Chapter Twenty-One: Have You Ever Killed, Young Master? The Youth Wishes to Ascend the Sacred Mountain to Seek the Sage

The spring rain had ceased, not a single drop falling anymore. The evening clouds, which had just been blown away, gathered once again, veiling the glow of the sunset that had only touched the world for a brief moment. The wind that swept through the air now carried a biting chill.

Liu Qingyan was dead?

When Anle heard this news, he was stunned for a moment, his brows slightly knitting together.

“Liu Qingyan was beheaded with a single sword stroke, unable to resist at all. His corpse lay across the main street, blood staining the bluestone red,” sighed Head Constable Huang Xian.

He exchanged a glance with Anle; both could easily guess who had slain Liu Qingyan.

Anle nodded, indicating he understood. Liu Qingyan was dead, and so be it. Had he survived, Anle might have sought him out to demand justice.

“Furthermore, the three thugs Liu Qingyan employed to attack you are also dead,” Huang Xian continued. “They were taken away by the constables and executed on the spot in the market square.”

Anle pressed his lips together, his mind somewhat dazed, a chill spreading through his body. It was not sympathy for the dead Liu Qingyan or the three henchmen, but rather a deep, innate sorrow for the fragility of life.

So death… could come so simply, so effortlessly.

The indifference to life of practitioners like Luo Qingchen perhaps surpassed his imagination. Or perhaps, the world itself was thus: cultivators stood high above, gazing down on the weak and the common, regarding their lives as nothing more than wild grass by the roadside, to be plucked at will.

Anle was undeniably among the weak now. Without the protection of the Lin residence, he might have died as helplessly as Liu Qingyan and his men.

Exhaling softly, Anle felt his desire to become stronger grow more fervent. At the very least, he had to become strong enough that even Luo Qingchen, and the Qin family behind him, could not snuff out his life as carelessly as crushing an ant—then, perhaps, he could feel at ease.

Huang Xian clearly discerned Anle’s thoughts and invited him to a nearby tavern—not a lavish one like the Drunken Dragon Pavilion.

They ordered some simple food and a pot of warm yellow wine, and began to eat and drink.

Taking a sip of the warming wine and a bite of pig’s head meat, Huang Xian looked at Anle and smiled: “Young Master An… you’ve never killed anyone, have you?”

Anle took a small sip of wine. The brew was rough, but not unpleasant, with a certain character to it.

“I haven’t. I studied from childhood, passed the imperial examination, and came to Lin’an. On the road, I was robbed by bandits; the escorts fled, and unarmed, I couldn’t fight back. Instead, I was beaten. That was probably the closest I’ve ever come to killing someone. Even when I was attacked recently, I never thought of killing,” Anle said with a self-deprecating smile.

Huang Xian raised his cup in a toast and nodded. “That’s normal. You have a kind heart. If not driven to the edge, who would wish to kill? But now, you are a cultivator and have made an enemy of the Qin family. Perhaps it’s time to reconsider.”

“A kind man is easily bullied.”

“Cultivation is inseparable from killing.”

Huang Xian’s words were both a warning and advice.

Anle pondered. Even if one wished to avoid it, this era was as it was: if he did not kill, others would kill him. He might hesitate to strike, while his enemies would wish only to make their blows faster and more deadly.

Huang Xian was quite fond of Anle—refined, handsome, and clever enough to foil the Qin family’s plot to plant a painter in the Lin residence.

Thus, his advice was sincere.

“Young Master An, your enmity with the Qin family is partly due to me. If I hadn’t invited you to the Lin residence, you wouldn’t have offended them. For that, let me offer you a cup in apology.”

Huang Xian drained his cup in one go, then wiped his mouth and fixed Anle with a serious look. “For now, the Lin family can protect you. But once the palace examination is over, they’ll be embroiled in their own troubles and may no longer shield you.”

“So, if you wish for safety, there is another path.”

Huang Xian paused, then continued.

Anle raised his cup in acknowledgment and drank it down. “I’m all ears, Constable Huang.”

“It’s no secret, and you’ve asked Lady Hua about cultivation before, so you must know that our Great Zhao has three great cultivation factions,” Huang Xian said, waving his hand with a smile.

“The Institute of Divine Writ, the Temple of Martial Refinement, and the transcendent Holy Mountain,” Anle replied.

“‘Fate waxes and wanes, cycles reveal secrets of the heavens. The Holy Mountain is pure, untainted by dust. The generals ascend in radiance to the Purple Star.’” Huang Xian recited, “These lines, penned by the legendary top scholar Li You’an’s friend, describe the Holy Mountain.”

“To enter the Holy Mountain is to ascend to the gates of immortality with ease.”

“Young Master An, if you seek safety, you could join one of the three great factions: the Institute, the Temple, or the Holy Mountain.”

“However, both the Institute and the Temple are heavily influenced by the Qin family. You might not die there, but you’d surely suffer. Only by entering the Holy Mountain—even as a mere gatekeeper—would all sides be wary.”

A hint of reverence and longing flickered in Huang Xian’s eyes.

Anle took another sip of wine. “Easier said than done, Constable Huang. Not to mention the ancients, but even now, how many in Great Zhao have entered the Holy Mountain?”

Lady Hua had explained to Anle just how difficult it was to enter the Holy Mountain—it was as unreachable as the sky itself.

Huang Xian smiled at him. “To be acknowledged as a Mountain Lord by the Sage is certainly difficult—only the most extraordinary can achieve it. But to become a gatekeeper is much easier.”

“Every year, a few cultivators from the Great Zhao are chosen as gatekeepers. While talent matters, it's often more about whether the Mountain Lord takes a liking to you. You’re handsome and striking, and though you began late, you have some aptitude. If you seek safety, you could go to the foot of the Holy Mountain and vie for a gatekeeper’s spot.”

Huang Xian laughed.

Anle was taken aback. Was the constable suggesting he use his looks to win over a Mountain Lord? It seemed rather unreliable…

He shook his head, his interest waning. Gaining entry to the Holy Mountain with his appearance alone felt too strange.

He still preferred to rely on his own abilities.

Indeed, he even wanted to strive to enter the Holy Mountain as a disciple of the Sage himself.

“Let’s discuss this later. Constable Huang, didn’t you ask me to sketch a criminal? Please describe his features, and I’ll make a portrait for you tomorrow.”

Huang Xian dropped the subject and described the criminal’s appearance to Anle.

“This man is a notorious bandit named Hu Jingang. Though a man of the martial world, he is skilled in cultivation, with his vital energy refined to perfection. He’s ruthless—the village outside Lin’an, dozens of households, was wiped out by him.”

Huang Xian put down his cup, his expression grave. “He’s unremarkable in appearance and has hidden himself in Lin’an, making him hard to find. With a portrait for public posting, the people can help report him so we can bring him to justice.”

Anle took notes, the image of the criminal already forming in his mind.

“By the way, may I trouble you with something, Constable Huang? Do you know anyone in the real estate business? My current inn room is cramped and unsuitable for martial practice. I’d like to find a residence with a courtyard.”

Anle inquired.

Huang Xian wasn’t surprised. Anle, now painting for the Lin family, had surely earned a good sum. Buying a small house was quite reasonable.

“I do. A colleague of mine died in the line of duty; his wife and daughter wish to return to her family. Their house is for sale, though the price is a bit high. If you’re interested, we can view it tomorrow.”

Huang Xian hurried to reply. Selling the house would help his fallen comrade’s family.

“Tomorrow, then. I’ll pack up and move in at the same time,” Anle said with a smile. He didn’t ask the price. With his current means, purchasing a small house was no trouble.

“Excellent, Young Master An. My thanks in advance.”

With solemnity, Huang Xian poured himself a cup of now-cold wine, lifted it in respect, and drank it down.

Anle smiled and returned the toast.

…

Anle returned to his inn, asked the attendant to prepare hot water, and, after a bath, sat cross-legged in his room.

He took out the “Swordfall Scroll” and began his visualization with eyes closed.

As a top-tier method for refining the mind, the first illustration could still be contemplated for some time.

Lady Hua had explained the differences between stages but not the specific sub-divisions within each. Each stage was divided into early, middle, late, and perfected phases.

Anle was in the early stage of both vital energy refinement and meditative visualization.

Yet these subtle divisions mattered. Methods, tactics, and more could fluctuate greatly—a battle across minor realms was not uncommon.

Sitting upright on the wooden chair, his breath slow and measured, he quickly entered a meditative state.

He visualized the first sword illustration.

Deep within his mind, threads of spiritual power began to intertwine, vaguely forming the shape of a sword suspended in midair.

The “Prodigy of the Ages” domain seed bestowed a remarkable talent.

Anle felt the threads of mental energy weaving much faster than before. With the Sword Dancer’s domain seed enhancing all sword-related endeavors, it was as if he was soaring on clouds.

His spiritual strength grew stronger in meditation.

After nearly two hours, Anle opened his eyes. In the darkness, a faint glimmer flashed, like a star casting its light upon the world.

He stopped as soon as he felt a slight pain deep within his mind. Cultivation required balance; excess was as harmful as deficiency.

Within his Niwan Palace, a vague sword embryo, condensed from spiritual power, had taken shape.

By his estimation, he had stepped into the middle stage of meditative visualization.

Finished with his mind refinement, Anle emerged from his trance.

His heightened spiritual power gave him greater control over his body. He stretched, vital energy surging through his meridians.

Exhaling a breath of stale air, Anle began practicing the Tiger Thirteen Forms of the “Five Beasts Body-Strengthening Art.”

Tiger-like power, movements as thunder!

The recent street fight, though only against common thugs, had deepened his understanding of the tiger forms.

“The Swordfall Scroll benefits from the Sword Dancer’s domain seed, but the Five Beasts Art does not. In that case, I’ll use the Breath of Time to enhance it,” Anle thought.

He poured his remaining three wisps of the gray Breath of Time into the Five Beasts Body-Strengthening Art.

As the gray energy burned, images flashed before his eyes like fleeting horses.

When the last wisp ignited, Anle’s eyes brightened and he watched closely.

For within this wisp, the figure executed the Five Beasts Body-Strengthening Art!