40: Chapter 40 Farewell to Qingcheng
Morning mist like gauze, lightly veiling the seventy-two peaks of Mount Qingcheng.
Lu Mingyuan stood atop Zhangren Peak, watching the sea of clouds at sunrise for the last time. The horizon gradually turned from blue-gray to fish-belly white, and a line of golden red appeared at the edge of the clouds. Then, ten thousand beams of golden light broke through the clouds, like a thousand long swords being unsheathed at once.
He slowly exhaled a mouthful of turbid Qi, and the white mist condensed in the cold air without dispersing.
On the green bamboo staff at his waist, seventeen sword scars were particularly clear in the morning light—they were marks left during sparring sessions with Mount Qingcheng Disciples on the Sword Testing Platform. Every single one represented a defeat, a deficiency, and a reminder.
During three months of bitter cultivation, he had not erased a single one.
Because sword scars fade and lessons are forgotten. Keeping them was keeping the evidence that he had once fallen here.
"Junior Brother Lu."
Footsteps came from behind. Jiang Yichen was still in his green robe, with the unadorned and simple "shouzhuo" sword hanging at his waist. He walked very lightly, as if treading on clouds, yet he stopped three feet away from Lu Mingyuan.
That was the distance he could not breach on the Sword Testing Platform, even with thirty years of shouzhuo Sword Intent.
"The Sect Leader Immortal Master requests your presence," Jiang Yichen said, his tone still cold, yet with a hardly perceptible warmth compared to three months ago.
Lu Mingyuan turned around: "Did Senior Brother Jiang come specifically to find me?"
"On the way." Jiang Yichen looked at the sea of clouds and paused. "In thirty years, no one on the Sword Testing Platform has been able to force me to sheath my sword within a hundred moves. You are the first."
Lu Mingyuan was silent for a moment: "Senior Brother Jiang, why did you not strike that final blow?"
Jiang Yichen did not answer.
He turned and walked down the mountain, his back as solitary and steep as a sword. After ten or so steps, his voice drifted over with the mountain wind:
"If that strike were made, victory and defeat would be uncertain, and life and death would be uncertain. You and I are not mortal enemies; there is no need to show our true measure."
He paused.
"More importantly, your sword should not break here."
Lu Mingyuan watched the receding green figure and suddenly asked: "Senior Brother Jiang, why have you guarded one shouzhuo sword for thirty years?"
Jiang Yichen stopped but did not look back.
"Because my talent is only enough to guard one sword."
He continued forward and soon vanished into the mist.
Lu Mingyuan stood there for a long time.
He thought of Jiang Yichen's "Immortal Points the Way" on the Sword Testing Platform—thousands of variations and ten thousand possibilities, yet never straying from its essence. That was not clumsiness, but great skill concealed in clumsiness; that was not guarding, but controlling the myriad with one.
He touched the seventeen sword scars on the green bamboo staff at his waist.
What should his own sword guard?
Laoxiao Peak.
The thousand-year-old ginkgo tree had dropped its last golden leaf, its gnarled branches like iron strokes and silver hooks, casting a sparse, pale gray shadow in the morning mist. On a green stone beneath the tree, the Mount Qingcheng Sect Leader, Perfected Master Changkong, sat cross-legged, with a few un-swept withered leaves on his lapel.
Lu Mingyuan stopped three zhang away from him, straightened his clothes, composed his expression, and bowed deeply until his hands reached the ground.
"Lu Mingyuan of Zhongnan bids farewell to the Sect Leader Immortal Master."
Perfected Master Changkong slowly opened his eyes.
Lu Mingyuan had seen those eyes countless times—when viewing manuals in the Sword Pavilion, when sparring on the Sword Testing Platform, and when sitting alone in the guest house every night. They were always like water and clouds, elusive, as if looking from across ten thousand layers of misty water.
But at this moment, there was a very faint, hardly perceptible warmth in those eyes.
"After three months of cultivation, what have you gained?"
Lu Mingyuan stood up and thought for a moment.
"When this Disciple first entered Mount Qingcheng and left a mark on Wenjian Cliff, three intents ran in parallel but failed to merge. The Pavilion Keeper said my Sword Intent was cluttered and my Sword Dao was unclear."
He paused, his voice becoming steadier:
"Now this Disciple finally knows that clutter is a necessary path, and lack of clarity is the proper state. Nine hundred years ago, when Senior Songyun left a mark on Wenjian Cliff, he also had three intents running in parallel. He spent his whole life without fusing the three into a single furnace, not because he lacked the strength, but because the three were never meant to be fused together."
"Oh?" Perfected Master Changkong's eyebrows moved slightly. "If they are not to be fused, how should they be treated?"
"Each returns to its place, each performs its duty," Lu Mingyuan said. "Heaven returns to Heaven, Earth returns to Earth, and Heart returns to Heart. Forced fusion is obsession; returning to one's place is mastery."
Perfected Master Changkong gazed at him for a long time and nodded slightly.
"You have glimpsed the threshold of Clarity." The old Daoist's voice was flat, yet without a hint of perfunctoriness. "The Mount Qingcheng Sword Dao is not passed to a second person. That you were able to realize this on your own is your destiny, not something taught by Mount Qingcheng."
Lu Mingyuan lowered his head: "This Disciple does not dare take the credit. Without the three thousand seven hundred volumes of sword manuals in the Sword Pavilion, without the Pavilion Keeper's guidance, and without Senior Brother Jiang's tempering over a hundred moves, this Disciple would still be in the mist."
"Being in the mist is not necessarily being lost," Perfected Master Changkong said. "Some spend their whole lives unable to leave the mist, yet they manage to forge their own path."
He took a green jade sword pendant from his sleeve; it was less than three inches long, with fine cracks on the sword body and a sword tassel that was mostly decayed.
"This item was left at Mount Qingcheng by Daoist Songyun when he departed the mountain nine hundred years ago."
Lu Mingyuan's heart jolted.
"He entrusted it: if one day a junior has read both Longhu's 'Heart Talisman' and Qingcheng's 'heart sword', then this pendant shall be given as a gift." Perfected Master Changkong looked up. "It has been nine hundred years, and you are the first."
He raised his hand, and the songyun jade pendant shimmered with a gentle emerald hue in the morning light. Within it was sealed an extremely limpid Sword Intent—not one of fierce slaughter, nor of heavy defense, but an indescribable 'transparency'—like the autumn moon reflecting in a cold pond, like morning dew falling on a dead leaf, like the wind passing through ten thousand valleys among the pines.
Lu Mingyuan received it with both hands; as the pendant entered his palm, it was actually slightly warm.
Nine hundred years of waiting was condensed in this pendant, in this instant.
His throat felt slightly tight, and only after a long while did he ask: "Senior Songyun... what happened to him later?"
"No one knows." Perfected Master Changkong looked toward the sea of clouds, his gaze distant. "When he left the mountain, he was at the Early Stage of Soul Transformation, carrying one sword and one Heart Talisman as he crossed the azure sea to the east. Since then, there has been no news, and his life or death remains a mystery."
He paused.
"Some say he found the Dao in the East Sea; some say he perished on the way; others say he simply did not want to return."
Lu Mingyuan gripped the songyun jade pendant tightly.
"What did he leave behind?"
"He left two volumes of books, one at Longhu and one at Mount Qingcheng," Perfected Master Changkong said. "He also left a question."
"'After the Heart is the Xuan Shu', what should be the pivot?"
Lu Mingyuan was stunned.
When he read the miscellaneous discourse on heart talismans, he saw Songyun write "The Heart is the Xuan Shu of all laws"; when he read the fragments of the heart sword, he saw Songyun write "When the Heart is clear, all laws are clear." He had always thought this was the end of Songyun's Dao.
It turned out it was not.
It turned out Songyun himself had not reached the end.
"This question has remained unanswered for nine hundred years," Perfected Master Changkong said. "Perhaps there is no answer. Perhaps the answer is not on paper, but beneath one's feet."
He rose from the green stone and took a verdant wooden sword from his sleeve; it was three feet three inches long, with natural wood grain that billowed like a sea of clouds.
"This sword is named 'Qingni', and it has been with me for six hundred years." The old Daoist lightly caressed the sword body, a very faint reluctance in his eyes. "It does not strike those without grievance, nor does it stain itself with the blood of the innocent. If you use the sword with a heart of protection, it is the strongest in the world; if you use the sword with a heart of slaughter, it is merely a piece of dead wood."
He handed over the qingni sword.
Lu Mingyuan knelt, raised his hands above his head, and received the sword.
"How... should this Disciple repay this?" His voice was slightly hoarse.
"Do not fail," Perfected Master Changkong said. "Do not fail this sword, do not fail your own heart, and do not fail every inch of the path you have walked."
He paused, his voice as light as the wind passing through ancient branches:
"Do not fail Songyun, who has waited nine hundred years for you."
Lu Mingyuan's forehead touched the ground, and he did not rise for a long time.
The morning mist gradually dispersed, and the morning sun leaped from the edge of the sea of clouds. Ten thousand beams of golden light were like a sword array launching all at once, piercing through a thousand miles of cloud waves. Atop Laoxiao Peak, the shadow of the thousand-year-old ginkgo tree was stretched very long, covering the two people, one kneeling and one standing.
Perfected Master Changkong looked down at him.
"Your path is different from Songyun's."
Lu Mingyuan looked up.
"I saw that sword scar on Wenjian Cliff," the old Daoist said slowly. "Songyun's mark from nine hundred years ago had the three intents of 'Talisman, Sword, and Heart' running in parallel, never becoming one throughout his life."
He paused.
"Your mark is 'Heaven, Earth, and Man'."
Lu Mingyuan's mind and spirit were shaken.
"The Way of Heaven is quietude and non-action; the Way of Earth is heavy and carries all things; the Way of Man is noble protection." Perfected Master Changkong's voice was very light, like the wind blowing through the thousand-year-old ginkgo tree. "Songyun was looking for the 'Source' where all laws return; but you, from the very beginning, have been looking for the 'One' in the Unity of Heaven and Man."
He lowered his eyes and met Lu Mingyuan's gaze.
"The paths you two walk have never been the same."
Lu Mingyuan knelt before the green stone, and the qingni sword at his waist shimmered with its first ray of green light in the morning sun.
He did not ask any more questions.
He simply kowtowed deeply, then rose, turned, and walked down the mountain.
After ten or so steps, Perfected Master Changkong's voice came from behind him:
"A Flying Sword transmission from Longhu Mountain says the Northwest Rift has fluctuated and expanded threefold within three days."
Lu Mingyuan stopped.
"Reinforcements from various sects have already moved. Immortal Master Yushu urges you to go there quickly."
Lu Mingyuan was silent for a moment: "This Disciple..."
"But your study tour is not yet finished," Perfected Master Changkong said. "The Three Temples of Buddhism, the Three Academies of Confucianism, and the Three Sects of Martial Arts. You have gained from Longhu, Wudang Mountain, and Mount Qingcheng, but if you give up halfway, this journey will be missing a corner."
He paused.
"Immortal Master Yushu also understands this. At the end of his letter, he said: The Northwest is temporarily stable; there is no need to rush. Complete the path you must complete, and face the tribulation you must face."
Lu Mingyuan turned around and looked at the aged figure beneath the thousand-year-old ginkgo tree.
"Sect Leader Immortal Master..."
"Go." Perfected Master Changkong had already closed his eyes and sat cross-legged, like dead wood entering meditation. "Your path lies ahead."
Lu Mingyuan bowed deeply.
This time, he did not look back again.
Outside the mountain gate, Zhang Qingyuan was already waiting.
"Layman Lu." He cupped his hands. "Sect Leader Yushu sent a Flying Sword transmission, we..."
"We won't go to the Northwest yet," Lu Mingyuan said.
Zhang Qingyuan was taken aback.
"The Rift is temporarily stable, and reinforcements from all sects have moved." Lu Mingyuan looked toward the eastern horizon, where the sea of clouds was vast and the sun was rising higher. "My study tour still has three stops left."
He touched the songyun jade pendant in his robes and then the qingni sword at his waist.
"The next stop is Shaolin of Mount Song."
Zhang Qingyuan looked at him and suddenly smiled.
"The Sect Leader said you would certainly choose this."
He raised his hand, and a flying boat Talisman lit up in his palm.
"Let's go. The moon of Shaoshi Mountain has been waiting for you for a long time."
The flying boat ascended, breaking through the clouds and heading east.
Lu Mingyuan stood at the bow, looking back at Mount Qingcheng for the last time. The seventy-two peaks gradually grew smaller, changing from a sword array in the clouds to a green trace, then from a green trace to a speck of azure-green, finally vanishing into the edge of the sea of clouds.
He felt no reluctance.
Because he knew he would return.
Not to Mount Qingcheng, but to this very moment—kneeling beneath the ginkgo tree, receiving the qingni sword and the songyun jade pendant, and hearing the words, "The paths you two walk have never been the same."
At that moment, his path finally had an outline.
It was not the Dao of Talismans, nor the Dao of Martial Arts, nor the Sword Dao.
It was his Dao.
The wind was strong, blowing his sleeves so they flapped loudly. He remembered the day he left Zhongnan Mountain, when Xuanweizi saw him off at the mountain pass and said only one sentence:
"This journey is long and arduous; do not ask for the date of return."
He did not understand it then.
Now he did.
He did not ask for the date of return because the place of return was not in the mountains, not in the waters, and not at a certain time or place.
The place of return is the heart.
It is his path.
On the eastern horizon, the clouds were thinning, and the sun was chasing them from the direction of Mount Qingcheng, casting the shadow of the flying boat onto the ten thousand miles of cloud sea like a trace of ink, writing toward Mount Song.