Chapter 318: After the Fire (3)

Zhongnan Sect!

The Zhongnan Sect was the sacred seat of Daoism’s largest school: the Quanzhen Order.

Back in the day, there was a Daoist called Zhongyangzi, otherwise known as Wang Zhongyang.

As a young man, he’d tried to become a civil official, but failed the imperial exam.

Figuring he lacked the brains for it, he turned to martial arts, hoping to rise through military ranks—but failed at that too.

Whether the double failure hit him a little too hard or not, he burned down his own home, pretended to be mad, and wandered the world.

(Compared to the Western lunatics who burn down the world after flunking their careers, that’s practically pacifism.)

Now, whenever a historical record says someone “acted like a madman,” they usually mean “beggar,” not “lunatic.”

So it’s just a fancy way of saying he torched his house and became a bum.

At some point in his wandering, he met a great teacher and experienced enlightenment—

—and that teacher was none other than Lu Dongbin, the Sword Immortal of the Eight Immortals.

Thus enlightened, Zhongyangzi took disciples and eventually settled on Mount Zhongnan, establishing his foundation.

From that, the Quanzhen Order of Daoism was born, and so was the Zhongnan Sect.

A noteworthy footnote:

One of Zhongyangzi’s disciples, the Daoist Hak Daetong, built his own Daoist temple near his master’s and began spreading the Way—

That temple would eventually become none other than Mount Hua Sect.

So one could say Zhongnan’s greatest achievement... was giving birth to Mount Hua.

Its downside?

Compared to Mount Hua, it always lacked masters.

Put simply: they constantly got outclassed.

The Zhongnan Sect had every right to feel bitter.

After all, Mount Hua was practically secular—less a temple, more a martial sect.

Its martial arts were vicious killing techniques designed purely for practical combat.

What’s more, they wrapped that bloodlust in flourish.

So even commoners with no martial knowledge would go:

“Wow! Mount Hua! Wow, Plum Blossom Sword!”

Never mind the fact that there were barely any plum trees on the mountain.

But Zhongnan Sect—Zhongnan was pure, orthodox Daoism.

Though to be fair, Qingcheng and Kunlun also claimed that title.

As a result, all three “orthodox Daoist sects” blurred together into one indistinct lump.

Still, Zhongnan didn’t mind.

Because they were way richer than Mount Hua.

Indeed, the defining trait of orthodox Daoist sects was wealth.

Sure, Mount Hua had the name in martial arts.

But if you wanted to offer a rite or prayer, and were choosing between Mount Hua and Zhongnan?

Obviously, you’d go to one of the Three Great Sacred Sites of Daoism: Mount Zhongnan.

And tradition held that when royalty came to offer rites, the surrounding lands would be paid as tribute—

Zhongnan’s temples were the top choice of noble lineages throughout the Central Plains.

Of course, they still couldn’t quite match Buddhism’s holy lands like Mount Song or Emei.

Still, thanks to all this, Zhongnan owned massive swathes of land.

Their territory extended right up to the front yard of Mount Hua!

Which led to the bizarre situation where Mount Hua paid protection money to farm land that technically belonged to Zhongnan.

So the Zhongnan compound was gorgeous.

Sprawling, squarely-laid buildings gleamed in neat lines across the leveled ground, paved with more silver and gold than anyone could count—

It looked more like a city district than a monastery.

With Seol Iri beside her, Cheong crossed the gates of Zhongnan.

What she saw beyond was a massive, grid-like complex of Daoist halls, laid out just like her hometown district back in the capital—symmetrical, clean, and ordered.

They signed into the visitors’ ledger, took a short rest in the guesthouse—

—and soon received word: the sect leader had summoned them.

Inside the Sect Leader’s Hall, a middle-aged man wearing shimmering golden Daoist robes greeted her with beaming warmth.

Whether they were plated gold or pure gold was anyone’s guess—they gleamed either way.

This was Grandmaster Tajung, the Sect Leader of Zhongnan.

“I, Ximen Mo of the Unorthodox Inferior Sect, greet the Sect Leader. Have you been well?”

“I am Seol Iri of the Ice Palace. May peace be upon you.”

“Oh? You’re not the youngest. I see, I see. And this is the child from the Ice Palace—have we met before? No? Then welcome. Was the journey uneventful?”

“Yes. The abbot of Shaolin also asked me to relay his regards.”

“Hah, what greetings can a Daoist give?

So, did you glean anything from the Sword Wall at Shaolin?”

“Yes. A little, if I may say so.”

“Ohh! A worthy student indeed. And? Which technique did you see?”

“...Pardon?”

“Ah! I mean, which stance was it?”

“Oh, the First Stance. It was called I Alone Am Supreme.”

“Mmm.”

Grandmaster Tajung let out a soft groan of regret.

In truth, Zhongnan Sect’s martial arts weren’t known for raw power or practical impact.

At least, not compared to the other sects in the Nine Schools.

If Cheong were to line up Zhongnan’s techniques, they’d dazzle like golden treasures—

—but not because they’d win any fights.

Zhongnan had already accepted that it was a bit lackluster in the martial department.

So upon hearing of the legendary Sword Wall, the grandmaster had secretly hoped Cheong would take a liking to the First Stance.

The First Stance was always the root, the foundation—the core mental image of any technique.

But Shaolin?

Out of all the legendary techniques they had, she chose the First Stance?

Couldn’t she have picked, say, the Ninth and claimed the title of strongest?

“And now you’ve got the First and Eighth Stance?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Mmm. I won’t be greedy and ask for the Ninth. But... could we perhaps... see the Seventh?

Seven is quite an auspicious number for Zhongnan, after all...”

“Um... I don’t really get to decide that.”

“...I suppose not.”

Grandmaster Tajung’s shoulders slumped.

“Well, let’s see... ah, it’s a little early for dinner.

Why don’t we prepare a lavish table, and then after viewing the Sword Wall, we’ll eat together?”

Wearing golden robes and speaking with musical intonation, the man looked less like a Daoist and more like a wealthy merchant.

But everything he said struck straight to the listener’s heart.

So yes—he may look ridiculous, but a Grandmaster he was indeed.

“Hehe. Thank you so much.”

“No need for thanks. Come now—let’s go.”

Cheong stood up.

And then—

“Um, Grandmaster sir... isn’t that a lot of people coming along?”

“Want the honest answer? The really honest one?”

“Might as well go for both.”

“Honestly, they’re hoping you’ll go into a trance again like during the martial arts finals and show off another stance.

If we’re lucky, one of our disciples might even experience enlightenment just watching.”

“And the really honest one?”

“Daoists have too much free time.

What would they rather do—read boring texts or perform rites that never get a response?

Or gawk at a beautiful woman?

They’re all just bored, so they came crawling out.

And I’ve no reason to stop them.”

Listening to him, he sounded like a full-blown cult leader with an unfiltered mouth.

And wearing gold on his head with silk on his back, he hardly looked like a Daoist either.

But despite the behavior and appearance, the virtue points burned bright and real.

Truth was, Zhongnan had so much money they didn’t know the value of gold or silver anymore.

What use did Daoists have for wealth?

They used it to feed the hungry, clothe the poor, and shelter the homeless. That was it.

Mount Zhongnan’s peaks were scenic but not rugged.

With nothing but casual conversation among martial artists, they reached the Sword Wall quickly.

And the moment Cheong saw the wall—

Heavenly Martial Emperor. A hidden encounter.

Her mind lifted—

The world turned gray.

She’d seen the Heavenly Martial Emperor use a technique at Mount Hua,

Had stood beneath the blade of an old monk at Shaolin—

And now—

This time, it wasn’t a direct experience.

It was observation.

In the colorless world, a lone old man with a stern face sat on a jutting rock.

He was so vividly colored, he popped out of the scene like a smudge of bright paint on dusty canvas.

The Heavenly Martial Emperor rested his chin on his hand, gazing toward the direction where Cheong now stood.

Now what?

This again? My heart’s pounding.

I should’ve brought snacks. Next time I’m bringing popcorn or something.

Cheong stared at the Heavenly Martial Emperor, heart thudding.

And then—

“......”

“......”

“......”

“......”

But the old man didn’t do anything.

It felt like a whole gak had passed, and he was still just sitting there breathing—not the slightest sign he was about to do anything at all.

“...Huh? What’s going on? Why’s he just sitting there?”

Right on cue, a voice echoed out in a low murmur.

“I’m waiting.”

“Oh. So it’s about to start?”

“......”

“......”

And then—silence again.

Cheong tilted her head in confusion.

What? Am I supposed to wait for something too? Like, am I part of the ritual or something?

Another gak passed like that.

And at last, the Heavenly Martial Emperor opened his mouth again.

“You nasty little bitch.”

A curse, out of nowhere.

“You disrespectful cunt.”

Another curse.

It was when Cheong started feeling that something was off that—

“How long are you planning to just stand there like an idiot?

Did no one teach you to greet your elders first when you see them?

Rude little shit. Disgracing your parents like that. Huh!?”

Cheong glanced behind her.

The world was still gray. Nothing there but a dull stone wall.

“Um... are you talking to me?”

“Who else would I be talking to!?”

“Wait—so you can see me?”

“What, just because I’m old, you think I can’t see straight anymore?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, are you... alive?

No, I mean—ugh, the phrasing’s weird. I’m here to view the sword form you left on the Sword Wall, and... this has never happened before.”

“Ah, right. I see. So that’s what this is. Now it makes sense.

You wouldn’t understand, but one day you will. There’s no need for you to know yet.

Anyway. That’s enough of that.”

For some reason, a surge of anger boiled up in Cheong’s chest.

What the hell was that tone?

Why does he piss me off so much just by speaking?

The Heavenly Martial Emperor chuckled.

“Kidding.

Whenever I talk like that, everyone always gets all serious and starts begging for answers.

So, how’s the real body doing? The actual Heavenly Martial Emperor—is he dead?”

“He ascended. That’s what they say.”

“He really did it, huh?

I always knew he would.”

“So... you’re not the real one?”

“Of course not.

What should I call myself? A leftover will? A trace of sword intent?

A sword soul, if you like.

What you’re seeing right now is just your interpretation of that trace.”

“A sword soul?”

“You’ll be able to do it too once you become a top-level master like me.

Not that that day’ll ever come. Not just anyone can become a master, you know.”

“I don’t think I could even if I were a master.

This isn’t martial arts—it’s witchcraft or something.”

“It’s nothing that fancy.

You know how, when you read the writings of the sages, you suddenly get it—

you’re struck by this moment of pure understanding?

It’s the same thing.

If you stare long enough at my sword scars, you’ll come to understand the greatness I left behind.”

He was way different from what she’d imagined.

She’d expected something more serious. Stoic.

Like a dignified elder with gravitas.

“Because that’s what you imagined me to be.

People can only see the world through their own eyes.

This version of me exists because this is how you interpreted me.

But seriously—what the hell kind of record did you read to imagine me like this?

I look like some two-bit thug.”

“...Wait, me?”

“Yes, you.”

Well, to be fair, all Cheong had heard about the Heavenly Martial Emperor was that he wrecked havoc in the Imperial Palace, in the Demonic Cult, in the Orthodox sects, and even in the Blood Cult.

Basically, he was havoc incarnate.

“Hmph. I did all that for the sake of the world, thank you very much.

Calling it ‘havoc’ is a little rude.”

“Wait... can you read minds too?”

“Of course I can.

You created me.”

“...I don’t get it. Can we just skip to the sword form already?”

“No.”

“...Why not?”

“Because you were born with Heaven-Slaying Bone Marrow.

If I show it to you now, you’ll fall into a mental deviation on the spot.

You’ll become a demonic cultivator.

And not just any demonic cultivator—a great demonic cultivator.

The Great Demonic Cultivator.”

“...Yeah, that phrase doesn’t sound great.”

“Of course it doesn’t. You really think ‘Great Demonic Cultivator’ is meant to sound nice?

You’ve got a filthy mouth and an empty head, huh?”

“Gods, what is wrong with you? Can’t you talk like a normal person?”

The Heavenly Martial Emperor gave her a look of pure disbelief and snapped:

“I told you—I’m your creation.

You want me to talk like this, don’t you?

You want to be yelled at. Admit it.

So let me ask you—why do you want to be cursed at so badly?

What is it?

What’s weighing on you?”