Song Jixin stood at the summit, his field of vision broad and open. All those years in Mud Vase Lane, looking around and seeing only mud walls—the boy relished this feeling of climbing high and gazing afar. Mountains and rivers stretching a thousand li, all beneath his feet.
Song Changjing gathered his precious but worn fox-fur cloak around him. The prince was in unusually high spirits today. He pointed west toward a tall mountain: "That mountain is called Cloud-Cloak Mountain. In the future, it may be one of the ten great mountains officially designated by Great Li—beyond the Five Sacred Peaks. According to the old rules left by the ancestors, there will be a mountain god inscribed at the forefront of the official registry, whose golden statue may be consecrated, receiving the incense and kinship of the mortal world to suppress local fortune, keeping it from scattering elsewhere and falling into neighboring kingdoms' hands. The townsfolk can only see the mountain beneath our feet—Dragonhead Mountain—if they stand atop Cloud-Cloak Mountain. Because Dragonhead Mountain is protected by a great formation, ordinary mortal eyes cannot perceive this place. That itself counts as an opportunity. According to the bureau's secret archives, several people throughout history have thus ascended Dragonhead Mountain and successfully departed this realm."
Song Jixin asked: "And did those people all rise to prominence? Become overlords in Great Li or on the Baoping Continent?"
Song Changjing smiled: "Two did quite well in Great Li—separated by only thirty years. One in letters, one in arms. They were later hailed as Great Li's twin jewels. The literary one was posthumously granted the title 'Wen Zheng.' The martial one earned his descendants an inherited title of Pillar of the Realm—a considerable ancestral blessing. Though I hold a poor opinion of both families' descendants, their bond with Great Li is something I must acknowledge with a pinched nose. Back then, if the two of them hadn't joined forces to turn the tide, the Song clan of Great Li wouldn't have survived that crisis."
Song Jixin felt the mountain summit's pure wind brushing his face. A sensation of transcendence, of rising on immortal wings. He asked: "What about the others?"
Song Changjing exhaled slowly, feeling more refreshed than ever, suppressing the churning of his internal qi-sea—like pressing down with one hand upon a rising sun. He was now absolutely certain that the moment he stepped through that gate, he would immediately ascend to the tenth realm—the deepest end of the martial way.
Below the upper five realms, any qi-refining practitioner facing a martial grandmaster at the utmost peak would have virtually no chance of victory—only the outcome of being crushed and slain.
Song Changjing steadied his mind and gave the boy a truth that wasn't particularly comforting: "All dead. I personally killed one myself—back when I was only a seventh-realm martial practitioner. That man was a relatively troublesome sword cultivator, and he was in his prime. We hunted each other across seven or eight hundred li, and I finally caught up with him at a small place called White Fox Pass on Great Li's southern border. After destroying all his protective artifacts and his life-bound flying sword, I twisted his neck. There was no alternative—he refused to serve Great Li, so that was his fate. The Song clan has always treated cultivators well, but the condition is that they must serve the Song clan—even if only in pretense."
That duel had pushed Song Changjing into the eighth realm.
Song Jixin had little interest in his uncle's legendary exploits, but curiosity compelled him to ask: "Was it because another dynasty offered a higher price, making them willing to betray Great Li?"
Song Changjing smiled: "Before that swordsman, it was usually the case. Great Li is remote and its people fierce—a nation that prizes martial valor above all. Martial prodigies spring up everywhere and are hardly rare. But refined and delicate qi-refining practitioners? Those are as rare as phoenix feathers and dragon scales. So every time a few emerged, each successive Great Li emperor would treat them like bodhisattvas. The current emperor—my elder brother, naturally—was no exception. When that swordsman entered the palace to see my brother, he walked with his sword on his back and his nostrils in the air. Very punchable, indeed. He'd just happened to acquire a useful protective treasure and was at the height of his prestige. So when he saw me, he didn't even offer a greeting. Like this."
Song Jixin asked: "And then?"
Song Changjing looked at his nephew as one might look at an idiot: "Then he died."
Song Jixin's face was a mask of disbelief: "Uncle, you killed him—killed a cultivator who could be called a pillar of the realm—just because he didn't greet you?"
Song Changjing said evenly: "Some people, you simply cannot indulge."
Song Jixin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. He couldn't understand how such an unruly, defiant member of the Great Li imperial family had survived to this day.
Song Changjing smiled: "You may not know this, but across the entire Baoping Continent, there is only one dynasty where cultivators—regardless of background or patronage—must serve the emperor on the frontier for three years of actual combat. If their merits fall short, they remain on the border until they've earned enough. Only then can they return to enjoy life."
Song Jixin was more puzzled: "Didn't you just say Great Li reveres cultivators most? How can such a rule exist? And if I may say so—doesn't Great Li fear these cultivators dying on the battlefield?"
Song Changjing laughed heartily: "This unwritten rule was established after I assumed military command."
Song Jixin realized: "That swordsman refused to go to the battlefield, humiliating you—causing other cultivators to follow his example, undermining military morale and civilian trust? So you chose the lesser of two evils?"
Song Changjing shook his head: "That swordsman had served on the frontier in his youth. In just one year, he'd earned enough merits to build an excellent reputation in Great Li."
Song Jixin blurted in exasperation: "Then why on earth did you kill him?!" Was he competing with you for a woman? Did he violate a Song taboo? Or was he secretly colluding with enemies?
Song Changjing's answer was simple: "Although cultivators and martial practitioners walk different paths, and the former are indeed more... well, in the words of that Embroidered Tiger, more 'delicate branches and jade leaves.' Even the tenth realm is the end of the martial road, but qi-refining practitioners still have the upper five realms to climb. The gap between them is significant. If you take the most elite fraction from each, upper-realm cultivators stand here on this summit—men like me are left standing on Cloud-Cloak Mountain. Of course, a martial grandmaster at the utmost peak is no match for an eleventh- or twelfth-realm cultivator. But in the eyes of the secular world, a martial man is just a crude brawler, one step below the cultivator. So during that meeting in the palace, though he didn't greet me, he deliberately glanced sideways at me with the corner of his mouth turned up—a provocation. I decided to teach him manners."
Song Jixin sat as if turned to stone.
Teaching someone manners was one thing—was it necessary to twist their neck?
Song Changjing didn't want to continue discussing the dead: "Are you dying to know about the middle-aged man I fought?"
Song Jixin swallowed involuntarily but said nothing.
Though the three carriages had gone on ahead, the brutal clash behind them had been a battle that shook heaven and earth. At one point Song Changjing had plummeted from the sky, smashing a crater into the ground a dozen zhang from the carriages. Then later, Song Jixin—who had climbed onto the carriage roof—had watched the solidly built man, whose bearing was like a terrestrial dragon, get hammered by Song Changjing's fist into a small hillside. The cloud of dust that billowed up was a spectacular sight.
Not human.
That was the boy's sole impression.
The truth was, the fight between Song Changjing and the man who had appeared from nowhere hadn't been ethereal or divine at all. Every blow had been meat on bone—as though exchanging wound for wound, life for life. It was a contest of who could be more unreasonably ruthless.
Song Changjing suddenly ruffled the boy's hair. For once, his voice held a note of warmth: "Your father has great ambitions. When the Great Sui emperor was still fixated on Great Li, he had already set his sights on Old Dragon City at the southernmost tip of the Baoping Continent. Are you wondering how—being both Great Li's true-born prince and a military-commanding sovereign, with unrivaled authority among the people and the army—I can still get along with your father as brother to brother?"
Song Jixin smiled with a cunning look: "If Uncle wants to tell me, by all means."
Song Changjing withdrew his hand and said gravely: "Because the only thing I want is to witness the martial way above the utmost peak. Only by reaching that point will my life, Song Changjing's, not have been in vain."
In that moment, a torrent seemed to surge through the boy's chest. His voice trembled as he asked: "If I devote myself wholeheartedly, can I reach your height today?"
Song Changjing shook his head and smiled: "You? If you practiced martial arts, you'd reach the eighth realm at most. No future in it. Better stick to being a qi-refining practitioner. Your achievements would be far greater."
Song Jixin was somewhat indignant: "Why can I only reach the eighth realm?"
Song Changjing's tone was amused: "Only?"
Song Jixin flushed slightly.
Song Changjing didn't press the boy's youthful ignorance. He narrowed his eyes and gazed into the distance, speaking slowly: "Qi-refining practitioners—it's a trade that depends on heaven's favor. A good fate is crucial. One day you stumble upon an opportunity here, the next day you find a treasure there, the day after you accidentally meet a hidden immortal, and the day after that, you gaze upon a landscape and suddenly gain enlightenment. It seems everything boosts your cultivation. But for us martial practitioners, it's entirely different. There are no shortcuts—only step by step, ground covered by ground. Very tedious."
Song Jixin's emotions churned with a sense of loss.
Song Changjing ignored his nephew and turned toward the carriage. The corner of his eye caught the girl's silhouette. He hesitated, then walked to her side and stood looking up at the gate together.
Song Changjing murmured to himself: "The qi of a true dragon condenses into a pearl. Among all dragon-kind in the world, the pearl is the most precious—a cultivator's life-bound primordial spirit."
The maidservant Zhigui didn't turn her head, but a trace of tension revealed itself.
Song Changjing smiled: "For those four characters—Wind and Water Arising—written on the gallery bridge's plaque, Great Li paid a price outsiders cannot imagine. Wind and Water Arising—why 'Water Arising'? Simply so that when the flood-dragon traverses the rivers, its path may be clear. I, personally, don't concern myself with such matters. It was all your young master's ruthlessly ambitious father's wish. After you leave this small chiliocosm, apart from the Embroidered Tiger in the capital, I doubt anyone else will dare dictate terms to you."
Song Changjing turned to study the girl's profile: "Though your fates are bound together—inseparable, sharing glory and ruin—you must not be too presumptuous. Don't give me reason to act. For Great Li's sake and my nephew Song Jixin's, I'll make an exception: I'll grant you two chances to court death. As the old saying goes, never three times."
The girl suddenly flared with rage. She turned, took two steps back, and fixed him with a furious stare—the prince of Great Li who filled her with primal terror. "I am not human to begin with! Yet you constrain me by human rules—who is truly unreasonable? Your golden laws and square measures—what have they to do with me?!"
Song Changjing laughed with satisfaction: "Don't misunderstand. I would never impose on you over trifles. Quite the opposite—I am your greatest protector."
He gazed at the girl—her eyes shimmered with an uncanny golden hue—and said at last: "After that fight, you and I are allies on the same ship. Remember that. Especially in the future, when you are qualified to make crucial choices—remember this."
Song Changjing turned and walked away.
By the carriage, a middle-aged driver roughened by years of battlefield dust looked at the glaringly white fox-fur cloak on the Great Li prince and couldn't help himself: "Your Highness, when are you getting a new fox-fur cloak? It's been years. We're tired of looking at it, even if you're not."
Song Changjing climbed into the carriage, bent to lift the curtain, and tossed back a curt reply: "After we conquer Great Sui."
The driver laughed heartily. Facing this Great Li sovereign—second only to the emperor—he showed not the slightest deference.
Song Changjing had spent twenty years in the field. Though as a general he couldn't always lead from the front, conducting strategy from the great tent instead, on Great Li's contested borders there was no shortage of skirmishes. Whenever death loomed, Song Changjing would plunge into the fray. This prince, whose daily life knew neither fine wine nor beautiful women, could be described as owning nothing beyond himself.
Seated cross-legged in the carriage, Song Changjing frowned: "That man told me after leaving the Lizhu small chiliocosm, don't rush to the capital. 'Wait at the foot of the mountain and look up.' Wait for what? Look at what?"
---
Song Jixin and the maidservant Zhigui also entered the carriage. The horses were ready to carry them through the gate.
Song Jixin noticed Zhigui curled in a corner, trembling. He asked with concern: "What's wrong?"
Zhigui's voice shook: "I can feel it—on the other side of the gate, there are countless terrible things."
Song Jixin laughed and comforted her: "With my uncle here, what is there to fear? Even if the sky fell, he'd hold it up."
But Zhigui grew more terrified, huddling deeper into the corner with tears in her voice: "Even he can't hold it up!"
---
The town's largest inn had a rare visitor.
A schoolteacher with frost-tipped temples ordered a pot of wine and several small dishes. He drank alone, perfectly content.
Today, the schoolteacher had given no lessons.
The young pupils of the school had gone home in high spirits.
When he finished his last cup of wine and the final morsel of food, he set down his chopsticks with a soft click.
With that sound, the thousand-li, small chiliocosm of mountains and rivers fell utterly silent. Everything froze.
This realm shattered in an instant.
In that moment, every immortal on the mountains and every mortal below them across the entire Baoping Continent involuntarily looked up.
But the next instant—as though an immortal higher than immortals had exercised the great power to change heaven and conceal the sun—the entire spectacle of the Lizhu small chiliocosm was shrouded.
In the high sky above northern Baoping, an ocean of clouds a thousand li wide churned and rolled, pressing slowly downward.
A figure, entirely white, with great sleeves drifting, so tall that his height could only be measured in tens of thousands of zhang, sat upright and solemn. Before him hovered a broken pearl the size of his palm.
This Dharma form was so colossal that it seemed to have taken the entire Baoping Continent as its private classroom.
Above the boundless sea of clouds, authoritative voices rang out like successive peals of heavenly thunder.
"Qi Jingchun, you are insolent!"
"Utterly treasonous!"
"Repent and return to the right path!"
The scholar looked down upon the pearl. Slowly he withdrew his gaze and finally lifted his face, calling out in a clear, resonant voice: "Three thousand years of accumulated heavenly retribution—I, Qi Jingchun, shall bear it on my shoulders!"