Chapter Seventy-Five: The Storyteller and the Vastness of the World

Taverns and teahouses were always filled with idlers, like the three of Wu Yue at this moment. It was the afternoon, and a teahouse called Sudden Spring was bustling with several dozen patrons. Order a pot of tea, ask for a few plates of dried fruits, call over four or five friends, and listen to the storyteller recount the great and small happenings of the Immortal Spirit Realm—this was the essence of leisure.

The storyteller was a man in his fifties, with a long beard and a copper-bowled pipe in his hand. Whenever he reached an exciting point, he would take a long, slow drag. He rapped his pipe against the table, the sound ringing clear.

“Let’s talk first about the latest sensation in Black Curtain City—the Eccentric Physician of the Plains. This miraculous healer is coming to the city’s outskirts. You all likely know more about it than I do, so I won’t dwell on it. Today, we’ll just talk about this—Physician, Eccentric, Plains! The Plains Master is called an eccentric, and everyone knows that, but do you know exactly why? Allow me to explain.”

“The Plains Master has three refusals. He will not treat those of hideous appearance. He will not treat the talentless and the boorish. He will not treat those whose cultivation is too weak and who have forgotten the Great Dao. Because of these three unfeeling rules, the Plains Master has made countless enemies. By rights, with so many people offended, not even nine lives would be enough for him. Yet he lives with enviable comfort—he must have an extraordinary background or powerful backing.”

Wu Yue turned and asked Hou Baiyu, “Do you think I meet his standards?” Hou Baiyu nodded vigorously, “Of course! Boss, you are wise and valiant, imposing and dignified—certainly you qualify!”

“Having finished with current events, let’s talk about the peerless elegance of the cultivators. As usual, we begin with the young—recklessness, after all, can be a kind of grandeur.”

Wu Yue listened with relish, not expecting the first subject to be himself.

“Across ten thousand miles, the Great Qin still stands, even if the Grand Nether challenges it. But a starved camel is still larger than a horse, let alone this sky-swallowing leviathan. Three years ago, there was the Jade Bowl Banquet—a grand occasion without precedent. Not only did all the great families of Qin gather, but many distant sects joined as well. Among them was a young man named Wu Yue who quickly rose to fame. He fought the second son of the Zhao family from Crosswise Mountain in a life-and-death struggle, then beheaded a Nascent God cultivator. Though he left no legendary battle records, his cultivation alone ranks among the foremost of his generation in the Immortal Spirit Realm. Regrettably, he vanished without a trace, his fate unknown. Yet recently, rumors of him have surfaced. If true, he is bound to stir up the world once more.”

In discussing the nation, one speaks of the nation; in Jianghu, one speaks of Jianghu. The Zhao family, one of the Five Great Surnames of Qin, held power both in the imperial court and among cultivators. Their base in Crosswise Mountain earned them the name Crosswise Mountain Zhao Clan.

“Now, in the Bitter Heart Mountains of the Extreme North, every twenty years, one descends into the mortal world. Two years ago, the walker was Heart Zen. Traveling from north to south, he broke through twelve sects that barred his way, relentless and indomitable, domineering to the extreme. By now, he should be arriving at Black Curtain City. Perhaps you should all go and see for yourselves.”

“The domineering He is still ten thousand miles away, but the young talents of many great sects are waiting to test his mettle. Qin’s sects are fewer, but beyond its borders, he is sure to face hardship.”

“Speaking of dominion, Divine Might Mountain is truly unique. If a single disciple is killed, the entire sect dons black. No questions are asked, no reasons given—the killer must pay with his life, and any who aid him share his guilt.”

“Then there’s the emerging fangs of Celestial Vault Palace, an ancient order on Qin soil, always appearing neither top nor bottom. Now, however, Guo Xiefeng has made a high-profile stir—first blocking the gates of Blade Valley, the largest sect in Qin, and beating their young disciples one by one. At the end, he boldly issued a challenge to the elders. It seems Celestial Vault Palace is preparing to make its move.”

Wu Yue listened in silence. Celestial Vault Palace, his neighbor across the mountains, was clearly no ordinary, docile sect.

“The north may be vast, but its excitement mostly lies in matters of battlefield and court. For true spectacle, we must look south.”

“Years ago, White Cloud City expelled its disciple White City Snow, who now seeks to return. This is a path to death. White Cloud City’s rules are famously strict, yet White City Snow is determined to devote himself heart and soul. Who knows which will break first—the rules or the man himself?” The storyteller took a deep drag on his pipe, his face full of regret—clearly, he had little hope for a happy outcome.

“What are you up to, old friend?” Wu Yue had once set White Cloud City as his destination, hoping to visit White City Snow, who had been something of a guide in his own cultivation. Years ago, at their parting, White City Snow had said he planned to stay ten years in White Cloud City. If Wu Yue went now, he feared he might only be in time to collect his old friend’s remains.

“There’s also Old Huangshan, Master Yu, who, with one hand held the mountain and with the other halted the river, saving the lives of villagers under the wrath of heaven, accumulating countless merits.”

“Li Shudao, known as Sword God for his three swords, ascended alone to the Wang Family’s Sword Tomb. Not only did he come and go intact, but he took with him two of their ancient swords, breaking the Wang family’s vow that ‘one who enters with a sword will never leave with it.’”

“Then there’s the old fortune-teller who rides a donkey backwards. He charges only one copper for a fortune, regardless of status. One divination per year, honest with young and old alike.”

Some ride their swords a thousand miles to kill, some attain the Dao through reading ten thousand books, and some are nearly invincible with iron cavalry and silver spears.

Some have reigned as sovereigns of formations for two centuries, some destroy ten thousand foes with a single melody, some shatter mountains with thunder in hand, and some live a thousand years, swallowing sun and moon, commanding daylight over their domains.

There are peerless fairy maidens, unrivaled prodigies, undying old monsters. Some cultivate dark arts that arouse the world’s wrath; others establish supreme virtue, served by incense and worship. This is an age of elegance, where immortals walk among mortals, monsters dwell in the mountains, and gods are but three feet overhead.

Among people, discussion revolves around the Dao and the law; the path is one where the righteous flourish and evil perishes. This world is somewhat chaotic: ancient monsters still roam, Daoist immortals still hold to virtue. Among mortals, imperial dynasties reign for centuries; on the mountains, sects still pay their taxes. Scholars, as a new breed, fear nothing.

Some lands are uniquely beautiful; some hold the world’s greatest wonders. There are Sinking River and Dream Mountain, mysterious ancient palaces, Deadwood Forests and Perished Valleys, and paths that are each their own way.

The storyteller spoke with eloquence, and Wu Yue’s heart soared and trembled. Only now did he realize how limited his own view had been.

After listening for three days, Wu Yue finally understood from the storyteller’s words that the world was vast and full of marvels. He realized that, as cultivators, their courage and spirit were as lofty as Kunlun.

ps: This chapter was a bit stuck…