Dong.
Dong.
Dong.
Upon Oxhorn Peak, the Wendao Bell resounded, its heavy, sonorous toll like antique war drums.
Cloud and radiance rose from the sea at dawn.
Beneath the camellia tree, a fairy sat playing chess with a friend. The friend asked, “Are you truly going to give up the path of cultivation and the pursuit of immortality?”
The fairy gave a faint smile, her fingers brushing across the board. Outwardly serene, her eyes were filled only with chill, silence, and weariness.
“Forget it. This world… I can no longer fathom it, nor see it clearly. What meaning is there in cultivation?”
Her friend was silent a moment, then smiled. “If Shixiong were to return, he would never allow you to……”
The woman’s body tensed; her fingers pressed hard upon the chess piece, as though struggling mightily to endure. “I have waited a hundred years, A-Wei. I truly doubt it, I truly doubt it.”
Her friend’s face tightened; glancing warily about, she hushed, “Walls have ears.”
She spoke with a complex expression: “Rumour is rumour, after all. Wendao Palace is the foremost immortal sect of the Eastern Lands. What you suspect is far too outrageous. Do not disturb your Dao heart.”
The fairy made no reply. She placed her piece quietly upon the board. “Is that so? Yet I feel this immortal sect is nothing more than this… harbouring filth, rife with deceit. Shixiong has been lost to me for more than a hundred years. I fear…”
She broke off, as if unable to believe, unable to bear it, leaving only a long sigh.
Where the glow of dusk fell……
Several Daoists knelt before their master. The old Daoist bestowed upon them Wendao Pills. The disciples were overjoyed, moved to tears, and after swallowing, their cultivation advanced at once.
The old Daoist’s face was kindly, his smile gentle. “You must practise diligently. When your realms break through, I shall take you into the secret realm to comprehend the Great Dao.”
The disciples were wild with joy. Only one young disciple, pale and suspicious, did as always… pretended to swallow, yet secretly hid the pill away.
He still remembered: when Master had taken away those fellow disciples who had ‘broken through’, the fleeting smile upon his lips had been like a cat that had stolen a canary.
A chill of horror ran through him. By nature he was wary, yet long ago he had been bound to the master, his soul lamp lit. He could neither flee nor depart.
Thus he could only prevaricate, trembling day by day, indulging himself in idleness, not daring to cultivate.
At the mountain gate—
A few dishevelled Daoists, exiled here, sat drinking and making merry instead of cultivating. One sprawled upon the ground, swilling liquor heedless of choking.
Drunken, he clambered up, leaned against a pine, sighing heavily. After a time he shook his head, broke the clay seal, and gulped another draught.
“Have you heard? That old witch Minggong Yao went to Fei’e Palace yesterday.”
The drinking Daoist raised a brow. “Fei’e Palace? Is that not where new disciples are lectured? What, has her withered tree blossomed again. Is she seeking a second spring?”
“No, no. I heard she went to kill someone, yet came away seething with fury instead.”
“Hah! Good! Whoever opposes Minggong Yao, I, Wei Yu, will gladly lend a hand. Come, let’s see for ourselves!”
Within a thatched courtyard—
A cultivator stood gazing at the glow of sunset, his eyes void of joy or sorrow.
One beside him urged, “Shidi, hand her over. She is but a mortal wife. Since the elder desires her, give her up. Refuse, and the two of you may both be slain. It would not be unheard of.”
The cultivator gave a bitter smile. “By what right?”
The adviser sighed. “Look at me. I too once had wife and child. Now I am unburdened, and my cultivation has soared. Take my counsel. Once you’ve entered the immortal sect, you must cast aside such small loves. For the sake of the Great Dao, what cannot be abandoned?”
Beneath the pine forest—
Bai Luoluo sat cross-legged, before her several young Daoists of seven or eight years. She twirled a small vial that exuded a soul-snaring, bone-gnawing fragrance.
Smiling, she said, “Be good, and I’ll show you a treasure.”
One little Daoist sniffed curiously, scratching his head. “It smells so nice.”
Bai Luoluo laughed, tapping his nose. “Eat this, and you’ll never again have to sit in painful meditation, day and night, working yourself to exhaustion.”
The little Daoist exclaimed, “Wow! What is it?”
Unable to hold back her mirth, Bai Luoluo straightened and said sweetly, “Listen well. This treasure is called Wendao Pill.”
A gust of cold wind swept in.
In Fei’e Palace, a student suddenly turned, catching sight of the child at the fore. He was young, yet bore aloft a peculiar banner.
The disciples whispered amongst themselves:
“Why are they not wearing disciple robes?”
“They’ve come with a menacing air. There’ll be a spectacle at Fei’e Palace today! Quick, call my shidi, else we’ll miss the excitement!”
“Isn’t that troublemaker leading them? Why do the rest look ready to devour someone? Back, back, back. Don’t drag me into it!”
“It’s just idle business. Cultivation is what matters. Sweep the snow before your own door, never mind the frost upon another’s roof.”
“Hurry, inform the Daoist Master!”
Wen Renyi shot a scornful glare at the whispering disciple, snorting in contempt. Xue Cuo, by contrast, was calm, and beside him Kong Yun walked with the same grave expression.
When they reached the gates, the vermilion doors of Fei’e Palace swung open. Within the vast hall, the Daoist Master sat cross-legged in majesty, his voice resounding as though from the nine heavens.
“Stop.”
Xue Cuo obeyed, halting his steps, planting the banner upon the ground.
The small child, his solitary form stretched long by the afterglow, stepped into the hall. His shadow merged with the towering pillars, as though he bore ten thousand mountains upon his back.
The palace was vast beyond measure, yet as dark as an abyss.
From within, the voice asked: “You are Xue Cuo? Fei’e Palace is a sacred ground of Daoist learning. Why trespass without cause?”
Xue Cuo lifted his eyes towards the cloud-birds wheeling above. In this boundless world, his figure seemed far too small.
But he did not retreat, not a single step. Instead, as the question was put to him, he advanced, bowed with clasped hands, and said clearly: “Teacher, I am here to seek justice for the disciples who perished in the secret realm.”
The word justice fell heavily.
Kong Yun loosened his grip, summoning a wild gust of wind. Flags snapped and billowed, bearing the words of the first chapter of The Great Dao, a scripture left behind by Nan Zi, the first True Immortal of heaven and earth.
The Great Dao is merciless, the Great Dao is formless.
But Zhu Xiaoyou had not been killed by the formless, merciless Dao. The one who slew him was out beyond the clouds, perhaps even now watching this very place.
Immortals dwell aloof, unsullied in their gaze. How could they spare a thought for insects so small?
Yet this time, someone had.
Xue Cuo heard a low chuckle.
He wondered, What is that old man laughing at? What’s so funny? It isn’t funny. He hadn’t slept all night, his chest feels as though it’s aflame, and cannot calm down.
The Daoist intoned: “When a person dies, it is like a lamp extinguished. To be wounded by the Heavenly Dao is but the retribution one’s deeds have summoned. You have cultivated for many years, you should know this truth. Do not set yourself against Heaven’s Will.”
Kong Yun’s face darkened, yet Xue Cuo only looked puzzled.
He scratched his ear, glanced about. The disciples before Fei’e Palace all bowed and praised, as though they had heard some profound truth of the Dao.
Xue Cuo turned to one and asked: “Did you understand that?”
The disciple smiled. “Naturally. The immortal master’s words are sound. Little shidi, why don’t you quickly awaken to the truth?”
Xue Cuo pressed him: “And what truth did you awaken to? Tell me.”
The disciple’s smile tightened, but he said nothing, merely murmured: “You are too young. It is only natural that you do not yet understand.”
Xue Cuo asked several others. All praised the teaching, yet when pressed for their own insights, they faltered, stammered, and could not explain. In the end, each excused himself with the same platitude: “The Dao is unspeakable, ineffable.”
The Daoist stroked his beard in satisfaction and was about to deliver a gentle lecture when the boy suddenly turned to the demon and asked: “Kong Yun, did you understand?”
Kong Yun burst out laughing. “Not a word. It’s all rubbish.”
The Daoist’s eyelids twitched, and deep anger welled in his otherwise placid heart. Yet the child showed not the slightest fear. On his little legs he strode boldly into Fei’e Palace and plonked himself down on the cushion before the Daoist.
“I’ve come to debate with you properly.”
Xue Cuo did not even call him teacher.
The Daoist had never encountered such a brazen, unruly student.
Had Xue Cuo been an ordinary cultivator, the Daoist would have had ten thousand ways to make him beg for death. But the boy had Jun Wuwei, the Sword Immortal, above him, and the Dragon Might Swordmaster behind him. Either one was difficult enough to handle.
The Daoist weighed his thoughts. However much he disliked it, he could not back down before a six-year-old child. He replied: “Very well.”
After all, how profound could a child’s grasp of the Dao be?
He likely could not even string together a proper argument.
Yet in the quarter-hour that followed, the Daoist found himself silenced, struck dumb by the clarity of the boy’s speech and the depth of the principles he expounded.
And when the child grew impassioned, faint visions of the Twelve Platforms of the Golden Pool shimmered into being, making the Daoist blanch.
“The Golden Lotus of the Pool!”
His expression changed, his heart wavered, yet no matter how he strained, he could not perceive the lotus’s form.
For a moment he kept silent, full of unease.
Xue Cuo’s questions he could not answer.
Wendao Pill. Minggong Yao. The secret realm killings.
Of these matters he could say nothing. His face shifted through many colours before hardening into a scowl. With a flick of his sleeve he cast Xue Cuo bodily out of Fei’e Palace.
“Rotten wood cannot be carved! I will not demean myself by debating the Dao with you. Be gone! Even if you knock your head raw upon all Three Mountains and Five Seas of the Wendao Palace, you will find no justice.”
Xue Cuo was flung into the air, but Kong Xiao Yun was quick, catching him. “Careful!”
From within the hall came the cold dismissal: “Do not set foot in Fei’e Palace again. Do not soil my gates.”
Xue Cuo rubbed his cheeks and shot back, furious: “As if I wanted to! Your Dao isn’t even as good as my father’s swordsmanship.”
Reckless, fearless. The Daoist leaning upon the stone dragon high on the clouds saw clearly… saw how the master had glimpsed the Golden Lotus, his expression shifting, greed flaring and vanishing in an instant.
Xue Cuo ground his teeth, angered and a little downcast. “Xiao Yun-gege…”
Kong Yun at once understood, patted his shoulder, and said: “Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you.”
The two boys, each carrying a banner, clasped hands and descended the steps together, step by step, towards another palace gate.
If they could find no justice here, they would go elsewhere to seek it.
They had no great strength. They were weak, fragile, powerless. Yet they dared do what so many hesitated to attempt.
Watching from the clouds… beside the stone dragon, the ragged Daoist; further off, a despairing drunkard; a fairy of peerless beauty. All gazed after Xue Cuo’s small figure, their thoughts tangled and heavy.
