Chapter Seventy-Four: A Day Spent Listening to Songs on a Flower Boat, and a Bout in the Spring Examination

Rippling light and willows blur into a jade mist, winding banks and slanting bridges connect with painted boats. The further one goes, the more wondrous it becomes, as if fearing the journey might end; deeper and denser, it seems boundless. A small boat glided lightly, setting gentle ripples upon the green waves, and under the astonished and envious gaze of the many scholars and poets along the long embankment, it slowly came to rest beneath the flower barge at the heart of the lake.

When Anle boarded the flower barge, the eyes of many poets and scholars grew red with envy. Upon this flower barge dwelled the Celestial Lady Yunrou—what virtue or ability did this youth possess to earn such an invitation? Some had spent ten thousand Cloud Spirit Coins in vain for a chance to board, to catch but a glimpse of Yunrou. No one knew the boy’s identity; curiosity, doubt, and envy swirled among the crowds by West Lake, shattering the tranquil harmony of the spring morning.

Liu Yue, with hands clasped behind his back, showed only a trace of envy in his expression—more a sense of inevitability than jealousy. For this youth was none other than the renowned An, the great talent of Lin’an.

Watching those around him—scholars wringing their hands in frustration—Liu Yue couldn’t help but smirk. An’s invitation aboard the barge was no surprise; in fact, it was the result of a repeated invitation after his initial refusal.

As he watched the youth ascend the flower barge, fading from sight, Liu Yue exhaled quietly. He knew that An was someone beyond his reach—not just for his talent, but because Liu Yue suspected, vaguely, that An was a cultivator.

In Great Zhao, the gulf between ordinary men of letters and cultivators was vast indeed.

Yet a man of such talent and cultivation as An was willing to stroll the embankment with the likes of Liu Yue, to laugh among the willows and speak of everyday things. This thought only made Liu Yue’s desire for scholarly success burn fiercer; only by passing the highest civil examinations and attaining office would he be barely qualified to continue walking West Lake alongside An.

With this resolve, Liu Yue turned away from his literary friends and left the lakeside, returning to his inn to bury himself in study. Only two or three days remained before the spring examination. Confident as he was in his abilities, he would leave nothing to chance. It was because his heart was full of hope that he strove all the harder.

This was Anle’s first time on the flower barge, and he found it rather ordinary—no special feelings arose within him.

On the deck, the Celestial Lady Yunrou stood veiled, an ancient zither slung across her back. Gentle and serene as water, her gaze rested upon Anle.

“Anle, at your service, greets Celestial Lady Yunrou,” Anle said with a smile, cupping his fists in salute.

“Master An, you jest. I am but at the fourth realm of cultivation—how could I dare claim to be a celestial?” Yunrou’s laughter was soft as pearls falling upon a jade plate, clear and sweet.

“At eighteen, I formed my inner core and fancied myself supremely gifted, only to later realize that while I might be called a prodigy, I was hardly the greatest. It was only after my teacher took notice and brought me into the sect, guiding my cultivation, that I reached the level of refined body and profound intent. Compared to your talents, Master An, I am far inferior.” Yunrou spoke softly, leading Anle into the inner chambers of the flower barge.

Ascending to the second floor, one could behold the scenery of West Lake all around. The sunlight shimmering on the water was lovely indeed—viewing the lake from its very heart surpassed even the best vistas from the Watchtower, the sight all the more enchanting.

“Master An, in a few short days you have gone from knowing nothing of cultivation to stepping into both the third refinement of body and spirit—truly remarkable. Even my teacher often praises you,” Yunrou said, gazing at the scenery outside the cabin. She saw it daily and had long grown weary of it, but Anle found it delightful.

“May I ask, Miss Yunrou, is your teacher the Sixth Mountain Lord?” Anle asked.

Yunrou’s eyes curved in a smile. “Indeed.”

Anle was not surprised, having already suspected as much. He replied, “The Mountain Lord once gifted me the inkwell. I remain deeply grateful.”

“My teacher’s Dustred Sword Box holds three thousand swords; the inkwell is but one among them. For the teacher, giving away the inkwell is like dipping a ladle into the sea. That it has come to you, Master An, means you are its fated companion,” Yunrou said.

The inkwell was once of modest grade, but now it was nearly a sixth-grade magical treasure, with signs of rising to the fifth. This showed that it and Anle were well-matched. Her teacher often said: people choose their treasures, and treasures choose their people; only by mutual cultivation can both progress.

“Recently, my teacher has been wondering why Master An never visits the Sixth Mountain. The sword aura there would be of great benefit to you,” Yunrou said, her tone echoing her teacher’s gentle reproach.

Anle laughed. “With the spring examination so near, I must wait until it is over. Then I shall bring a jug of old yellow wine to the mountain, and drink with the Mountain Lord.”

Yunrou nodded, smiling. “Then I shall relay your promise to my teacher.”

It seemed that Yunrou’s invitation to Anle aboard the flower barge was for nothing more than a chat—perhaps because her teacher valued Anle, intending him for the role of Mountain Guardian. Had Anle accepted, he and Yunrou would have become fellow disciples.

“Miss Yunrou, I have a question—since you are the Mountain Lord’s Guardian, why become the courtesan of this pleasure barge?” This was a puzzle that had long lingered in Anle’s mind.

Yunrou possessed status, position, and cultivation, yet she chose to become a courtesan. However refined, the title still bore a trace of infamy.

Yunrou did not mind. “Master An, my teacher cultivates the Sword of the Mortal World. The Dustred Sword Box holds three thousand swords. In his youth, he was famous for his dalliances, frequenting pleasure barges and brothels, composing poetry for the courtesans, painting and writing music for them, the very model of romance.”

Anle raised his brows. “To wander among the flowers yet remain untouched—impressive indeed.”

Yunrou glanced at Anle, suspecting he was teasing her teacher.

“My presence here as the courtesan is my teacher’s wish. To comprehend the meaning of the mortal world—when I transcend it, I shall break through my current realm,” she said earnestly.

“These days, I play the zither on the flower barge, observing the myriad forms of humanity. I have learned much: seeing people’s ugliness, suffering, and helplessness—perhaps this is the meaning of the mortal world.”

“My teacher says that everyone perceives the mortal world differently, and that is why I must experience it firsthand.”

Anle fell into thoughtful silence.

“Master An, I am refining a tune upon the zither, tempering my heart with the dust of the world. Let me play it for you today,” Yunrou said, smiling as she saw Anle deep in contemplation.

She removed the ancient zither from her back and set it before her, plucking the strings with slender fingers. The melody flowed gently, long and delicate as a stream.

Anle’s heart grew tranquil at once.

He gazed at the rippling lake, listening to the calming music from within the boat.

Within the melody, Anle seemed to perceive many scenes: the resignation of women of the dust, the suffering of those in hardship, the helpless sighs of the downtrodden. Emotions like rivulets flowed from her fingers into the music.

It was a marvelous use of spiritual power.

Anle closed his eyes, time itself seeming to flow silently within the music. In the Sword Furnace at the center of his brow, the sword aura softened, soothed and tamed by the melody; the irritability in his spirit and the flaws caused by hasty progress melted away beneath her gentle playing.

Yunrou, as she played, was shocked. She could sense the sword aura rising from Anle’s brow, ebbing and flowing in response to her music.

High mountains and flowing water—true understanding is hard to find.

Yet in this moment, Anle’s sword aura seemed to rise and fall with the music.

A strange light flickered in Yunrou’s eyes; Anle’s talent for cultivation was truly extraordinary. To gain such remarkable benefit from a single tune—when the music ended, his spirit would surely be strengthened.

A smile appeared beneath Yunrou’s veil, and she did not rouse Anle from his reverie. She continued playing, her slender white fingers dancing across the strings; the thick strings rumbled like urgent rain, the thin strings whispered like private confessions.

The music mingled with the gentle ripples of West Lake and the spring scenery, blending into one.

With wine aboard the flower barge, West Lake was a delight: drums and strings, jade cups passed around, drifting on peaceful waters, free to slumber in drunkenness.

That day, Anle spent entirely on the flower barge, listening to music.

As the setting sun cast its light upon West Lake, and mountains and waters merged with the sky, Anle’s gaze grew clear and resolute, the sword furnace at his brow ringing, his spirit subtly strengthened, a hint of joy in his eyes as he thanked Yunrou.

“Thank you, Miss Yunrou, for aiding my refinement of spirit with your music,” Anle said with a bow.

Yunrou, the ancient zither at her back and her face veiled, curved her gentle eyes in a smile. “Master An, you are too kind. My music is but an aid; in truth, it is your extraordinary talent. No wonder my teacher favors you. When you declined the title of Mountain Guardian, my teacher lamented for a long while.”

She added, “My teacher told me to spend more time with you, hoping to catch some of your upright character. Perhaps it will help me gather worldly energy and break through my realm sooner.”

Anle smiled. “Once the spring examination is over, I will surely visit the Mountain Lord. Should you ever need my help, Miss Yunrou, do not hesitate to ask—I will do all I can.”

He spoke with sincerity.

If Lady Hua had lit a lamp for Anle on his path of cultivation, Yunrou was the one who had opened the door for him. It was thanks to her aura of years that he was able to begin his journey. One must not forget the well-digger when drinking the water; Yunrou might not know it, but Anle would never forget.

Bidding farewell, Anle returned along the same path to Taimao Lane, carrying with him a jug of Drunken Rosy Clouds wine and a parcel of Eight-Treasure Roast Chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, both gifts from the flower barge.

It was said that Drunken Rosy Clouds was a rare imperial wine, sold only at the Drunken Dragon Pavilion; the wine served on Yunrou’s flower barge was supplied directly from there, hence the name.

A free trip to the flower barge, free music, a free jug of fine wine, and a portion of Eight-Treasure Chicken—Anle had certainly perfected the art of enjoying without spending a coin.

Passing by the Ancestral Temple, he greeted the elders before heading home. No sooner had he set out a table and chairs than the old man arrived, tapping his bamboo staff and following the aroma.

“Oh? Trying something new today—not the old yellow wine from Yanchun, and the beef has been swapped for Eight-Treasure Chicken?” the old man remarked in surprise, but sat down with practiced ease.

Anle laughed and told him about his day on the flower barge, listening to Yunrou’s music.

The old man sipped the wine. “Drunken Rosy Clouds, eh? Fine wine, but drink too much and it loses its charm—old yellow wine has more bite.”

He added, “That courtesan at the heart of West Lake—she’s the Sixth Mountain Lord’s first Guardian. Everyone knows it. Otherwise, with her beauty, how could no one in Lin’an dare approach her? Her fourth-realm cultivation isn’t much here, but that’s intentional. Once she comprehends worldly energy, she’ll soar—maybe even break through several realms at once.”

“That old Sixth Mountain Lord—he was quite the character in his youth, wandering among pleasure barges, notorious for his romance. So many beauties pined for him. Hah, when it comes to charm, he and I are well-matched.”

He laughed, drinking wine and eating chicken.

Anle couldn’t help but ask, “Did you too leave a name for fickleness in the brothels, elder?”

“No, but among the beauties I loved, some were not human—unlike the Sixth Lord,” the old man said, stroking his beard with a laugh.

As he spoke, a trace of melancholy flickered in his eyes.

Anle was silent; perhaps the beauties he referred to were demons.

In this world, there were demons—wasn’t the former landlady of the courtyard a squirrel demon?

No wonder the old man allowed her to live so close to the Ancestral Temple—there was a reason.

That night, the old man drank heavily; though his cultivation prevented drunkenness, the wine intoxicated his spirit nonetheless.

Anle did not send him back, letting him stay overnight. After tidying up, Anle gazed at the stars wheeling overhead, and began to meditate on the Swordfall Diagram.

The music Yunrou had played had soothed his mind and tempered his spirit in the Sword Furnace at his brow; he felt himself subtly strengthened. Seizing the opportunity, he pressed onward, visualizing the swordfall.

Starlight poured down from the heavens like falling meteors, like swords raining upon the mortal world.

In the latter half of the night, someone arrived as if a banished immortal, treading starlight.

Zhao Xianyou stepped into the courtyard and saw Anle deep in meditation, but did not disturb him. He fetched a jug of wine, found a cup, and sat lightly on the roof, his elegant robes fluttering as he drank alone beneath the moon.

After a while, Anle awoke from his meditation and, seeing Zhao Xianyou, was not surprised.

Zhao Xianyou poured a cup of wine and flicked it to Anle with a snap of his fingers.

Anle took it and drank; spiritual energy overflowed in his mouth.

“This is Drunken Immortal Wine, brewed from spiritual fruit. It contains spiritual energy—good for cultivation. I guessed you’d run out of wine, so brought you some to try,” Zhao Xianyou said coolly.

Anle had a few cups, finding the taste pleasant; as for the spiritual energy, it was minor—a mere embellishment.

“In two days, the spring examination begins. I won’t come looking for you until it’s over. If you succeed, treat me to old yellow wine to celebrate,” Zhao Xianyou said, gazing at the moon.

“All right,” Anle replied.

“Anle, do you have a purpose in cultivating? What is it?” Zhao Xianyou asked.

Anle started, then thought for a moment. “At first, it was curiosity—since this world had cultivation, I wanted to see it for myself. Later, I met oppression, so I wanted to become stronger, so that I would not be powerless before oppression. After that, I suppose I wanted to see the view from the heights.”

Zhao Xianyou paused mid-drink—he hadn’t expected such a simple answer. But perhaps the purpose of cultivation should be pure and simple.

“I don’t know what my purpose is. It’s as if I was born to cultivate, as if the end is always before me—I just have to reach for it,” Zhao Xianyou said quietly. “It feels like I’m fulfilling someone else’s purpose. It’s dull. Drinking with you is far more interesting.”

Anle was silent; he did not know what to say. Zhao Xianyou, usually so taciturn, was uncharacteristically talkative tonight. He spoke much, and Anle mostly listened as the night wore on.

At last, as dawn tinged the sky and the morning star rose, Zhao Xianyou, hair fluttering in the breeze, turned to Anle and said, “Since you wish to see the view from the heights, I’ll wait for you there.”

Anle smiled, clinked cups with him, and drank deep.

“When the time comes, let’s drink to the moon together once more.”

On the ninth day of the second month, rain fell on Lin’an.

A succession of spring showers ushered in the grand event of the Great Zhao dynasty. Today, the spring examination began—a day of utmost importance to the scholars who had traveled from all corners of the realm to the capital. Whether they could win the smiles of spring, bring glory to their ancestors, and return home in triumph—all began today.

Rain fell, skies were dim, and a wan light marked the dawn.

On Qingbo Street, in the small courtyard of Taimao Lane, Anle rose early. As usual, he practiced the Five Beast Play of the ancient monsters, refining his vitality.

Once again, the demon energy in his Demon Jade was spent, and Anle pondered how to replenish it.

When he had finished his exercises, he drew his vitality to evaporate the rainwater from his body, changed into clean white robes, belted on Qingshan and the inkwell, and packed his writing brushes, ink, paper, and examination token. Then, opening his oil-paper umbrella, he stepped out into the rain.

Passing by the Ancestral Temple, the old man stood beneath the eaves with his bamboo staff, smiling.

“Little friend An, do well in the spring examination. Strive to make the first class, so that you may enter the court and perhaps win the top honors.”

The old man’s wish was kind, though the odds were slim. This year’s palace examination was said to be especially difficult, but to make the first class, in his eyes, should be easy for Anle.

“Thank you, elder. I will do my utmost.”

Smiling, Anle headed out. On the quiet street, Lin Qingyin and Lin Zhuifeng stood waiting with umbrellas in the spring rain.

Seeing Anle, they waved.

“Sir, good luck in the examination!” Lin Qingyin smiled.

Lin Zhuifeng pumped her fist. “Sir, win the top spot! If you do, our ninth sister can bask in your glory as her teacher—a splendid thing!”

Anle chuckled and nodded. The three walked together, treading through the spring water to the stone archway outside the academy.

There, the two girls stopped, watching as Anle’s figure faded into the misty spring rain at the foot of the academy.

The stone steps wound into black-and-white buildings, with the examination halls set within.

Many scholars, burdened with their belongings, braved the rain.

The chill of spring bit through the damp air.

Anle, with Qingshan and the inkwell at his side, eyes shining faintly, knew the spring examination was a turning point in his fate.

Breathing out, the world seemed to quiet.

He ascended the stone path, ready to meet the challenge.

***

“Brother Shen.”

“Mm.”

Shen Changqing walked the road, exchanging nods and greetings with familiar faces, though none bore any trace of emotion. Each was as indifferent as the next.

He was used to this.

This was the Demon Suppression Division, the institution responsible for maintaining Qin’s stability—its main duty being the slaying of demons and monsters, though it had other roles as well.

Everyone here had blood on their hands.

Those who have seen much death grow indifferent to many things.

At first, upon arriving in this world, Shen Changqing had found it hard to adapt, but over time, he got used to it.

The Demon Suppression Division was vast.

Those who remained were either formidable experts or those with the potential to become so.

Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

There were two posts: Suppression Envoys and Exorcist Envoys.

All newcomers began as the lowest Exorcist Envoys, rising step by step, with the hope of becoming Suppression Envoys.

Shen Changqing’s predecessor had been a trainee Exorcist Envoy—the lowest rank.

With his predecessor’s memories, Shen Changqing was well acquainted with the Division and its ways.

He soon arrived before a pavilion.

Unlike the rest of the grim institution, this building stood out—calm and serene amid the pervasive bloodshed.

The doors were open; people came and went.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Changqing stepped inside.

At once, the atmosphere changed.

A scent of ink, tinged faintly with blood, greeted him. He frowned reflexively, but soon relaxed.

Here, the smell of blood was impossible to erase.