Chapter 589: Journey to Kunlun (2)

Qinghai Lake’s eastern guard—between Xining and the lake itself—stands a mountain that blocks the way clean across: Sun and Moon Mountain.

Once upon a very long time ago, when the Tibetan Empire was at the height of its power:

at that time, Princess Wencheng of the Tang was, so the story goes, sold off to Tibet as tribute.

Princess Wencheng, for her part, treasured a fine mirror inherited from her mother, engraved with the sun and the moon, and kept it always at her side.

But on the road, grieving over being sold to “barbarians,” she broke it.

Why she smashed an innocent mirror, no one knows, but they say the fragments of that mirror—the Sun-and-Moon Mirror—were scattered over this very mountain, thus its name: Sun and Moon Mountain.

For the record, that same Princess Wencheng, who was weeping and breaking her trousseau and throwing fits all the way to the Tibetan plateau—how did her life turn out?

Afterwards she lived smiling, happily, very well indeed.

The famous Potala Palace in Tibet was built to honor and attend Princess Wencheng.

Far from being slighted, she was treated as a most honored guest.

Her husband, they even say, was exceptionally considerate.

In Tibet there had been a cosmetic custom of painting one’s face with red clay, but at a single word from Princess Wencheng—she hated the sight of it—it was banned by law, the custom abolished outright. That tells you enough, doesn’t it?

Anyway—Kunlun Sect’s new seat: Sun and Moon Mountain.

There were attempts by Kunlun elders to quietly change the name, claiming the mountain the sect had taken up was “Kunlun Mountain” itself.

But since the name Sun and Moon was old and entangled with the imperial house, they had no choice but to give up on that idea.

So then: Sun and Moon Mountain! Kunlun Sect!

At the first of Kunlun’s famed Three Pure Gates—the Great Pure Gate—quite a number of incense-paying pilgrims had gathered.

It was winter, a season of idle days; and Xining is filled with Tibetan temples and Hui mosques, so those who held to orthodox Daoism had flocked here.

“Gate,” mind you, meant only a great freestanding frame; there was no wall or door attached.

Daoists of the Kunlun Sect, hats on and white robes stitched with clouds, were standing in imposing ranks, fixing their eyes and their faces into serious expressions as they looked over the pilgrims.

This was nothing strange or laughable.

Grinning at people would be strange.

When Qing approached, the eyes of the stern-faced Kunlun Daoists went wide.

The peerless beauty recognized by Jiangnan, the Icy Snow Flower, and alongside her an unashamedly licentious temptress; a man with his face hidden by a bamboo hat; and—

Under ordinary circumstances, it would have been awkward to let them through, but fortunately, one man recognized her.

“Are you not the Heavenly Flower Sword, young lady?”

“Oh! Have we met before?”

“Hah-hah, no! I merely witnessed your exploits at the martial tournament; I have not had the honor of greeting you. I am Bungyeol, a disciple of Kunlun.”

Bungyeol snapped into a formal fist-and-palm salute and offered a courteous greeting.

“Ximen Qing, outer-gate disciple of Divine Lady’s Gate.”

“Seol Iri, Head of the North Sea Ice Palace’s Martial Liaison Office.”

“Peng Daesan of the Peng Family.”

“Huh? I’m Gyeon Pohee of Seol Trading Company.”

Strictly speaking, for an orthodox greeting in the righteous world, Gyeon Pohee didn’t have to introduce herself—but no one had ever explained that to her, so she must have thought she should.

For reference, the North Sea Ice Palace’s “Martial Liaison Office” in reality is like this:

no office, no operating funds, no duties, total personnel one. In professional terms, a pure sinecure.

“I’m sorry to appear like this unannounced. We had planned to stay in Xining and send word first, but there’s an urgent matter for the Sect Leader, so our feet ran ahead of our letters.”

“If it’s urgent news, hmm. I see.”

Catching the seriousness on Qing’s face, Bungyeol nodded gravely.

Of course the matter was grave, but that didn’t mean Qing needed to overdo the stern, weighty air.

Still, it was etiquette—a stiff face is a nonverbal way to say the news is not good.

So Bungyeol led Qing’s party up into Sun and Moon Mountain.

At the second of the Three Pure Gates, the Upper Pure Gate, Kunlun’s Daoist compounds unfold—this is the true front gate of the sect.

First he brought them to Kunlun’s guest hall, saying, “Please wait a moment; I will inform the Sect Leader,” and withdrew.

Before meeting the head of the sect, this also gave them time to set down their luggage and tidy themselves—meeting an elder, one attends to one’s appearance.

Once hair was retied and in order and Qing had changed into Divine Lady’s Gate’s winter uniform, she was ready to pay respects to the Sect Leader.

When Qing had finished and was nibbling on the snacks brought out to the guest hall, with Gyeon Pohee steadily popping treats into her younger sister’s mouth beside her—

—Well, well, who do we have here! Is that not the Jade Qilin!

The voice boomed with tremendous projection, but it was neat and not noisy, the enunciation so clear it was pleasant to hear.

“Brother Bungsain.”

“Hah-hah! What brings you all the way here!? Yes, you’ve had a hard road to the borderlands! We’ve been short-handed, so I’m truly delighted to see you!”

“You don’t look all that delighted.”

Peng Daesan answered with a faint smile.

Bungsain’s eyes went round—then, hah! he burst into a hearty laugh.

“This fellow! When did you get so sly-tongued!? Ha, you’ve become quite the man. A little ribbing suits you—how good it looks! Yes, you’re growing too. I’m truly proud—pleased to see—”

And then suddenly a bead of tears rolled down.

Kunlun’s foremost prodigy, the Jade-Teardrop Sword, Bungsain.

The man who cries more than anyone in the Central Plains.

With a rich sensitivity, he cries when he’s happy, cries even at the slightest sadness, and, they say, even cries when the food is delicious; hence the sobriquet “Jade-Teardrop Sword,” the sword that sheds tears.

Peng Daesan’s “you don’t look that delighted” was teasing him for this very thing—if he doesn’t shed a single tear on seeing you, then isn’t the delight only in words?

“Oh! Is that not Lady Ximen!?”

“Have you been well, Hero Bungsain?”

“Bungsain” is not a given name but a Daoist sobriquet, so there’s nothing to shorten.

Besides, Kunlun’s three senior disciples all share the generation name “Bung,” so calling someone “Hero Bung” tells you nothing at all.

“My master told me there were welcome guests and to escort them to the Sect Leader! Truly, I am glad!”

He looked genuinely pleased.

Granted, at the Dragon-and-Phoenix Meet they’d only seen each other’s faces and exchanged names, so what was there to be so glad about?

Qing didn’t know it, but Kunlun disciples are naturally affectionate and quick to delight.

Kunlun sits tucked away in the countryside, on the margins, in remote, odd corners; seeing familiar faces is rare—so it can’t be helped.

“Lady Seol, it has been a while!”

Seol Iri gave a single nod.

Cool and reserved, she signaled she understood—but—

“Hah-hah! Still as taciturn as ever! Yet you seem to have put on a good bit of flesh, so you must be doing well!”

At that bluntness—subtle as a hammer—Seol Iri’s brows furrowed.

The deepest shame ever observed on Seol Iri’s face.

“Lady Ximen. That ‘flesh.’”

“Mm. Unfortunately, it’s true. Your cheeks have gotten awfully plump lately.”

Seol Iri clenched her fist.

Following Qing, who is dead serious about eating, her meal portions had skyrocketed; she had only herself to blame.

“Oh, and who is this beautiful lady?”

“She’s my sworn sister, Gyeon Pohee. Hee-mae, this is Daoist Bungsain.”

With Bungsain’s resounding voice ringing through the still winter compound as background music, they passed the last of the Three Pure Gates, the Jade Pure Gate, and headed up toward the peak.

Past the Three Pure Palaces—the main Daoist complex of Kunlun—the residence of the Sect Leader revealed itself behind.

Old Daoists, for some reason, tend to converge toward a similar look.

To be fair, old Daoists might protest.

Monks shave their heads; Daoists grow beards.

But even beards must be grown well.

One cannot go about like a mountain brigand; if you pamper the beard on your chin and philtrum and trim the messy parts near your ears, in the end a Daoist’s beard ends up looking much the same anywhere.

Once it’s on your face, of course the faces all look similar.

In that vein, Kunlun’s Sect Leader, Cheon Bija, looked exactly like a Daoist master you’d see in a painting.

A splendid white beard.

And long white eyebrows drooping down.

How? How do eyebrows grow like that?

Every time Qing sees them she marvels.

She cannot shake the reasonable suspicion that when men train in Daoist-lineage martial arts, a side effect is that their eyebrows start growing wild.

“Outer-gate disciple Ximen Mo of Divine Lady’s Gate pays respects to Sect Leader Cheon Bija. Have you been well, sir?”

“Oh, ho. Our junior sister has come. Is your senior still hale? When I saw him last, it seemed this junior was the one who looked the elder.”

“Of course. He’s very hale. Still flying about and all that.”

“Mm. I’d prefer he were a little less hale. Well then, how goes your cultivation these days? Any small attainment?”

“Uh—about that.”

Qing hesitated a moment—but this was something she ought to tell the Sect Leader.

“I entered Harmony last autumn.”

“Yes, yes. You entered the super-transcendent early, so there’s no need to be impatient. Our junior sister has time to spare; don’t be discouraged, mm?”

Cheon Bija had been offering the usual pleasantries, asking routine questions—only to hear a most unusual answer.

“Just now—did you say you entered Harmony?”

“Hehe. It’s embarrassing, but yes.”

“Flower Realm!”

Cheon Bija forgot his dignity and barked the words.

Flower Realm?

A child who reached the super-transcendent last year, achieving Harmony in a single year? Is that something one can even say with a straight face?

Can this be measured against the annals of the martial world—no, can the annals even accommodate this?

Is the child toying with me?

No—if it were Senior Yeo Gwanggyeon, perhaps—but that dutiful Heavenly Flower Sword would never dare make sport of an elder.

No—Harmony at twenty-one?

To see the world broadly, to survey all things, to sense inwardly—even if you cannot yet state the essence of man—so as to unify the world within and set yourself upright: that is the law.

But Cheon Bija is a Daoist of an old orthodox sect, Kunlun’s head.

Surprise for a moment—then calm returns—

—or cannot.

Even on second thought, it makes no sense.

A mere twenty-one.

At best, the age for skipping practice and pondering very seriously how to sneak a drink—such foolishness.

In truth, a big-bodied child—adult in years but still without true gravity, prone to making only the largest sort of trouble—that is twenty-one, the age of rascals.

If the Heavenly Flower Sword had entered the super-transcendent at fifteen, perhaps.

But the higher the realm, the clearer the hazards of the road ahead.

Harmony in a year? One year? Twelve months—no, she said autumn, and it was a leap year, so fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen?

Even so—how can that be!

“Elder?”

“Ah—yes. Congratulations. Truly auspicious—good fortune for the orthodox world. Mm. Congratulations. Our junior sister, I am truly proud of you...”

Cheon Bija looked a little dazed.

He’d called her “junior sister” out of generational rank—and because she was so polite and poised and so sweetly respectful to her elders that the term fit with a touch of fondness.

But now, in terms of realm, she had reached a rank that matched him in generation as well. Except—

Now a pang of worry struck.

She is young—too young.

If even he, seasoned in self-cultivation, felt a stab of jealousy, what of others?

“Hmm. A great joy it is, yet I think it would be unwise to broadcast it widely.”

“Ah. My master said the same, and so did the Alliance Chief. But how could I possibly conceal it from you, Elder Cheon Bija?”

“Heh-heh.”

Cheon Bija gazed at the much-younger junior of his generation, the pretty smile blooming on his face.

Truly—what little monster is this!

No wonder worldly fathers all crave a daughter; perhaps, when we recruit Kunlun disciples, we ought to seek out more girls!

These were the thoughts running through his mind, unaware that his face had already softened into the kindly smile of a grandfather.