Chapter 4: 4 Gilded Without, Rotten Within

Zhou Fuxue was being worried half to death by Mingzhu.

Because of that momentary fever of the brain that morning—one single hug—the universally familiar Eldest Senior Brother had immediately interpreted it as a little wolf cub’s submission. He’d beamed with delight and seized Zhou Fuxue to drag him off and show him off to Shen Di’an.

Cold-faced, Zhou Fuxue let himself be hauled out of Wenxian Residence and rushed all the way to the Hall of No Blame in the north.

Mingzhu chattered the whole way. “Today is the Little Shishu’s morning lesson—probably a big crowd. If we’re late, there won’t be seats left. Oh, right, forgot to mention: today Rizhao’s morning lesson is joint—West Mountain and North Mountain both attend. You’ll get to see lots of beautiful senior sisters.”

He finished with a meaningful wink at Zhou Fuxue.

Zhou Fuxue’s face didn’t move. “Senior Brother, I am ten years old.”

Mingzhu: “Aiyo, what’s ten got to do with it? When I was ten, I was already flipping up senior sisters’ skirts.”

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

Truly a playboy rotten to the core beneath the gilding, and rotten since childhood, at that.

Even when he’d been beaten half to death in the Zhou household, Zhou Fuxue had never once yielded. The first act of submission in his entire life, and he’d been repaid with this. He resolved solemnly to govern himself strictly from now on and never surrender again, even unto death.

The Eldest Senior Brother, utterly unaware that his offhand behavior was shaping Zhou Fuxue into a ruthless piece of work who would swallow broken teeth rather than spit them out, was still preening, an arm slung around Zhou Fuxue’s shoulders as he strolled leisurely toward the Hall of No Blame by Rizhao’s waterfall.

The Hall of No Blame was a broad wooden hall—though “hall” was generous, since its north and south sides had no walls at all, its doors stood wide open, and grass curtains hung half-covering the entrances. Inside stood rows of long tables and benches, neatly arranged, with seating for well over a hundred.

Dawn had barely broken, and the hall was already full—men and women both, split to the two sides with a corridor between them, the dividing line as clear as a river between two realms.

A draft swept through, rustling the scripture books on the tables.

Mingzhu marched in through the front entrance with Zhou Fuxue in tow, in broad daylight and without a shred of shame. The moment he appeared, the North Mountain disciples all wore expressions of dropped jaws, whispering in astonishment that the Eldest Senior Brother had actually come to morning lessons in person—while the West Mountain female cultivators all turned demure, sneaking glance after sidelong glance at Mingzhu, as if they could strip that thin robe right off him with their eyes alone.

Mingzhu brought Zhou Fuxue in and called out cheerfully, “Good morning, everyone! It’s been ages—did you miss your Senior Brother?”

The West Mountain female cultivators, seeing him smile, blushed and murmured like buzzing mosquitoes, “Ye-s……”

The North Mountain disciples, at the sight, seethed with indignation, ready to hurl their own Eldest Senior Brother out the door.

West Mountain and North Mountain were separated by a long suspension bridge; no one might cross between them without permission. Only at the Little Shishu’s seven-day morning lessons did the two gather together. And youths in the first flush of young love, their hearts just beginning to stir—never mind their pious claims of attending lessons; their eyes had long been straining toward the female cultivators until they ached, their purpose plain as day.

And now this Eldest Senior Brother with nothing but a pretty face had swept up every female cultivator’s gaze the moment he arrived. The North Mountain disciples could gladly have mobbed him on the spot.

Mingzhu smiled with narrowed eyes, entirely ignoring his fellow disciples’ resentment, and pressed Zhou Fuxue forward. “This is your Thirteenth Junior Brother, Zhou—”

He paused, stroking his chin, and looked down. “Wait, what was your name again?”

Zhou Fuxue: “……”

In the very last row, Shen Di’an silently laughed himself limp over his desk.

“Oh, oh, I remember—Zhou Fuxue.” Before Zhou Fuxue could lose his temper, Mingzhu racked his brains and finally dredged up the name.

The North Mountain disciples fell quiet, then began craning their necks and whispering as they sized up the thin, slight Zhou Fuxue—wariness, contempt, and pity all mixed together. A few huddled even closer, murmuring amongst themselves, noisily.

Zhou Fuxue’s fist clenched hard.

Mingzhu stretched with a lazy yawn, eyelids lifting. “What’s all the racket? If you’ve got something to say, say it outright. Do you not get tired of buzzing around like mosquitoes?”

The North Mountain disciples feared nothing about their good-for-nothing Eldest Senior Brother, and one of them actually stood. “Eldest Senior Brother, we hear Thirteenth Senior Brother has no spirit vein. Is it true? What can a cultivator without a spirit vein even cultivate?”

The words landed, and the room burst into laughter.

Zhou Fuxue’s nails dug nearly into the flesh of his palms. That merciless mockery tugged him, as it were, violently off a cloud he’d barely been standing on—the lurch of falling made it almost hard to breathe.

The crowd was still laughing. Mingzhu was laughing too—only those peach-blossom eyes had gone, all at once, like an unsheathed blade, sweeping over them with a cold gleam of sword-light.

The disciple who’d asked the question felt his breath catch, and his laughter died in his throat.

“You ask what a man without a spirit vein cultivates for? Then let me ask you—what does a man with a spirit vein cultivate for?”

The disciple, meeting Mingzhu’s half-smiling gaze, faltered a moment before answering, “For longevity, of course.”

Mingzhu: “If the Sect Master heard that answer, he’d strip off your Rizhao Robe and throw you out the door.”

Shen Di’an had long seen straight through to this man’s good-for-nothing essence. He yawned and called out, “Then pray enlighten us, Eldest Senior Brother. Cultivation is such bitter toil—if it isn’t for ascension and the Dao, then what could it possibly be for?”

Everyone put on the posture of eager students awaiting instruction.

Mingzhu, holding this mock-serious pose, declared shamelessly: “Naturally, it’s so that one day we can hold power over all under heaven and laze atop a soft pillow enjoying wealth and splendor to our hearts’ content. Otherwise, who would voluntarily cultivate this bitterly? You’d have to be stuffed full and bored out of your mind.”

Everyone: “……”

The Eldest Senior Brother had finally been serious one time, and some had even laid out paper, intending to record his words as golden law to be revered. Instead they heard this outrage—several hands slipped, dragging streaks of ink across the page.

Shen Di’an heaved a long sigh. “That’s the answer that’ll get your robes stripped and you thrown out. Truly…… tsk, tsk. A disgrace to the sect.”

With Mingzhu having stirred the pot so thoroughly, everyone forgot the earlier topic of Zhou Fuxue entirely.

He’d finally attended one morning lesson and immediately caused this whole scene. A female cultivator in the front row frowned and said coldly, “If you’re done making a spectacle, sit down.”

She wore white like fresh snow. Her features were peerless, but utterly expressionless—one look and you knew she was the meticulous, ice-frost type. Her voice was so cold that the moment it fell, the entire Hall of No Blame seemed to drop a few degrees.

Mingzhu, who had been gearing up to tease his hapless junior brother further, was doused as if with cold water. He gave a meek “ai,” hastily stowed his divine abilities, and slunk down the aisle with his tail between his legs, taking Zhou Fuxue with him.

An Outer Sect Disciple was whispering to Shen Di’an: “Truly, only Senior Sister Fuhua can keep the Eldest Senior Brother in line. Every time, the moment she says a single word, he turns into a little puppy with its tail tucked.”

The words had barely fallen when the puppy walked right up to the disciple, tossed his book down in front of him, and declared haughtily: “Make room for your Thirteenth Senior Brother.”

Disciple: “Huh?”

Mingzhu rapped the table and repeated, with inexhaustible patience: “Move.”

Never in his life had the disciple seen someone demand a seat with such arrogance. He too tucked his tail, went “ai,” and rolled away.

“You sit here. Anything you don’t understand, ask your Tenth Senior Brother.” Mingzhu delivered a round of instructions to Zhou Fuxue, then added, “Oh—Old Ten, whatever the Little Shishu covered the last few lessons, copy it all out for me and bring it tonight.”

Shen Di’an said, “You came all this way and you’re still going back? What is going on in that head of yours?”

Mingzhu declared righteously, “I’m a man of ten thousand pressing duties! Today I have to see Master again and finalize the Hundred Swords Mountain roster. I’m sick to death of it. Why did Old Five have to choose this moment to go into seclusion? It’s usually his job.”

Shen Di’an said, “You’re the First Disciple of Rizhao Mountain, and you still have the nerve to dump all of Rizhao’s affairs onto your junior brothers. These things are yours to do. Fifth Senior Brother covers for you a few times, and now you’re climbing all over his face?”

Mingzhu shot him a glare, wrong in argument but loud in volume. “Not my problem.”

With that he turned to make a dashing exit—though perhaps his earlier remarks had already invoked Karmic Retribution, for before he reached the door he walked straight into the Little Shishu, already arriving for morning lessons.

The Little Shishu wore a blue robe washed nearly white and looked to be only seventeen or eighteen, astonishingly young. He came ambling along cradling several scripture books in both arms, and at the sight of Mingzhu his eyes narrowed slightly. He studied him for a good while before saying slowly, “A-Zhu. And where might you be going?”

The Little Shishu wore a youth’s face, yet on Rizhao Mountain he stood beneath only Daoist Master Guining himself. However great Mingzhu’s daring, he would never dare cut up in front of him. Without so much as a blink, he lied: “Good morning, Little Shishu—well, it’s only because your lessons are so popular! Mingzhu was just a little late, and there were no seats left in the Hall of No Blame. So I was thinking I’d come find you another day for personal instruction instead.”

He said it with utter conviction, as if he hadn’t been the one slamming tables and forcing seat-grabs moments ago.

The Little Shishu said gently, “Hm? But isn’t there an empty seat right there next to Fuhua?”

Mingzhu glanced back. Perhaps because her aura was so cold, not one of all those West Mountain female cultivators was willing to sit beside her.

“Uh……”

Little Shishu: “What? You don’t want to sit with Fuhua?”

Fuhua looked up coldly at Mingzhu, and he hastened to say, “No, no, of course I’d be delighted.”

With things having gone this far, he couldn’t well spin further lies, and dragged his feet to the seat beside Fuhua and sat down.

The North Mountain disciples, watching their Eldest Senior Brother so thoroughly cornered, all stifled laughter.

The Little Shishu came forward hugging his books and said softly, “Good morning, everyone.”

The Little Shishu had a somewhat gentle, yielding nature and little martial skill—he couldn’t lift even a moderately heavy object—and ordinarily spoke as softly as a mosquito’s whine; unless you strained to listen, you couldn’t make out a word.

Everyone: “Good morning, Little Shishu.”

The Little Shishu had been teaching morning lessons for over a decade, yet faced with his students he still involuntarily fidgeted. Head lowered, eyes fixed on his book, he droned, “Today we shall discuss the Chengyao Fiends.”

Mingzhu, naturally, had no leisure for the Little Shishu’s mosquito-drone. He peered around furtively, apparently plotting his escape—until a chill suddenly crept up from his feet. Looking down, he discovered that at some point Fuhua had frozen him solid from the shins down, sealing him to the floor in ice.

Mingzhu: “……”

He secretly strained, trying to pull his legs free, but the ice had frozen too fast and firm; even exerting his utmost, he couldn’t budge it a hair.

The culprit, Fuhua, ignored him entirely, eyes unblinking on the Little Shishu, occasionally making notes in her book.

Mingzhu endured as long as he could bear, then whispered, “Fuhua. Hey, Fuhua. I was wrong, it won’t happen again, I swear—just melt the ice, my legs are going numb.”

Only then did Fuhua turn her head and glance at him. Mingzhu hurriedly flashed his most ingratiating smile.

This was how Mingzhu always was—earnest in apology, incorrigible in behavior. Fuhua knew his nature all too well; she ignored him completely and went on listening attentively to the lesson.

Seeing his apology was useless, Mingzhu instead turned around and whispered to the female cultivators behind him, “That kind senior sister back there, your spirit vein is fire, yes? Could you do your Senior Brother a small favor?”

The female cultivator behind him perked up at once. “Me! Me! I am—”

Before the words left her mouth, Fuhua’s head whipped around coldly, her gaze flicking across her—she shut her mouth instantly, ducked her head, and dared not speak to the Eldest Senior Brother again.

Mingzhu: “Hey, come on, don’t—”

He set about earnestly coaxing the little junior sister, but the Eldest Senior Sister Fuhua’s fearsome authority held fast; no matter what the Eldest Senior Brother said, that junior sister simply didn’t dare answer.

Mingzhu turned back around with a despairing sigh, and Fuhua finally deigned to look at him properly. She was just opening her mouth to speak when the Little Shishu’s voice drifted over: “A-Zhu, repeat what I just said.”

Mingzhu forced himself to his feet and, without a moment’s thought, recited: “……’Weight life and death alike, sweeten your food, beautify your clothing, settle your dwelling, delight in your customs’—is this not the Dao?”

He’d had his whole mind on Fuhua, and yet somehow had split his attention well enough to catch the lecture.

The Little Shishu smiled mildly. “If you can recite this passage backward and forward, why then do you insist cultivation is only for indulging in pleasure?”

He was referring to Mingzhu’s nonsense from before class.

Mingzhu’s mouth twisted. “Little Shishu, weren’t you just about to lecture on the Chengyao Fiends? How did we end up back on the scriptures?”