Nan Yan stuttered, “Fellow Daoist Song… what do you want to tell me?”
Song Zhu hesitated, staring at his sword’s edge, and said gravely, “A few words won’t suffice.”
“Then, Fellow Daoist Song…” Nan Yan began.
“I’m afraid I need… a thousand words,” Song Zhu interrupted.
Nan Yan secretly said to Ji Yang, “Is he planning to cut me into a thousand pieces?”
Ji Yang replied, “… Fellow Daoist Song has always been rather straightforward. Don’t overthink it.”
“Always?” Nan Yan questioned.
Ji Yang smiled without answering her, gently pulling her behind him. He addressed Song Zhu pleasantly, “Fellow Daoist Song, we’ve been cautious these past few days, fearing pursuit. There’s no need for formalities. What brings you here?”
Just then, a law-enforcing cultivator flew overhead at a low altitude. Song Zhu paused before speaking, “To be brief, you should know my master is Meng Xiaolou, the Sword Hero of Wei State. He has some disagreements with the Dragon Lord and, due to important matters in Wei State, specifically instructed me to ask if you’d be willing to go to Wei State.”
Nan Yan understood this was because of her mother. These elders were protective of her, but now it seemed that even in Chen State, she faced dangers at every turn. Going to Wei State would likely be the same.
Being someone who could easily calm herself, she nodded, “I appreciate Fellow Daoist Song’s kindness, but my mother’s situation is too complex to trouble Wei State. I may lay low for a few years, at least to improve my cultivation before considering anything else.”
Song Zhu was quite surprised. Given Nan Yan’s status, she could have mobilized many of her mother’s old acquaintances to seek the truth. However, she seemed to have realized that her subsequent moves might be anticipated by certain individuals, leading to her decision to retreat.
“The Dragon Lord won’t reveal my other identities, at least. I can still move about as True Yuan, the Buddhist disciple,” Nan Yan added.
Slightly disappointed, Song Zhu took out a magical treasure from his storage ring. “My master said if you’re unwilling to come, at least accept this. It’ll give him some peace of mind.”
The object appeared to be made entirely of gold, adorned with five peony patterns, exuding extravagance. Most remarkably, at the core of each peony were pigeon egg-sized gems in red, orange, yellow, green, and blue, each emitting different elemental spiritual energies. Nan Yan couldn’t immediately identify what it was.
“This is…” she began.
“This is a scabbard my master once gifted to Mistress Nan. Before sending it here, he sealed three sword auras within it, capable of killing a Nascent Soul cultivator in the early stage,” Song Zhu explained, forcefully placing the indescribably ornate scabbard in Nan Yan’s hands. He added tactfully, “Don’t think the number of uses is too few, Shigu. If he had sealed more, it would only be enough to kill Yuan Ying stage cultivators.”
This is… a scabbard?
The object felt heavy in her hand. Upon closer inspection, Nan Yan gasped.
It was primarily made of evil-dispelling refined gold, inlaid with Fire Abyss Jade, Variwood Amber, Frost Ice Dust, Earth Crystal, and Golden Sun Soul. Each was a rare treasure. Under these five elemental spiritual energies, even an ordinary wooden sword placed in this scabbard for over a decade would become a rare spiritual treasure. The Sword Hero of Wei State was indeed generous.
“Such a precious gift, this…” Nan Yan hesitated.
“Shigu, please don’t refuse. There’s no reason to take back a gift once given. Moreover, this originally belonged to Mistress Nan, so it’s naturally yours now. Also…” Song Zhu paused before continuing, “My master said if you’re unwilling to accept protection from Chen or Wei State, it’s best to quickly obtain the qualification for the Mountain Sea Forbidden Technique in Chou Mountain Buddhist Sea. It’s the fastest path to forming a Yuan Ying.”
Nan Yan glanced at Ji Yang from the corner of her eye, unsure if she was imagining his faint smile.
Ji Yang spoke up, “We’ll consider this matter carefully. We left in a hurry, and there was a fox spirit cultivator with us… do you know what happened to him?”
Song Zhu, sensing that the relationship between these two wasn’t that of ordinary siblings, replied, “He disguised himself as Shigu and was ultimately captured by Master ‘Baoqi Rulai’ of Chou Mountain Buddhist Sea using his alms bowl. However, I heard that Baoqi Rulai was cornered by cultivators from other States who wanted to buy the fox spirit for entertainment. The master, under pressure, has already left Dragon Capital.”
… Entertainment?
Considering he was an exquisite fox spirit with barely any leg hair, Nan Yan felt a chill for her second brother. She said to Song Zhu, “I left in a hurry and couldn’t say goodbye to my elder brother, Mu Zhanting…”
Song Zhu responded, “Besides looking for you, I’m also here to assist in the battle at Qi Tian Plain. If you have any message, I can pass it on when I see him.”
The battlefield is not only a place to defeat enemies and establish merit but also a place to hone oneself. Especially for sword cultivators, who need to constantly refine their sword intent in various life-and-death situations. The Chen-Si battlefield is an ideal location for this.
Nan Yan engraved her plans to return to the Mao State for cultivation and to bide her time on a jade talisman and gave it to Song Zhu. After he bid farewell,
Nan Yan watched his retreating figure and suddenly said, “If I called him back and asked if he knew someone named Shao Cang, do you think I’d get some surprising information?”
Ji Yang glanced at her. Her eyes were as calm as ever, but he knew she had been suppressing her questions for a long time.
Leaving the alley, Nan Yan found a spot by a willow-lined embankment. She took out a small jar of Cicada Dew Sorrow from her storage ring, which she had asked her elder brother to buy. She usually only took it out occasionally to reminisce, but today she felt an inexplicable urge to drink.
She put away her prayer beads, temporarily shedding her Buddhist facade, and handed the jar to Ji Yang, saying, “Do you have any stories to go with my wine?”
“I do have one, though it might not be worthy of your wine. I wonder if you’d like to hear it.”
Nan Yan leaned against a willow tree, letting the branches brush her cheeks. “This poor nun doesn’t care. If it’s not good, you’ll have to compensate me for the wine.”
“Breaking your alcohol vow and still calling yourself a poor nun?”
“Meat and wine pass through the intestines, but Buddha remains in the heart. A meat-eating, wine-drinking monk is still a monk. You’re being too literal.”
It was mid-afternoon, and occasional streaks of light flashed across the sky. Patrolling cultivators swept the area with their divine sense, perceiving only a couple engaged in romantic conversation by the water, and hurried away.
Only the dying autumn cicadas in the branches silently listened to a story that seemed both true and false.
“… Long ago, there was a famous private school. Noble families all hoped this renowned school would educate their children to achieve success and fame.”
“The old teacher at the school had spent his entire life reading books and teaching people. He was highly respected locally. If other scholars wanted to open their schools, they first had to submit their writings to the old teacher for review and correction before they could begin teaching.”
“But as the old teacher aged, he gradually lost the ability to read books and recognize characters. At this time, there was a small private school nearby with a young, talented scholar who had achieved the remarkable feat of becoming a Zhuangyuan (top scorer in the imperial examination). As a result, local noble families began sending their children to study under this scholar. Gradually, people started questioning the old teacher’s school, wondering why no one had become a Zhuangyuan in so many years, and whether he had been teaching the wrong knowledge.”
“Faced with these rumors, the old teacher became exhausted. He decided to hand over the school to a young teacher under his tutelage. He brought in some children from outside and told the young teacher, ‘These children are now your responsibility. You must ensure they become Zhuangyuan.’ The next day, the old teacher reported to the authorities, claiming that the neighboring scholar who had become Zhuangyuan had written rebellious poetry, thus causing the scholar to be imprisoned.”
“However, not long after, the old teacher died from illness on his way to the capital for the imperial examination. His young protégé then took on the full responsibility of the school. The young teacher greatly revered his mentor, promoting his late teacher’s works everywhere. More and more noble families sent their children to this school, making its reputation unparalleled for a time.”
“But still, no one from the school managed to become Zhuangyuan again. At that time, among the teacher’s disciples, there was one of exceptional talent. In just over ten years of hard study, he had mastered all of the teacher’s lifelong knowledge. Everyone believed that this disciple was destined to become a future Zhuangyuan.”
“For a long time, this disciple strictly followed the teacher’s teachings. But as his knowledge grew, the school’s library became insufficient to answer his increasing questions. One day, while browsing in the study, he accidentally discovered a letter left by the old teacher. In the letter, the old teacher confessed that he had falsely accused the Zhuangyuan-achieving scholar of rebellion out of jealousy, admitting that his knowledge was inferior.”
“It took the disciple a long time to accept this truth. He took the letter, intending to go to the authorities to clear the name of the scholar who had been imprisoned for years. However, he was stopped at the school gate by the young teacher.”
“The teacher said that the old teacher was gone, and he wouldn’t allow anyone to tarnish his late mentor’s reputation. But the disciple felt this was unjust. He knew the teacher was highly talented, and if he hadn’t been constrained by the old teacher’s narrow doctrines, he might have achieved official rank long ago.”
“The disciple repeatedly pleaded with the teacher, saying that if the school were to be investigated, he would be willing to rebuild a new school with the teacher. They wouldn’t be stuck in old ways but would incorporate newer doctrines to help more students achieve official ranks – which was also the old teacher’s dying wish. The teacher was very stubborn. He burned the old teacher’s letter and forbade the disciple from ever mentioning the matter again.”
“Then, the disciple remained silent for a long time. During this period, he achieved the top rank in the provincial examination, making the teacher proud of him. But soon, the disciple discovered other contemporary scholars’ blood-stained doctrines hidden in the teacher’s study.”
“The disciple found everything terrifying. By this point, he could no longer remain indifferent to the teacher’s crimes. He learned to disguise his thoughts and secretly collected evidence of the teacher’s misdeeds. Just as he was about to bring everything to an end, the teacher found him. He said the school was his life; he couldn’t leave and wouldn’t let anyone destroy it.”
At this point in the story, the autumn cicadas in the branches don’t have time to hear the end. With a gust of night wind, the withered empty shell fell onto Nan Yan’s shoulder through the gaps in the willow branches.
She carefully picked up the cicada shell. After chanting a brief Buddhist prayer for its passing, she opened her palm, letting the cicada turn into specks of light and scatter. Her gaze revealed a hint of compassion.
“What was the final fate of that disciple?” she asked.
“The teacher had invested so much in the disciple that he couldn’t accept his betrayal. He imprisoned the disciple and captured all his friends and colleagues who knew about this matter. He killed them all in front of the disciple, without exception, to show him the cost of betrayal. Finally, he…” Ji Yang paused, then changed his words, “He crippled all the disciple’s abilities and abandoned him in a distant, barren land to fend for himself.”
Nan Yan listened in stunned silence. Many mysteries seemed to be bloodily revealed before her in an instant.
After a while, she hesitantly placed her hand on Ji Yang’s and carefully asked, “Do you hate that teacher?”
“In youth, it’s easy to be swayed by love and hate. Of course, there was hatred,” Ji Yang said, putting down the now-empty jar of Cicada Dew Sorrow. Seeing Nan Yan’s worried look, he smiled and added, “But since your heart is as clear as a mirror, shouldn’t I, the victimized elder, be the one comforting you instead? If you worry so much, your elder brother will feel ashamed.”
Nan Yan withdrew her hand and pulled out her signature prayer beads again. “While listening to your story, I thought of many words to console you. You should give me a chance to express them.”
“How does A’Yan want to express them?”
“Follow me in converting to Buddhism.”
“No, you follow me in returning to secular life.”
“The mortal world is full of turmoil. Converting to Buddhism brings purity. From now on, you cultivate your mind and body, and I’ll guide people to nirvana.”
“That sounds nice, but I’m a secular person. I only want to experience all the mundane affairs of the world with A’Yan.”
…
Behind the willow-lined embankment, a white fox, being tightly hugged and stroked by a monk resembling Maitreya Buddha, was irritably wagging its tail.
“Old baldy! Can’t you control your disciple who’s breaking her vows?” the fox spirit complained.
The old monk smiled, looking at the two people by the embankment. “Isn’t this good? In a world full of deep grudges and hatreds, being occasionally entangled in love and affection is also a way of resolution.”
The fox spirit, recalling how he had raised the “little cabbage” (Nan Yan) for so many years with rouge and little skirts, felt very displeased. He said to the old monk, “Let me go.”
The old monk asked, “Zhen Fang, what do you want to do?”
“I want to kick these two deviants, straying from both Buddhist and demonic paths, into the lake with one foot!”