Luoying Valley, nestled in the heart of the central south region, enjoys spring-like weather year-round. In contrast, the Jiuli Mountains stretch across the vast, distant northern ranges. Foreseeing this, Valley Master Cai wisely allowed ample time for the journey. His family could travel either by water or use the celestial kites, enabling them to both enjoy the scenery and make swift progress.
On the day they disembarked, Master Wang of the Green Bamboo Gang, along with his followers, tearfully bid them farewell at the shore. They expressed gratitude for Cai Zhao’s kindness in not becoming their disciple and presented over a dozen fragrant, glistening roasted geese as a parting gift. This gesture infuriated Cai Zhao, causing her to puff up like a blowfish and refuse to eat in protest.
Amidst laughter and chatter, the family finally reached the borders of Qingque Prefecture, just as they finished their snacks.
Qingque Prefecture, named after the Qingque Sect, was once the cultivation site of the Northern Chen Patriarch. Two hundred years had passed in the blink of an eye, transforming the once-isolated mountain village into a holy land coveted by martial artists worldwide. The Cai family briefly rested in the town at the foot of the mountain before hiring several single-wheeled carts suitable for mountain travel to continue their journey upward the next day.
As they left the small town, a majestic and solemn mountain range came into Cai Zhao’s view.
The imposing peaks loomed overhead, their massive, treacherous rocks resembling petrified monsters. These craggy formations seemed to climb greedily above and around travelers as if poised to strike at any moment. Layers of deep, vibrant, and pale green foliage stacked upon one another, surging forward and making it difficult to breathe. The seemingly gentle peaks were, in fact, incredibly tall and steep, their true scale masked by distance.
Legend held that in ancient times, this area was home to various demons and poisonous creatures. Nourished by the abundant spiritual energy in the mountains, these beings wreaked havoc on the populace. Eventually, immortals eradicated these monsters and assigned a disciple named Northern Chen to guard the area.
As time passed and the world changed, spiritual energy in the mortal realm was depleted, and immortals ceased to visit. Meanwhile, the young disciple Northern Chen, who had been tasked with guarding the Jiuli Mountains, became known as the Northern Chen Patriarch, a figure revered throughout the martial arts world.
In her youth, Cai Zhao once asked her aunt, “Is the Patriarch truly a disciple of the immortals?”
Cai Pingchu smiled and replied, “Who knows what’s true about events from hundreds of years ago? Still, we of the Northern Chen lineage should always strive to honor our ancestors. Tell me, Zhao-Zhao, do you hope this is true or false?”
“I hope it’s false,” Cai Zhao answered seriously, cupping her chubby face in her hands.
Surprised, Cai Pingchu asked why.
The little girl sighed like an adult and explained, “If it’s true, then all the other immortals left for the heavens, abandoning the Patriarch alone in the mortal world. How pitiful that would be.”
Cai Zhao couldn’t recall much of the conversation that followed. She only remembered the gentle sunlight that day, making her drowsy as she lay on her aunt’s lap. Her aunt’s expression was tender, her palm soft as she stroked Cai Zhao’s hair, murmuring, “With such a soft heart, Zhao-Zhao, you shouldn’t wander the jianghu in the future.”
Cai Zhao had no intention of doing so.
She loved Luoying Valley and Luoying Town. She cherished the familiar cry of Uncle Douhua’s morning sales, the late-night wonton stalls with their flickering fires under small canopies, and the presence of family and friends nearby. How wonderful it would be, she thought, to spend a lifetime lazily basking in the sun like this.
As they finally reached the summit, Cai Zhao discovered that the “mountaintop” was an expansive plateau. It seemed as if the peak had been sheared off, revealing a circular, flat cross-section. In the distance, the main peak still loomed, shrouded in mist.
The vast plateau housed watchtowers and outposts. When the dozen or so disciples stationed there spotted the Cai family’s entourage, they approached with clasped hands in greeting. A round-faced man in his thirties led the group, bowing to Mr. and Mrs. Cai Pingchun. Cai Zhao and her younger brother returned the gesture.
Ning Xiaofeng teased, “What brings you to guard duty on Fengyun Peak today, Da Lou? Have you been punished for some misdeed?”
Zeng Dalou threw back his head and laughed. “This morning, I divined that the entire Luoying Valley household would arrive today, so I came out to wait for you.”
Cai Pingchun shook his head. “You were such an honest child. I see you’ve learned to be glib now.”
Zeng Dalou’s lips twitched, but he just smiled and said nothing.
Ning Xiaofeng interjected, “I bet you’re thinking, ‘Who does this Cai Pingchun think he is, acting all mature? He’s only a few years older than me. We used to throw mud at each other as kids, and now he’s putting on airs as a Valley Master.'”
Zeng Dalou waved his hands, laughing. “No, no, I wouldn’t dare think such things.”
As their parents chatted, Cai Zhao and her brother whispered to each other.
“Sister, where exactly is the Qingque Sect? Surely not here? Why aren’t we continuing?”
“You big dummy, where else would we go? Can’t you see the plateau ends right there?”
The Cai family had ascended from the southern slope. The northern side of the plateau appeared as if a giant cleaver had sliced it clean, creating a smooth, arcing cliff face.
The siblings stood at the cliff’s edge, peering around. Beneath their feet lay an unfathomable abyss, while across the chasm, swirling mists obscured everything but the vague outlines of towering peaks.
At that moment, Zeng Dalou waved his hand. A robust disciple beside him removed a horn from his waist and blew into it. The deep, resonant sound seemed to surge towards the distant mountains. As the confused siblings were about to ask questions, Cai Pingchun came over and pulled them aside.
Moments later, a terrifying whooshing sound accompanied by clanking metal echoed from across the chasm. Through the dense fog, four massive iron chains, each as thick as a man’s arm, shot towards them like giant serpents.
The chains approached with frightening speed and force, their whistling sound ominous. A direct hit would surely shatter bones and draw blood from an ordinary person. Four strong disciples standing near Zeng Dalou tensed, their muscles bulging as they prepared to receive the chains. As the chains reached them, each disciple firmly grasped one, quickly securing it to iron rings embedded in the ground.
“That’s amazing…” Cai Zhao gaped in awe.
Cai Han nodded vigorously like a woodpecker. “Yes, yes, indeed!”
Zeng Dalou clasped his hands. “You’re too kind.”
As Cai Zhao was about to offer more praise, the chains began to rattle again. She turned quickly to see several disciples with bound hair and swords on their backs gracefully approaching along the iron chains, emerging from the mist.
The lead disciple, a youth of eighteen or nineteen, wore a plain robe embroidered with gold. His features were refined and handsome, making him a rare beauty. However, his expression remained solemn, his brow tinged with arrogance.
Cai Pingchu had once advised her young niece: “Zhao-Zhao, when you choose a husband in the future, avoid those who are cold and proud. Such men will always expect you to comfort them. Why seek out hardship when you could find someone who comforts you instead?”
Thus, from a young age, Cai Zhao had resolved that her future husband should treat her as kindly as a shopkeeper welcoming an important customer.
Focusing her gaze, Cai Zhao observed the handsome youth’s movements. With each step, he barely touched the iron chain with his toes, yet he covered great distances with ease. His graceful movements seemed almost ethereal, far outpacing the other disciples.
As they landed, the disciples on the plateau bowed respectfully to the young man in the plain robe. He, however, only returned a casual salute to Zeng Dalou before bowing to Cai Pingchun. “This disciple, Song Yuzhi, greets Valley Master Cai and Madam Cai.”
By this time, the other disciples had also descended from the chains.
Cai Pingchun nodded, but Ning Xiaofeng furrowed her brow, scrutinizing the youth’s features. “Your surname is Song? Is your father…”
Before she could finish, a commotion arose behind them. Cai Zhao turned to see thirty-two muscular men with bared right shoulders, moving in perfect unison as they carried an enormous palanquin.
The palanquin was adorned with gold and inlaid with jade, its four sides draped with exquisite curtains. Even the bells at each corner were made of red gold, their clappers of translucent beryl. Behind the palanquin stretched a seemingly endless procession of supply wagons.
The Cai siblings, on their first journey so far from home, were stunned by the spectacle. Cai Han’s jaw dropped. “Such… such grandeur…”
Cai Pingchun murmured, “So, he has arrived.”
Ning Xiaofeng’s expression remained neutral. “Why am I not surprised?”
Cai Zhao turned to her brother and demanded, “Do you still think I’m too particular?”
Cai Han shook his head vigorously.
Cai Zhao lamented in a low voice, “I feel like I’ve been living a life of austerity!”
Cai Han nodded emphatically.
The young man in the plain robe overheard and his lip twitched slightly.
The palanquin came to a stop, and a middle-aged man in luxurious attire stepped down. The pigeon blood rubies adorning his golden sword alone were enough to dazzle Cai Zhao’s eyes. To be fair, this wealthy uncle was quite handsome, with a high forehead, straight nose, and striking features. He must have been quite the catch in his youth, and even in middle age, he retained his charm.
Cai Zhao felt a sense of familiarity as she looked at him. Suddenly, she realized why—this wealthy uncle bore a striking resemblance to the cold and handsome Song Yuzhi standing nearby.
Upon seeing the arrival of the Guangtian Gate party, Zeng Dalou’s face showed a hint of resignation. He plastered on a smile and stepped forward to greet them while quietly instructing his disciples to prepare something at the cliff’s edge.
Song Yuzhi, ignoring Cai Zhao’s scrutiny, stepped forward and said, “Father, you’ve arrived.”
Song’s father, clearly pleased to see his son, looked at him with approval. “Yuzhi, I see your lightness skill has improved again.”
Just then, an arrogant voice called out from behind, “Father, why don’t you scold Yuzhi for not writing home in so long?”
Everyone turned to see a young man in fine clothes astride a magnificent horse approaching leisurely. The horse’s bridle alone, made of pure gold and studded with jewels, was worth a fortune. Behind him rode another figure, unremarkable in appearance and mounted on an ordinary horse.
Cai Zhao frowned, thinking it was a waste to use such a splendid horse for mountain climbing.
Ning Xiaofeng rolled her eyes and asked Zeng Dalou, “When you divined our arrival, did you also foresee his coming today?”
Zeng Dalou could only offer an awkward smile.
Song Yuzhi stepped forward again, bowing. “Elder Brother, Second Brother, Yuzhi pays his respects.” He then introduced the newcomers to the Cai family: the dressed one was Song Xiuzhi, the eldest son, while the one adorned like his father was Song Maozhi, the second son.
Song Xiuzhi immediately dismounted and bowed, while Song Maozhi merely laughed haughtily with his nose in the air.
Cai Pingchun maintained his composure, but Ning Xiaofeng couldn’t help reaching for her waist pouch. Knowing her mother’s temper, Cai Zhao quickly moved to restrain her hand.
“Pingchun, it’s been a long time. You haven’t changed a bit,” Song Shijun, the Master of Guangtian Gate, said magnanimously as he approached the Cai family.
“You’re too kind, Elder Brother Song,” Cai Pingchun replied with a slight bow, then deferred to his wife.
Ning Xiaofeng forced a smile. “Indeed, Pingchun is still young and naturally shows little change. But you, Gate Master Song, seem to have changed quite a bit… Your belt appears to require more material than before.”
Song Shijun’s face darkened. “I see Lady Ning’s sharp tongue hasn’t dulled with age.” His hand unconsciously moved to his waist—while Song Shijun was indeed impressive and grand in appearance, he had… put on a bit of weight.
Realizing that engaging in a battle of wits with a woman would bring him no glory even if he won, Song Shijun shifted his gaze to the Cai siblings standing nearby. “So, this must be Zhao-Zhao, who is to join the Qingque Sect soon. I’ve heard much about you from Brother Yun Ke. Ah what a pity your aunt has passed away. Otherwise, we could have shared a drink and caught up.”
Cai Zhao, genuinely puzzled, asked, “Gate Master Song, were you close with my aunt?”
“Of course we were,” Song Shijun replied with a mature, dignified smile.
“But my aunt never mentioned you,” Cai Zhao said truthfully, priding herself on her honesty and aversion to lies.
The Song family members were left speechless.
Ning Xiaofeng suppressed a laugh, feeling the urge to embrace and kiss her daughter.
It was the good-natured Cai Pingchun who stepped in to smooth things over. “Elder Brother Song, we’ve recently developed two excellent batches of wound-healing medicine in Luoying Valley. Perhaps you’d like to take a look? Xiaofeng, you come too.”
Song Shijun nodded stiffly and followed the Cai couple to one side. Cai Zhao could faintly hear him asking, still not quite convinced, “Pingchun, did your sister never mention me?” Ning Xiaofeng then interjected, “Gate Master Song, surely you can guess what Sister Pingchu would say about you if she did mention you. Let’s not dwell on things that might damage our relationship…”