Chapter Forty-Six: Returning Home—Neither Storm Nor Sunshine

Spring rain smoothes the fresh earth like a polished mirror, and dawn trees entwined with clouds appear as delicate as a painted scene.

Sixth Mountain.

A tranquil pavilion halfway up the slope.

The Lord of the Sixth Mountain, dressed in azure, rested his hand upon a pinewood sword case at his side. His gaze was lowered, seeing through the misty rain, taking in all the scenery below.

Madam Hua stood gracefully in the pavilion as well, her plain garments stirred by the spring breeze, her eyes alight with delight and satisfaction.

“I once witnessed Anle enter meditation in just three moments and achieve a full circulation of vital energy and blood within three days. I foresaw that his talent was extraordinary—a rough gem destined to shine later in life. Coupled with his unyielding spirit, never bowing his head, I was certain he would achieve greatness,” she said, her voice clear and melodious as jade beads falling on a plate. “Yet I did not expect that today he would grant me such a remarkable surprise.”

The Lord of the Sixth Mountain, his austere face lifting into a rare smile, replied, “The trial of the Little Sage Token has never been about cultivation alone, but about talent, temperament, and destiny.”

“Though we mountain lords bestow the Little Sage Tokens, each contains an opportunity left behind by the Sage himself. As such, it is fate that determines the worthy.”

“Zhong Shunchao and Ye Chong possess no small talent, but their temperaments have been honed for killing on the battlefield. Their understanding of the sword does not resonate with mine. Thus, on the mountain path, even Luo Qingchen surpassed them. Were they to visit Third Brother’s mountain, perhaps their journey would take them farther.”

Madam Hua nodded in agreement.

“Luo Qingchen is gifted, but his only flaw is that Li You’an once shattered his dao heart. Over the years, his heart has not grown stronger, but ever more fragile. An unexpected result,” the mountain lord observed.

“Anle has tempered his body with the sword aura of the Sixth Mountain, forged his spiritual bones, and visualized your ‘Swordfall Diagram.’ Within his mind’s palace, he gathers a sword pool—both approaches at once.”

“His talent… is better than I anticipated.”

“My swords tremble with excitement in their case. He would be an excellent successor. Unfortunately, he will not become my mountain’s guardian.”

Though his countenance remained cold, a hint of regret lay beneath.

Madam Hua laughed softly, her gaze drifting through the mist to where Anle held the Mo Pool sword. She seemed to murmur, “Such talent… truly unexpected.”

“With talent, temperament, and the sword’s affinity, he is the rightful recipient of the Little Sage Token.”

The Lord of the Sixth Mountain grew solemn. He tapped the pinewood sword case, and it landed heavily upon his back. He stepped from the pavilion and descended the mountain. Madam Hua followed gracefully behind.

…

The sudden downpour softened as the youth drew his sword, the rain losing its tempestuousness and falling as gentle, fine threads, moistening the world with quiet grace.

On the mountain path, many cultivators stood frozen, gazing toward the youth under the peach tree at the three-hundredth step—each with a complex heart.

The sliver of hope each nursed was quietly extinguished when Anle passed by them with effortless composure.

To vie for the Little Sage Token is to be tested in talent, temperament, and resonance with the token.

Anle’s early struggles had given them hope, but they soon realized he was merely using the mountain’s sword aura to refine his own vitality. After breaking through, his brilliance shone forth.

He left them all behind and drew the sword with ease.

Zhong Shunchao and Ye Chong were surprised, but not disappointed. They had come to try their luck, and so accepted fate without complaint.

They knew the sword aura of the Sixth Mountain did not suit them; their chances had always been slim.

Luo Qingchen stared blankly, withdrawing the foot he could not bring down. The dust upon his dao heart did not grow, perhaps because numbness had taken its place.

He had never truly believed he could claim the token. The shadow upon his heart made him realize he was unworthy.

With a bitter smile, Luo Qingchen cast a lingering glance at the handsome youth beneath the peach blossoms.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked down the mountain.

He could not bear to linger a moment longer upon this sorrowful ground.

He needed time to consider how to cleanse his heart and determine the road ahead.

The other cultivators spared the youth a few more glances—standing radiant in rain and breeze, beneath the peach tree with sword in hand.

Then, all turned and descended. Now, they yearned to know everything about the youth.

After today, Lin’an Prefecture would remember his name!

…

Anle gripped the Mo Pool sword, feeling its joyful tremors and sword-song. Bathed in the spring wind and rain, his spirits soared.

He had broken through to the second realm of body refinement; his spirit and breath had condensed the sword pool—progressing swiftly toward the third realm, transcendence.

He had also gained the Mo Pool sword and the Little Sage Token.

He had profited greatly; the trip to the Sixth Mountain had not been in vain.

Holding Mo Pool, he sensed a wisp of sword aura within—should he focus, he could perceive it in detail.

This must be the power of the Little Sage Token—a key to conversing with the Sage.

Anle’s lips curled into a bright smile as he caressed the sword, his mood buoyant.

If only he had a jug of old yellow wine from the Swallow Spring tavern.

To drink, savor the sword, sing aloud, and then descend the mountain.

With rain and music, one returns home in drunken song—what joy!

On the mountain path, only a graceful girl remained, holding a parasol, quietly watching the youth shine in the spring rain.

The Lord of the Sixth Mountain, sword case on his back, and Madam Hua descended the steps to Anle’s side.

The girl with the parasol bowed politely. “Ye Wenxi of the Ye family greets the Lord of the Sixth Mountain and Madam Hua.”

The mountain lord, his face wooden, nodded. “You already hold a Little Sage Token and rank among the Little Sages. Why climb the steps?”

Ye Wenxi glanced at Anle and smiled. “A new name on the Little Sage Ranking deserves a closer look—to see if the honor is truly deserved.”

“I take my leave.”

With a carefree smile, she turned and walked away beneath her umbrella.

Anle watched her go, well aware she had followed him all the way to the three-hundredth step. She too was qualified to claim the token.

To his eyes, the aura of time around her shifted like sea grass. If only…

Hmm?

Suddenly delighted, Anle realized that with his body and spirit both now advanced, the “aura of time” in his Sage’s Time ability could be used again.

Without hesitation, he focused his will and drew in the aura of time from the girl.

She, oblivious, continued down the mountain, unaware she had just been so generous.

Three wisps of time’s aura wrapped around his fingers and then flowed into his body. Content, Anle chose not to examine it further with the mountain lord and Madam Hua present.

The Lord of the Sixth Mountain gazed at Anle, admiration and regret mingling in his eyes. “A pity you will not remain here. Your ink bamboo, your sword talent—I am satisfied with both. But to keep you here as a guardian would waste your gifts.”

“The gates of the Sixth Mountain are always open to you. If you have new paintings, share them with me. When you climb, you may use the mountain’s sword aura to refine your body—it is better than that demon jade at your waist.”

Anle replied with a sincere bow. “Thank you, Lord.”

The mountain lord nodded and added, “Having the Little Sage Token is only the beginning. Your cultivation is still low, and you rank last among the Little Sages.”

“To converse with the Sage, you must at least reach the top three.”

“You are still too weak. Cherish your talent—do not squander it.”

“One last thing,” he said, turning coldly, “I have faith in you.”

Before Anle could reply, the mountain lord strode up the mountain, sword case upon his back.

Watching the proud and forthright mountain lord, Anle’s expression softened. He had feared refusing the offer to be mountain guardian would offend him, but now saw how narrow his thinking had been.

Madam Hua laughed gently. “All he said is true. Gaining the Little Sage Token is only the start—do not grow arrogant.”

Anle bowed in acknowledgment.

“Go down the mountain. Return to Lin’an with Zhuifeng and your Ninth Sister. I have matters to attend to—farewell.”

Standing in the spring breeze, Madam Hua’s gaze lingered on the youth.

Then sword-light coiled about her, and she vanished into the clouds, disappearing into the depths of the mist.

The spring rain ceased. Behind the clouds, the slanting sun appeared.

At the foot of the mountain, Anle turned to look up the stone path, recalling his earlier struggles—his hesitation and confusion—smiling in spite of himself.

Returning to the once desolate place, now there is neither storm nor sunshine.

Clad in white, back straight as proud bamboo, with the green mountain at his waist and Mo Pool in hand,

He strode through fallen blossoms and fresh grass after rain,

Gracefully making his way toward the distant Lin family carriage.

…

The rain had stopped; sand ran shallow in the streams, and wild cicadas sang in the settled air.

The Academy’s white walls and black roofs, washed by spring rain, lay shrouded in mist.

Within, a humble thatched hut stood quietly. Beneath its eaves, water boiled on a charcoal stove, steam rising in gentle clouds.

But the two old men playing chess were preparing to part.

After savoring the last sip of West Lake Dragon Well tea,

Elder Zhao Huangting of the Ancestral Temple stretched and stood. “Let us leave the game here for today. No winner between us—another day, another match.”

The Third Master, long used to Zhao Huangting’s shamelessness, smiled and set the pieces away.

“As you wished?” asked the Third Master.

“He performed well. The gift of the green mountain will not be wasted on him,” Zhao Huangting replied, pleased, smoothing his long eyebrows with a smile.

“After today, young An will be renowned in Lin’an. His painting, poetry, and sword will be praised by all. The city’s true splendor will open to him, with temptations as fierce as flood or beast. I hope he remains true to himself.”

“My only regret is that the Sixth Mountain Lord wrung a favor out of me—scoundrel!”

Hands clasped behind his back, Zhao Huangting stepped from the hut, treading the muddy path.

Without looking back, he waved his hand. “Come, let’s fetch a jug of old yellow wine from Swallow Spring and two catties of marinated beef from Ding Alley.”

“Let’s return to Ancestral Temple Lane and celebrate young An’s victory.”