Every morning, Guji City was veiled by mist that would disperse at dawn and gently coat the grass with dew. When it was sunny, it’d evaporate by noon, and the thin moat running along the walls would remain still and undisturbed.
A man carrying his ratty old luggage on his back walked into the city upon the lingering vapor in the air.
Though his clothes were old and worn and patched at the elbows, they didn’t make him look like a vagabond, on the contrary, they made him seem free-spirited. His eyes were perpetually smiling as he idly wandered about, enjoying the scenery, stopping here and there, peering at everything with curiosity and interest. It would’ve made him seem young if not for his hideous goatee.
Two palm-sized copper bells hung at his waist, yet despite their clunky appearance, they didn’t ring like cowbells, instead, they tinkled with each step as delicately as the wind chimes hanging by a maiden’s window. All the shopkeepers and travelers who were up early and heard the sound couldn’t help but glance at him.
That wasn’t the only attention-grabbing thing about him. He also had a large bird perched proudly on his shoulder. Its feathers shimmered radiantly as rainbow satin in the first rays of sunrise; it was even more gorgeous than a peacock.
But before anyone could get a clear glimpse of the bird, it suddenly spread its wings and took flight. It shot into the air and seemed to melt into the piercing beams of sunlight as it circled once, twice, then left.
The man was unruffled by the sudden lightening of his shoulder. He carelessly plopped down at a wonton stand, squinting in the direction the bird had taken off in. He then boldly yelled, “Boss, give me a large bowl of wontons, plus four sesame cakes!”
He paused for a second, then amended, “Meat filling!”
The stallkeep made a sound of acknowledgment and had food brought up shortly. The man’s eyes lit up like he was a starved ghost reincarnated. His goatee didn’t get in the way of him stuffing his face at all. Faster than the speed of thunder, he finished off a flaky sesame cake as big as his face in less than three bites. Heavens knew how he’d stuffed it in.
The stallkeep hadn’t even had the time to turn around before witnessing that scene. He couldn’t help sizing up the man, wondering in distress, this man isn’t penniless, is he?
The man was indeed penniless, though someone paid his tab.
When not a morsel of the four sesame cakes was left, and while he was guzzling the wonton soup like it was water, he saw a group of people walking towards him. He recognized them as members of Guji City’s newest “Redscarf Army” and instantly backed away to make space for them.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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The man smacked his lips and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He made a show of getting up and bowing in salute, “You must be Mister Shi, I presume?”
Shi Wuduan looked at him as if he had to take a moment to come back to his senses. A long pause later, he nodded and returned the salute, “Sect Leader Xia, your reputation precedes you, pardon me.”
The two stood in front of the wonton stand, exchanging banal, bootlicking pleasantries until they’d nearly exhausted all those ridiculous rituals that stiff old scholars used as greetings. It was lengthy and stinky as an old granny’s foot-binding cloth.
At least the Redscarf soldiers behind Shi Wuduan were clear that in Guji City, he was second to only General Gu, despite his youth and unpredictable, unreliable appearance — and the fact that he seemed dim-witted, and his responses took a day and a half. Anyone who talked to him had to resist the urge to kick him in the ass.
Normal people naturally wouldn’t dare to interrupt him; the bird on Shi Wuduan’s shoulder got impatient and pecked him on the head.
This mystical “Mister Shi” seemed to lag behind others even when it came to feeling pain. He exaggeratedly enunciated every sound that crawled out of his mouth before finding the time to say “Ouch” and rub his head.
Then he glanced at the stallkeep standing by the side and dropped a few coppers on the table saying, “I’ll cover this gentleman’s bill.”
Sect Leader Xia’s smile became much more sincere, thinking that even though he looked fake as hell, he was an alright guy.
Sect Leader Xia’s full name was Xia Duanfang — “duan fang” as in “noble and upright.” One could see, through his name, the kinds of hopes his elders had placed on him before he’d grown out his boorish goatee. It was only too bad that he ended up looking like that, though it did have a lot to do with his sect.
The three great sects weren’t the only cultivation sects. Ages ago, when the first genius discovered the Dao and forced open its gates, there was a long period of time that saw the rise of countless heroes. It seemed for a while that multifarious flowers would bloom amongst the mountains and waters.
That was the golden age of cultivation as well as its darkest age.
It was like even the heavens would favor certain eras of history, filling the streets with brilliant prodigies one after another as casually as it scattered stars into the night sky. Great masters arose every generation. But as soon as the stars’ radiance began to grow, it was as if the mortal realm’s capacity for geniuses had been surpassed. When they became too numerous, they became the source of earth-shattering calamities — never-ending wars, chaos, strife, until finally, they’d all fallen from the sky in a magnificent explosion, leaving only faint embers in their wake to gather together in a pale imitation of their former splendor.
Once the stars dimmed, sunrise arrived, heralding peace. But in truth, eternal day was a kind of calamity even more horrifying than the darkest of nights, for it would bake all the earth into shriveled rot.
But the stars had never disappeared completely, they were only hidden behind the glaring light of the sun.
For example, Xia Duanfang’s Xiaosheng Sect of Haiji.
They had a rather imposing name, but by the time the mantle had been passed down to Sect Leader Xia’s generation, there were only three disciples left aside from himself. They were all children, and weren’t at all presentable.
When Xia Duanfang had received the letter, he knew he had no choice but to come. Shi Wuduan had signed the letter summoning his assistance in the name of “Defender General of Haining Commandery Gu Huaiyang.” Xia Duanfang was no idiot, he knew that the general’s stamp was most likely carved by some amateur and was quite illegitimate. Still, he didn’t defy orders.
Since ancient times, no sect, large or small, ever engaged in mundane labor. The moment they entered a sect, they had a sign saying “a cut above the rest” slapped onto their foreheads. They couldn’t do farmwork, couldn’t be craftsmen, couldn’t open shops, and they certainly couldn’t be mercenaries. It wasn’t only that cultivators couldn’t bear to demean themselves, the court had strict edicts prohibiting such behavior. And even if the courts didn’t prohibit it, who’d dare use these high and mighty cultivators?
But no matter how much “a cut above the rest” they were, they still needed to eat, sleep, and shit. The great sects received massive amounts of money from the imperial court every year, and hefty donations from rich people who wanted to get their descendants into a sect, so of course they didn’t have to worry about something so humdrum as making ends meet. Small sects, on the other hand, had to find other methods. Most of the small sects that still existed made contracts with commoners.
The cultivators would guarantee the peace and stability of some region, warding away yao and demons, and the commoners would provide them with food and supplies.
The land that the Xiaosheng Sect of Haiji depended on was a small area in Haining Commandery centered around Guji City — land that now belonged to Gu Huaiyang. Xia Duanfang reckoned that if he dared to say “no,” then that shameless bandit would dare to let him and his disciples starve to death up on their mountain.
Right now, everyone was busy fighting over land, fighting over food and money, who gave a damn over a whore’s death? Even if Xia Duanfang thought about it with his pinky toe, he’d figure that the whole thing was awfully suspicious. But it couldn’t be helped; scholars cowered before soldiers, and unfortunately so did cultivators. He couldn’t find a way to wriggle out of it, so he resolved to leave his three disciples on the mountain and fearlessly head forth to accomplish a task: mooch off the rich.
Up until Shi Wuduan personally came to greet him, that is. Xia Duanfang closely observed Shi Wuduan as they chatted. Even though the vast majority of what Shi Wuduan said was useless blather, and the only useful thing he said was “follow this way,” he still felt that there was something off about him.
Xia Duanfang sensed that Shi Wuduan, very faintly, had the aura of a cultivator; seemingly that of a martial cultivator and a curse cultivator. Neither type was the kind to do nice, peaceful business. Once someone cultivated for long enough, it’d leave traces on their person. Normal people couldn’t detect it, but other cultivators could get an inkling or two. Someone from one of the great sects might even be able to be recognized at a glance.
However, his aura was far too thin. Even a child’s aura wouldn’t be so thin that one couldn’t tell where they came from, for upon entering a sect, their shifu would help them cleanse their marrow.
Xia Duanfang figured that either he’d been addled by stuffing down four sesame cakes, or he had some kind of object hiding the aura he should’ve had.
After Shi Wuduan got Xia Duanfang settled, and prattled some more polite small talk, as if he had an encyclopedic collection of them he couldn’t wait to show off; they all meant the same thing, but somehow he never reused a single phrase. He also wasn’t in a rush to show Xia Duanfang the victim’s corpse. He only instructed the servants to make sure to feed him well every day.
That was perfectly fine with Sect Leader Xia — he’d come to eat and muddle along in the first place.
Xia Duanfang’s stay was rather idle, until one day, while he was on a stroll, he caught sight of a white-robed young man exit Shi Wuduan’s courtyard. Caught off guard, he made eye contact with the man and was instantly stupefied.
Seven signs of slaughter above his head, thousands of demons in the shadows at his feet —
Xia Duanfang clenched his fists unconsciously, his palms hot, for the sect leader’s sword was hidden there. Cold sweat slowly seeped down his back. This person, this person was….
Suddenly, someone patted his shoulder from behind. Xia Duanfang flinched, turned his head, and saw Shi Wuduan carrying a massive rabbit in his arms, grinning at him as he said, “Sect Leader Xia, just now, the imperial court’s couriers have arrived to announce a decree. General Gu invites you to listen as well.”
Xia Duanfang hadn’t come back to his senses yet and hadn’t even understood what he’d said before he replied, “Yes… yes, I’ll go.”
He turned his head back, his heart still palpitating in fright. He saw that the white-robed man had already looked away, nodding towards Shi Wuduan from afar with a not-smile on his face. Then he turned and left.
Thanks for the chapter<3
Really worried about these two. What they experienced in their youth changed them so much. 😢😳
Thank you so much for your wonderful work- truly awesome beautiful words 🙏❤️👏🧨💐
Thank you for the chapter!!!
I still completely dislike both of the main characters… hmph.