Chapter 47 — The Scholar

After a night in the wild hills, Zhang Qingyue came out onto the official road. The road grew broad, and people gradually grew more numerous. He asked travelers along the way for directions and set his course north.

At noon one day, with the sun directly overhead and the heat fierce, Zhang Qingyue had walked half a day and was quite parched. He saw a small tea stall by the roadside, pitched beneath a great tree. Five or six customers were already seated inside. Seeing the shade, he walked over, bought a bowl of tea, and sat down to rest.

And indeed, the tea at that little stall was surprisingly cool and refreshing. Zhang Qingyue drank one bowl and felt at once eased from head to foot, as though the day were no longer so hot. He began to think: the injury to his hand was now much better; in the afternoon he would find a quiet place where no one was about and fly back through the air. That would be faster, and he would see his master sooner.

As he thought, his thoughts naturally turned to seeing his senior sister Tian Lingsu soon, and he could not help feeling a warmth in his heart. Just then he heard a mild voice from the side of the road: "Master, a bowl of tea for me."

A rare breeze passed at noon, swaying the leaves of the great tree so that flecks of sunlight filtered down and scattered on the ground. The tea-stall keeper, a man who looked to be past fifty, answered and bent to pour tea. Zhang Qingyue's gaze drifted over, and then he could not draw it back.

It was a middle-aged scholar, with fine brows and a square face. His features seemed refined and gentle, yet his eyes were bright and piercing and his brow full. Within that refinement there was a power that was stern without being angry. He wore a Confucian robe, and at his waist hung a pale purple jade pendant, exquisite and translucent, faintly breathing an air of auspiciousness — plainly no common thing.

Zhang Qingyue looked for a good while, then suddenly realized that he had been overawed by this scholar's bearing. He felt that as soon as the man walked in, the five or six customers who had been drinking tea — himself included — had all fallen silent and been pressed down by his presence.

Zhang Qingyue withdrew his gaze, but inwardly he marveled, and at the same time was greatly taken with the scholar's bearing. Though the man was no great beauty to look at, this air that came from within was truly rare.

The scholar entered the stall, took the tea the keeper handed him, sat down where he pleased, and began to sip it slowly. The customers who had been chatting and laughing all fell silent, one after another, until the atmosphere in the stall grew quiet and rather strange. Only the middle-aged scholar remained wholly at ease, unaware of anything around him, drinking his tea and resting alone.

After a while the other customers, either rested enough or finished with their tea, paid one by one and left. The keeper came to clear the bowls, and beneath the great tree there remained only Zhang Qingyue and the middle-aged scholar.

Zhang Qingyue did not feel particularly ill at ease, but after sitting a while longer he judged that he had rested enough and was thinking of paying and going, when suddenly a voice sounded behind him:

"Young brother."

Zhang Qingyue started. The voice was mild and familiar. He turned and saw the scholar smiling at him gently. Surprised, he said, "Sir, are you speaking to me?"

The scholar nodded with a smile. "Indeed." He rose and came over slowly. Zhang Qingyue stood as well, and when the man drew near, he cupped his hands and said, "May I ask what business you have with me, sir?"

The middle-aged scholar looked him up and down. "Nothing in particular. Only the road is lonely, and you look agreeable to me. I thought I would come over for a few words. You do not mind, young brother?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head quickly. "Not at all. Please sit, sir."

The scholar nodded with a smile. "Come, young brother, sit as well."

The two sat down, and the scholar looked at Zhang Qingyue. "Might I ask your honored name, young brother?"

Zhang Qingyue had grown up in Liumiao Village and had afterward been taken in by the Canglan Sect. In all these years, apart from his fellow disciples on Dazhu Peak of Mount Canglan, he had scarcely spoken with outsiders — not counting, of course, the days he had been trapped beneath the Dead Spirit Abyss with the demon-cult girl Bili. As he spoke now with this scholar, he somehow already felt a certain respect for the man. He said respectfully, "I would not presume. This junior is Zhang Qingyue. May I ask your honored name, sir?"

The scholar first repeated, "Zhang Qingyue." He nodded, smiled slightly, and said, "My surname is Wan. My courtesy name is Renwang."

"Wan Rengui!" Zhang Qingyue repeated silently. The name sounded ordinary enough, yet it gave one a sense of iron horses and armored hosts. Zhang Qingyue could not help looking at him. Wan Rengui's face was all mildness, yet between his brows there was a majesty that seemed inborn and very heavy, and matched with such a name it faintly carried the sense of commanding ten thousand hosts.

Wan Rengui looked Zhang Qingyue up and down and smiled. "Forgive me for asking, but might young Master Zhang be a cultivator of the true way?"

Zhang Qingyue was startled. After he and Qi Hao and the other two had come down the mountain, they had all changed out of the Qingyun garb and into ordinary clothes for convenience on the road, and they looked no different from common folk. He could not imagine how this middle-aged man had seen through them.

In his surprise he was just about to ask how the man knew, when he saw the middle-aged man smile slightly and point to the north. "Might I ask, young Master Zhang, whether you are of late the foremost orthodox sect, the Canglan Sect of Mount Canglan?"

Zhang Qingyue was all the more startled and could not help rising to his feet. Looking at Wan Rengui in amazement, he said, "May I ask, Brother Wan — how, how did you know?"

Wan Rengui smiled and waved a hand. "Please sit, please sit."

When Zhang Qingyue had slowly sat down again, Wan Rengui smiled and said, "I saw that young Master Zhang is full of spirit and vigor, and after a long road shows no sign of weariness at all. You look young, yet you surpass many a grown man. In the world today the fashion of cultivation is widespread, and I took it that you must be a man of rare skill."

Zhang Qingyue lowered his head in modest thanks, but could not help asking, "And how did you know my sect, sir?"

Wan Rengui laughed carelessly. "Nothing to it. I saw that you were dusty from the road and kept gazing north, with a look of longing on your face, as though your heart were already flying home. And to the north, the nearest and most famous sect of cultivation is the Canglan Sect. I speak only from random guesswork, I assure you — idle talk, fit only to make young Master Zhang laugh."

Zhang Qingyue said quickly, "Not at all, not at all. You see into the smallest thing, sir. We had never met, yet you saw it at a glance. I am truly impressed, truly impressed!" These words came from his heart.

Wan Rengui smiled slightly. "The Qingyun Sect has long been famous on the world's path of cultivation, with deep roots and profound arts, admired by all under heaven. To enter such a renowned sect at your young age — your future holds no limit!"

At the words "no limit," Zhang Qingyue felt a stir at heart and, for no reason he could name, thought of Qi Hao of Dragon Peak. At the last, Lin Jinghong's shadow even flitted through his mind. He shook his head and said, "You overpraise me, sir. The Canglan Sect is full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers. I am but a rotten stick, a good-for-nothing."

Wan Rengui was taken aback, then laughed aloud. "I never thought young Master Zhang could joke as well."