Chapter 168 – The Mountains and Waters Have Spirits, Heaven and Earth Lend Their Laws

The blazing sun hung high overhead. Shafts of light pierced through the dense canopy of leaves, and amid the grating hum of cicadas, a woodcutter carrying a bundle of firewood on his back saw two men leading a donkey up the mountain path. He squinted for a while, then broke into a grin.

“Ah, it’s Mister Lu—and the Daoist as well! What brings you two up the mountain today?”

The area between Lu Family Village and North Village was mostly frequented by local villagers collecting firewood, and everyone was familiar with one another. Besides, very few in these parts did not know of Lu Liangsheng, so naturally, the woodcutter recognized him at a glance.

“Just came to take a look at the mountains and streams.” Lu Liangsheng said. Judging by the man’s features, he was likely from North Village. He gave his wide sleeve a shake and cupped his hands casually. “Elder, I recall there’s a small waterfall somewhere in these mountains—would it still be nearby?”

“There is, there is! I just passed by it.” Said the woodcutter, stepping aside to point down the way he had come. Perhaps afraid of being discourteous toward this former tribute scholar before him, he made to lead the way himself. Lu Liangsheng smiled and dissuaded him. With an almost imperceptible motion, his robe sleeve brushed against the old man’s body, and he quietly cast a small spell—so that on his way down, the old man would not stumble over vines or roots.

Watching the woodcutter amble off, humming a mountain tune with three bundles of firewood on his back, Lu Liangsheng finally tugged at the donkey’s reins and continued forward with the Daoist.

This mountain was one of the minor offshoots of Mount Qixia, also known by another name—Mount Xiaoquan (Little Spring). It stretched only a few li across, shaped like a human arm extending from south to east. At its foot lay the sole road leading to Lu Family Village.

Rustle, rustle—

The dense leaves whispered as Lu Liangsheng leisurely led the old donkey along patches of dappled sunlight. The Daoist followed behind, occasionally lifting his gaze from the compass in his hand to survey the surroundings.

“This mountain gathers its winds and turns its waters—it draws rain and dew. No wonder your Lu Family Village, though bordered only by a small river, has such fertile soil. Fortunate, too, that it is linked to Mount Qixia. Were it standing alone, it would be a burial hill facing straight toward your village.”

The Daoist’s words flowed idly, but amidst the cicadas’ droning, the faint sound of running water began to echo in his ears. Ahead, Lu Liangsheng released the reins, patting the donkey’s head to let it wander about on its own.

He turned his head, and from that direction came the sound of rushing water—a small waterfall cascaded down the rocky face, tumbling into a clear pool below and sending ripples spreading outward toward the shore.

“This is the place.”

Lu Liangsheng sighed softly. He had once come here to play in the water with childhood friends from the village. Later, when his mother found out, she gave him a thorough beating. Lu Laoshi tried to intervene, but ended up punished as well—both kneeling before the ancestral spirit tablets in the main hall.

Recalling it now, he couldn’t help but find it rather amusing.

But now, looking upon this waterfall again as a cultivator, he saw with new eyes—the waters were clear and bright, faintly infused with spiritual light. Though weak, that light was connected to the mountain’s veins and the flow of the earth, linked with the main peak of Mount Qixia, so that spiritual energy circulated endlessly.

No wonder those wandering heroes of the jianghu loved to seclude themselves in such places, cultivating diligently for four or five years—or even longer. For them, even such a faint trace of spiritual energy not only aided steady progress in cultivation, but also greatly benefited enlightenment of the heart and mind.

Gazing at the waterfall’s flowing silver thread, Lu Liangsheng was lost in thought. Before long, a hand waved back and forth in front of his face.

“Hey, Mister Lu, wake up!”

“Heh—just thinking back to some childhood memories. Got a little carried away.” Lu Liangsheng said with an embarrassed smile, making no attempt to hide it. He took out his painting scroll, while the rustle of fallen leaves under the feet of unseen beasts occasionally sounded in the forest. Even if it were a tiger, the scholar need not concern himself.

He walked to a nearby boulder and spread open the scroll. Meanwhile, the Daoist stepped swiftly across the ground, his feet moving in a strange rhythm. At each pre-determined spot he stopped, picked up a stone, drew a talisman upon it with cinnabar, and placed it where he stood.

There were seven points in total. When he finished, he leapt up onto the cliff face, drew from his yellow cloth pouch a small ritual knife, and began carving with a ping ping sound, stone chips falling in a steady shower.

Not far away, on Lu Liangsheng’s shoulder, the Toad Daoist clambered down his arm, waddled with its webbed feet toward the pool, and, seeing the clear water gleaming to the bottom, sat contentedly upon a stone. Closing his bulging eyes, he basked in the dappled sunlight and the gentle murmur of flowing water, wholly at peace.

This old one is growing ever fonder of such a life.

Even being mocked or scolded hardly stirs anger anymore.

The thought pleased him, and his wide mouth curved toward the sunlight, forming a broad, peaceful smile.

Rustle, rustle—

The forest stirred. A wild boar pushed its way out from the brush, cautiously glancing at the white-robed figure and the blue-clad scholar nearby. Snorting softly, it trotted to the pool’s edge to drink. Then, all of a sudden, it sprang into the air.

The Toad Daoist, luxuriating in the sun’s warmth, yawned lazily.

With a loud thump, a dark shadow plunged into the water—splash!

A great spray drenched the toad sitting on the stone. His newly donned short jacket of cloud-patterned cloth was soaked through. Sitting in a puddle, the toad blinked open his eyes, glaring at the boar’s head now poking from the surface, snorting and puffing. His cheeks swelled, and the warty bumps across his back turned a deep, blackish violet.

Sensing the surge of demonic energy, the boar shuddered, scrambled to shore, and bolted. Bursting through a clump of brush, it still had the nerve to turn its head and snort a few defiant calls toward the charging toad behind it.

The instant the boar turned its head forward, its eyes met the lazy sight of a donkey’s swaying tail.

Snort?

The boar grunted in confusion and tried to halt, its front hooves scraping hard against the ground—

Bang!

—but it was too late. It crashed straight into the donkey’s rear!

Splash, splash!

The pool erupted with waves. On the cliff, the Daoist finished his carving, leapt down, clapped the dust from his hands, and called out to the scholar who was already standing ready.

“Old Lu, the rest is up to you!”

Before the flat stone, the scholar raised one sleeve gracefully. With his other hand, he held a brush that shimmered faintly with spiritual power, and in flowing strokes, he wrote the two characters Qian Kun—Heaven and Earth—upon the scroll. Hearing the Daoist’s voice, Lu Liangsheng picked up the war painting. The wind swept through the forest with a rustling sound as he tossed the scroll high into the air. From his sleeve, two fingers extended and flicked lightly.

“Go!”

The scroll glided through the air like a fish swimming through water. It slipped beneath the branches, flew toward the waterfall, and in the blink of an eye vanished behind the cascading curtain, adhering to the cliff face beyond.

“The painting serves as the array; the brush gives birth to Yin and Yang; Heaven and Earth lend their law!”

The forest wind began to rise, at first gentle, then all at once violent. Leaves and grasses whipped wildly; robes of scholar and Daoist flapped fiercely. Before their eyes, the spiritual energy of the mountain and that of the waters intertwined like silken threads, being drawn together toward the waterfall—and into the painting that clung to the rock behind it.

“Is it done?” The Daoist asked, putting away his compass.

“Still three more paintings needed before the array is complete. What do you think, Master?”

Lu Liangsheng turned his head—but the Toad Daoist was nowhere by the pool. The Daoist also called out, “Old Toad!”

Just then, the wind shifted, carrying with it a sudden, thick scent of blood.

From ahead came a faint rustling in the brush. Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist exchanged a look, eyes narrowing, and strode quickly forward. With a sweep of the hand, the brushwood parted—

Revealing a crackling campfire. A wild boar, slit open and gutted, was skewered on a stick, its fat sizzling and dripping into the flames. Beside it sat the Toad Daoist, mouth slightly open, thick drool pouring down in long strings.

Seeing his disciple and the Daoist approaching, the toad hastily sucked back his drool with a slurp, straightened his posture, and looked at them with great solemnity. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Lu Liangsheng replied, the corner of his mouth twitching.

The toad snorted, crossed his webbed arms, and turned back toward the fire. He lifted his short cloud-patterned jacket slightly, letting the flames warm it.

“If it’s nothing, then come eat lunch. Hmph! A mere wild boar dares to flaunt itself before this old master?”

The old donkey, chewing leisurely on grass nearby, lifted its head and glanced at the toad. It snorted disdainfully—something between a sneeze and a pfft—then lowered its head again to graze, its bald tail flicking lazily from side to side.

“You old beast, daring to slight me!”

The firelight flickered. The Toad Daoist glared at the donkey, veins bulging on his forehead, before giving a huffy snort and turning his head away.

Lu Liangsheng sat down beside him, slicing off a piece of roast meat and handing it over with a smile. “Master is a true man among immortals—majestic, awe-inspiring, a presence that shakes Heaven itself. Don’t trouble yourself with anger.”

“Who’s angry with a donkey?”

Mollified by his disciple’s words, the Toad Daoist realized he indeed had been taking it too seriously. His mood eased at once. He waved his webbed hand.

“Come, eat. This was roasted by your master’s own hand. If you can’t finish it, take some back with you.”

After the greasy meal, Sun Yingxian shuddered from the richness of it, his whole body feeling oily. He plucked several fruits from the trees to cleanse his palate, and soon felt better.

Afterward, he and Lu Liangsheng journeyed to three more peaks in succession, laying down the remaining formations one after another.

From high above, one could faintly see how the spiritual array linked together—the main ridge of Mount Qixia, Mount Xiaoquan, and Getou Ridge behind Qixia forming a vast circle, enclosing Lu Family Village at its very heart.

As daylight slanted westward, the setting sun cast the mountains in a crimson glow. The white-robed and blue-clad figure stirred gently in the evening breeze. Lu Liangsheng stood beneath an ancient pine before his teacher’s grave, gazing toward the mountains. Before long, Honglian came calling him home for dinner.

Man and ghost, they talked and laughed as they walked back toward the village.

In the mountains, seas of cloud rolled and surged. There, invisible to mortal eyes, spiritual energy slowly flowed—the great formation was complete.