Master Li did not know what approach would convince these white-robed women that he was their founding patriarch.

So he decided to speak a name. After roughly a quarter of an incense stick’s worth of time, the owners of these swords would utterly believe him, and then prepare him some food.

“Xi Baiyun.”

He said it.

Every one of the white-robed women did indeed freeze. They looked at one another, uncertain how to respond, feeling all of this was incredibly hard to believe — as though they were dreaming — that they had truly lived to see this day arrive.

Master Li had not been entirely confident before, but now he knew the name had done its work. The expressions on the women’s faces told him they understood who he was.

“Did she leave final words?”

Master Li asked.

“Founding Patriarch.”

The company of white-robed women bowed as one.

Half an hour later. In a pavilion somewhere on the mountain. Master Li stood before a painted portrait and examined it with great care. So much time had passed, and even her face had grown indistinct in his memory — he felt he was genuinely something of a scoundrel.

“I owe you an apology.”

Master Li murmured to himself. “Between us, everything was fine in every other respect. Only our ambitions differed. Your aspirations ran too high — you wanted great things. Even if you weren’t going to contend for the realm itself, you wanted to be foremost under heaven in the jianghu. I did not.”

He sighed. “I only wanted to lie low and keep my head down.”

The room held only himself. His gaze drifted as he spoke. This place had little connection to the memories he carried — when he had first come here there were only a few thatched cottages, and now there was a complex of pavilions and halls.

“You don’t know how important it is, for someone like me, to lie low.”

Master Li shifted slightly on the offering table and sat down on it, reaching out to take a piece of pastry. These were offerings, but a man of his nature had no taboos about such things.

“If I had truly followed your advice and gone to contend for something, there would probably have been someone destined by heaven to come and deal with me. I told you this at the time. You didn’t believe it — said I had gone mad.”

Master Li sighed. “There was a man surnamed Wang who went and did everything you wanted to do, and then a man surnamed Liu came along and put an end to him. Meteors raining from the sky — would you believe it?”

Just then, a white-robed woman’s voice came from outside, bowing as she spoke: “Founding Patriarch, the hot water is ready.”

Master Li gave a sound of acknowledgment and turned to ask: “What were the final words your founding matriarch left behind?”

The woman glanced at Master Li, then lowered her eyes quickly. Her gaze held a trace of wariness — because the person before her was an ancient monster.

“The founding matriarch’s final words were… she said you would eventually return. That when you returned it would probably be in some absurd fashion, and that no matter what way you came back, we should not be surprised. We simply had not imagined, founding patriarch, that you would arrive riding a boar… She also said that when you returned, perhaps your appearance would not have changed at all.”

Hearing this, Master Li let out a long sigh.

“I will wash and eat and then be on my way.”

Master Li jumped down from the offering table and walked toward the door, speaking as he went. “This mountain has clear skies and pure water — a fine place for seclusion. If it weren’t for your founding matriarch pressing me all those years ago… well, let’s not speak of the past. I’ll be going to the back mountain to keep pigs. Don’t come looking for me unless you have to — and if you do have to, don’t come in person either. Use a signal, and I’ll come. Out of consideration for the fact that you are all her heirs, I will sell you pork at a discount.”

“…”

He stepped out the door and found the current sect master of the Cloud Hidden Mountain standing in the courtyard at the head of several hundred female disciples, all waiting for him. When he emerged, the sect master bowed deeply, and every woman present followed.

“We pay our respects to the Founding Patriarch.”

Master Li gave a startled jump. Moments like this never failed to remind him just how deeply inconsistent his very existence was with the natural order.

“None of that, please. You don’t need to respect me — I haven’t actually taught any of you anything.”

The sect master bowed. “And yet every cultivation method on the Cloud Hidden Mountain was left behind by you, Founding Patriarch.”

Master Li said, “I gave those to her. She passed them down — they belong to her.”

The sect master asked earnestly: “Will you stay, Founding Patriarch? We have need of you.”

Master Li considered this, decided that this many women would be extremely tiresome, and shook his head without hesitation. “No, no, no. I won’t be staying. How about this — if you are ever at loose ends, I can teach you a few things. We’ll talk after I’ve had my bath.”

Another half hour later. Master Li sat cross-legged on a raised platform while below him several hundred disciples looked up with eyes full of veneration. Every wondrous method of the Cloud Hidden Mountain had been left behind by the figure before them — was that not extraordinary?

And now here he was again, about to teach them something new. What would it be this time? Every face shone with anticipation.

“You practice your cultivation arts all day without variety — your lives are dull and your days are without pleasure. I will now teach you several things you can use for amusement. Do you know how to play mahjong? Some do and some don’t — what about a blood-river variant? Have any of you played that?”

The assembly stared blankly.

“Winning points from cards, throwing down the landlord, climbing the ranks, pulling the cart…”

Master Li said, “Once you learn these, your days will be far less monotonous. I am teaching you these things so you will have no reason to come bother me behind the mountain. Remember this well.”

Down in the valley, a herd of wild boars ambled about cropping the grass, occasionally lifting their heads to look around. Not a single one showed the slightest inclination to bolt — better behaved than any domestic pig.

—

Jizhou City.

Li Chi climbed into the carriage, ready to head home. Yu Jiuling flicked the reins and the carriage began to move, slow and steady.

As Yu Jiuling listened to Li Chi explain that all the proceeds from the seal were going to Prince Yu, his heart ached terribly — yet turning it over in his mind, he had to admit that the move probably wasn’t a loss.

After this, Prince Yu should have no further cause for hostility or difficulty where Li Chi was concerned. One seal protecting so many people — that was more than not a loss.

But whether it was a loss or not had nothing to do with whether it hurt.

Yu Jiuling asked Li Chi: “When did you decide to give the seal proceeds to Prince Yu?”

Li Chi said, “The moment he walked in the door.”

He smiled a little. “He came rather faster than I expected.”

Yu Jiuling said, “I think I know what you were thinking.”

Li Chi glanced at him sideways. “Oh, you know now, do you?”

Yu Jiuling said, “You did it for Xiahou, didn’t you. If you hadn’t, Xiahou would have been put in a very difficult position. And I think you must have thought this through beforehand too — that if the seal ever dragged you into a confrontation with Prince Yu, you’d simply let it go immediately. Because if you didn’t give it up, Xiahou would end up in an argument with Prince Yu, maybe worse than an argument. Their father-and-son relationship is already strained, and you didn’t want something of yours to make it worse.”

Li Chi said, “With empathy like that, you should set up a fortune-telling stall.”

Yu Jiuling said, “Daoist Changmei wouldn’t take me on. Said I didn’t have the aptitude.”

Li Chi said, “Your natural gifts are actually decent. He probably meant your face is too shifty-looking — people would never trust you.”

Yu Jiuling: “…”

The carriage passed through the broad streets, making its way along without incident. Once back inside the carriage company’s courtyard, even Yu Jiuling found it hard to believe.

“Why did no one make a move?”

Li Chi shook his head. “I don’t know. I expected someone to.”

The return journey had been unhurried, and Li Chi had been clearly visible when he boarded the carriage. This was the optimal moment to make an attempt on his life — and yet whoever was watching in the shadows had exercised remarkable patience.

About half a li from the carriage company, on a rooftop, the woman named Gongchu Yingying ultimately only exhaled a quiet sigh.

She had nearly struck several times during the journey back, but had held herself back each time. Her perceptions were sharper than any ordinary person’s — particularly her sensitivity to danger.

She could see nothing. She had detected nothing. But she simply knew, with certainty, that someone was waiting for her to make her move.

The carriage company. The vehicle came to a stop, and Li Chi climbed out first. Then Ye Zhangzhu descended from within — he had been inside the carriage the entire time.

Ye Zhangzhu said, “Not necessarily a supreme master, but certainly someone very clever.”

Li Chi said, “I’ve put you to a great deal of trouble, Elder Ye.”

Ye Zhangzhu narrowed his eyes and said, “Don’t put it that way. When you suddenly get polite on me, I suspect you’re trying to weasel out of something. We agreed — hot pot, and not a single tael short on the meat, not a single leaf short on the vegetables.”

Li Chi couldn’t help laughing. “Would I be so petty?”

Ye Zhangzhu: “Yes.”

Li Chi: “…”

—

The Sanyue River Pavilion.

Xu Shengyu had come to accept that the seal was beyond reach no matter what. Seizing it outright was out of the question, and even through legitimate purchase, it would not end up in his hands.

With Prince Yu seated there in person, who would dare reach for it?

Xu Shengyu was clear-eyed: he was not the only one who wanted to grab it. Every well-dressed powerful figure in this hall shared the same impulse. Everyone knew how many hidden hands were waiting outside.

Xiahou Zuo sat in the private room on the second floor, unconcerned with what the people below were scheming. He only cared about how much the scrolls would fetch.

Prince Yu appeared to be in fine spirits and good humor. After sitting for a time, he actually rose, walked up onto the platform, and personally presided over the auction of the scrolls. He said in so many words that he would follow the owner’s wishes and treat them as fakes — yet with him conducting the proceedings, no one could afford to hold back.

In the end, it was the Cui family who devised a solution: they bought all the scrolls outright at eight thousand taels per piece, and Prince Yu was glad enough to return the favor.

Then came the auction of the seal itself. This thing had no price to begin with. For someone absolutely determined to have it who had unlimited funds, tens of thousands of taels might well be paid.

The general expectation in the room had been that the seal would top out somewhere around fifty thousand taels — going higher than that, in these troubled times, seemed excessive, even for Master Songming’s one-and-only seal.

But today, Li Chi had dug a pit for everyone in this hall.

Li Chi had announced that the seal’s proceeds would go to Prince Yu as military funds.

Military funds of fifty thousand taels were effectively meaningless.

The pit Li Chi had dug trapped everyone present. Their only escape would have been to collectively refuse to bid — but that was not going to happen.

Cui Tai showed his own cunning first: seeing that no one wanted to open the bidding, he looked toward his family’s representative in the hall, deciding it was time to go first. Whoever bid first earned goodwill with Prince Yu, regardless of whether they ultimately won.

Cui Chenglan saw this too, and rose. “A treasure of this significance — to name too low a price would be an insult to Master Songming. Allow me to set the opening bid. Fifteen thousand taels.”

The moment these words left his mouth, every person in the hall inwardly cursed him out, followed by a surge of regret at not having spoken first. The first to bid didn’t necessarily win, but the opening advantage was taken — and opening at fifteen thousand was effectively a contribution to Prince Yu’s military coffers.

With the opening set that high, how was anyone to follow?

With the first bidder established, the second villain appeared quickly.

Xie Qingdeng smiled and said: “Eighteen thousand taels.”

You didn’t have to win to bid — but if you didn’t bid at all, wouldn’t you be offending Prince Yu?

Xu Shengyu thought: since I’m not buying anyway, why not play along?

He raised his hand. “Two hundred thousand taels!”

Xiahou Zuo, up on the second floor, let a cold smile curve his lips. These people — genuinely amusing.

This eager competition was not loyalty. They had simply worked out the dynamic: whoever called out first had the advantage.

The Wang family raised a hand. “Two hundred and twenty thousand taels.”

“Two hundred and fifty thousand taels.”

Someone — unclear whose representative — called out the figure and immediately lowered their head again.

Was this a farce? Someone was going to have to pay in the end. And yet calling it a farce didn’t quite fit either — it was merely strange and difficult to account for.

Prince Yu had no interest in whether it was a farce or not. He only watched to see what the final total would be.

……

—