At the entrance of the Village of Broken Elders, the Village Chief, Old Ma, the Deaf One, the Blind One and the rest stared at the grand ceremony in the neighboring village. Who could have imagined the Heavenly Demon Cult — the foremost demonic sect of the demonic path — should usher in its future Cult Master here in this remote backwater? A Junior Cult Master not yet twelve?
Suddenly Grandma Si wept, her voice choked. "He will leave us..."
"That is a good thing, Grandma." The Herbalist smiled gently. "Fledglings must one day grow up, fly out to the boundless world, leave home to face the wind and waves. We cannot keep him beside us old cripples forever."
The Blind One kept a calm face and said with ease: "The legend begins the moment he takes his first step beyond the village."
On the shore of the Yong River, tower ships came sailing in. Cult members departed en masse — some vaulted into the air, others boarded ships, others became strange beasts and slipped into the woods, others vanished as plumes of fire, still others fled by water. Each had his own peculiar art, and Qin Mu watched, dazzled. He had beaten them at the Spirit Womb realm, yet lacked all these tricks.
"Goodbye, Junior Cult Master!" A woman waved, then fell backward into the river and became a splash that swept downstream. Qin Mu waved back, not knowing good from bad, only that he had, just like that, become their Junior Cult Master — and that he would meet them again beyond the Great Ruins.
"My Holy Sect spent forty years hidden in the Great Ruins, seeking the whereabouts of the Cult Master's Wife." The boy Ancestor likewise rose to leave: "Choosing a Junior Cult Master now only steadies hearts for a time. The State Preceptor of Yankang covets my Holy Sect and wishes to turn it to his own use. While I live, I can drag things out a few years. So when the Junior Cult Master reaches adulthood, he must walk out of the Great Ruins and formally become the Cult Master."
Grandma Si nodded: "Rest easy, Ancestor. I killed one Holy Cult Master, so I will give you back one. He will go to the Holy Sect at adulthood, hold great power, as you wish!"
The boy Ancestor summoned the Elder of Discipline, made a bow, and walked toward the Yong River. Old man and young boy, in cloth robes and straw sandals, leaning on their staffs as they trod the river, drifted away.
The Blind One planted his bamboo staff with both hands and sang out, his hoarse, desolate voice echoing across the two banks: "A rain-cloak, a bamboo hat, a flat-keeled boat; a zhang of line, an inch of hook; one song sung high, one jug of wine; one man alone fishing the river's autumn! Ancestor of the demonic sect, we are both old now — I wonder if we shall ever meet again. Farewell!"
Out on the river, the boy Ancestor stopped and turned about. "Gentlemen, farewell! Ha ha!" He sang in a high voice: "An old man of eight hundred idles away his cares; this life's wishes are fulfilled, and restful he is done. When death comes, proud he will soar above the clouds; the clouds fly high of themselves, and the water flows on!"
The Blind One praised: "Worthy of the Ancestor! He has looked calmly on life and death, and after death would still laugh from on high at the human world's fortunes!" The Village Chief said: "That is the mark of a grand master." The Deaf One laughed: "The Blind One's poems mean nothing. The Ancestor's fits both feeling and scene, and lacks no boldness." The Blind One stammered: "You know nothing of poetry!" Then they all roared, and Qin Mu too smiled.
Suddenly he felt a surging power pour out at the center of his brow. He hastened to look inward at his Spirit Womb Divine Treasury — and started: "My spirit womb has awakened again!"
His spirit womb had already awakened three times — the first when it merged with his consciousness, the second after he watched fire and water in the smithy, and this time, after being tempered through the three hundred and sixty chambers, it absorbed the golden light and sank into a long dormancy that now at last awakened.
"Awakened again?" The others wore strange faces. Other people's spirit wombs needed only a single awakening — why did Qin Mu's keep sleeping and waking? "Do the four spiritual beasts also awaken a third time?" They shook their heads and turned to the Village Chief, whose head ached.
"It is the Supreme Body. The Supreme Body Three-Dan Art! The first awakening is the first dan, the second the second dan, the third the third dan. Now that Mu'er has awakened a third time, his art has borne some fruit. Mu'er, no pride!"
Qin Mu hurriedly nodded. "I surely won't be proud."
The Herbalist smiled archly: "And if Mu'er should awaken a fourth time? Would that make a fourth dan?" The Village Chief flushed in rage and shame — yet the Herbalist was not wrong. What if the lad's spirit womb truly did awaken a fourth time? How in the world was he going to make that lie hold then?
"Ahem, Mu'er, what differences are there from before?" The Chief changed the subject. Qin Mu savored it; it seemed no different, except that the golden sea within his Spirit Womb Divine Treasury had grown much thinner, its light unable to generate on its own. He drove his primal qi, and his womb mobilized it too: now a Green Dragon wound about his body, now he trod a black tortoise draped in a great serpent, now wings sprang from his back — his primal qi could shift with his very will, no longer needing to meditate on water, fire, or dragon.
"This is a good thing." The Chief let out a turbid breath. "When the Supreme Body's womb awakens a third time, one can bring out the power of any move with ease." The Herbalist was about to speak when the Chief glared at him; he swallowed his words, muttering: "Wait until a fourth awakening — we'll see how you spin this one!"
"His breath passes in and out of his nose like smoke; his body and mind are bright within..." Beneath the waterfall of the Emerald Cloud Valley, a slightly green recitation drifted from the thatched cottage. A youth of fourteen or fifteen gripped a scroll, pacing as he read aloud, while a snowy-white fox watched without blinking. That youth was Qin Mu; the fox was Hu Ling'er, the great demon-ess of the valley, white vapor passing in and out beneath her nose like smoke.
Two years and eight months had passed since the Heavenly Demon Cult's visit. Winter had just gone; the Yong had not fully thawed, broken ice drifting downstream. At the bends the channel was often choked with ice, until the wall could hold no more and a great flood burst forth, drowning no telling how many. For days the Blind One, Grandma Si, the Cripple and others had gone downstream to seek out the ice-dammed lakes, so Qin Mu had come to find Hu Ling'er and expound the scriptures to her.
Suddenly a roar broke out beyond the window, shaking the mountain forest. The two stepped out — a monstrous beast, covered in plates of bone, a head like a dragon and legs like an elephant, came thundering at the thatched cottage! On its back sat a demon ape black as pitch, a twelve-ring Khakkhara chant staff in hand, driving the beast in a charge.
Hu Ling'er leaped before Qin Mu, drew a breath, and blew. Whoosh — howling wind rushed at beast and ape. She flicked her tail, the gale redoubled into a whirlwind that swept them up and hurled them into the sky.
The demon ape sprang upward, gripping its staff with both hands as it grew larger and larger. "Kshiloro —" It crashed down like a little mountain, thrusting the staff deep into the earth, fierce air bursting in every direction and breaking through the whirlwind.
It yanked up the staff, swung, and smashed down at Hu Ling'er. With a great clang the blow was checked — Qin Mu raised his hand and caught it for her.
But at that very moment Hu Ling'er sprang aside and spat out wind shaped like curved blades a full zhang long. Six or seven blades wheeled about — aimed not at the demon ape, but slashing straight at Qin Mu!