After parting ways with Ren Shu-gege, Xue Cuo wandered alone around the vast lake, Sword Uncle slung over his back.
Snow Sword trailed leisurely behind him, its dark green hand drooping lazily over the hilt, swaying in the breeze.
As they meandered along, multi-coloured clouds suddenly bloomed in the sky.
Xue Cuo gasped, eyes alight. “Sword Uncle, hurry and look! Is that an immortal recruiting disciples? I’ve never seen it before!”
In the heavens, mist-breathing flood dragons spiralled among drifting clouds, creating vapour.
What followed was a low, resonant creak of a door opening echoed through the mountain valley. Fog rose in curling swathes, and celestial cranes darted through the air. From behind the veils of cloud, glimmers of radiance filtered through, as though a gateway to another world had opened atop Mount Guye. There came the sound of laughter, tinkling ornaments, ringing swords. Mount Guye glowed with immortal splendour, abuzz with mirth and reverence.
Today marked Mount Guye’s Qingping Sect’s once-in-a-decade ceremony for accepting new disciples. Long before the appointed hour, people had already gathered at the lakeside ferry at the mountain’s foot, awaiting the immortals’ descent.
Rays of light burst from the clouds. These materialised into human shapes of over a dozen young cultivators, male and female alike.
At their centre stood a striking young man in green robes with a white sash. Hands clasped behind his back, he gazed downwards for a moment, then broke into a pleased smile, saying: “Before setting out today, I drew a divination. It seems the He and Li families from south of the city have the most fate with me.”
“Shixiong, they obviously are more fated to be with me!”
A figure darted forward before the green-robed man could move. His face darkened. A chill wind sprang up at his command. There was a shriek, then the intruding figure dissolved into a puddle of blood.
The remaining cultivators shuddered. Then, all at once, they forced grins and bowed obsequiously: “Xiaofeng-shixiong and the profitable great households are clearly blessed with immortal affinity.”
“We’re just commoners. Picking up the dregs is blessing enough for the likes of us.”
“Who’d dare compete with Xiaofeng-shixiong? We’d be the first to object!”
“Exactly, exactly!”
Xiaofeng gave a disdainful snort, then cupped his hands. “My fellow shidis and shimeis*, take your time choosing. I’ll go on ahead.”
(*TN: shidi = junior brother, shimei = junior sister)
And with that, he transformed into a streak of light and sped towards the ferry flying the He and Li family banners.
There, the lake shimmered with endless ripples, the landscape strikingly serene. Flags flapped on both banks, parasols clustered like clouds. Thousands of short-robed henchmen guarded the main thoroughfare, preventing outsiders from entering, sealing off a tranquil utopia.
A magnificent pleasure barge floated upon the lake, adorned with golden ornaments and glittering with light. Incense smoke curled into the air. The He and Li families had prepared offerings: fine wines and fruits, sacrificial beasts, bolts of silk, chests of gold and silver, trays of jade.
Catching sight of the immortal descending, the elders of both families bowed low, foreheads pressed to the deck.
“Honourable Immortal, gracious Immortal. Your presence graces our humble lands. We offer this trifling wine and these paltry gifts as a token. Kindly accept them.”
Xiaofeng remained impassive as he flicked his horsetail whisk. He first pocketed the gold and jade on either side. Then his gaze fell upon a lovely servant girl scattering spring blossoms. His eyes gleamed and he seized her into his arms.
“Rise,” he said mildly. “Our Qingping Sect welcomes affinity from all quarters. Friendship must flow from fortune.”
County Magistrate He scrambled upright, his round belly wobbling. His smiling, pumpkin-shaped face shone with flattery as he tugged forward a richly dressed youth with equally pumpkin-like proportions.
The little pumpkin-faced boy dropped to his knees, kowtowed furiously. “Immortal shifu*, your disciple greets you!”
(*TN: address for one’s master/ teacher)
Xiaofeng’s brows flew up in outrage. With a resounding slap, he struck the boy across the face. Blood spurted from nose and mouth. “Who do you think you are? When did I say I’d take you as a disciple?”
The little pumpkin spun thrice like a top before landing flat on the deck, eyes crossed and limbs splayed. County Magistrate He hurried to cover for him, bowing again and again. “Yes, yes, the fool’s confused. Get up quickly now. Immortal Lord, please, let’s speak further inside, inside…”
Xiaofeng scoffed. “You think any dog or cat can cultivate immortality? It all depends on one’s immortal fate!”
The magistrate bowed his head, grinned deferentially and gave his son a discreet kick. He hastily spoke: “Immortal Lord is merciful and broad-minded. My son is ignorant and has offended your lordship. Please, won’t you join us in the inner chamber? All our offerings of immortal fate are prepared within.”
Such servile grovelling from all over soon coaxed Xiaofeng into satisfaction and his expression improved.
Prefect Li next led forward a boy with sallow skin, a broad nose, and thick lips. Unlike Magistrate He, he was more reserved. Yet from a distance, Xiaofeng could already sense the faint aura of death wafting from the boy’s body. He frowned slightly.
Prefect Li bowed with his son. “Greetings to, Immortal Lord.”
Xiaofeng returned the greeting, then shook his head and a spoke gently. “Lord Li, your son has no spiritual roots. More so, there’s a vengeful spirit in his body. He won’t live long, I’m afraid, and is unsuitable for cultivation.”
Prefect Li panicked, his face blanched. “Immortal Lord, this…… what should be done? My son has a feeble temperament. Owing to his youthful ignorance, he accidentally caused a few deaths. Since then he’s fallen ill and never recovered.”
“This old man doesn’t ask for him to attain enlightenment and longevity, only that he is safe and healthy and can inherit my household, bear descendants, continue the family name. I beg your lordship to provide some method…”
Prefect Li made a signal with his eyes. Several strongmen appeared and laid out crates of treasure. The barge gleamed with treasure light.
Xiaofeng was elated. He hadn’t expected such wealth in this backwater.
Waving his whisk, he said, “No matter, no matter. The Li family has a grand elder in our sect. I couldn’t possibly disrespect him. Besides, I am by nature benevolent. Helping others brings me joy. Please rise, old man.”
Prefect Li helped his barely-breathing son to his feet. “Yes, yes, but… Immortal Lord, look at him……”
Xiaofeng interrupted, “Your son has profound divine fate. I can extend his life first. Fetch me a dozen young men in blue robes, their vital essence intact. I’ll borrow their life force on his behalf. Living a hundred years won’t be a problem.”
Prefect Li was overjoyed, grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, yes! Immortal Lord, please wait a moment. Tongxing County may lack many things, but we’re not short of tenant farmers. A dozen? Dozens more if you like!”
Steward He sidled forward, beaming obsequiously. “Dozens? There are hundreds, thousands even! Immortal Lord, Prefect Li, leave it to me. I’ll see to it at once. Although……might I… perhaps borrow a bit of lifespan as well?”
Prefect Li snapped, “Impudent! Who do you think you are, to bargain with the Immortal Lord?”
Xiaofeng waved his whisk lightly. “Isn’t your son perfectly healthy?”
Magistrate He grinned so widely his eyes vanished. “Immortal Lord, I’d like a little for myself. One can never have too much longevity.”
Xiaofeng lifted his eyelids and gave him a glance. After a pause, he cupped his hands and said languidly, “Very well. Since both your families are clearly blessed with fate… I shall permit it.”
“But be sure to prepare enough immortal fate,” Xiaofeng added casually.
Magistrate He was overjoyed. He immediately barked orders for his servants to capture the strongest young men, then returned with flowery verbiage to usher the immortal inside.
Up above the clouds, the remaining shidis and shimeis watched Xiaofeng take the fattest, ripest destination. Their faces soured. They parted the clouds and peered down… and their expressions worsened: “This Tongxing County is utterly miserable,” one muttered. “Aside from a few rich households, what offerings are there? Just a scattering of destitute, toothless wretches. What use are they?”
A female cultivator in wide-sleeved palace robes didn’t respond to the grumbling. Her eyes scanned the earth below, and when she spotted a cluster of richer offerings, she descended in a graceful arc of light.
The others, seeing her lead, immediately transformed into streams of brilliance and dispersed.
“There’s no point waiting on a good location. Those all go to the elders’ direct disciples.”
“Better we enjoy ourselves while we can. Even if nothing’s left here, we can scour the other mountain ranges and possibly stumble on some treasure. Otherwise, once the sect gate closes, we won’t even dredge up a fly’s leg.”
“Shixiong, I’m off,”
“Ah, me too. That Zhang family is mine!”
“That one’s mine. Step aside, shidi!”
In an instant, Great Loch ferry crossing shimmered with threads of clear light. Everywhere along the banks where incense smoke curled and tributes lay in waiting. Immortals began to descend—some on flying swords, some riding auspicious clouds, others mounted on exotic beasts or carried by white cranes.
Spectacle upon spectacle, divine light cascaded through the sky. The mortals who had gathered to beg the immortals or seek enlightenment watched on, eyes wide, hearts pounding with awe.
Among the descending cultivators, one beam of light solidified into a sickly-looking man with sallow cheeks. He didn’t dare fight with his shixiongs and shijies. Instead, he sought out a patch with meagre offerings and landed discreetly, hoping to conduct a quiet search.
As he scouted the area, his gaze fell upon an elderly woman in threadbare rags, leading a small grandson and clutching a bamboo basket.
The male cultivator’s eyes lit up. With a swoop he chased after her and landed in front of her. “Old crone, take me to your village.”
Startled, the old woman fell to her knees and kowtowed frantically. “Immortal Grandpa*, our village is dirt-poor, we’ve nothing to offer.”
(*TN: In case you’re confused, she’s assuming he’s an older since one can gain longevity through cultivation.)
He drew his sword and barked, “Less of your yammering. Lead the way!”
The grandmother and child trembled with fear. The old lady had no choice but to guide the way, inching forward with the child in tow.
The male cultivator grew increasingly impatient. Finally, with a single slash, he cut them both down. Then, without so much as a pause, he incinerated their bodies with a fire talisman.
He pressed on and soon found a younger, quicker villager to lead him. At last, he reached a village of modest size.
From afar, the villagers spotted the stranger’s approach and quickly rang the warning bell at the village gate.
The old village chief, who had been planting rice shoots, heard the sound and his heart sank: This is bad. These past few days, the immortal sects had been out recruiting. Now they are spilling into the villages.
He quickly gathered his tools and started towards the path. But then he turned back and grab two fistfuls of mud.
A fair, plump little boy sat at the edge of the field, gnawing on half a bran biscuit he’d begged from the old man. The old village chief said: “Child, come here. Let Grandpa smear your face a bit. Don’t let those people see you.”
The child was Xue Cuo. He asked. “Who’s seeing what?”
The old man didn’t explain. With quick, practiced hands, he smeared mud across the boy’s round cheeks. “You’re too white and fat. Hide and wait with Sanya and Wuxiao. Don’t go running about.”
A couple of children hurriedly led Xue Cuo deeper into the village.
Meanwhile, the elderly folk quietly herded their livestock into hiding. The young women and housewives dipped fingers into the soot beneath the cooking pots and smeared ash across their faces.
When the male cultivator entered the village, his expression grew darker by the moment. At his command, seventy or eighty villagers—young and old—gathered in the main square.
They were emaciated as reeds, dressed in rags, faces hollow with hunger and dread. But the cultivator had seen their type before. He knew these slippery peasants were hiding something. Without a show of force, they would never give up the good stuff.
Abruptly, he strode forward and grabbed an elderly man by the collar. “You the village chief?”
The man shook like a leaf. “Yes.”
The cultivator said: “One jar of gold, two of silver. Any decent jade, I’ll take that too. And bring out two jars of wine. Slaughter some livestock, marinate the meat well with spices, then fry it in clear oil.”
The old village chief burst into tears. “Immortal Grandpa, our village just handed over tributes to the sect days ago. We’ve had nothing but wild greens to eat. Don’t mention meat or wine, we don’t even have a drop of oil left!”
The cultivator gave a cold laugh, scanning the frightened faces before him. “No cattle or sheep? But plenty of people, aren’t there? You lowborn scum. Hiding your fine wine and delicacies instead of offering them to your ancestor. Do I need to spill a few heads before you get the message?”
He flung the village chief to the ground. The villagers scrambled to catch him, stepping back in unison.
The cultivator coldly repeated: “One jar of gold, one of silver. If there’s even one smidgen missing, you’ll pay with your heads.”
