Chapter 129: On the Mountain

Beneath the mansion's inscribed plaque, the young swordsman habitually rested his elbow against the hilt and the scabbard's end, yet gave no impression of weariness. He spoke softly, "Madam Chu." After uttering her name once, he fell silent. The Ritual Ministry official bearing a lantern and the embroidered river god entwined with a green serpent both involuntarily slowed their breathing and stood solemnly.

The ghost in the bridal gown sneered coldly, "What is it? Does this nobleman intend to settle accounts with me come autumn?"

The young swordsman lifted his gaze toward the place where the flying sword of the sword cultivator in the Snowstorm Temple had pierced the night sky, and said slowly, "Madam Chu, no need for harsh words—I bear no such intent. Yet, I hope that the children leaving here, as well as the blind old Taoist and his two disciples continuing northward, will not stir up further troubles. Whether it was intentional or accidental on your part, the Song family of Dali remains grateful to you for your aid in preserving their dynasty. After that, however, the Song family also failed you gravely. Even as an outsider, upon hearing of that tragic affair, I cannot claim to be filled with righteous indignation, but pity, certainly I have."

Silence fell again.

The ghost brushed back her ebony hair, revealing her delicate feminine grace, eyes narrowed as she smiled, "Now, nobleman, you may proceed with your 'but.'"

The young swordsman nodded as expected, "But Madam Chu's indiscriminate slaughter of scholars can no longer be concealed, as today's events have shown. What His Majesty the Emperor thinks, I dare not presume. Yet if I hear once more of any scholar vanishing here, I shall personally visit and bring Madam Chu back to Dali's water prison. Rest assured, His Majesty cherishes sentiment but values law even more. Besides, affection is not inexhaustible."

He sighed deeply, his eyes sincere. "Madam Chu, believe it or not, I do not wish for that day to come."

The ghost gazed into the distance, fingers lightly twirling the sleeve of her bridal robe, rare calm settling over her, her voice soft, "Just because you deign to speak so humbly to a mere youth, I believe your words."

After a long pause, her expression turned cold. "I now vow not to harm passing scholars, but you should know that if I ever accidentally encounter those wandering poet-scholars, I may not be able to restrain myself. I do not plead for mercy; I only speak my truth. How you deal with it then is your prerogative—whether I am seized and thrown into that watery prison or whether I first sever the mountain's root and its waters here, we shall bear the consequences ourselves."

The young swordsman smiled, "Agreed."

The embroidered river god hesitated, then the young swordsman, before departing, said to him, "No need for subterfuge; be frank with Madam Chu. After all these years, she ought to know the truth. Any blame lies with me—I alone shall bear the court's displeasure."

The river god clasped his fists, voice grave, "Thanks, nobleman. Even if it concerns your private affairs, I shall follow you through fire and water without hesitation."

The young swordsman waved dismissively and, accompanied by Official Han, vanished into the air.

Madam Chu stood where she was, eyeing the river god trusted by the Dali court with a hint of disdain—neither inviting him into the mansion nor driving him away. The embroidered river god strode up the steps and casually seated himself.

"Knowing you have always looked down on a crude martial man like me, I shall be brief. The gentleman you favored did not betray your trust. Yet, the Dali court, prioritizing the greater good, feared that if you left this place, the residual divine fate of the Water Nation led by Chess Hill could no longer be suppressed. Hence, they never revealed the truth, deliberately letting you misunderstand that scholar."

Madam Chu's sleeves billowed as her eyes reddened with tears of blood, yet her expression remained composed.

"At this juncture, do you still wish to deceive me? Do you think I am a child of three? Though I never left this mountain's waters after he departed, nor visited Wanping or Hongzhu Town to enjoy mortal sights, I was not deaf when he went to Guanhu Academy. Passing many scholars, many inadvertently spoke of it. I know—I know so much! In the end, he fell in love with another woman."

Madam Chu murmured, "If he loved, then it was truly with all his heart."

The river god's face was impassive, "You should know then that, as the first self-made scholar of Dali to enter the academy, he was cruelly framed. First, by excessive praise—a lavishly paid courtesan feigning admiration for his talents to boost his fame, nearby great scholars pretending friendship, his calligraphy works worth a fortune, all designed to push him close to becoming Dali's first Confucian gentleman.

"But overnight, everything reversed. He was defamed as a plagiarist, the courtesan slandered him as inhumane, and numerous literary giants condemned his morals, labeling him a hypocrite, the academy's scourge. The once proud prodigy descended into madness.

"For a long time, that humble scholar became the academy's laughingstock, and Dali was branded barbarous by the north. Yet no one expected he would eventually regain his senses."

The river god turned to the dazed Madam Chu, "Do you know why he recovered?"

Madam Chu slowly sat atop the steps, her bridal gown flowing like a crimson peony.

"Did your Dali Qi cultivators intervene?"

The burly man smiled coldly, bluntly, "If Dali had acted, they would have killed the scholar outright."

Madam Chu smirked and nodded, "Indeed, it would damage national prestige. Two nations' rivalry spares no means—that is only natural."

The man exhaled a foul breath, "That scholar regained consciousness because a woman familiar to him came by his side."

Madam Chu's body stiffened. The river god rose and descended the steps.

"That woman wore a mask, identical in appearance to you, Madam Chu. If no mistake, she mimicked your voice, habits, and preferences to about seventy or eighty percent. If the earlier harm to the scholar was political between two nations, then driving him to despair and toying with him afterward was a quarrel among scholars."

The river god strode away, "In the end, the scholar learned the truth and drowned himself—just so simple."

"Judging from the scant words he shared with two close friends at the Imperial Academy in Dali before going to Guanhu, he knew your inhuman nature. That is why he insisted on becoming a gentleman above Confucian scholars—so that, upon returning to Dali, he could demand a proper marriage with the court's backing."

The river god was gone. The ghost in the bridal gown, guilty beyond measure, still sat peacefully, gently smoothing her sleeves and collar with quiet satisfaction.

Shortly after Wei Jin's graceful departure on his donkey, hurried voices called behind Chen Ping'an—shouts urging the benefactor to wait. Turning, he saw the blind old Taoist and his two disciples closing in.

The old Taoist, weathered and experienced, knew well that these mysterious children held the key to his safe passage down the mountain. Heaven knew if that capricious ghost might change her mind and seize them. According to the disciples, the mansion's garden truly "cultivated" many scholars, some struggling to emerge from the soil, though now pitifully severed.

Supported by a round-faced girl, the old Taoist hurried along, his worn robe snagging on branches, oblivious to his disheveled state. Though his lightning magic failed to subdue the bridal ghost, in the town below, he was regarded as a venerable immortal. Traveling north, he was sometimes worshiped as a recluse, sometimes scorned as a fraud at San Zhi Mountain—such was his rare and bittersweet fate.

No longer feigning mystique, the old Taoist forced a smile, "May I ask where the Snowstorm Temple's great swordsman Wei is? My humble name is Xu Yingzhen, Daoist title Xuanguzi, long admiring Wei's unparalleled skill. By fate's twist, to witness those three peerless swords is a great blessing."

Lin Shouyi sneered, "That land swordsman travels alone north now. Old Daoist, if you wish to cozy up, bypass us—you might still catch him."

The old Taoist chuckled sheepishly, "Missed chances are fate's decree; no forcing."

Such a supreme immortal as Wei Jin, the old Taoist knew his limits—any approach would only annoy the swordsman. Cultivators on the mountain were rare indeed, but meetings among cultivators were fated, yet fate varied by virtue, cause, and consequence. The old Taoist's many battles accumulated merit, and surviving thus far owed not just to fifth-level cultivation and unorthodox lightning magic.

Sensing the mood chill, he glanced about and smiled, "Xiao Jiu'er, Little Lame, bow and thank our benefactors!"

The round-faced girl was about to kneel; the lame boy's face darkened.

Chen Ping'an stepped forward, gently holding the slender girl's arm, smiling, "No need."

Then to the lame boy,

he asked, "What's your name?"

The boy stiffened, hands at his sides. Lin Shouyi's brow furrowed—so uncooperative, why not just stay behind the walls of the mountain?