Three Mountain City.
Sun Xiaoman hurried into her mother's room.
Since the battle at Jade Balance Peak had ended, Dou Yuemei had shut herself inside her quarters and refused to come out, leaving the city's affairs in Sun Xiaoman's hands. Even the appointment of the new academy head for the Three Mountain City Dao Academy had not drawn her forth. This was the first time in all those days that she had been willing to see anyone.
"...Mother." The instant Sun Xiaoman laid eyes on Dou Yuemei, her heart trembled.
So haggard, so worn — was this still her mother?
"Xiaoman." Dou Yuemei looked at her daughter, and at last a trace of color returned to her pale face. "How fares the city?"
"Well enough, much as before." Sun Xiaoman did not dare say that, ever since the expedition to Jade Balance Peak had returned empty-handed, several academy disciples of no small talent had transferred to other cities, saying there was no hope to be found here. Such folk were few, to be sure, but to a Three Mountain City already withered of talent, it was salt rubbed into a wound.
"That is good, then." Dou Yuemei seemed hardly to care for the answer anymore, and turned instead to ask: "And how is Xiaoyan?"
"He still keeps himself shut in his room, saying he never wants to speak to you again."
Dou Yuemei sighed, somewhat wistfully: "It seems this time he is truly angry."
"No matter. Give it a while and he will forget."
There was weariness in Sun Xiaoman's eyes, which she tried hard to keep her mother from seeing. Handling the city lord's affairs was not what she was good at; but Sun Xiaoyan was not one to manage matters, and her mother had sunk so low, brooding day after day. She could only take the burden upon herself with difficulty. For her part, she would rather raise her great hammer and trade blows with several hundred masters than bury her head in ledgers and briefs.
"Over these past days, I have thought it through." Dou Yuemei rallied her spirits a little and sighed: "Three Mountain City must still be kept standing, and your brother's cultivation must not be allowed to lapse. Above all, I must not hold you back any longer."
Sun Xiaoman lifted her eyes to her: "Mother..."
"Go and find your master!" Dou Yuemei said, moved: "This world is not what your father believed it to be, and everything he did was meaningless. This world is not a world of reason, but a world of the strong."
It was truly hard to conceive of. For a woman who had taken her husband as her pillar of spirit, who had placed absolute faith in him — how deep must her despair have run, for her to say such a thing? For her to deny the struggle her husband had waged.
Sun Xiaoman felt her mother was not in the right, yet she did not know how to argue against it.
"Your master is very strong, but back then I insisted on keeping you by my side because I was proud enough to believe that one day I would not lose to him. That by living with your mother, your cultivation would not be hindered."
Dou Yuemei's voice grew low: "Now... Mother can never surpass him again."
At that time Dou Yuemei sat before the dressing mirror she had always used, only she sat with her back to the glass. Sunlight fell through the window lattice onto her haggard face, making it paler still.
Sun Xiaoman simply sat down cross-legged upon the floor, the little silver hammer swaying at her wrist, resting her head upon her hand and leaning it against her mother's knee.
Dou Yuemei stroked the hair at her temple and went on: "Pure martial practice — as yet no one has beaten out a complete path for it. And so the way of the warrior is hard to walk. Your master is only one explorer among many. Much of the time you must rely on yourself alone, and think much."
"Mhm." Sun Xiaoman's voice was soft.
"You are gifted. Up to the Twelve Heavens, the road lies smooth and level for you, so I will not speak of the cultivation before the Inner Palace realm."
Dou Yuemei took out a little booklet, thin as only a few pages: "This is a little of what Mother learned in probing the seed of a divine skill. Take it. All great paths lead to the same end; grasp one and you grasp all. Perhaps it will be of some help to you."
Seeing Sun Xiaoman put it away, she sighed again: "The warrior who treads the Thirty-Three Heavens is still only a notion until today; none has ever walked it to completion. Truly, I wonder, how far will my daughter go?"
Sun Xiaoman thrust one hand high, the little silver hammer swaying: "To the very top!"
Dou Yuemei laughed, and reached out to flick her daughter's nose: "Go on, then. Go."
Sun Xiaoman stood, her bare feet on the ground: "Mother, I will be off then?"
Dou Yuemei laughed through her tears: "Go."
Sun Xiaoman suddenly gave a sly smile: "Before I go, let me educate Sun Xiaoyan a little for you!"
Seeing Dou Yuemei open her mouth to stop her, she cut in: "Mother, listen to me. Giving a child a beating now and then is good for body and spirit alike. Do not be stingy. Father is gone; the past stays in the past. But the future is still long!"
She hopped a couple of steps, then turned back, blinking: "Why, it seems to me my master has quite an eye for you!"
"Get out of here! What would you know!"
The daughter went, went to visit her brother with a lesson in mind.
Dou Yuemei felt a strange sense of relief, and she cast the odd thought out of her mind.
She turned about and looked into the dressing mirror.
Within the glass was a face untouched by powder; worn, yes, but one could still trace its fine and lovely contours.
She reached up and brushed the surface of her own cheek, letting out a quiet sigh: "You dead fool, you died so early — do you feel it was not worth it? What a shame, truly, this face of mine, blooming fair as a flower..."
...
For the deputy dean Song Qifang, Jiang Chen was of course no stranger, nor did he lack respect for him. Dean Dong had been demoted to Maple City only a few years past; before that, the Maple City Academy had always been governed by Song Qifang.
Naturally, constrained by his own strength and vision, the Maple City Academy under his stewardship had always been a weak one.
Now Dean Dong managed the main academy, while Song Qifang, as his deputy, devoted himself beyond teaching to alchemy and the arts of deduction. One could say the division of labor was clear, and each made proper use of his talents.
Because the man did not contend for things, and was genial and kind, he had ever enjoyed the respect of his disciples.
Only, Jiang Chen truly could not fathom why Song Qifang had suddenly summoned him.
"Academy Head Song." Jiang Chen walked into the alchemy chamber and gave a respectful bow: "Did you have business with me?"
Song Qifang, white-haired, turned from before the furnace and looked at Jiang Chen with a kindly smile: "Jiang Chen, how has cultivation been lately? Any troubles?"
"Your concern honors me." Jiang Chen was flattered. "The instructors are all most conscientious, and my cultivation is still shallow, so my problems are all quite elementary. Sometimes the senior brothers see to them for me. For now I have no particular difficulty."
Song Qifang nodded in satisfaction: "You are one of the finest disciples in this academy. I feel at ease with you."
"Talents abound within the academy; this disciple hardly deserves such praise."
"I have heard everything about your doings in Riverview City." Song Qifang glanced aside at the fire beneath the furnace, then went on: "You performed admirably. But in some things, one must mind one's methods. We and Riverview City are linked by a strip of water; there is little need to make things so stiff and hostile."
Whatever the matter's rights and wrongs, whatever the truth of it — to open one's mouth and lay a blame on a man's head like that truly displeased Jiang Chen.
But his face showed nothing. He said only: "Your teaching is well received, Academy Head Song."
"Of course, where a family matter is concerned, it is understandable that a young man might be impulsive." Song Qifang smiled, fanned the fire, and asked with seeming carelessness: "I hear you have a peerless sword art, that shone brilliantly in Three Mountain City and Riverview City alike?"
"This disciple did, by a stroke of fortune, come by a sword art." Jiang Chen frowned slightly. "Yet the art is not so miraculous as others have made it out to be."
"To win advancement yet not grow arrogant — very good." Song Qifang paused, then turned to look Jiang Chen straight in the eyes: "Would you be willing to contribute this Dao art to the academy? So that the other disciples of our academy might also improve. Have no fear — the Dao merit shall by all means be counted generously. I will see it done for you."
It was true that the Dao Academies of the State of Zhuang had a tradition of exchanging goods for Dao merit, whereby disciples blessed with wealth could offer up their treasures — a good thing for the academy and for the cultivator alike. Technique manuals were of course included.
But that was purely a matter of consent.
In other words, if Jiang Chen had wished it, he would long since have traded it away. Did he need Song Qifang to speak up before he would?
To share it with Zhao Yan, Ling Chuan, and Du Hu, that was done with a whole heart. But it did not mean Jiang Chen was some great lover of all the world, mindful of every being under heaven. That was not philanthropy; it was folly.
And so, Jiang Chen asked directly: "Is this the intent of Academy Head Dong?"
Song Qifang's face sank somewhat: "I should think that, within Maple City Academy, the words of this old man still carry some weight. Even Academy Head Dong would not fail to respect my opinion."
No wonder the Maple City Academy had been so mediocre in his hands in the old days — such a head full of stale, cloying tradition!
Thinking this, Jiang Chen bowed: "In that case, forgive me, but I decline."
That said, he turned and left directly.
His sword hung at his side.
At this moment, he himself bore the keenness of a sword.