The Fifth Scroll of the “Sword Comes” tome has graced the shelves of the realm.

Through cycles of blossom and frost, from year’s dawn to year’s twilight, the Wheel of Seasons turns to the hand of the Eastern Sovereign alone.

A lad, clad in unblemished white, trod the king’s road beyond the city gates, clutching skewers laden with fermented bean curd, his lips ablaze with chili oil.

He paused, mid-chew, his cheeks puffed with pungent delight, and glanced at the heavens. “News of a True One arrives,” he mused, “making heaven and earth as one.”

The starry sky, once obscured, bloomed with a celestial river of such brilliance that the moon seemed to momentarily abdicate its throne. Yet, this marvel was fleeting, a whisper in the wind.

Astrologers across the lands would surely seize upon this portent, and by dawn, chaos would reign. A night of restless augury was assured.

Cui Dongshan, a flicker of disdain in his eyes, sighed. “So, another Fourteenth Realm is born?”

Doubtless, the Old Scholar had lent a hand to the Elder Immortal Yu. Without such aid, Cui Dongshan reckoned, Yu Xuan’s path to harmonious ascension would not open until the Three Sages had ascended to the celestial courts.

He held aloft his skewers and traced the shape of a crooked ‘S’ in the air.

Having devoured the remaining morsels, he cast aside the bamboo, wiped his hand upon his “trouble-maker’s sleeve,” and from its depths tumbled a Golden Core Earth Immortal: Liu Mao, a Dragon Province Daoist of Yellow Blossom Temple in Mirage City.

The way was long, and the night held many leagues. A companion to lighten the journey was needed.

Liu Mao, disoriented by his abrupt conveyance, dared neither to speak nor inquire.

Cui Dongshan brandished the remaining skewers. “Bean curd, Daoist? Care to partake?”

Liu Mao shook his head. “My palate is not suited to such fare.”

Cui Dongshan feigned offense. “Soft hands and pampered tastes. Truly, thou art a creature of whim.”

Liu Mao dared not retort.

The Hidden Officer, with his layers of secrets, was, in a way, predictable. One could, with effort, trace the currents of his thoughts. This Cui, this self-proclaimed student of the Officer, was madness incarnate. Chen Ping’an might speak with thorns and riddles, yet he would not unleash a torrent of blows without provocation. Cui Dongshan, however, would rain down fists upon Liu Mao at the slightest whim, declaring such assaults were necessary to “chisel open the mind.”

Cui Dongshan munched, lost in blissful reverie. “Delicious! Exquisite!”

Liu Mao followed in silence, acknowledging a debt. He had entered his seclusion with confidence in achieving the Golden Core, but without the “interference” of this white-clad youth, he could never have reached the Third Grade, blessed with the unexpected vision of a vermilion chamber filled with the perfume of the Way, walls adorned with five thousand scrolls.

Legends spoke of a First Grade Core as an invitation to ascension, as held by Zhao Tianlai of Dragon Tiger Mountain, the Fire Dragon True Man of Crouching Peak, and Wei She of Ice Isle, master of Seventy-Two Peaks. Yet, even grand ascetics often achieved only a Second Grade Core in their youth. The Third Grade remained the coveted prize for many Earth Immortals.

As recompense, Liu Mao was tasked with aiding the first Sovereign of the Verdant Bloom Sword Sect in a clandestine endeavor: the creation of a device to measure the seismic shifts that plagued the rivers and mountains of Tung Leaf Province.

He had little choice but to agree, though this grand design was a dream he dared not voice, a tower he could never build alone.

Cui Dongshan casually asked, “Your improved chicken-claw quill pleases even my eye. Has your Emperor found buyers for the second batch?”

Liu Mao answered truthfully, “The Emperor’s designs are beyond my ken.”

The impoverished Dynasty of the Great Spring had established a new Quill Office near Lotus Bridge, close to both the Bureau of Coins and the Granary. The proximity to Liu Mao’s Yellow Blossom Temple was no accident. After a visit from the Emperor, Liu Mao had been granted a minor, yet influential, position and a secret commission in the Ministry of Punishments. With his aid, the Quill Office had become a treasure trove for the Imperial Court.

These “Imperial” quills, now sold throughout the mountains and the kingdoms below, had solved the financial woes of the Yao Dynasty.

Cui Dongshan chuckled. “An item worth ten taels sells for the price of a snowflake coin! Master Fan of the Merchant Guild and Zhang Zhi of Wrapped Blessings would weep to see such profit.”

Liu Mao bit back a retort.

Who was the true architect of this fortune, if not the Sovereign’s own teacher?

The Jade Decree Sect had already pre-ordered thirty thousand quills, to be sold in conjunction with the plum blossom paper made in the Jiang Cloud Grotto. A single “Imperial” quill, stamped with a false blessing, fetched a thousand taels! The cost of materials was merely seven or eight, at most ten with embellishments and artisan’s fees.

Liu Mao had been aghast at the price.

The Imperial price-gouging was audacious. However, since it fleeced the mountain immortals and foreign dignitaries, no commoner suffered. Liu Mao, now a Golden Core immortal, had renounced his past as an Imperial Prince and had no desire to meddle in affairs of state. He had made his choice, and survival demanded it.

Cui Dongshan tossed the remaining skewers, humming “嗖嗖嗖” as he did.

Then, belching contentedly, he produced a bamboo instrument from his sleeve. “Dragon Province Immortal,” he said, smiling, “Can you wield this?”

Liu Mao nodded, for his knowledge was vast. It was a ‘yu-gu’, a bamboo fish-drum, or a Daoist drum, a similar instrument for chanting scriptures. In his days as an Imperial Prince, Liu Mao had been famed for his scholarship and grace.

Cui Dongshan began to strike the drum, yet deliberately played with a jarring, discordant rhythm that grated upon Liu Mao’s sensitive ears.

Liu Mao, a man of order, found the cacophony almost unbearable. Even the misplacement of a book in his library by Chen Ping’an would cause him great distress.

As they walked along the deserted king’s road, Cui Dongshan, skipping and howling, turned to Liu Mao. “The Sui Dynasty of Treasure Bottle Province endured for twelve hundred years! The Great Li neighbors them, imagine the terror in Central Earth.”

Liu Mao replied, “The Sui arose in Yi Yang Prefecture, a region long known for the fish-drum.”

Cui Dongshan gave him a thumb’s up. “Worthless knowledge, but you possess it in abundance.”

Liu Mao remained silent.

Cui Dongshan laughed. “One day, I shall introduce you to the current Sui Emperor and Yu Lu of the Lu Dynasty. Three lost princes! You could share tales of woe and weep into your cups together.”

One was a prince without a kingdom, stripped of name and fortune. Yu Lu, the remnant of Lu.

The Sui Emperor, Gao Xuan, possessed great potential for cultivation. He had been forced to travel to the Azure Pearl Grotto, to Lin Lu Academy. He had been destined for the Dragon Throne, forced to accept mortality rather than seek immortality.

And Liu Mao, haunted by ill-fate, had been forced upon the path of cultivation.

Each longed for what they could not have.

Liu Mao said, with a mask of indifference, “I would be most grateful for such an introduction, Sovereign Cui.”

Cui Dongshan returned the drum to his sleeve and rubbed his chin.

The ambush of Lady Ning Yao in the Azure Pearl Grotto gnawed at him.

The old tortoise likely knew the truth, but would not speak. Qi Jingchun may have foreseen it, but had likewise remained silent.

His teacher must have known, yet had never uttered a word.

Yi Yang drums. The vassal Yellow Court Kingdom.

Cui Dongshan sighed and scratched his head.

The white-clad youth, Liu Mao noted, possessed a peculiar aura.

At times relaxed and languid, then fleetingly distracted.

Cui Dongshan stood on his toes, gazing into the distance. “Dragon Province Friend, we must hasten our pace.”

Liu Mao nodded. Once they had achieved the Golden Core, cultivators could shorten the earth, leaping across mountains and rivers.

Were it not for his imprisonment within Cui Dongshan’s sleeve, Liu Mao would already have sought a secluded place to hone his newfound powers.

To compress land and move mountains, ride upon the wind, rise into the sky.

But Cui Dongshan, instead, employed a crude art that was both comical and effective: The Armor Foot Talisman, a low-level enchantment for swift travel.

Liu Mao watched Cui Dongshan inscribe the name of an ancient god upon his brow, affix talisman strips to his legs, and hop about.

Then, from the same inexhaustible sleeve, Cui Dongshan pulled forth a paper horse. Upon touching the ground, it became a magnificent white steed. “Mount, Dragon Province! This is no mere beast, but a ‘Jade Lion’ steed of legend, swift as the wind. A league a day it gallops.”

With a flourish, the white-clad youth leapt forward. “To the clouds and beyond!”

Liu Mao mounted the steed, and the pair shot down the road like lightning.

As they sped along, Cui Dongshan shouted, “Cloud Rock Kingdom! How should Sword Immortal Shao feel about this place!”

Liu Mao realized that they had entered the borders of Cloud Rock.

Soon they entered a county town, its city the capital of Cloud Rock. Cui Dongshan, abandoning his mystical theatrics, returned the paper horse to Liu Mao and led him through the winding streets to a shuttered bookshop. It was clear the city revolved around its publications.

Stopping before the door, Cui Dongshan asked, “Do you know why Cloud Rock has been spared the ravages of war?”

Liu Mao shook his head.

Great dynasties often commissioned the compilation of vast encyclopedias, as symbols of peace and enlightenment.

Cloud Rock, conversely, had escaped destruction. After its restoration, there was barely any repair.

Mountain Immortals spoke in riddles. For the rulers, Qin, it was the blessings of their ancestors.

Cui Dongshan rubbed his hands together and smiled. “The humble lane holds more Spring than the halls of the wealthy! An open book. Come, let us delve within and expand your understanding.”

Here, in Cloud Rock, both official and private publishing flourished.

Even in this modest shop, the woodblocks numbered in the tens of thousands.

Cui Dongshan clasped his hands behind his head. “A literary family, a noble house. A wellspring of culture. I must warn the proprietor. We have been robbed!”

“An act of altruism, worthy of song!”

Liu Mao remained silent, indifferent to the boy’s eccentricities.

Cui Dongshan spirited away the woodblocks, instructing Liu Mao to wait while he visited a future guest of his sect.

The white-clad youth wandered the streets alone.

The hare flies to the moon, the crow to the sun.

May the Azure Emperor ever reign, and let no flower fall in vain.

In the ancestral hall of an old estate, two portraits hung upon the wall, bearing no names.

Upon the altar, beside the censer, lay several antique books bound in silk.

A man in a tunic of mismatched hues – green, crimson, silver, and black – stood before the altar.

After placing incense in the censer, he spoke without turning. “If you are a mountain cultivator, why descend to thievery?”

From the rafters, a head appeared. “Even the thief in the rafters is a gentleman.”

A square-faced youth in white tumbled to the floor.

Feigning a sprain, he clutched his knee and cried out in mock agony.

The scholar frowned. “Silence.”

The youth patted his stomach. “I am hungry. A bowl of plain rice will suffice.”

The scholar stared in silence.

The youth continued, “But best if cooked with firewood made of old wheels. Do you have any?”

The scholar narrowed his eyes, his face darkening.

The youth placed his hands behind his back and gazed at a portrait on the wall. “How fortuitous! You venerate Lord Gongzeng. And the other?”

“Paper may last a thousand years. But books are beset by misfortune. Insects, mold, damp: minor calamities. Fire, sale, burial: greater woes. The greatest are war and the burning of forbidden texts.”

His gaze shifted to the books upon the table. “A book that survives centuries must be blessed. Am I right?”

Then the youth turned to the scholar and smiled. “You have preserved a portion of Tung Leaf’s culture.”

The scholar scoffed. “Self-preservation, not virtue.”

Cui Dongshan nodded. “My teacher says, ‘Kind words buy entrance.'”

He continued, “If one helps another, what is the cost?”

The scholar’s lips curled slightly. “You have a good teacher.”

“To be near the wise is to breathe virtue. How can one not be righteous?”

Cui Dongshan clasped his hands behind his back and laughed. “My teacher heard it from an old villager.”

The scholar said, “If you are finished, I must ask you to leave.”

Cui Dongshan waved his hand. “Not yet. When discussing merits, one should consider actions, not intentions.”

“When buying meat, one seeks only weight and fairness.”

“It is only in scholarship that one must consider both deed and heart.”

The scholar, tired of the stranger’s pronouncements, demanded, “Who are you, to judge?”

Cui Dongshan blinked. “He has been here. You have seen him, yes?”

The scholar smiled. “Riddles! What is it you seek?”

Cui Dongshan waved his sleeve. “We are scholars. Silence is golden. Be warned!”

The scholar said, “Regardless of your nature, speak plainly. What is your desire?”

The scholar was not concerned, he could escape even the mightiest of cultivators.

He did not believe a great mountain cultivator would dare to act with impunity in Cloud Rock.

The youth drew forth a jade fan. Upon it were emblazoned four words: “Virtue Subdues All.”

“I come to make a request.”

“Speak.”

“Join me, and you shall thrive.”

“And if I refuse?”

The fan revealed its other side. “Refusal Unto Death.”

The scholar scoffed. “Your words are bold.”

Cui Dongshan gently waved the fan. “When he stood here, what did he say?”

The scholar asked, “Are you a member of the academy?”

Cui Dongshan was aghast. “Must you offend?”

The scholar said, “You are amusing.”

“Do you not know me?”

“I do not.”

“I am Dongshan!”

The scholar paused. Dongshan? The Dongshan of Verdant Bloom Sword Sect?

The cultivator must be anything but ordinary.

He knew the names of those few who possessed positions in the Ancestor’s Hall: Wang Ji of Jade Decree Sect, and old teachers from other clans.

The young Cao Qinglang of Verdant Bloom Sword Sect.

Why had Sword Immortal Mi Yu given his position to this young man?

Did the one known as “Mi-midsection” harbour resentment?

Cui Dongshan snapped the fan shut and smiled. “Grant me your answer, and I shall offer you a gift in return. One you have sought for millennia.”

“Do you claim to read minds?”

“Only to discern hearts.”

The Cloud Rock scholar said, “Tell me.”

Cui Dongshan said, “I shall bring you to Central Earth to debate with Jing Shengxi Ping.”

“Truly?”

“Truly!”

Cui Dongshan pounded his chest. “My teacher and Jing Shengxi Ping are fast friends!”

The scholar considered this. “I will consider it.”

Cui Dongshan nodded. “As is right.”

The scholar suddenly asked, “Do you not fear my collusion with him?”

Cui Dongshan sighed. “Your worth is negligible. I ask only out of curiosity. Did he weep, as he stood here?”

Cui Dongshan hastened to explain. “Do not be angry. I speak the truth, like a kind blade. You do not believe?”

He exhaled a cloud of fermented bean curd.

The scholar was speechless.

Cui Dongshan tapped his shoulder with the fan and smiled.

The scholar suffers without companionship.

A lost scholar once stood upon the Inverted Mountain, gazing at his homeland.

Cui Dongshan shielded his mouth. “A thief has stolen your woodblocks! Shall we punish him?!”

—

In the Jade Proclamation Kingdom.

A Daoist stopped in an alley and frowned.

A youth was weaving a basket in the moonlight. He froze, then rose and gaped, disbelieving. “Daoist Wu?”

The Daoist stroked his beard and smiled. “Greetings.”

The youth set aside the basket and hurried to the wall. “What brings you here, Daoist Wu?”

“Evil stalks the capital. It is cunning and elusive. I have followed it here, but it has escaped. Such lawlessness cannot be tolerated.”

The youth was bewildered.

The Daoist clarified, “A demon is harming the people. I must stop it.”

The youth’s eyes widened. The Daoist would not be here to tell fortunes. He was a true immortal.

“Has it gone far? Will it harm others?”

“I have faced it. It knows my strength. It will hide itself, and I will capture it before dawn.”

The youth reached out to his sleeve and asked, “Will you come inside, Daoist?”

“If only for a drink.”

The youth opened the gate, leading the Daoist to a bench. The Daoist sat on the steps and told the boy to bring him a ladle of well water. The Daoist drank deeply and sighed. “Thank you.”

As the youth returned from the kitchen, the Daoist smiled. “What is your name?”

The youth sat beside him and said, “I am Bai Yun.”

The Daoist nodded. “Bai Yun? A fine name.”

A cloud carries an immortal toward home. Was this the beginning of a long and wondrous tale?

The youth hesitated. “Bai Yun is only the name I use now. My name is Ning Ji.”

The Daoist was surprised. “Ning? An excellent name.”

After a pause, the Daoist said, “If the stars fall, only virtue will bring peace. Ning Ji, a fine name.”

The youth dropped his head and began to sob. However, he soon turned to the Daoist and smiled.

There was sorrow and longing, a secret gratitude.

Chen Ping’an patted the youth’s shoulder and smiled. “Perhaps it was only hoped that you would be safe.”

One who had been young himself recognized it in the boy.

—

Night fog veiled the land, revealing the shadow of a mountain king, its eyes burning like coals.

The beast moved without sound, with teeth as long as a man.

Yuan Huajing, carrying a cloth bag, spoke to the beast. “Return now. I will speak to Chen Shanzhu, but the result depends on you.”

The mountain king bowed and departed.

Yuan Huajing would use the temple as a place to relax.

For centuries, the monks had only seen the legend, spoken of by the mountain.

Yuan Huajing stepped forward, his form dissolving into mist, then reappearing within the temple. The Hidden Officer stood in the doorway, holding a Daoist text. “What brings you down the mountain, Sword Immortal Yuan?”

Earlier, they had spoken in the pavilion.

Yuan Huajing held out the bag to Chen Ping’an. “A gift. Three pounds of Solomon’s Seal.”

“An excellent gift. I wanted to dig some myself.”

Chen Ping’an weighed the bag. “Two pounds, nine ounces.”

Solomon’s Seal replenishes the body, is the key to longevity. Chen Ping’an recognized it from his hometown.

Yuan Huajing was candid. “I came to ask a favor.”

Chen Ping’an held up the bag. “State it. If I can help, I will.”

Yuan Huajing said, “There is a tiger on the mountain, with centuries of cultivation, but it cannot shape-shift. The Solomon’s Seal is from him.”

Chen Ping’an mused. “That one of the mountain is stuck, it knows its time. Must be desperate for help.”

Yuan Huajing awaited the answer.

Chen Ping’an held up his book, a treatise on herbs.

“We are bound by fate.

I will help.”

Yuan Huajing turned to leave.

Chen Ping’an said, “Do not hurry. Stay and talk.”

Pulling Yuan Huajing inside, Chen Ping’an placed the book upon the table and brought Yuan Huajing a chair. Yuan Huajing looked around.

Chen Ping’an said, “That Zhou Haijing is proving a problem, is she not?”

Yuan Huajing agreed.

Chen Ping’an asked, “You were once a compiler in the Great Li Secretariat?”

Yuan Huajing said, “A family arrangement. Poetry is empty.”

Chen Ping’an chuckled. “Easy for you to say.”

Chen Ping’an, a disciple of the Confucian Saint, had no formal education?

Chen Ping’an asked, “Why did you come to this place?”

Yuan Huajing gave a vague answer. “Fate.”

Then Yuan Huajing asked, “Are you seeking something here?”

Chen Ping’an smiled, knowing Yuan Huajing would assume Chen Ping’an’s only care was profit.

Chen Ping’an laughed and said “Regardless of what you think, I am honest. I seek something.”

A moment of silence.

Chen Ping’an said, “What treasure is worth the Sword Immortal’s attention?”

Sensing Chen Ping’an’s shift in tone, Yuan Huajing said, “Neither Yuan nor a sword immortal must steal.”

Chen Ping’an nodded.

Yuan Huajing suddenly asked, “Have you seen the Chicken Soup Monk, Shenqing?”

Chen Ping’an said, “I saw him once. But we did not speak.”

“Have you heard of his Three Guardians?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head, his eyes widening. “I know many Buddhist tales, but not mountain secrets.”

Yuan Huajing said, skeptical, and told of the guards: The horse who protected the scriptures, the monks in Azure, the young monk he secretly escorted off the mountain.

Chen Ping’an nodded.

Yuan Huajing asked, “You understand engravings, so you must know of the red stone, without words.”

Chen Ping’an was somber. “Yes. The Zen master’s mortar stone. When he carried grain he used to struggle so.”

Yuan Huajing spoke the truth. “That stone is in this temple.”

Chen Ping’an said, “Related to your hidden sword?”

Yuan Huajing was forthright. “My very core.”

He did not ask more.

Yuan Huajing said, “I seem to have two swords, but one is a copy, made by National Advisor Cui.”

Chen Ping’an pondered this.

Yuan Huajing asked, “I will ask you something. You may answer if you wish. Do you know how that dragon slayer achieved the Fourteenth Realm?”

For three thousand years, all who could become dragons had feared to do so.

Chen Ping’an shook his head. “It would be too dangerous. I cannot speak of such things.”

Yuan Huajing nodded.

Chen Ping’an said, “The copy is based on your teacher, Right and Left’s swords, correct?”

Yuan Huajing laughed. “Guess.”

Chen Ping’an smiled. “You have barely learned the surface.”

The night was silent.

Yuan Huajing suddenly asked, “Have you seen the Chicken Soup Monk, Shenqing?”

Chen Ping’an said, “Yes. But we did not speak.”

“Do you know of his Three Guardians?”

Chen Ping’an shook his head and smiled. “I am not very eager to listen to secret things”

Yuan Huajing started to say, The first guardian is when he travel to the east. The second, He protect the taoist follower in qingmin. The third is when he send a kid to get some drink in the mountain.

Chen Ping’an gently nodded.

Yuan Huajing asked “You expert in metalwork and carving, do you know a red stone that is the most special one?”

Chen Ping’an serious replied,”Of cource I know, is the Zen master use to carry stuff”

Yuan Huajing said truthfully, “That stone is in the temple.”

This thing is super secret, even the Great Li office didn’t know. Only Yuan Huajing want to try his luck.

Chen Ping’an asked, “Related to your flying sword?”

Yuan Huajing said, “Is the key.”

Chen Ping’an suprisely looked at him. Since this is about Yuan Huajing, he stop asking.

He and the son of the great Yuan, not friend or enemy. They do not have the connection, yet.

Yuan Huajing for a long time said “I looks like have two flying sword, but one is make by National Advisor Cui.”

Chen Ping’an fall to deep thinking.

Yuan Huajing asked, “I ask you one, you can do whatever you want. Can you tell me how the dragon slayer path is?”

He always remember the sword man, because of him, every dragon didn’t dare to overstep their border.

Chen Ping’an back to the mind.

Yuan Huajing nodded.

Chen Ping’an said, “The make sword is to similar to your friends.”

Yuan Huajing smiled, “Do you want to guess?”

How come he learn talk like the Hidden one?

The door and the yard is silence.

The door and the yard is silence.