On the twenty-ninth day of the twelfth month, Zhou Wuji returned to Canglong Temple.
He had spent ten days roaming the Siming Mountains, slaying several Rank 8 beasts along with a scattering of unranked yinsouls and ferocious ghosts. With his current strength, such low-tier beasts and spirits offered meager benefits at best, serving as little more than a modest supplement.
Zhou Wuji knew that greater beasts lurked in the deepest reaches of the mountains, but his search radius was constrained. Even with the Six Yang Dharma Eyes cultivated to perfection, his vision extended only two to three li before tapering off. The Siming Mountains stretched for a thousand li, and their peculiar terrain congregated spiritual qi in pockets that could mask unusual auras even at close quarters. Zhou Wuji was unwilling to roam blindly; he stuck mainly to the grounds his master had previously explored. The vast wilderness harbored mysteries beyond measure, and who could say what manner of formidable beast might be concealed within? If luck failed him and he crossed paths with an entity of Rank 6 or above, it was anyone's guess who would hunt whom.
Wuzheng let out a sigh of relief upon seeing Zhou Wuji return unscathed.
He handed Zhou Wuji a letter. "From Junior Sister Wuming. It arrived a few days ago. A wooden chest of gifts came with it."
Seeing that the chest was finely crafted, Zhou Wuji thanked Wuzheng, took the chest, and carried it back to his quarters.
He broke the seal on the letter first. Only a few brief lines were brushed upon the paper:
*Presented for your perusal.*
*The seasons turn and the year slips by in the blink of an eye. Several months have already passed since our hurried parting. May Senior Brother's cultivation advance another tier in the coming year, attaining success at Rank 7.*
*I respectfully present these modest offerings to help welcome the new year. Spring is near at hand, and all things are made new.*
*With wishes for a joyous New Year and peaceful fortune in the season.*
*Bowing in greeting, Sister Mingxiu.*
Zhou Wuji knew Wuming's true name was Pei Mingxiu, a lovely name indeed.
Opening the chest, he found four sets of dark blue Daoist robes—two for winter and two for autumn. Inside were also four blue silk ribbons and a dozen pairs of cloud socks. There was no undergarment of any kind; Wuming was evidently thin-skinned and too shy to send anything worn against the skin. The fabric of the robes was exceptional: the winter garments were woven from a cotton-silk blend, crisp and thick, while the autumn robes were a cotton-linen weave, dense yet light and supple. They far surpassed the robes he had purchased for himself, looking twice or thrice as dear. A chest of garments like this was worth at least a hundred liang of silver—an outright luxury.
Zhou Wuji had not anticipated such thoughtfulness from Wuming, nor that she would send him a New Year's gift. Beside his pleasure, he felt a twinge of guilt. Since Wuming's departure, he had hardly spared her much thought, let alone considered sending a New Year's present. The holiday was right upon them; if he wrote back now, she would receive it by the first or second day of the new month.
As for a reciprocal gift, he decided to fire up the furnace and brew a batch of Qiongyu Paste. What woman did not care for beauty? None could resist a cosmetic remedy! In his spare time, he could also transcribe the musical notations for *Fireworks Cool Easily* and *Do Not Ask the Return Date*. For someone as skilled with the flute as Wuming, they would make wonderful gifts. Musical scores in this world used the gongche system, which was rather crude, but he could simply sketch the flute fingerings for complete clarity. With Wuming's sharp mind, she would understand them at once.
Zhou Wuji took up his brush to write the reply, but paused as he considered his brushwork. His handwriting was utterly ordinary; if Wuming saw it, it would tarnish his image of dashing brilliance and boundless talent.
After a moment's contemplation, he opened the Northern Emperor's Book of Heavenly Punishment, chose the lowest destiny pattern within, and converted it into primordial profound spirit. He had never made a serious study of calligraphy. He knew of the great masters like Wang, Yan, Ouyang, and Liu, but had never truly practiced their work. As a novice to calligraphy, the style that had left the deepest impression on him was not that of those luminaries, but the Slender Gold script.
The virtue of Slender Gold script lay in its striking, unmistakable character. The strokes stood tall like cranes, drawn with the bite of iron and the hook of silver, sharp enough to snap gold and cleave jade, endowed with innate vigor and an airy, transcendent grace. In the history of calligraphy, it possessed a unique bearing all its own.
With a shift of Zhou Wuji's thoughts, purple light turned, and he spent days and nights practicing the Slender Gold script within the small world. When he opened his eyes once more, his mastery of the style had reached grand attainment.
For Zhou Wuji, wielding a brush was like wielding a sword—an effortless pursuit. With his sword intent already refined and an established style to emulate, a decade or two of simulated practice lent his Slender Gold script its own distinctive air and spirit.
Zhou Wuji smoothed out a sheet of paper, ground the ink, and set his brush to work on a brief letter. He first conveyed his warm greetings to Wuming and wished her a happy New Year, then extended his regards to her father, Yizhen. Finally, Zhou Wuji inscribed a poem:
*Deep winter lingers, reluctant to depart,*
*Alone I sit, refilling cups to see the old year out.*
*A night of bitter chill ebbs with the dripping water clock,*
*A full measure of spring breaks through the dawn.*
He avoided writing a love poem. There was no telling into whose hands this letter might fall, and tender ambiguity served no purpose. A brief verse brimming with delicate, sincere emotion and the vibrant surge of spring was more than enough. Such an aesthetic was precisely what Wuming would favor most.
Zhou Wuji sealed the letter and had Shangxin deliver it to the Wanfeng Firm, asking the Li family to forward it to the Lower Branch. Siming County had official postal stations that could carry private letters for a fee, but they were sluggish and unreliable. Entrusting it to the Wanfeng Firm was far safer.
Zhou Wuji also instructed Shangxin to purchase several medicinal ingredients, intending to use them for refining Qiongyu Paste. While red blossom honey was an exquisite gift in its own right, refining the elixir himself conveyed far more heartfelt regard. His alchemical skill had achieved a respectable foundation, making this the perfect occasion to keep his hands sharp.
Wuzheng was thoroughly supportive of the idea and assisted Zhou Wuji in firing up the furnace in the rear courtyard.
When midday arrived, Wuzheng led Zhou Wuji and the other Daoists in holding the sacrificial ritual to the gods, presenting offerings of the five grains, fresh flowers, and fruit. Setting off firecrackers to ward off evil was an established Daoist custom as well. Following the rite, the company gathered in the central courtyard to light the firecrackers. As temple master, Wuzheng distributed New Year gift money to the priests and laborers alike. Beaming smiles lit up every face, and the celebratory atmosphere of the New Year blossomed in an instant.
***
Meanwhile, Jin Chuan and several agents huddled inside a mountain cave, drinking to stay warm.
Outside, the night was pitch-black and the icy wind wailed. Though a fire blazed within, it did little to stave off the biting drafts whistling into the cavern. The men were chilled to the bone, unable to sustain their body heat no matter how much liquor they swallowed.
One of the agents grumbled bitterly, "Stationed in this forsaken hole on New Year's Eve—what rotten bloody luck!"
Jin Chuan shot him a cold glance but said nothing. The Ironclad Guard was accustomed to acting with arrogant impunity and rarely had to endure hardship. Spending the New Year stuck in the mountains digging pits alongside a bunch of bumpkins was miserable indeed; he could not be bothered to take offense.
Chilled to the marrow by Jin Chuan's stare, the agent realized he had spoken out of turn. He quickly offered an ingratiating bow and a forced smile. "I've had too much to drink and let my tongue slip—don't take it to heart, Master Jin! It's the New Year, so let me wish you good fortune, great luck, quick promotion, and boundless wealth!"
Before Jin Chuan could answer, a thunderous crash erupted from the depths of the cave. The stone walls rattled, showering down loose rock, and the ground trembled like the rippling surface of water.
The men were gripped by terror. If the cavern collapsed, not one of them would walk out alive.
Fortunately, the violent tremors subsided quickly. Jin Chuan feared disaster as well, but curiosity got the better of him. The torches planted in the deeper reaches had been snuffed out, leaving the passage shrouded in blackness where nothing could be discerned.
The agents wore alarmed expressions, exchanging uneasy glances. One muttered under his breath, "Master Jin... maybe we should pull back first..."
Before the words had finished leaving his mouth, agonized screams and frantic cries for help echoed from within.
Jin Chuan waited a brief moment. Sensing no immediate danger, he ordered several agents to light their torches and venture inside.
Upon reaching the interior, they discovered that the excavated pit had caved in. Several men who had been working outside the pit had been pinned beneath the collapsed rocks. Two were already dead, while the last had suffered a crushed leg, retaining just enough breath to scream for help.
Jin Chuan noticed that one of the corpses was clutching a bronze figurine roughly a chi in length. The figurine's contours were peculiar, and for a fleeting instant, Jin Chuan fancied that the bronze figure was smiling directly at him. Startled, he looked closer, only to see the grotesque grin carved onto its face.
For reasons he could not explain, Jin Chuan felt certain this bronze figurine was extraordinary—a treasure of rare value that must never be discovered by another soul.
Remaining composed, Jin Chuan crouched down as if to inspect the bodies, took the bronze figurine, glanced at it, and slipped it casually into his breast coat.
He rose and told the agents, "Search thoroughly. Don't overlook anything good."
One agent asked, "What about this one?"
Jin Chuan's expression darkened. "Do you really need to ask about something so simple? Clean it up properly. Leave no survivors!"
Chapter 65