Chapter 160 – Xuanwei’s Tribulation Arrives!

The young Qin Wang and his elder sister left the Zhongzhou prefectural city without causing so much as a ripple in that vast and bustling metropolis.

The common folk still went about their affairs as usual, living as they always had. In fact, compared to the comings and goings of these so-called great figures, there was something far more important at hand—the New Year was but a few days away, and all of Zhongzhou had already been swept up in the festive atmosphere.

The young Daoist had been dragged out several times by the little Daoist Mingxin to purchase supplies for the New Year.

Yue Shiru spent his days pondering how best to ingratiate himself with the Lianyang Sword hanging beneath the Lu Zu’s Tower.

Even so, he still volunteered to help the Little Grand-Uncle-Master and True Person Qi move the New Year’s goods.

Little Daoist Mingxin counted on his fingers: “The incense for the Ancestors is bought, the meat for eating is bought, the grain is bought, the winter cabbages and radishes are piled high in a room, mm, the chilies hanging in the kitchen are all ready, and the green onions stacked in the corner are taller than me.”

Little Daoist Mingxin was overjoyed.

There was joy, too, on the faces of the people along the way.

Though there had been troubles and hardships over the past year—some hurdles that had not been easy to cross—they had, in the end, passed. Now came a time when both adults and children could breathe a little easier. Mingxin was especially happy because, during the coming New Year’s Eve vigil, there would be two more people in the Daoist temple to keep company, which delighted him to no end.

He was so happy that, whenever he met someone familiar on the road, he would laugh loudly and greet them.

Everyone would respond to him with a few words. At such a time, people’s hearts were light. One person reached out to pat the little Daoist’s head and stuffed a handful of melon seeds into his arms, another pinched his still-chubby cheeks and slipped two large pears into his sleeve. By the time they walked all the way back, his arms were already cradling a bundle of treats.

The little Daoist hugged his load and walked home in a straight line.

When they returned to the temple, the Three-Yellow Chicken came forward to peck at the melon seeds, while the old Daoist was writing couplets. On the table lay some New Year goods sent over by familiar incense patrons. Although Lianyang Temple had a respectable lineage—traced back several generations to the Pure Yang Ancestor’s Daoist tradition—its fame was not great, and its family wealth was meager. Each year, the old Daoist would draw a few talismans and write some spring couplets to send to people.

The little Daoist placed the New Year goods on the table, then ran over to look. He saw several small jars that had not been there before. Opening them, he found inside pickled vegetables, and his face lit up. “Did the Revered Monks send over the New Year dishes for this year?” he asked. Between Daoists and monks, there was, after all, no great enmity—both were simply people who had left home to cultivate the Way.

Because of monastic precepts, many sects of monks did not eat meat.

Thus, they took great care in preparing vegetarian dishes.

And since in the winter there were not many flavorful leafy greens to be had, they had devised countless ways to pickle vegetables for preservation. The little Daoist called such pickled vegetables [rice-borrowing dishes], for they were so delicious with rice that, as the saying went, one would have to run to a neighbor’s house to borrow extra rice just to eat enough. Of course, that was an exaggeration, but it showed how good the dishes were.

The old Daoist, having finished writing the spring couplets, sat chatting idly with visiting guests.

The little Daoist rummaged about and found the fruit tray that was only brought out for the New Year. He filled it with all kinds of nuts. On New Year’s Eve, the old Daoist would heat a pot of plain boiling water and simmer cubes of white tofu until piping hot—best eaten while the steam was still rising. Along with it would be the vegetarian dishes sent by the Revered Monk from the nearby Buddhist convent.

While watching the scenery and warming themselves by the fire, familiar folk would drop by to visit. The elders would talk about the affairs of the year, while the younger ones ate to their heart’s content—melon seeds, red dates, peanuts, pastries, and big tangerines, peeled and shared. After they were full, they would toss the peels onto the stove to roast, filling the air with a scent of char and citrus that, when breathed in deeply, warmed the body from the inside.

The only caution was not to eat too many melon seeds and peanuts, lest they “overheat” the body and be unable to enjoy the next day’s delicacies.

The little Daoist spoke with great cheer, then pointed to a room that had never been heated and was thus quite cold and damp:

“Dāng dāng dāng dāng! This here is the best of the lot, Uncle Master Qi, and… ahem, Disciple Grandson Yue! When the New Year’s Eve vigil comes, and on the morning of the first day of the new year, we’ll be eating these!”

He lifted the large woven bamboo lid, revealing rows of black bowls inside. Each held a different meat dish—there were slices of roasted pork, “Four-Happiness” meatballs, fermented-bean-curd pork made with the color and flavor of preserved bean curd, and slices of crispy fried pork coated in flour. Since they were meat dishes, they were sealed in oil and kept in this cold room, where they could be preserved throughout the winter. When needed during the New Year, they would be steamed hot and ready to serve to friends and relatives.

“Heh heh, these are really delicious.”

“You’ll definitely like them.”

Little Daoist Mingxin’s eyes sparkled brightly. Imitating his teacher’s manner, he clasped his hands behind his back, stroked an imaginary beard, and said: “Hmph hmph, you’d better look forward to it. That day will be so much fun. It’s just a pity that Teacher always says I’m still too young, too young, and refuses to teach me how to make these dishes.”

“But it doesn’t matter—give it another year or two, and I can learn too!”

“Ha, you little rascal.”

The old Daoist couldn’t help but laugh.

Qi Wuhuo stood on the hillside where Lianyang Temple was located, looking out over the entire city, now brimming with festive cheer. The ever-changing bustle of the mortal world was so beautiful. In the mere one or two months he had been here, he had encountered more events and choices than in much of his previous life, and even his heart seemed to have eased.

Last year’s New Year’s festival, he hadn’t been able to see through to the end. This year, it seemed, he could.

That day, while strolling the streets, the young Daoist bought a large “Fu” character and a small red paper charm to paste on the screen wall just inside the entrance. Written in gold ink were four characters that he turned over and over in his hands, finding them very much to his liking:

All Matters in Peace.

He also bought two ornaments. One was a peace knot woven from red cord, with a tassel hanging down and a small, inexpensive bead attached. In the mortal world, girls often bought such trinkets during the New Year and hung them from one side of their clothing; the red tassel would sway gently as they walked—a charming and inexpensive little pleasure.

The young Daoist used the money he had earned from gathering herbs to buy one of slightly better quality.

This one had a piece of jade attached.

He had commissioned the Mingzhen Dao Alliance to find it. This jade, it was said, could keep the heart clear and free from all troubles.

It was, of course, a blessing.

He had chosen it over another piece of jade meant to bless progress in one’s studies, the Wenqu star’s benediction—after all, if the Wenqu blessing really worked, Uncle Niu would surely pester the Wenqu Star Lord every single day. For the New Year, people wished for happiness, and it was better not to bring up anything that might make Yun Qin unhappy.

The other ornament was a bracelet woven from five-colored silk thread.

In many places, it was a custom to weave such bracelets during the Dragon Boat Festival or the New Year to ward off evil; one would wear them for at least half a day.

Little Daoist Mingxin peered curiously at it. “Uncle-Master Qi, that’s for girls! We should be using this instead!”

He raised his hand to reveal a brand-new wooden sword!

On the scabbard was painted a rather clumsy-looking dragon—if Jiaofeng and Jiaotu saw it, they would certainly laugh out loud. Mingxin swung the new wooden sword, spun it into a little flourish, then slung it over his back in the manner of an expert swordsman, and asked, “Well? How’s that?”

Yue Shiru was dumbfounded.

The Lu Ancestor had left his sword hanging here—could it be that this Little Grand-Uncle-Master… did not even practice swordsmanship?!

When he was young, even his “beheaded rapeseed” swordplay that terrorized the villages for ten li around had looked more dashing than this, hadn’t it?

The young Daoist, however, simply took the red-cord jade pendant back into his hand and replied gently:

“Mm. Very good.”

And so, Yue Shiru faced this [utterly nonsensical] level of swordplay with solemn earnestness.

If the True Person said it was good, then it must be good!

If I think it isn’t good, then clearly the problem is with me!

I must study it carefully!

Thus, Yue Shiru earnestly “studied swordsmanship” with his Little Grand-Uncle-Master. The little Daoist was delighted to have someone to play with, while the old Daoist was refining cinnabar. Beside him, the Three-Yellow Chicken strutted about on its square steps, pecking at melon seeds roasted over fruitwood, pondering why it had never eaten such seeds before in its chicken life.

It sighed again—why were there no hens around?

The young Daoist’s spiritual sense “heard” the chicken’s lament and couldn’t help but laugh.

Holding the red-cord jade bead in his hand, all he saw before him was peace.

Before him lay the Daoist temple, behind him the mortal world.

The young man bore his sword.

Even though it was a time when everyone in the human world would feel joy and relaxation, and he too felt that easing in his heart, he still did not slacken in his cultivation. That day, he continued his Daoist Refinement of Qi, neither rushed nor forced, simply advancing naturally toward the realm of a True Person.

His primordial spirit was clear, his nature at ease, reflecting all things.

Suddenly, Qi Wuhuo sensed the wind rising, heard the wind chimes below the temple trembling without pause. He instinctively opened his eyes and stepped outside—only to see the clouds above suddenly grow thick and heavy. His pupils widened as the entire city seemed to expand before him.

At his side, the jade book gifted by Tao Taigong unfurled, displaying the mountains, rivers, and cities of all Zhongzhou.

All of Zhongzhou was shrouded in a terrifying, heavy black cloud that surged and churned.

His vision flickered—and he saw the little medicine spirit, curled up asleep. Qi Wuhuo smiled and was about to call out to it when a sudden furious roar split the air. A tiger, wreathed in black baleful qi, opened its jaws and swallowed the little spirit whole—its fangs snapping shut, leaving only a childlike cry of agony.

Qi Wuhuo’s pupils contracted sharply. He took a step forward—but suddenly found a sheer cliff beneath his feet.

Before him stretched towering mountains and ridges—

—all of them burning, transformed into a sea of fire.

Suddenly, pain stabbed his chest. Looking down, he saw a sword piercing his heart. Ripples spread across his vision, reflecting the light behind him—it was the crimson-eyed mountain fiend he had once slain.

The young Daoist’s eyes flew open.

His breathing was slightly quickened, a thin sheen of sweat beading on his forehead.

Everything he had just seen had been nothing more than visions, fleeting and brief. He murmured to himself: “A cultivator of the Dao, when seized by a sudden stirring of the heart—‘heart’ is nature. This is my nature giving warning… Something is about to happen. The little medicine spirit’s life is in danger… and it warns me that I must not intervene—otherwise, there is the possibility I too may perish…”

He pressed against his chest — in that instant, the feeling of death was overwhelmingly real!

It was as if that moment in a dream when one steps into emptiness and falls off a cliff had been magnified hundreds of times over.

“A mind clear as a mirror, is this the reason one can avoid calamities and avert tribulations?”

Qi Wuhuo suddenly heard waves of sharp, whistling cries.

Lowering his head, he saw that the mirror hanging at his waist — the one intricately connected to the Northern Emperor — was violently trembling. Layers of radiance poured forth from it, illuminating the Sutra Repository. Qi Wuhuo’s spirit grew clear; sensing something, he grasped the mirror and stepped out.

He saw the wind rise, stirring the wine banners to dance.

He heard the wind chimes on the Daoist temple swaying without pause.

When he lifted his head, though it was broad daylight, he could already see a sky full of stars and constellations, seemingly fixed and unmoving. In the far distance, he saw the clouds pressing down, rolling in thick, heavy layers. Yet people’s moods were not affected by such sights — they still played happily, talking about whether it might snow.

He heard cheerful voices speaking auspicious words aloud:

“Peace in all things!”

“Peace in all things indeed!”

Yue Shiru suddenly felt something. Turning his head, he saw that the young Daoist was standing in place, his robe sleeves fluttering.

Qi Wuhuo closed his eyes. From the warning in his spirit, he knew that something was likely amiss this time, and that the mountain deities would be the first to feel the impact. The old Daoist looked at the young one with curiosity, smiling as he asked: “Daoist friend Qi, what is it? Did you forget to buy something?”

“Nothing…”

The young Daoist came back to himself, smiled, and replied: “Just something I forgot to do.”

After a pause, he added: “When the fortune of the human realm flourishes, it can withstand forces from beyond.”

“If you have no pressing matters today, do not leave the city.”

At these words, the old Daoist was briefly startled. Then his white brows furrowed as he said: “I understand.”

The young Daoist had originally risen, his right hand resting on the sword case. He was bound to go. If he knew yet did not go, seeking only to preserve himself, then he would be like that Yujie Mountain God. Could he only censure others, yet when it came to himself, shrink back? That would not be the conduct of one who walks the Dao — besides, his friend, the little Medicine Spirit, would be in danger.

Whether for public duty or personal bonds, he could not shirk it. His Dao heart stirred not the slightest ripple of hesitation.

But then he recalled the Great Dao Sovereign’s appraisal of the Slayer of Thieves Sword, and thought again of the warning in his spirit — that if he went forth with that sword, there was a chance he would meet his death. Thus, he lowered his hand. Thinking for a moment more, he took out the peace talisman and set it aside.

If it were stained with blood, it would not be fit to give away.

Today was New Year’s Eve, when the myriad phenomena renew themselves. One should keep vigil through the night, feast guests, perform sacrifices, pray for blessings, repay the gods, seek wealth, meet noble benefactors, arrange betrothals, marry, construct and repair, or hold funerals. The Azure Dragon tended the kitchen.

It was said: All things are auspicious.

Avoid travel. Avoid taking up new posts.

The youth stepped out the door.

The Judge came to take up his post.

Yue Shiru froze — at this time, going out? He suddenly thought of that mountain spirit tainted by demonic miasma. His eyes widened slightly, as though guessing something. The young Daoist lifted a finger to his lips, while the little novice Mingxin at his back still looked cheerful. The old Daoist, however, was already hurriedly packing up his things, intending to warn certain people not to leave the city.

The young Daoist passed by the Lu Zu Tower, thought for a moment, and said: “I have business today. Will you come with me?”

The sword gave a shrill cry, as if in mockery.

The young Daoist raised his hand and formed the sword seal once taught by the Shangqing Great Dao Sovereign.

At once, the Lianyang Sword fell silent—then suddenly let out several piercing cries. It left its scabbard in a straight flash and landed in the youth’s palm. Sword in hand, it seemed to know of slaughter, to sense the surge of tribulation qi. Ordinary weapons, if they possessed any spirit, would surely be struck with fear and withdraw. Yet this sword, upon sensing the qi of tribulation, instead felt only greater exhilaration. It cried out without cease, as though long howling to the heavens.

The characters upon the blade’s surface suddenly shattered apart.

The floor beneath their feet quivered; Yue Shirou saw the words on the sword’s body forcibly stripped away, falling to the ground.

Each character was incomparably heavy.

It seemed that every one that landed made the Daoist temple shudder violently.

In the blink of an eye, a line of bold and unrestrained characters appeared upon the floor of the temple:

[With this sword I have walked the world; the slaughter has grown too great to restrain. More than once have I been wounded, its backlash striking at me. Thus, I abandon it here, leaving one strand of my lineage to suppress it. I name it Lianyang, that the utmost yang and unyielding qi may wear away its cold and baleful will — Lu Chunyang]

The sword’s body then returned to its original appearance.

Yue Shirou stood there, stupefied, unable to speak.

This sword was no longer Lu Chunyang’s sword.

This sword was no longer the sword of Ancestor Lu.

This sword had forsaken the Patriarch.

The young Daoist held the sword, the Northern Emperor Mirror hanging at one side, the Judge’s Seal hanging from the other, a wooden hairpin in his hair, a Daoist robe patterned with thunder at the sleeves.

And so, in the mortal world with its myriad phenomena, all things were fitting.

“May all things be at peace.”