Chapter 33 — Descending the Mountain

From Canglan Gate to He Yin City, the four most "outstanding" disciples of Canglan Gate came riding their swords the whole way. The others took it easy and naturally, but Zhang Qingyue could not help finding it rather taxing.

He had spent a month nursing his injury, and Su Wan seemed to have anticipated all along that nothing would come of it; she had passed on to him some of Canglan Gate's secret doctrines and, along the way, the method of driving a magic artifact through the air. In truth it was simple enough: so long as one's cultivation was deep enough and the artifact not too inferior, one need only employ the Qingyun doctrines together with the power of thought to drive it. But Zhang Qingyue's cultivation was shallow, and though his artifact was certainly no poor one, it was decidedly peculiar, while the Canglan Gate doctrines he had just learned were quite unfamiliar to him—so the moment he put them to use, there was no end of trouble.

Back then Su Wan had never imagined that the moment he set foot on Jietian Peak he would be sent down the mountain again; she had meant for him first to commit the formulae to memory and, after his return to Dazhu Peak, to practice them more. Nor, of course, did the heads of the other branches know the true nature of this peculiar youngster. Judging by his showing in the Seven Branches Martial Tournament, they had taken it for granted that he must know the most basic art of sword-flight. Little did they realize that Zhang Qingyue, having stolen his way into the doctrines and muddled his way up to the "Driving Objects" realm, knew nothing at all of any sword-flying skill.

Watching the others summon their immortal swords—Qi Hao's white "Cold Ice," Six Xueqi's blue "Heaven's Jade," and Zeng Shuyan's "Xuanyuan," a blade faintly tinged with purple—Zhang Qingyue felt his heart tighten. He forced himself to summon the "Dark Iron Rod," yet somehow it felt off, lacking the effortless mastery he had known on the day of the Seven Branches Martial Tournament.

Piercing clouds and crossing mountains, a journey that should have taken half a day stretched until the sun went down before the four of them reached He Yin City. To avoid suspicion, Zhang Qingyue and the other three landed at a quiet spot outside the city, and by then every one of them was soaked through, faces pale—by the look of it, harder pressed than on the day of the tournament itself.

All the way through the sky he had lost his grip on the Dark Iron Rod several times; had Qi Hao and the others not seen something was wrong, dared not stray far from him, and lent a hand in time, he would surely have plummeted from the heights and been dashed to pieces—bringing no glory to his sect but instead stinking for ten thousand years and covering Canglan Gate in utter disgrace. Qi Hao and the rest decided to stop outside the city and walk in. There was the wish to avoid suspicion, true, but also the fear that if, in some crowded market with all eyes upon him, Zhang Qingyue should happen to tumble from the sky, the lofty prestige Canglan Gate had labored two thousand years to build here would be ruined in a single breath—alas, alas!

After a brief rest, once Zhang Qingyue had caught his breath, the four of them set off in the setting sun toward the towering city of He Yin. Zhang Qingyue walked at the rear, and he could feel Qi Hao and Six Xueqi casting puzzled glances back at him from time to time—plainly they could not understand how a man who had shone so brilliantly in the Seven Branches Martial Tournament could not even manage ordinary sword-flight. Zeng Shuyan alone kept strolling along beside Zhang Qingyue, smiling as ever, not breathing a word about what had just happened, and instead regaling him without pause with tales of He Yin City:

"Within a hundred li in every direction, this is the biggest and busiest place there is. The folk living in this city must number two or three hundred thousand at least, and the location is fine besides—merchants and travelers come and go in droves, so it's all the livelier."

As Zhang Qingyue listened, his heart filled with genuine admiration for Zeng.

"What's so remarkable about that?" said Zeng. "Watch." And with a sly grin he stealthily leaned in to Zhang Qingyue's ear and whispered, "Truth is, I've been here lots of times—always slipping down the mountain on the sly."

Zhang Qingyue was greatly startled. "You—you—"

"What's with that look on your face? What's the big deal? Ever since I learned the art of sword-flight, naturally I've had to practice often. Fly and fly and fly till I get here, and when I'm tired I drop down and stroll the streets—what's so astonishing about that?"

Zhang Qingyue was struck dumb.

Hearing the two of them murmuring away behind him, Qi Hao smiled faintly and said to Six Xueqi at his side, "Sixth Junior Sister, it's getting late. Tonight we'll put up here, and set out again tomorrow."

Six Xueqi's face was cold as frost and ice, wholly without expression; she gave only a faint nod.

Once inside the city, to avoid trouble they had early on changed out of their Canglan Gate disciple garb, and so aroused no particular suspicion—but Six Xueqi's peerless beauty caused no small stir, drawing many passersby to stop and stare. Zhang Qingyue stole a glance at her from the side; though her face showed nothing, a flicker of anger had crossed those bright eyes, and he could not help feeling anxious for the onlookers—if Heaven's Jade should leave its sheath, this ancient city of long history would likely lose half itself.

Yet Six Xueqi's forbearance was clearly far greater than Zhang Qingyue had reckoned; even after they had taken rooms at an inn called the Mountain-Sea Garden, she had made no move at all. Qi Hao was the most experienced of the four, and they had tacitly come to look to him as their head; it was he who stepped forward to arrange such matters as lodging, after which the innkeeper settled them in the finest rooms of the rear garden.

The Mountain-Sea Garden was a sizable establishment, and its rear garden held four separate courts. The four of them lodged in the West Court, one room apiece. After resting a while, Qi Hao called them all together and went to the tavern out front for supper.

The Mountain-Sea Garden had its own tavern, situated on the busiest street in He Yin City, but the VIP hall on the third floor was very quiet indeed; in that spacious hall fewer than ten tables were set, and perhaps five of them now had guests dining. Qi Hao called the waiter over and ordered several dishes; from his manner he clearly knew the place well—most likely a regular.

Zhang Qingyue thought as much to himself. Born of a farming family, he had never set foot in a sumptuous place like the Mountain-Sea Garden. Passing the second floor just now he had glimpsed a hall all gold and splendor, but on the third floor he found carved dragons and painted phoenixes, redwood beams, an antique elegance throughout—utterly unlike the second. He did not know, of course, that when men of the world attain wealth and station they come instead to pursue refinement and taste; for though some delight in gaudy luxury, it is common enough to affect elegance for the sake of being called a person of some cultivation.

The four of them sat at a small table by the window, and Zeng Shuyan, after a glance around the hall, said to Qi Hao, "Senior Brother Qi, the prices here can't be cheap, surely?"

Qi Hao smiled faintly. "This is the finest tavern in He Yin City—naturally it's not cheap. But our Canglan Gate has long enjoyed a name here; the owner would be only too glad to have us, and won't charge us much."