversation had ranged more freely.
“That name is rarely used nowadays. Did you find it in the Gazetteer of Yunzhou Prefecture on the first floor of the Scripture Pavilion?”
The two were somewhat curious. “Has Senior Brother read that book too?”
Looking at these two rather naive and endearing young newcomers, Qin Xuan, who had stayed secluded for a long time and was now stepping out to bask in the spring breeze, felt his interest in talking grow a little stronger.
With a trace of reminiscence, he answered:
“Within a year of joining the mountain, I had read through all the books on the first floor of the Scripture Pavilion.”
Liu Xi was puzzled.
“The books on the first floor of the Scripture Pavilion can mostly be borrowed without charge, but the profound jianghu secret arts, innate martial arts, and miscellaneous pharmacological texts collected there require temple contribution before one may read them. We have only just entered the mountain gate and are busy practicing guiding-breath methods and seeking qi sensation; how can we accumulate so much temple contribution?”
Yu Han, thinking that Senior Brother Qin had people above him, blurted what she was thinking. “Most likely the temple head made things convenient for Senior Brother.”
Qin Xuan explained calmly:
“The Transmission Elder of the Scripture Pavilion, Elder Shi, is obsessed with talismans and most dislikes mundane affairs. After I visited the Scripture Pavilion twice, I understood Elder Shi’s worries, so I volunteered to help organize the books there. Elder Shi then appointed me Return-Document Clerk, which eased the elder’s burden and let me peruse miscellaneous studies.”
“Can it really be done like that?!”
The two had their horizons broadened, and they asked Qin Xuan for advice as if he were a seasoned jianghu veteran.
“Senior Brother, can we imitate you?”
Qin Xuan said, “Temple Head Wu felt this move did not comply with the rules and has already patched the loophole in the Scripture Pavilion. So the temple head did not make things convenient at all—he shut that door of convenience for good.”
“Ah, what a pity!”
The two sighed, yet inwardly they admired him a little.
Seeing their expressions, Qin Xuan suddenly had the odd feeling of an old senior student who had blocked the road for junior students before they even set out.
He answered the earlier question with a smile.
“Although the Gazetteer of Yunzhou Prefecture mentions Luo City, it does not explain it. If you had read Waterways of the Great Yan Dynasty, you would know that the Lan River here was also called the Luo River.”
“The Lan River is its ancient name. The Luo River was renamed three thousand years ago by the Pingyuan King. With the edict of the Great Yan Dynasty as warrant, General Luo was enfeoffed as a vassal prince of this land.”
Liu Xi asked, “If there is such a past, why were the city and river both changed back to earlier names?”
“Because...”
Qin Xuan paused. “The Waterways records: The Pingyuan King incurred the enmity of a powerful foe, and his entire clan was annihilated. The Yan court was shocked, and therefore erased all traces of his existence.”
Though it was an affair from three thousand years ago, it had happened on the very land beneath their feet, and it was hard not to be moved.
They wanted to ask more, but Qin Xuan shook his head and said that was all he knew.
As the three talked, many people along the road cast their eyes toward them.
As the greatest power in the city, Yuansong Temple was not something even the Yingyang Prefecture—an imperial authority in the commandery with power to restrain the kings’ temples and the divine ways—dared to offend lightly, still less the other forces.
Qin Xuan wore a simple green robe and was not conspicuous himself, but Liu Xi and Yu Han were dressed in the cloud-patterned regular robes of Yuansong Temple and treated him as their leader.
Seeing this, others naturally made their own inferences.
They had not been off the mountain long and were heading toward the Geng residence when a large group came to meet them.
Liu Xi and Yu Han recognized the newcomers at once and whispered something; Qin Xuan knew the principal party had arrived.
The leader wore a scholar’s headwrap and a royal-blue silk robe. He had thick brows, large eyes, and a sparse goatee; when he smiled, two pouches of flesh puffed up on his face. Though dressed like a wealthy merchant, he gave the impression of having no guile at all.
Geng Zhi, head of the Geng family, led his people forward, smiled at Liu Xi and Yu Han, and fixed his gaze on the calm, peaceful, and extraordinarily handsome young man behind them.
From top to bottom, the hierarchy of Yuansong Temple was simple.
Apart from the temple head, deputy temple heads, and the elders, there were either ordinary disciples or core disciples.
Their cultivation might mostly be inferior to the elders’, but they were even less to be offended.
The elders might have reached their peak, but these core disciples had the chance to be admitted into the Upper Court and travel three thousand li away to Guanjiang Mountain for cultivation.
Not daring to be careless, he cupped his hands warmly toward Qin Xuan and laughed heartily.
“Hahaha, this time we actually managed to invite Immortal Master Qin down from the mountain. Our patriarch must truly have a face of solid gold.”
“If the petty thieves along the route from Pingyuan Commandery to Chuanlai Commandery learn that Immortal Master Qin is here, they will surely flee at the first sign of trouble and dare not raid the Geng family’s trade routes again.”
Behind him were a good twenty or so stalwart, fierce jianghu men, who at once cupped their hands with him, as if underworld figures were paying respects to a harbor boss. This let many commandery commoners see a fresh sight.
Qin Xuan had experienced much and was no greenhorn of the jianghu.
“Head Geng is too polite. The Qi Refining cultivators of our sect never meddle in the grudges and feuds of the jianghu, nor are we murderous demons or heretical evil paths. The bandits on the official roads may not be willing to show me any respect.”
This boundary-drawing remark did not bother Head Geng at all; it was as if he had not heard it.
He had more or less gotten a grasp of Qin Xuan’s temperament.
Qin Xuan also sensed that this man was not like a merchant, but more like a great jianghu overlord.
“Someone, bring the wine.”
A middle-aged blade-wielder in a cowhide leather coat stepped forward three paces and brought Geng Zhi a large sea-bowl of wine; Geng Zhi drained it in one gulp.
Then another exquisite jade cup was brought out and offered to Qin Xuan.
Head Geng had a ready speech.
“There is a saying: ‘Misty willows, Luo wine, half a curtain of breeze; amid the market’s clamor, the hues of spring.’ This wine was brewed from the first spirit spring of the spring season in Pingyuan Commandery. For three hundred years, my Geng family has ridden and traded far and wide, and we serve our spring wine only to honored guests.”
“This time, our family patriarch lost his way on Yunxiu Mountain, and we must rely greatly on Immortal Master.”
Qin Xuan looked at him intently, suspicion rising in his heart, and swept his gaze over the people, horses, and carriages behind him.
Apart from those jianghu men, the most conspicuous were the middle-aged blade-wielder in the leather coat, the gaunt man holding a compass, and a monk and a Daoist standing a little farther from Geng Zhi.
“I will do my utmost.”
Qin Xuan answered softly without touching the jade cup. He merely brought his fingers together into a sword-finger technique and pointed at the cup from a distance. The line of water in the cup seemed to gain a spirit of its own; in an instant it turned into a streak of flowing light, flew like a thread into his throat, and he swallowed it into his belly.
Head Geng was startled, then clapped and laughed in praise. “Truly the methods of an immortal.”
Yu Han and Liu Xi were puzzled. They had been cultivating in the temple for nearly two and a half years, had attended lectures by many scripture-hall elders, and knew all the spells of the sect.
Among the spells of Qi Refining’s Twelve-Storied Tower, there seemed to be none corresponding to Senior Brother Qin’s technique?
Not far away, the eyes of the monk and the Daoist narrowed, and they exchanged a look.
The wandering monk, wearing a grayish-white cassock with a brown kasaya draped over it, stopped fingering his agarwood prayer beads; he had read the lip movements of the Daoist beside him.
“It is the Immortal Gate Sword Art...”
The Immortal Gate Sword Art cannot be cultivated by one who lacks great perseverance and great spiritual wisdom...
Chapter 3