Chapter Sixty-Five: Drinking a Cup of Mortal Life, Where the Green Hills Once Stained with Immortal Blood

The sun gradually faded, darkness spreading like ink, while a crescent moon and dazzling stars hung high in the night sky. The carriage rolled into Lin’an Prefecture, heading straight for the Lin Residence.

Anle did not return to the ancestral temple alley but instead accompanied the carriage to the Lin Residence. Lady Hua had secured him an opportunity to observe the Martial Champion Stone; now that he had returned, it was only fitting to pay his respects to her. Besides this, Anle harbored a question he wished to ask.

Ye Wenxi, Lin Qingyin, and Anle alighted from the carriage. The plump maid, Xixiang, always seen at Lady Hua’s side, greeted them with a warm smile and led the three to the Tianbo Waterside Pavilion.

Lady Ye had already taken her leave and returned home, leaving Lady Hua alone in the pavilion, holding a lamp and reading a book. Moonlight and starlight reflected on the large pond, and the trees cast dappled shadows over the elegant and tranquil pavilion.

Upon entering the main hall, Ye Wenxi and Lin Qingyin offered their respects to Lady Hua before quietly taking their leave. Only after they had gone did Lady Hua lift her gaze, her eyes sweeping over the youth, whose figure was bathed in moonlight, radiant as a celestial being.

“Your vital energy is gathered within; it seems you gained much from witnessing the Martial Champion Stone,” Lady Hua said, closing her book with a gentle smile. “Did you gain a martial scripture from the stone?”

Anle did not hide the truth, recounting how he had received the help of many martial champions in deducing the Five Beasts technique.

“Oh? That is quite a rare stroke of fortune. You have been practicing the Five Beasts in your cultivation and body refinement; to continue along this path, using the insights of ancient great demons to evolve the Five Beasts... Though this new iteration may not quite equal the Martial Champion Scripture, it is nearly its match,” Lady Hua praised.

“In this way, you have also addressed your shortcomings on the path of body refinement.”

Anle bowed deeply, expressing his sincere gratitude. “Thank you, Lady Hua, for securing this opportunity for me to observe the Martial Champion Stone.”

Lady Hua smiled. “It was no trouble. I am on good terms with Lady Ye; for her, it was a mere trifle.”

“What is truly valuable is that you were able to seize this fortune from the Martial Champion Stone. Though the sword qi of Qingshan aided you, Qingshan now belongs to you; it is only right that it helps you.”

She nodded slightly. “Now that your vital energy is consolidated, this visit to the Martial Shrine has greatly advanced your martial cultivation. Seize this chance to solidify your gains and strive to break through to the Inner Elixir stage of body refinement.”

“In just half a month, the Spring Examinations will begin. If you can reach the Inner Elixir stage beforehand, it will benefit you greatly. You may come to the Lin Residence to paint if you have time; if not, focus on your studies and prepare for the exam.”

Upon hearing this, Anle first thanked Lady Hua for the leave she granted, then, after a moment’s thought, brought up another matter. “Lady Hua, today I heard Lady Ye mention the controversy concerning the examination before the palace…”

A gentle breeze flowed through the waterside pavilion.

Lady Hua looked up at Anle, her beautiful eyes resting on him as she shook her head. “Just do your best at the Spring Examinations; don’t burden yourself. Though you hold the Lesser Sage Token, and must become the top scholar to converse with the Sage, your cultivation is still shallow. This time, your chances are slim. Wait for the next Spring Examinations.”

“As for the examination before the palace, it is none of your concern.”

With Lady Hua’s words, the pavilion fell into silence.

Anle asked no more.

He had always believed that a kindness, no matter how small, should be repaid a hundredfold. Lady Hua had aided him much in his cultivation; if ever he had the chance to repay her, he would do so with all his might.

“Consolidate what you have gained from the stone. Go now—I am weary,” Lady Hua said softly.

Anle did not linger, bowed his farewell, and left the Lin Residence with Xixiang.

On this spring night, the Tianbo Waterside Pavilion was tranquil and cold, the pond reflecting the moon and stars above. The octagonal, double-eaved Tianbo Tower’s lanterns shimmered faintly, a corner of its roof just visible.

Lady Hua breathed out gently. The closer the Spring Examinations drew, the nearer the day she must leave Lin’an.

…

Starlight scattered with the dew, reflecting the cold brilliance of the Northern Dipper.

Moonlight shone upon the stone archway of the Lin Residence, casting a stark, slanting shadow.

Anle glanced back at the pavilions rising from the Lin estate, then turned and walked away, leaving the quiet street behind.

Though it was late, he still went as usual to Yanchun Lane. The tavern in the alley glowed with faint lamplight and was still open, bustling with patrons coming and going.

The tavern’s proprietress was a handsome matron, time having etched a few more lines upon her face. Seeing Anle enter, her impression of this striking young man was clearly deep.

She greeted him with a laugh. “The usual, sir?”

Anle smiled gently and nodded. “A jug of old yellow wine.”

The proprietress poured the wine herself, popping the seal and ladling the fragrant liquor into a jug.

Anle took the wine, paid, and departed.

Behind him, the proprietress watched for a long while. Only when another customer called for wine did she grumble, scolding as she poured, “What’s the rush?”

Anle walked away with his jug, the laughter and chatter of the tavern behind him, bathed in starlight.

A jug of wine, a plate of meat.

People come and go, some stay, some leave.

This is the life of the common folk.

Leaving the small alley behind, he made his way directly to Qingbo Street, heading toward the ancestral temple alley.

Qingbo Street was chilly at night, the liveliness centered on the Imperial Avenue.

Clad in indigo, Qingshan and Mo Chi swords at his waist, wine jug in hand, Anle strolled slowly through the spring night breeze, his heart at peace.

The flow of vital energy in his body kept the cold at bay. Strengthened by Qingshan’s sword qi and the Martial Champion Stone, his body brimmed with power and vitality.

Suddenly, he halted and looked up.

At the end of Qingbo Street stood a solitary figure, bathed in moonlight and starlight, a gentle breeze stirring at his presence, as if a banished immortal untouched by mortal dust.

Even Anle had to admire the man’s striking, ethereal appearance.

The long street was quiet, the two simply gazing at each other.

Anle knew the stranger had come in search of him; otherwise, he would not have waited at the end of Qingbo Street.

But what puzzled Anle was when he had ever crossed paths with such a figure.

“Are you Anle?” the man asked, his face adorned with a gentle smile, his dark eyes curious.

“I am Anle. May I ask who you are?” Anle returned the greeting with a bow.

The man’s hair flowed loosely, his eyes slightly raised as he returned the gesture. “My surname is Zhao, given name Xianyou. You may call me Zhao Ninth.”

Zhao Xianyou?

Anle was startled. Zhao Xianyou, the top name on the Lesser Sage Ranking?

When Lin Fourth Master had given him the list, he had asked about Zhao Xianyou. The answer: the ninth prince of the Great Zhao, a peerless figure whose birth had drawn immortals from the heavens and brought the old celestial master of Zhenwu Temple riding a crane to the south.

Anle frowned slightly, unable to fathom why such a person would seek him out.

Was he hoping to recruit him?

Zhao Xianyou’s gaze shifted to the swords at Anle’s waist, then to the wine jug in his hand.

“Wine?” Zhao Xianyou asked, though he already knew the answer.

Anle lifted the jug. “Old yellow wine from a small tavern in Yanchun Lane. A humble folk’s wine—perhaps not to your taste, Your Highness.”

“Just call me Zhao Ninth, please. Don’t use titles,” Zhao Xianyou replied softly, then added, “May I have a cup?”

Anle was momentarily speechless, the other’s blinking eyes banishing some of his otherworldly air.

“Of course,” he said. “If you don’t mind, we could sit in my small courtyard. Perhaps my old friend will be there tonight.”

With a smile, Anle walked onward.

As he passed, Zhao Xianyou fell naturally into step beside him.

One in fine robes, one in indigo, the two strolled under the moonlight, entering the ancestral temple alley.

As they passed the lantern-lit ancestral temple, Zhao Xianyou paused and bowed slightly, then followed Anle into the alley’s depths.

No one waited at the courtyard gate; Anle knew the old man of the ancestral temple would not be joining them for wine tonight.

Unlocking and pushing open the door, the creak broke the quiet. The old locust tree in the yard cast mottled shadows, its leaves rustling in the spring night breeze.

“Ninth Prince, please,” Anle invited.

Zhao Xianyou was taken aback, his eyes narrowing with pleasure at the title.

Anle moved about with practiced ease, setting out a small table and chairs, and two cups.

Zhao Xianyou was not particular, sitting opposite Anle.

The jug of warm wine was brought forth, a cup poured for Zhao Xianyou. They raised their cups in silent toast.

Zhao Xianyou downed his in one gulp, his eyes lighting up in surprise. “Though there’s not a trace of spiritual energy in this wine, it has a special flavor. I’ve never tasted anything like it—quite distinctive.”

“Perhaps what you’re tasting is the flavor of mortal life?” Anle joked, glancing at the man who seemed a banished immortal.

Zhao Xianyou paused, as if struck by a revelation, then smiled. “I must have another cup.”

Without another word, Anle poured the wine.

Cup after cup, and still more cups.

Soon, the jug was empty. Anle had only had a few; the rest had gone to Zhao Xianyou, who had said he’d drink just one.

“Though the wine is ordinary, now that you mention the flavor of mortal life, I find it grows richer with each cup,” Zhao Xianyou said, eyes half closed, savoring the aftertaste.

Anle found this so-called immortal ninth prince quite amusing. “I fetch a jug of old yellow wine every day. If you enjoy it, you’re welcome to visit my humble courtyard anytime.”

Zhao Xianyou stood, his hair fluttering. “You said it—I’ll remember.”

“This wine goes best with marinated beef from Dingya Lane,” Anle added.

Zhao Xianyou laughed, gazing at the moon, then turned to Anle and bowed. “May I see Qingshan?”

“Someone once said I was unworthy of Qingshan. I disagree. Seeing you wear it at your waist, I could not help but be curious and came to ask for a glimpse.”

Seated, Anle looked at Zhao Xianyou, bathed in moonlight, ethereal as ever.

He did not refuse, patting the Qingshan sword at his waist.

Sword qi surged!

The bamboo sword Qingshan shot forth, slicing through the night as a streak of light, striking at Zhao Xianyou.

With one hand behind his back, Zhao Xianyou raised the other, fingers like divine spears reaching for the blade.

Yet as his fingers neared the bamboo sword, he seemed to see drops of blood welling up on its battered surface.

Each drop of blood felt as if it shared his very origin.

His outstretched fingers curled, tapping Qingshan lightly.

A clear sword cry rang out as Qingshan flew aside, embedding itself in the old locust tree’s trunk, its blade and hilt trembling.

A hint of melancholy flitted across Zhao Xianyou’s brow, mingled with a sudden understanding.

He finally understood why his royal uncle had said he was unworthy of this sword.

For the bamboo sword Qingshan had once pierced the heavenly gate—and been stained with immortal blood.