"HUH? WHO WAS IT? Was she the only one Mount Huang would answer to? No other descendants?" Xue Meng demanded.
Mo Ran didn't answer him directly. "The Vermilion Bird was subdued a thousand years ago by one Song Qiao, courtesy name Xingyi."
Xue Meng paled. "The Jade-Hearted Lord, Song Xingyi?" he blurted.
"Mn."
"B-but he was the last zongshi from the tribe of the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast in the history of the cultivation realm!"
"That's right," said Mo Ran, his face devoid of expression. "The last person who could've opened the gates to Mount Huang perished in Rufeng Sect's inferno. It was Song Qiutong."
Xue Meng's jaw dropped. Before he could reply, there was a commotion in the distance. A crowd of cultivators in the jade-green robes of Bitan Manor had rushed over to the barrier.
"Li-zhuangzhu!" Several of them cried out in alarm.
A shift came over Chu Wanning's expression, and he gravely made his way through the crowd. Li Wuxin had collapsed and was propped up in a disciple's arms. His face was paper-white as he spat out a mouthful of blood, his salt-and-pepper beard stained a pungent scarlet. His lips were blue, and only the whites of his eyes were visible as they rolled up into his head. Insensible, he murmured tremulously, "I'm first… I…I came in first…"
With the absence of Li Wuxin's spiritual energy, the barrier sapped the strength of the remaining sect leaders more rapidly. Huang Xiaoyue had just come into power within Jiangdong Hall; his ability was a cut below the others. He was at his limit and could hardly even turn his head.
Jiang Xi had also paled, but he willed himself to look over at Li Wuxin. "He's been afflicted with the Phoenix's Nightmare."
The legendary phoenix had imbued Mount Huang's barrier with its own spells. Any who sought to break through and charge up the mountain risked succumbing to this horrifying vision. The Phoenix's Nightmare was similar to the Heart-Pluck Willow's illusion from Jincheng Lake yet more difficult to escape; those afflicted often never reawakened.
All the Bitan Manor disciples had fallen to their knees. Someone wailed tearfully, "Manor Leader! Please wake up, Manor Leader—"
The dreaming Li Wuxin giggled and muttered to himself. Suddenly he squirmed out of the arms of the disciple—Zhen Congming—who was supporting him. Lying on his back, his hands scrabbled in midair as he burst into laughter. "I came in first! First place! First place!"
A disciple from another sect murmured from within the crowd, "What does he mean, first place?"
Li Wuxin couldn't answer. Trapped in that joyous dreamscape, he bared his blood-stained teeth in an intoxicated grin. Yet after a while, the dream seemed to take a turn. His wizened features froze, settling into a furious scowl. "No—you can't do that! You can't! You said you were going to return Bitan Manor's sword technique scrolls to me! How could you go back on your word?" His expression turned sorrowful again.
This was a truly alarming sight—Li Wuxin had ever been mindful of his reputation. In his time as leader of Bitan Manor, no one had seen him betray such anger or grief. As he lay on the ground now, he didn't look like a sect leader nor like a Daoist. He scarcely looked like a man. Drool pooled at the corners of his mouth, and his wrinkled features distorted with despair, as if he could preserve his dignity by hiding it in the folds of skin that lined his aged face. "Eight billion gold is asking far too much. Those scrolls were Bitan Manor's to begin with, they belonged to the shifu of my shifu. Back then, the sect fell on hard times; we sold them to you out of desperation… Sect Leader…I'm begging, please lower the price…"
At this, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Eight billion gold? A sword manual?
A few still remembered the previous head of Bitan Manor: a blunt and fiery-tempered man who had alienated himself from his fellow sect leaders in the upper cultivation realm. When Bitan Manor came upon hard times, none were willing to lend a hand. After that, Bitan Manor's fortunes had gone from bad to worse. For three years straight, they hadn't even funds to support their own disciples.
Somehow, they came into money again. But for some mysterious reason, Bitan Manor's awe-inspiring Water-Parting Sword technique, previously renowned throughout the land, had been lost. Subsequent generations of disciples could never master the crux of this technique.
Some denizens of the jianghu mocked Li Wuxin as an incompetent teacher; under his leadership, Bitan Manor, which had once produced legendary swordsmen of unparalleled ability, was reduced to the laughingstock of the upper cultivation realm.
But witnessing this now, the crowd realized the situation wasn't so simple. Could it be that Bitan Manor had managed to survive all those years ago by selling its founding sword manual? Faced with this act of shameless profiteering, many minds went immediately to one particular sect. Numerous surreptitious gazes swept over Jiang Xi.
"Could it have been Guyueye…"
"It was probably Jiang-zhangmen's shizu…"
Li Wuxin was still writhing on the ground in agony as Zhen Congming struggled to hold him in place. The old man sobbed and railed, then struggled up from the ground to kowtow every which way, blood and mucus streaming down his face. "Please give it back to me—I've spent half my life saving. I have five billion, one hundred million gold," Li Wuxin wailed. "Five billion, one hundred million is all I've got… I've done all I can; we have no more than this. I won't kill or steal or resort to evil for money! Gold flows into your esteemed sect like water, but Bitan Manor really doesn't have any more than this… Please, I'm begging you…"
Upon hearing gold flows into your esteemed sect like water, even those who hadn't eyed Jiang Xi before turned to look at him. Jiang Xi controlled Xuanyuan Pavilion, the biggest black market auction house in the entire cultivation realm. Who else could it be?
One of Bitan Manor's younger disciples shouted at Jiang Xi, eyes scarlet with fury, "Jiang-zhangmen! Your Guyueye has possession of the three most important scrolls of my Bitan Manor's Water-Parting Sword? To think you asked for eight billion gold… Have…have you no shame?!"
Before Jiang Xi could reply, a hoarse voice called out from the left. "There's no evidence—how dare you accuse Jiang-zhangmen so rashly?"
Surprisingly, the speaker was Huang Xiaoyue, barely able to gasp for breath at this point. The geezer couldn't stop his hand from shaking on the barrier, yet he jumped to defend Jiang Xi. His intentions were unmistakable.
An incensed Bitan Manor disciple lunged toward Huang Xiaoyue, ready to curse him out, as one of his sectmates bodily restrained him. "Zhen Fu, don't provoke them!"
Mo Ran froze. Zhen Fu—"very wealthy"? It would normally have prompted a laugh, like Zhen Congming's "very smart." But as he watched the bedraggled Li Wuxin kowtowing over and over in the dirt, all he felt was bitterness and pity.
"Five billion isn't enough…? Then…how about five billion, five hundred million?" Li Wuxin wiped his tears with his sleeves. "Five billion, five hundred million. I'll do some business with the Chang family of Yizhou and sell off some magical devices and spiritual stones. I can put it together. Five billion, five hundred million… Sect Leader, please show some compassion, some mercy… Please, just give the sword manual back to me."
Back bent, he knocked his forehead on the ground again and again, until the skin was raw and blood trickled down his face. "The Water- Parting Sword manual is the soul of Bitan Manor…" Li Wuxin sobbed. "Before my master ascended, his last wish was for me to reclaim the manual. I've done everything in my power, I've dedicated my life… My hair has gone from black to white; I begged your father first, then you… I even begged Luo Fenghua…"
"Ah!" There was a collective intake of breath. Luo Fenghua?! Li Wuxin had begged Luo Fenghua. So it wasn't Guyueye… It was…
Countless heads turned. Without anyone taking so much as a single step forward or back, a path somehow cleared through the sea of people. Every member of every sect craned their necks to look at Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi where they stood at the edge of the crowd.
"It's Rufeng Sect!"
There was no more need to whisper. Shouts rose from the throng. "How could they!"
"No wonder Rufeng Sect's sword techniques improved by leaps and
bounds over the past few decades. People were saying they'd started to resemble those of the old legendary masters! What brutes!"
"Nangong Si came in third at the Spiritual Mountain Competition!
Because of stolen sword techniques! He's a fraud!" "Sickening!"
Nangong Si was rooted to the spot, his expression wooden. He had no idea what crimes his father and the other Rufeng Sect elders before him had committed. Those burdens ought to have fallen on all of Rufeng Sect's seventy-two cities, but now, they were his alone to bear. He didn't flee, but neither did he speak up. He stood in silence, his face ashen.
Ye Wangxi reached for his hand, but Nangong Si shifted away without batting an eye. He stepped in front of Ye Wangxi.
"He has the nerve to show himself here…"
"With a rank bastard like that for a father, how could the son be any better?"
Bitan Manor was angriest of all. "Get lost!" someone bellowed at Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi. "Get the fuck out of here!"
"There's no place for Rufeng among the ten great sects anymore!
Why are you still standing there? Fuck off!"
"You rotten bastards! Where do you get off?!"
Impassioned curses and rebukes assailed them from all sides; hatred was etched into every face. Someone pelted out of the crowd, Bitan Manor's green robes flying, and grabbed Nangong Si by the lapels.
"A-Si!" Ye Wangxi cried.
In the chaos, Nangong Si shoved her out of the way. The Bitan Manor disciple pinned Nangong Si to the ground, raining blows down on his face, his chest, his stomach. There was no spiritual energy behind the punches, but each landed with ferocious violence.
A low, stern voice suddenly rang out. "Stop."
Nangong Si had taken a punch squarely on his handsome face. He coughed up a mouthful of blood, his hair in disarray, covered in mud as he lay on the ground. The enraged Bitan disciple had just drawn back for another blow when someone grabbed his arm.
"Piss off!" the disciple howled, whipping around. "I don't need you to—"
He choked on the rest. The man before him was none other than the world's foremost zongshi, Chu Wanning.
"Stop." Chu Wanning looked down at him, his eyes like a frigid mountain stream. His expression was impossible to describe, containing too many emotions yet none at all. Gripping the young man's arm, he pressed his lips into a thin line. "Stop fighting," he said after a beat.
Nangong Si spit blood into the dirt. Ye Wangxi rushed forward to help him up, but he stopped her with a wave. "Don't waste your energy. These are Rufeng Sect's debts; I'm answerable for them in my father's stead."
If anything, the disciple grew more incensed upon hearing this. He struggled to pull free of Chu Wanning's grip and throw himself at Nangong Si once more.
"Stop fighting!" Chu Wanning commanded, brows drawn low. "It's none of your business! You're from Sisheng Peak; this has
nothing to do with you," the disciple snarled, mad with fury. "How can you treat my shifu like this? How? How can you treat Bitan Manor like this? We've groveled at Rufeng Sect's feet for so many years! Why do you… Why!" he howled piteously.
Behind him, Li Wuxin moaned and begged. He was trapped in his own consciousness, pleading with the Nangong Liu in his vision. "Luo Fenghua said he would return the manual to me… But he didn't know where it was… Sect Leader… You promised me… I'm seventy-nine— how many more years do I have? My cultivation's not strong enough for me to ascend; I probably won't be able to see my shizun again… But I must complete the one task he left to me. I must."
Each word was like a clot of blood squeezed from Li Wuxin's throat. "I can't fail, Sect Leader…" he wailed. "Please, give it back… Return Bitan Manor's rightful property to me… I beg you…"
The Bitan Manor disciple shuddered. Chu Wanning's hand, too, trembled where he gripped the young man. Tears of hatred and incredulity stood out in the disciple's eyes, but he couldn't win free. At last, he reared back and spit on Chu Wanning, the gob of saliva landing on his cheek. "Zongshi? No—all of you are bastards."
"Shizun!"
"Mo Ran, stay where you are. Don't come over."
Chu Wanning released the disciple, who made an immediate rush toward the bruised and battered Nangong Si. There was a flash of golden light—a haitang barrier descended around Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi, protecting them within. Chu Wanning had come down onto one knee; now, he slowly straightened and gazed at the indistinct faces of the watching crowd. Chu Wanning stood at one end; Li Wuxin, covered in blood and tears, kneeled at the other. Li Wuxin's aged voice was like a creaking tree branch in the winter, piercing the heavens with every word. "Isn't five billion, five hundred million enough…"
Caught within the dreamscape, the old man was still haggling with Nangong Liu. There was nothing of his dignity left, his wizened features crumbling like silt. "Five billion, eight hundred million?" His voice quavered.
Chu Wanning closed his eyes. Beneath wide sleeves, his clenched fingers were shaking. Still he said, deliberately enunciating each word, "On account of my deep regard for Rong Yan, mother of Nangong Si—"
In the great shadow of Mount Huang, before a crowd of thousands, the only sounds were Li Wuxin's wailing and Chu Wanning's low and austere voice.
On one side, Li Wuxin muttered, "Five billion, eight hundred million, surely that's enough? They're just three volumes of sword techniques after all…"
On the other, Chu Wanning intoned, "When I came down from the mountain, I had no money, nor did I know how to ask for aid from others. It was Madam Rong's kindness of a meal that allowed me to remain at Rufeng Sect for a time." When he paused, only Li Wuxin's sobs could be heard. "Madam Rong once asked me to take her son Nangong Si as my disciple. I was young and unqualified; I did not accept. But back then…"
Chu Wanning turned his head a fraction to glance at Nangong Si where he lay on the ground. He spoke for the watching crowd, slowly and clearly recounting this event even Nangong Si might not remember.
"Back then, Madam Rong brought her young son before the ancestral temple and bade him bow to me thrice. She said since Nangong Si had performed the rites to take me as his teacher, should I be willing to remain at Rufeng Sect, Nangong Si would honor this pledge." Chu Wanning looked up. "Nangong Si is my disciple."
The instant he heard this, Xue Meng's face drained of color. Mo Ran and Shi Mei's faces also fell, yet none said a word as they stared at Chu Wanning.
"If sons must shoulder their fathers' debts, so too must one who has served but a single day as a teacher afford his pupil a lifetime of protection. Nangong Si has bowed to me thrice; he can call me his shifu," Chu Wanning said. "His shifu is present. If you have grievances to avenge or beatings to dole out… I am here, and I will not resist."
"Shizun!"
"Shizun!"
Mo Ran, Shi Mei, and Xue Meng fell to their knees one after another while Nangong Si tried to struggle up from the ground. Blood leaked from his lips as he mumbled, "No… I didn't… I never bowed… I don't have a shifu… I don't have a shifu…"
On the other side, Li Wuxin let out a keening cry. Face upturned to the sky, mustache fluttering like windblown snow, he opened his eyes wide, blood streaming down his cheeks. He howled and screamed, sobbing and stammering. "Five billion, nine hundred million…surely that's enough? Nangong-zhangmen… Five billion, nine hundred million… Please, take pity on this old man and write off whatever remains. Leave me something to take to the grave… Please, won't you, please?" Like a lamb baring its neck for the slaughter, he cried with a final piercing sob, veins bulging, "Please?!"
With this third desperate entreaty, Li Wuxin coughed up a great gout of blood that splattered across the ground. Only silence remained.
Li Wuxin collapsed with a soft thud.
He was the leader of the bottom-ranked sect of the upper cultivation realm. In life, he had been an old man who ran about like a clown, sparing no effort to kiss up to any sect that might lend him a hand. He had spent most of his life trying to reclaim three measly sword technique scrolls, only to come away empty-handed, reduced to a laughingstock. He was a useless mediocrity who had crumbled wide-eyed into the dust and died.
The wind whistled past. All sorts of expressions passed over the faces of the crowd, but no one spoke a word.
Mo Ran suddenly remembered—there was a treasure trove hidden on Mount Jiao with enough riches to revitalize any sect. Even Jiangdong Hall knew of this. Bitan Manor had many dealings with Rufeng Sect; they would naturally know of it as well. After Nangong Liu's demise, sects large and small sought to capture Nangong Si and Ye Wangxi. Perhaps they claimed it was for vengeance; in truth, every one of them had designs on that mountaintop fortune.
And yet, Bitan Manor was never among them. Bitan Manor had spent its time clumsily trying to get into Sisheng Peak and Guyueye's good graces, hoping they might aid and support each other in the future. Li Wuxin's thoughts had never turned to Rufeng Sect's treasure, despite being bullied and humiliated by Rufeng Sect all his life. Perhaps it was because of this that the old man knew all too well: as desirable as wealth might be, the injustice that came with it was too much to bear.
From a distance, Mo Ran gazed at Li Wuxin's pathetically filthy face crushed into the dirt. It dawned on him then—on the night of Rufeng Sect's calamity, when everyone else had fled in all directions, Li Wuxin had remained behind despite his terror. His abilities were unexceptional, yet he'd steeled himself to brave the inferno. His sword had rescued dozens of complete strangers.
It was said the founder of Bitan Manor had a technique called the Water-Parting Sword, capable of cleaving water and splitting the skies. History venerated him as a legendary swordsman. But Li Wuxin had lost three volumes of the sword manual. He couldn't learn this miraculous technique or become a swordsman sage like his forebears. He could only expand his sword while the fire roared. He knew none of the people he rescued, among them many of Rufeng Sect's own disciples. Nevertheless, he had used his blade to bring every last one of them out of that sea of flames and return them to the world of the living.