Chapter 1: 1 A Backwater Sect

Rizhao Mountain, North Mountain.

The stone steps climbed upward through a forest so dense it blotted out the sky, and even the midsummer wind of the seventh month carried a chill as it brushed past.

Zhou Fuxue stared at the stone steps stretching endlessly upward beyond sight, and thought gloomily, Maybe I should just turn around and go back down.

Behind him on the steps, a blue-robed youth was scrambling up on all fours, panting like an ox. “Th-Th-Thirteenth Junior Brother, this Senior Brother can see your bones are extraordinarily fine—the Three Thousand Steps must be like flat ground to you. Someday you’ll surely—cough, cough—surely soar to greatness and become a Mighty Figure in your own right.”

Zhou Fuxue’s face was expressionless as he answered, needles hidden beneath cotton: “Fuxue has not yet been entered into your sect’s disciple registry. Addressing one another as senior and junior brothers may not be proper.”

The unspoken meaning being: I haven’t even joined yet—don’t get so familiar. Nothing’s settled.

Shen Di’an, the blue-robed youth, completely missed the needle in his words. “What’s proper or improper got to do with anything? Rizhao Mountain has never had rules to speak of. Thirteenth Junior Brother, you’re being far too formal.”

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

A lawless backwater sect. He wanted to go down the mountain even more now.

A clear, melodious voice drifted from somewhere nearby, so ethereal it might have come from the edge of the sky: “Past sufferings turn to emptiness in an instant; the clamor of the mortal world has only just begun.”

In the twenty-sixth year of the Chang’an Era, ten-year-old Zhou Fuxue had come from Jianglou Kingdom to Rizhao Mountain to take a master and enter the Dao. He had not even finished climbing the Three Thousand Steps of the mountain gate before he had twice entertained the thought of abandoning the Dao and going home.

Shen Di’an was in worse shape than a ten-year-old child. Every few steps, he had to sit down on the stone and rest for a good long while, his small face white as paper, his feet trembling faintly each time they pressed down, as if he might pitch forward headfirst at any moment.

Zhou Fuxue stayed rooted ten paces behind him, his boyish face full of cold indifference.

Climbing as laboriously as he was, Shen Di’an still had energy left to make small talk. “Well, speaking of rules, Rizhao does have a few—no one just follows them. Once you’re through the gate, the Sect Master will probably have you copy out the Sect Precepts a few times. Just go through the motions when that happens. Don’t take it to heart.”

Zhou Fuxue had no idea whether other sects were as casual as Rizhao, but he did know the old saying—nothing round can be made without compass and square, nothing without rules. He sneered inwardly, and his disdain for this ruleless backwater sect deepened another notch.

After resting a while, Shen Di’an laboriously hauled himself up to keep climbing. Watching him stagger along, Zhou Fuxue thought, At this pace, when will we ever reach the gate? He was just debating whether to go lend a hand when a streak of red suddenly flashed across the endless steps ahead, hurtling toward them like an arrow loosed from the bowstring.

The newcomer wore blazing crimson robes and seemed to drift through midair draped in flame, sleeves billowing, one foot planted on a red lotus suspended in the empty air. In the space of a blink, the figure shot past the two of them and bounded down the mountain, vanishing from sight almost instantly.

Zhou Fuxue’s brow furrowed.

The wind kicked up by the red-robed figure nearly swept Shen Di’an off the steps. He clung to a tree with all four limbs to steady himself. He looked ready to curse someone out, but mindful of Zhou Fuxue’s presence, he forcibly wrenched that ferocious expression into one of gentle refinement—a transformation rather painful to watch.

Zhou Fuxue: “That was……”

“Pay him no mind.” Shen Di’an spoke through gritted teeth, smiling without a trace of warmth. “Just a mad dog.”

Zhou Fuxue gazed thoughtfully at the red lotus slowly fading from the surface of the steps.

The two hadn’t walked more than a few moments when another red shadow swept down from afar, stirring up a gust that brushed past their shoulders yet again.

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

He stared at the red lotus blooming faintly on the steps, identical to the last, and his brow knitted tighter.

Behind them, Shen Di’an was nearly bowled off the mountain a second time. Forgetting entirely that Zhou Fuxue was present, he hurled abuse down at the red-robed figure already streaking away: “When I get back, I’m telling Master on you! Mingzhu, you’re dead, do you hear me?!”

Only after running through the whole string of curses did he take a deep breath, reel in that man-eating scowl, and turn to Zhou Fuxue with a strained smile. “Forgive the display. Let’s keep going—don’t lower yourself to a mad dog’s level. Master has been waiting for you some time now.”

Zhou Fuxue gave a quiet “mm” and walked on, mulling over why that person had appeared twice in the same spot within such a short span.

Before he could arrive at any answer, a flash of red appeared before them once more, gliding down on a lotus, graceful as a startled swan—precisely as before.

Shen Di’an’s eyes went sharp with menace in an instant.

The “mad dog” swept past right in front of Zhou Fuxue, exactly as before, and was about to bound down and vanish yet again when Shen Di’an—who had kept his head lowered this whole time—let a low sound rasp out of his throat: “Ming——zhu——”

The red shadow faltered. Before he could dart away, Shen Di’an’s hand shot out and closed, unerringly, around his collar. He yanked hard and slammed the red-robed figure flat onto his back against the stone steps.

With a resounding crack, the red-robed figure was caught utterly off guard, the back of his head striking the moss-slick stone hard enough that he was lucky not to be knocked cold.

Shen Di’an pinned him down by the collar, one knee on his waist, eyes blazing with murderous light as he glared at Mingzhu and enunciated, word by word: “I told you to stop. Did you—or did you not—hear me?”

Dazed from the fall, Mingzhu watched Shen Di’an’s gaze slide repeatedly to his own throat, apparently debating whether to strangle him, and hastily waved his hands. “Whoa, whoa—Old Ten, Tenth Brother, calm down, calm down. Impulsiveness invites Heart Demons. And I passed by twice just now, and I remember it perfectly clear—you never once told me to stop. And I’m— I’m so obedient, you know. If you’d told me to stop, I’d have stopped without a word, I swear…… AH!”

“Tenth Brother” reached out and clamped a hand around his throat.

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

Frail of body but overwhelming in presence, Tenth Brother showed no mercy whatsoever, working Mingzhu over thoroughly before his anger finally subsided. Then he stood, smoothed down his robes, and restored himself to the very picture of the genteel young noble he had been before—the speed of the transformation was truly a marvel to behold.

Mingzhu clambered up off the ground, and only then noticed Zhou Fuxue standing to one side. “Oh. Who’s this?”

Zhou Fuxue inclined his head slightly. Shen Di’an said, “He’s our Thirteenth Junior Brother, Zhou Fuxue. I’m taking him to see Master now.”

Mingzhu gave an offhand “oh,” clearly unbothered. “Then hurry along, don’t dawdle. If you’re late, Master will just get angry again.”

Mingzhu had a face that defied the line between man and woman, his beauty so vivid it bordered on aggressive. Beneath his left eye hung a single teardrop-shaped red mark, lending him an ever more ominous air.

As he spoke, his peach-blossom eyes kept drifting, deliberately or not, toward the jade token on Shen Di’an’s wrist. Shen Di’an saw right through him and said coolly, “If you dare try to steal my jade token, you can look forward to a hundred years of confinement under Master’s orders—and no amount of pleading will get you out.”

Mingzhu shuddered, then pulled a long face. “I’d never have the guts. Don’t flatter me.”

With that he turned to leave, his silhouette the very portrait of desolation. But before Shen Di’an could breathe a sigh of relief, the “mad dog” who had just claimed to have no guts suddenly whipped a hand backward with startling speed, fingers shooting for the jade token at Shen Di’an’s wrist—the movement swift, the posture practiced, the hallmark of a seasoned pickpocket.

Shen Di’an sneered, sidestepped half a pace back, and delivered a merciless kick to Mingzhu’s waist. “Die, Eldest Senior Brother!”

“Ah!” Caught completely off guard, Mingzhu went tumbling down the stone steps, and was soon gone from sight.

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

Shen Di’an looked down from on high at Mingzhu’s receding screams and sneered. “Serves him right.”

Zhou Fuxue drew a careful, unnoticed breath and said flatly, “Just now—what did you call him?”

“He’s Rizhao Mountain’s Eldest Senior Brother. His name is Mingzhu. And he……” Shen Di’an tapped his temple. “There’s something a bit wrong up here. Stay away from him unless you have business with him. Wouldn’t want him rubbing off on you.”

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

A lawless, carefree sect. A sickly junior brother bold enough to beat his Eldest Senior Brother. And an Eldest Senior Brother who seemed to be good for nothing but his face. For the third time that day, Zhou Fuxue felt the urge to beat a retreat—maybe I really should just go back down the mountain.

Rizhao Mountain was the tallest mountain in the Five Continents, bordered by the Nayan River to the east and the Withered Wood Forest to the south. Guarded by those natural barriers, it had hidden itself from the world for hundreds upon thousands of years.

Zhou Fuxue and Shen Di’an spent half a shichen finally reaching the gates of Rizhao Mountain. The quiet stone steps ahead shimmered with a wash of white light, and the moment his foot landed on the final step, a sound like a great bell softly struck rang out beside his ears—clear and lingering, its trailing notes winding on and on.

The white light before them parted like a pair of gentle hands brushing away layer upon layer of mist. The first things to meet his eyes were two towering spires of stacked stone, standing left and right and thrusting straight into the heavens. Two rows of osmanthus trees flanked a twelve-tiered stairway paved with green jade stone, its surface already carpeted with fine fallen blossoms.

Looking up again, he could make out, half-hidden among the lush green trees, towers and halls like a paradise beyond the mortal world.

Zhou Fuxue stood dazed a moment, then turned slightly to glance back down the green stone steps stretching away beneath him.

The bell tolled again, rippling outward like waves on water. With his back to the bustling mortal world, he gazed at the three thousand steps he had just climbed, and all the hardships of his past felt like things suffered in a previous life.

Truly, it matched the line from before: past sufferings turn to emptiness in an instant.

Shen Di’an waved the jade token on his wrist and explained, “Disciples of Rizhao Mountain may not leave without cause. Unless you hold the Sect Master’s jade token, anyone who sneaks down the mountain ends up like that idiot Eldest Senior Brother—running back and forth over these steps forever, never able to finish the Three Thousand.”

Zhou Fuxue understood at once why Mingzhu had passed the same spot again and again, and why he had tried to snatch Shen Di’an’s token. So “no rules,” he thought, means even if you break the rules, there’s still no way down the mountain?

Zhou Fuxue followed slowly behind Shen Di’an. The twelve tiers of steps varied in shade, some light and some dark, though the fallen osmanthus blossoms made it hard to see clearly.

The moment he crossed the highest step, a faint tremor ran through the ground, and blocks of stone rose slowly out of the earth to form an additional layer atop the twelfth tier.

Zhou Fuxue regarded the brand-new steps appearing out of nowhere with some surprise, but his cold temperament kept any emotion from showing. Shen Di’an noticed anyway; he simply stepped up onto them, and turned back to explain, “These are Rizhao Mountain’s Disciples’ Steps. They rise through the power of a Formation Array whenever a disciple enters the sect. Thirteen steps means Rizhao has accepted you.”

With that, he led Zhou Fuxue through a quiet bamboo path, and ahead of them soared towers and great halls nearly touching the clouds, standing majestically against the mountainside in breathtaking grandeur.

Shen Di’an stopped at the foot of the steps, bowed with folded hands, and called out, “Di’an brings Zhou Fuxue of Jianglou Kingdom to pay respects to the Sect Master.”

The doors of the great hall slowly opened, and a clear voice came from within: “Enter.”

The two walked in at an unhurried pace. The hall was vast and cool. A man in cyan robes sat in the seat of honor, sipping tea with elegant poise. A censer stood at his side, wisps of smoke curling upward, filling the whole hall with a delicate fragrance of osmanthus.

Shen Di’an stopped and bowed respectfully to the figure in the seat of honor. “Di’an greets the Sect Master.”

Rizhao Mountain’s Sect Master was a remarkably young man, looking to be only in his twenties, with exceptionally beautiful features. His long hair was tied back carelessly with a cyan ribbon and left hanging loose down his back, giving him a languid, offhand air.

His eyes were long and narrow, always half-lidded, lazy and cool, yet when that gaze settled on a person it seemed to weigh a thousand catties—to meet it for too long was enough to send a chill down one’s spine.

Zhou Fuxue endured that glance, then slowly bent his knees and knelt, performing a proper disciple’s bow, neither servile nor arrogant. “Fuxue of the Zhou Family greets Daoist Master Guining.”

Daoist Master Guining examined him lazily for a few moments before saying, “Rise. All that has come before is dust. From now on, you are one of Rizhao’s own. Just call me Master.”

Zhou Fuxue rose. “Yes, Master.”