Climbing the mountain

Farewell—a poet once wrote that parting from her husband is never without tears, yet she does not shed them in the moment of departure. Such poems often evoke scenes of youth in their prime heading for the battlefield, lingering in tender goodbyes, compelling one to choke back tears and not dare reveal them before family.

To be honest, during his stay at the Yu residence, Zhang Ling had little interaction with others. He spoke most often with Lord Gu Ping, the retired soldier—not out of pity for this old man who could only live off others, but simply because he seemed rather lonely. Yu Chang and Yu Lianwu were both occupied with official duties, seldom free, and the servants looked down on the old man shamelessly lingering in another’s home. They offered nothing but cold words, and only Yu Wanqing occasionally found time to chat with him. Perhaps it was because of this, after witnessing so many young heirs in Jinyu City feigning elegance without any true talent or learning, that Yu Wanqing’s heart stirred for Zhang Ling, if only for a moment. To Zhang Ling, however, such things were commonplace; he paid no mind to the girl’s fleeting affection, knowing that time would soon let it fade.

After all, he could come to the city whenever he wished. If he wanted to meet someone, he could. The poet’s latter lines—leaning on a sword and raising a cup in farewell, ashamed to be a wanderer—seemed more fitting for the two at this moment. Zhang Ling was unsure if he could ever master martial arts, but at least he could ask the emperor for an official post. From what he’d learned of martial arts lately, talents like Song Linjie—whose progress in the way of the blade was both steady and swift—would inevitably reach the pinnacle, and, if fate allowed, might even surpass the strongest swordsmen of the age to become the greatest in the realm.

Zhang Ling doubted his own path to mastery because he was following the exact instructions from the book given by the old man, and he had stalled at the second rank. Beyond that, it depended entirely on personal insight. Zhang Ling’s actions now were quite extreme, with no real consideration for martial arts, so he worried he might never reach the first rank.

At this moment, Song Linjie was driving the carriage, with Zhang Ling inside. Suddenly, a hand lifted the front curtain and handed Song Linjie a sheet of rice paper. Song Linjie, busy with the reins, took it with one hand and glanced at it, then realized what it was and exclaimed angrily, “Zhang Ling, this is too much! You said you were worried we’d arrive at the academy after dark and insisted we rent a carriage. Why should I pay two taels of silver?”

Zhang Ling stood his ground, reasoning, “You forget—the Mingyue Pavilion was demolished by you. You lost ten thousand taels in compensation. Though it was your fight, the wager was mine, so we split it half and half. And the favor owed by the Ye family is mine alone now.”

Song Linjie seemed unconcerned, nodding, “Fine, but can’t you waive the two taels of silver? I truly have no money!”

Zhang Ling pressed the matter, “Even brothers settle accounts clearly. All the more so when not related. You eat at the Yu residence then run out to fight every day. Do you even know how expensive things are in the capital? One tael is eight hundred coins, no less.”

Song Linjie cared little for the amount, but the mention of money always troubled him—a single coin could stump this hero. Still, once at the academy, he could ask his grandfather for it; the academy certainly wouldn’t mind such a sum.

At the southern city gate, Zhang Ling dismissed the carriage, and the two walked out of the city. Zhang Ling struggled internally, then finally spoke, “Song Linjie, I should remind you—if we encounter an unbeatable foe again, I will leave you behind, as I said before. You should do the same; there’s no need to stand before me.”

When they discussed silver, Song Linjie had been indifferent, but now his expression hardened, voice cold, “I’ve told you: it’s your choice to leave, but abandoning you—I cannot do it. From the moment we left Liufeng City together, I’ve regarded you as a friend. I don’t know how you see things, but if I truly did that, my martial path would end here.”

On the road, the two spoke no further. As dusk fell, the flow of people in Jinyu City thinned. Leaving the main road, their silence deepened as they took the narrow path to the academy. Only at the foot of the mountain, spotting two figures in the distance, did Song Linjie shake off his gloom and stride forward.

A man and a woman—the man dressed plainly, yet exuding a noble, upright aura; the woman’s long dress was elegant, embroidered with peach blossoms, giving her a gentle, dignified presence. Both carried long swords, and Zhang Ling had heard of them before. Back at Hundred Flowers Villa, Yang Xiao had mentioned their intention to seek these famous swords from the Sword Tomb, only to discover that the master, Wu Jianping, had already gifted them away. Thus, they settled for the Golden Flower Silver Tree. These two swords, ranked sixth and seventh among the top ten paired swords in the world, were called “Falling Mountains and Rivers” and “Boundless Thought.” Yang Xiao had described their features in detail, even the scabbards, letting Zhang Ling recognize them at a glance.

Song Linjie greeted them eagerly, “Greetings, senior brother and sister.”

The two from the academy nodded and smiled. The man introduced himself, “I am Baili Huan’an, and this is Murong Wanxue. Now that you’ve come, let’s head up. The other three junior brothers have arrived already.”

As they ascended, the mountain slopes were dotted with fields and fruit trees, each level planted with different crops, all thriving better than those in the villagers’ fields below. The plots were divided unevenly, mostly along streams and rivers, making the paths winding and rugged. Overall, Kongyao Mountain was unlike the strict, forbidding territory of the great sects; it resembled a farmer’s haven, a paradise apart from the world.

Previously, in the illusion array, Zhang Ling had heard Wu Zhi mention fruit trees atop the mountain, thinking there were only a few, a rare treat each year. But as they walked, Zhang Ling observed the shapes and colors of the leaves—there were even hazelnut trees, which bloom in winter.

Zhang Ling asked curiously, “Senior brother, how many people are in the academy?”

Baili Huan’an plucked a bunch of grapes from the roadside, clearly fond of them. He pulled off a berry, ate it skin and all, spitting the seed before replying, “Including you, there are twenty-four. But the old dean said: let minor matters pass, be dignified in major ones. So there aren’t many rules here. Aside from the two deans, there’s no distinction between disciples or scholars. You may address each other as brothers and sisters or by name.”

Pointing to the fields full of crops, Zhang Ling asked, “Who tends all these fields?”

Baili Huan’an ate a few more grapes before replying, “All grown by Li Dami. Ten years ago, Dean Song went north to challenge the Blade Sage and happened upon Li Dami, so he brought him back. Don’t be surprised—for Li Dami, this is his cultivation. Though he’s only at the fourth rank, he’s already perfected all six apertures.”