Chapter 568: Past Events of Wudang (3)

Chapter 568: Past Events of Wudang (III)

An autumn rain, a fall of blossoms.

Snow blanketed the distant mountain contours, and in the blink of an eye, five years had passed.

At the year's end, Wudang Mountain was bustling with activity. The overseers of the branch temples scattered across the empire's provinces and prefectures, acting in the name of "True Martial Righteousness," had all returned to the mountain bearing gifts.

On one hand, it was the closing of the year; according to tradition, they had to return to the sect to assess the year's gains and losses—comparing which branch had cultivated the most promising disciples for the sect this year, which had gained new followers and amassed more incense offerings, and which had built new branch temples or expanded its territory.

Though the Daoist path disdains the worldly dust, it cannot do without the incense of mortal worship.

With such a vast enterprise, rules were necessary to define boundaries.

Otherwise, managing this great Wudang Mountain would be no easy task.

On the other hand, the festive season was approaching, a fitting time to visit relatives and friends and to pay respects to one's masters.

The Demon-Subduing Hall, situated halfway up Tianzhu Peak on Wudang, was also exceptionally lively that day.

As its name suggests, among the many Daoist halls of Wudang, the Demon-Subduing Hall was chiefly responsible for dealing with people or things that posed a threat to the mountain.

Its ranks were almost entirely composed of the most aggressive and bloodthirsty individuals within Wudang.

In truth, during a time like this, departments such as Taihe Palace and Zixiao Palace, which oversaw assessments and promotions, would normally be the most sought after.

After all, the success or failure of a year's preaching down the mountain could be discounted by a single word from someone.

Yet this year, the situation was unexpectedly different.

Almost without exception, the returning branch overseers made the Demon-Subduing Hall their first stop for visits.

The reason, when stripped bare, was not complicated.

The empire's situation had been unstable over the past two years, with the open and covert struggles among various factions intensifying.

Three incidents revealed the turbulence beneath the surface.

The first occurred midyear. The new school of Daoism, led by Dragon Tiger Mountain, had just announced the full construction of the "Yellow Millet Dreamland" under their direction, with its control center named "Jade Capital." They would delineate three levels of authority—Heaven, Earth, and Man—with the various new Daoist sects holding unequal seats.

No sooner had this been announced than word spread that the parties involved in its construction had turned against each other over the allocation of authority.

The authority of the Yellow Millet was carved up and seized by the imperial house and the Daoist, Confucian, and Mohist schools. The Yin-Yang faction, despite its considerable contributions, was jointly ousted, gaining no benefit whatsoever, and was now clamoring for Dragon Tiger Mountain and other Daoist sects to pay the price.

The second incident occurred during a morning court session at the end of August.

As usual, the ailing Longwu Emperor was absent.

Following custom, everyone debated and bickered, going through the motions until the session came to an end.

But just as the court was about to adjourn, the leader of the New Eastern Forest Party, a faction of the Confucian school that had always played the part of a harmless old man, suddenly proposed that a little-known military official be appointed to fill the vacant post of Left Vice Minister of War.

The court was thrown into an uproar.

What was the Ministry of War?

A prized possession of the Martial school!

Though these martial men's rites did not require court office, such a position within the Martial school sects was a symbol of status and power.

If a member of a sect could secure a post in the Ministry of War, that sect would become the undisputed leader of its province or prefecture—the strongest sect.

This brought countless advantages in competing for territory and recruiting new members.

Moreover, court office was a ticket to exploiting the imperial platform for resources.

To sit at that table and partake in the feast of the people, one had to hold an official title.

But the deeply entrenched Longwu Emperor had not yet breathed his last, so the various factions still restrained themselves, careful not to appear too greedy.

Even the overbearing Martial school only colluded with the Mohist school to monopolize the posts in the Ministries of War and Works.

Thus, the New Eastern Forest Party's move was tantamount to reaching into the Martial school's bosom and snatching its prize right in front of them.

And the party had championed the Military school—long regarded by the Martial school as cowards and good-for-nothings.

This was a deliberate insult.

The outcome was predictable. Had someone not intervened, the New Eastern Forest Party leader would likely have been sent to meet his Master Confucius on the spot.

A day-long war of words, cursing each other's ancestors for eight generations, ensued. Yet the Martial school officials suddenly realized that an unusually large number of people stood against them.

The "Black-Robed Chancellor" and the "Feather-Robed Minister" and their ilk, whom they often bullied, were naturally on the opposing side—it would have been strange if they hadn't been.

But even the Law school and Agriculture school officials, who usually had little presence, dared to take a stand this time, a rare sight not seen in many years.

Though the proposal ultimately failed, and within days of the court's adjournment, the unfortunate military official put forward was torn apart on the street, his remains scattered everywhere.

The attitudes revealed by this incident were nonetheless thought-provoking.

The first two incidents seemed to have little to do with Wudang Mountain, which neither entered the Yellow Millet nor the court.

But the last incident, which occurred not long ago, made the branch overseers' hearts leap into their throats.

On the day of "Major Snow," one of the twenty-four solar terms, the current "Heavenly Master" of Dragon Tiger Mountain personally ascended Tianzhu Peak on foot to pay a visit to the current "True Person" of Wudang Mountain.

Within the Daoist order of the Great Ming Empire, this was a momentous event.

For since the emergence of the technique for replacing flesh and blood limbs, a conflict between "new" and "old" Daoist traditions had arisen within the order.

Leading the "New School" and the "Old School" were Dragon Tiger and Wudang, both claiming to be the ancestral home of Daoism.

Thus, for a considerable time, friction between Dragon Tiger and Wudang was constant, with many disciples of each sect falling at the hands of the other.

Blood debts were a tangled, incalculable account. It was easy to make enemies but harder than climbing to heaven to resolve them.

Moreover, in recent decades, representative sects of the New School—Dragon Tiger, Gezao, Maoshan, Qingcheng, and others—had grown increasingly powerful, their followers multiplying day by day, their temple incense burning bright through the night.

The New School path, which revered "Heart-Qi," was becoming the mainstream of the Daoist order.

The "Heavenly Master's" move was tantamount to bowing to Wudang, to the "Old School" that upheld "True Qi" as the orthodox path.

Thus, though the outside world did not know the content or purpose of the meeting between these two Daoist giants, the struggle between the traditions seemed to have reached a final verdict.

Wudang erupted in jubilation, its prestige unparalleled for a time.

Soon after, a decree was issued from Chaotian Palace: first, that Wudang disciples must no longer mention the distinction between "new" and "old"; second, that all branch temples set aside past grudges, coexist peacefully with local New School temples, and jointly resist any force daring to encroach upon the Daoist order.

For the Wudang disciples within the sect, this decree might not have had much impact—at most, they would stop reviling those "soul-banner ghosts" to their faces.

In the eyes of Wudang disciples, the so-called "Yellow Millet Dreamland" was nothing but a banner of ten thousand souls.

A flock of ghosts who had abandoned flesh and blood, along with the seven emotions and six desires, were ranked by seniority, giving it the pretentious name "Jade Capital."

But for the branch overseers, the pressure was immense.

Resolving the grudges accumulated over the years was a thorny problem; it could not simply be set aside.

More importantly, the New School people had no shortage of enemies. Issuing the order to "jointly resist" was practically asking for trouble.

Of course, these complaints and dissatisfactions could only be swallowed. No one dared defy a decree from Chaotian Palace.

And so, against this backdrop, the status of the Demon-Subduing Hall rose accordingly.

After all, with increased friction, branch temples were bound to encounter troubles they could not solve on their own.

At such times, the Demon-Subduing Hall would be called upon to send people down the mountain to help.

Although the Demon-Suppression Hall would not necessarily give any special consideration for such a modest gift, forging a closer relationship certainly couldn’t hurt. This is common sense for mortals, and also for immortals.

“May the Dao Ancestor bless you, and may the new year bring health!”

“May tranquility and peace be as you wish, and may joy and celebration follow your heart.”

Zhao Yanlong, while uttering auspicious words, received the gift presented by the other party with both hands. With a gentle release of true qi, he roughly discerned what the item was and its weight, and the curve of his smile shifted accordingly.

If he smiled with lips pressed together, the gift was merely ordinary. If he smiled and showed his teeth, then this senior brother was sincere enough and deserved a seat of honor at the feast. If the corners of his mouth drooped, then he would have to note the name of that temple; whether to stay for a meal or not would depend on higher authority.

Five years had left few traces on Zhao Yanlong. His height was still the same as five years ago, not a bit taller, but his physique had grown sturdier. A well-tailored Daoist robe wrapped around him, but his belly pushed out a hint of rounded curves. Coupled with a round face that seemed perpetually smiling, he didn’t look at all like a Daoist priest from the Demon-Suppression Hall.

On the contrary, Chen Qisheng, standing behind him, was the very model of a martial Daoist. His robe was loose, yet the muscular contours of his arms were clearly visible; with sword-like brows and cold eyes, a straight back and an upright posture, he stood there like a drawn sword.

But today’s occasion was not about subduing demons and vanquishing monsters. In the entire Demon-Suppression Hall, only Zhao Yanlong—this anomaly—had the ability to handle the scale and grasp the proper measure. Thus the heavy responsibility of greeting and seeing off guests on the mountain path square naturally fell on his shoulders.

After a flurry of activity, the mountain path before the hall was finally empty of guests. Zhao Yanlong also relaxed, wiped the froth from the corners of his mouth, pretended to knock on his lower back, and instructed the young Daoist apprentice assisting him.

“Hey you, go get your elder brother a chair and bring a pot of tea to moisten my mouth. All of you stand around without any sense; what would the Demon-Suppression Hall do without me, this Daoist master?”

Zhao Yanlong, pleased with his bluster, turned and waved at Chen Qisheng.

“Junior brother, do you see? With this bustling momentum, after this year, who among all the palaces and halls on this mountain would dare to look down on our Demon-Suppression Hall? Perhaps we should even move later, relocate higher up to the peak of Heavenly Pillar Peak.”

Unlike Zhao Yanlong, who was beaming with joy, Chen Qisheng frowned and said, “This is not a good thing.”

“I understand, elder brother, but how bad can it get?” Zhao Yanlong waved his hand dismissively: “At most it means a heavier burden on us and more tasks to handle later. Our Wudang is now truly the ancestral court of the Daoist schools; it’s only right to help our brother sects share the load.”

“Besides, the benefits outweigh the drawbacks by far.”

Zhao Yanlong glanced around cautiously, then lowered his voice: “Do you know what promises the ‘Celestial Master Zhang’ of Dragon Tiger Mountain made to our ‘Perfected One’ after coming up the mountain?”

“I don’t know,” Chen Qisheng replied casually.

Actually, the protagonist of this dream cycle was Zhao Yanlong, and Chen Qisheng had forcibly intervened through a ‘backdoor’ method, so his own memories had not been erased. Thus he actually knew this history. Although most of the truth had been lost to time after Wudang was destroyed, Chen Qisheng could still roughly guess what had happened from some remaining details. But as one who had entered the dream, he always kept in mind Zou Sijiu’s warning. He must not interfere with the current dream process with the identity and memories of a later era. Otherwise, after losing immersion in the character, at best it would lead to ‘falling out of the dream’, at worst it would cause the dream to collapse. Therefore, during this long dream period, Chen Qisheng always regarded himself as an ordinary Daoist priest of Wudang Mountain. He did not touch any words or deeds that did not match his current identity.

“Of course, they will no longer try to contend with us for the fortune of being the ‘ancestral court of Daoism’. I’ve heard that the various new sects will even cede to us a territory as large as a province as our base! Besides that, there are vast resources covering all aspects like ‘wealth, Dharma, companions, and land’, including a batch of Dao Ancestor artifacts called ‘Heavenly Orbit Stars’.”

Zhao Yanlong pointed upward, his eyes wide: “It is said that this is one of the core achievements of the Yellow Millet Dream. It usually hangs above our heads, invisible to the eyes, but as soon as you summon it with your divine sense, it immediately sends down a tremendously powerful thunder tribulation. And the barrier to use it is very low; even a Sequence Eight Yellow Court apprentice like me can use it. From now on, when we walk outside, who could possibly be our match?”

The threshold to use the Heavenly Orbit Stars is authority, not divine sense. Dragon Tiger Mountain had obviously not told the truth. Chen Qisheng understood in his heart, but asked rhetorically: “If it’s really that powerful, would Dragon Tiger Mountain be willing to give it to us?”

“Of course they are reluctant, but they have no choice.” Zhao Yanlong laughed: “I heard their situation is dire now. On one hand, because of those dirty dealings in the court, the martial sequences’ hostility toward them is growing. On the other, because of uneven distribution of spoils, the Yin-Yang Word has made it clear they are coming for them. At this point, they don’t have the strength to wrestle with us anymore. Not only that, if they don’t cling tightly to our coattails, they could at any moment have their own pot overturned by others.”

Chen Qisheng shook his head: “You say that, but I always feel they have ill intentions.”

“Why worry so much? As long as we get the goods, isn’t that enough? Besides, I’m just repeating what I’ve heard; who knows if it’s true or false?” Zhao Yanlong shrugged his shoulders: “But I did hear our hall master say something once.”

Zhao Yanlong coughed twice, imitating the tone and demeanor of the Demon-Suppression Hall Master, Wang Changzhen.

“The Daoist schools under heaven are all brothers and sisters of one family, interdependent like lips and teeth. Our Wudang and Dragon Tiger Mountain are the two eldest brothers. Although we have disagreements on how to manage the household, no matter how we quarrel, we must never split the family, nor can we allow our brothers and sisters to be bullied without intervening.”

“Ten thousand Daoist gates, one family of Daoists.”

Zhao Yanlong hunched his shoulders and back, his voice hoarse but resolute.

Just then, a grand bell tolled from the temple behind them, and the hubbub of voices suddenly rose. A smile immediately spread across Zhao Yanlong’s face; ignoring the young Daoist who had just brought the chair and tea, he grabbed Chen Qisheng and ran into the temple.

Every year at year’s end, the Demon-Suppression Hall honors disciples who performed well in missions, bestowing various elixirs, cultivation methods, and Daoist artifacts. Zhao Yanlong had been on the mountain for many years and was still stuck at Sequence Eight, so naturally he had no hope. But Chen Qisheng was different; he had already advanced to Sequence Seven Protector Senior Daoist, an undeniable standout among his fellow disciples who entered the mountain at the same time, and he had performed exceptionally in missions. To put it bluntly, Chen Qisheng had killed enough sequence followers of other schools.

Zhao Yanlong had long since leveraged connections to find out that his junior brother Chen Qisheng’s name was among those to be honored. Senior and junior brothers from the same branch temple are like children born of the same mother. Chen Qisheng gaining fame brings glory to Zhao Yanlong. How could he miss such a major event?

Zhao Yanlong pulled Chen Qisheng and ran all the way; by the time they returned to the temple, the bell had not even finished sounding. On the platform decorated with interlaced ribbons, the attending guests had not yet taken their seats; everything was still early. But Zhao Yanlong looked anxious, hurriedly straightening Chen Qisheng’s Daoist robe, pulling at wrinkles here, adjusting the crown there. He kept muttering complaints about Chen Qisheng’s lack of grooming, saying he had made him several new robes, yet the brat didn’t wear a single one, wasting all his efforts.

After Chen Qisheng finally managed to persuade him to stop, Zhao Yanlong began to criticize the presiding master on the stage for talking too much nonsense and having too little substance. “The new year comes every year; how many times have these auspicious words been repeated? Who is interested in listening to you ramble here?” Unaware that his own muttering was far more than the person on stage.

When finally the tedious procedures of the Heaven and Dao sacrifices were completed one by one, and Hall Master Wang Changzhen just appeared, Zhao Yanlong eagerly rushed forward, ignoring that those seated around were all branch temple abbots, and disregarding the contemptuous looks, he craned his neck in anticipation. When he heard Hall Master Wang Changzhen, holding the Dharma decree, recite Chen Qisheng’s name and personally bestow a sharp flying sword with a cold and piercing light.

Zhao Yanlong smacked his lips in satisfaction, lowering his head to rub his reddened eyes.

My, my, this flying sword is truly formidable!

Just looking at it makes one's eyes sting.

The New Year comes every year, but this one is especially full of flavor.

"Bravo!"

Zhao Yanlong, who had always been the most duplicitous of men, today seemed to forget all about rank and decorum, clapping loudly beneath the platform.

With head held high and chest out, he glanced around as if the thousands assembled were but distant guests, and he alone was the master of the house.