“This humble monk is Jinghui, and I pay my respects to Benefactor Qin.”
The wandering monk shook out his kasaya and, striking a friendly pose, greeted him first.
Qin Xuan’s gaze slid across his long face, and he answered with considerable goodwill:
“You look very familiar, Master—as though we have met before. Of all the places in this commandery, the one that left the deepest impression on me is Liangfeng Temple. Could it be that you cultivate at that precious monastery?”
Beside the wandering monk, the middle-aged Daoist with the short black-sheathed blade on his back betrayed a flicker of wariness. Hearing this, he mentally pinned a label on Qin Xuan: a smiling tiger.
Jinghui was no dullard either, and he heard the barb beneath the words.
He smiled sheepishly:
“This humble monk’s roots of wisdom are shallow; I could never enter such a precious monastery. My master is Master Zhiguang of Xiling Mountain, who cultivates the Third-Grade Pure Mind Chan. We count as a native Chan temple of the Eastern Ascendant Continent—we have not the slightest karmic tie to the Five Rafts and Eight Chans with which the Western Religion is famed throughout the Western Ox Continent.”
Geng Zhi watched from the side. He had invited this monk, and the man was usually haughty to the extreme; seeing him taken down a peg now rather pleased him.
The Dao Sect’s ancestral land was in Zhongzhou, but the Eastern Ascendant Continent was now the second most flourishing ground of incense.
That incense was one link in the suppression of the great religion’s fortune. It could gather vast tides of human vitality and confer titles upon mountains, rivers, and great marshes, so the supreme orthodox lineages naturally prized it.
The Western Religion moved east year after year, crossing Shuzhou from the Western Ox Continent, single-mindedly bent on seizing the Eastern Ascendant Continent’s incense—yet it had never been able to shake the Dao Sect’s foundations.
Still, they were thick-skinned enough; having taken a loss, they refused to withdraw.
Liangfeng Temple, so it was said, was a single leaf that had drifted down from that great tree of the Western Religion.
How could Jinghui, standing before a core disciple of Yuansong Temple, be willing to stir up such trouble?
His will to survive was strong, so he simply laid out his entire lineage.
His face was all smiles, while inwardly he cursed Qin Xuan roundly: You vicious little wretch! The moment you arrive you say my face is familiar, then you turn right around and pin a label on this monk!
Qin Xuan was somewhat wary of wandering monks and rogue Daoists. Once he knew the man’s origins, he grew much milder and said with a smile, “So you are a venerable monk of the eastern lands. Forgive my discourtesy.”
“Not at all, not at all,” Jinghui said, waving it off again and again.
The middle-aged Daoist beside him guessed Qin Xuan’s intent, and fearing to have the label “demon Daoist” pinned on himself, he stepped forward to greet him:
“Fellow Daoist Qin, this poor Daoist is Jinyanshu, a rogue cultivator of Linpu City. I once had the good fortune to read a volume of Daoist Fangyuan’s notes and practiced his ‘Bone-Changing Golden Fluid Method.’ I set up a tablet to him on my own and have made offerings for twenty-eight years.”
Such histories were common among rogue cultivators, but to reveal it so openly meant he clearly had another purpose.
He was probing, and Qin Xuan was quick to respond: “What a coincidence—Fellow Daoist Jin shares the same source as my own lineage.”
Qin Xuan had never heard of Daoist Fangyuan, but according to the records in the Scripture Pavilion, the “Bone-Changing Golden Fluid Method” was a teaching of Guanjiang Mountain of the Upper Court.
Jinyanshu dared to declare his own lineage, which showed his connection was genuine.
By the look of him, he wanted to find someone to carry a word for him, so as to seek a chance to return to Guanjiang Mountain. Qin Xuan did not know the details and was even less willing to invite trouble, so he touched on the matter and stopped there.
Seeing Qin Xuan’s attitude, Jinyanshu understood him.
But he pressed with one more question: “Is Fellow Daoist Qin of Perfected Xuannian’s lineage?”
The founder of Guanjiang Mountain had six great disciples. Yuansong Temple’s tradition came from the fourth disciple, Perfected Xuangling, and had originally no connection with the second senior brother, Perfected Xuannian.
But…
Li Yanshen, who had brought him into Yuansong Temple, was connected to Perfected Xuannian’s lineage.
In that case, I too can count as distantly related.
At this thought, Qin Xuan kept his face stern and unsmiling, merely giving Jinyanshu a slight nod and leaving all the rest for him to work out on his own.
Behind him, Liu Xi and Yu Han were startled and doubtful. Their senior brother had such a background?!
Seeing this, Jinyanshu thought: just as I suspected.
Nowhere in all of Pingyuan Commandery was there a famed master of the sword. The most famous sword immortal of Guanjiang Mountain in the Upper Court must be Perfected Xuannian: he had a Crimson Fire Flying Sword and had slain several great cultivators of the demon sects, and he was somewhat renowned throughout the whole Dao Sect.
Without an elder master’s transmission, cultivating the sword art alone was all but impossible.
For an ordinary Qi Refining cultivator, one immortal flying sword would not yield so much as a sword embryo after a full sexagenary cycle of nurturing, let alone gathering the Heavenly Stars and Earthly Fiends to temper it. That was sheer delusion.
Jinyanshu had read Daoist Fangyuan’s notes and had uncommon discernment, so he knew Qin Xuan was using a sword art.
Thus he concluded that Qin Xuan was connected to Perfected Xuannian—never imagining that when Qin Xuan practiced his sword art, he had considered none of this at all.
The monk and the Daoist had come at Geng Zhi’s invitation. Now that they had met Qin Xuan face to face, the strong snake bowed to the local dragon; for the time being they took him as their lead and withdrew to one side.
The Geng family head saw clearly how things stood and rated Qin Xuan a few notches higher.
He grew all the more enthusiastic and introduced Qin Xuan to the others.
First was the leader of that band of jianghu strongmen—the saber wielder in a cowhide jacket beside Geng Zhi, known as Old Huang, whose blade work was formidable.
Jianghu martial artists were not to be underestimated. Once they opened every meridian in their bodies, they could enter the Innate stage through martial arts, the equal of a Qi Refining cultivator completing the Twelve-Storied Tower.
There had once been martial artists who killed cultivators at or above the Foundation Building stage.
In a life-or-death struggle, one careless misstep and the lower overcoming the higher was extremely common.
Old Huang was very deferential and exchanged a salute with Qin Xuan.
The thin man holding a compass also came to pay his respects at Geng Zhi’s prompting. His name was Wu Xuanshu, a Geng family retainer skilled in the art of dragon-seeking and acupoint-locating. Judging by his clothes, ornaments, and tools, he was most likely tied in with the tomb robbers of the Faqiu Sect.
Last came two sturdy fellows. Before Geng Zhi could open his mouth, Qin Xuan smiled and said, “There’s no need to introduce these two Brothers Zhu.”
“Young Master Qin.”
Zhu Ping and Zhu Gui came up grinning and clasped their fists together.
They were retainers of Lianyun Manor in Pingyuan Commandery, handling the commandery’s trade in medicinal herbs. The master of Lianyun was the mountain boss for several nearby mountain lords, and Qin Xuan had dealt with them before, so their faces were naturally familiar.
“The Geng family head has prepared most thoroughly. With these two along, Yunxiu Mountain will be no different from our own halls.”
“Hahaha, Young Master Qin flatters us. We only know the outer slopes; we wouldn’t dare push deep into the mountains.”
Meeting acquaintances, naturally they chatted a while longer.
Watching the Geng family head’s crew of professionals, Liu Xi and Yu Han relaxed further still, thinking this errand ought to be finished quickly.
Unexpectedly, they heard Qin Xuan’s voice transmission:
“Once we enter the mountains, do not stray from my sight.”
The two were startled, but clever enough: they exchanged a glance without changing expression, confirming it was no hallucination.
Voice Transmission was one of Yuansong Temple’s Twelve-Storied Tower spells; that Senior Brother Qin had mastered it was no surprise at all.
It was only that their relaxed hearts drew taut all at once, and they swept their surroundings with some vigilance.
The saber wielder Old Huang was wiping his heavy-backed blade; Wu Xuanshu was wiping the bronze mirror on his compass; the wandering monk Jinghui was wiping the prayer beads in his hand; Jinyanshu wiped his own eyes; and Liu Xi and Yu Han, in concert, wiped the fine sweat from their foreheads.
Everything that had been calm seemed to change its whole complexion after a single sentence from Qin Xuan.
Yet Qin Xuan, as though nothing were amiss, went on chatting and laughing up front with Geng Zhi and the two Zhus.
The great company of riders and carts began to turn and set off toward Yunxiu Mountain.
Liu Xi and Yu Han edged a few steps closer to their senior brother, and only then felt steadier.
And Qin Xuan’s conversation with Geng Zhi came clearly to their ears.
“Brother Geng, that wine just now was fragrant on the nose and left an endless aftertaste—the match of a mountain spirit brew. What was it called again?”
The Geng family head said warmly:
“That is Luo wine. If Young Master Qin likes it, once this business is done, I will have several cartloads sent up to the temple.”
Qin Xuan did not decline. With a meaningful smile he said, “Good. Many thanks…”
…
Chapter 4