Chapter 27: 027 Part 2

The Wang and Zheng clans weren’t unaware; they could even sense Cangwu City’s spiritual energy reviving. But when they reported it to the Heavenly Dao Alliance, the response was merely: “All normal phenomena, residual qi stirring in a dead zone. Don’t worry about it.” Since the Alliance said so, the Wang and Zheng clans naturally wouldn’t waste effort attacking Cangwu City. As for those bypassing the Alchemical Cauldron Pavilion to trade on the side, they could catch who they could, and if not, so be it.

In short, through those “not quite properly behaved” folks in the eyes of the aristocratic families, Chongyuan Sect was no longer as constrained as before. Moreover, for some relatively important herbs, they could simply grow them themselves. Currently, the fields on Second Peak were sufficient. And those herbs not too picky about spiritual energy could be transplanted to Yangchun Terrace to enjoy the Golden Finger’s boost there.

This time, dealing with the Wicked Wraiths was a small step beyond the mountain gate. And with Lang Fengya’s arrival—bringing extensive knowledge of the Wild Domain and aristocratic families—everyone was quite excited. They didn’t return to their rooms, but gathered around a bonfire, laughing and chatting.

After responding to Lang Fengya, Wei Mingyi didn’t engage further. She turned and looked at Wu Chongyun seated beside her. Wu Chongyun was seated on a meditation mat, with a clean cloth spread underneath. The hem of her black robes bloomed like petals on the cloth, the lotus patterns embroidered with gold thread shimmering faintly under the firelight and moonlight.

Wei Mingyi’s gaze slowly traveled upward, from the straight, upright back, inch by inch to her moonlit profile. Her heart stirred slightly. She leaned toward Wu Chongyun, catching a faint medicinal fragrance from her. Amidst the distant, muffled sounds of laughter and conversation, Wei Mingyi murmured next to Wu Chongyun’s ear, “Shizun, how was my performance today?”

Wu Chongyun had also gone out this time to deal with the Wicked Wraiths.

But she hadn’t crossed the mountain gate’s array. She’d just watched intently from one side, occasionally giving verbal guidance to the Daoists battling the Wraiths.

Wei Mingyi’s breath tickled her face, strands of hair brushing against her skin where Wei Mingyi had exhaled. Wu Chongyun pursed her lips, leaning slightly away. Her previously straight back softened and slumped. The word “good” on her lips turned into “acceptable” at the last moment.

Wei Mingyi let out an “Oh” and sat back upright. She turned her head and quickly joined the lively discussion Lang Fengya had brought. It had originally started praising the Sect Leader’s swordsmanship, but somehow turned into a roster of famous swordsmen of the Nine Provinces. Wei Mingyi hadn’t heard any of those names, but she instinctively perked up upon hearing the word “first.”

“Swordsmen are ranked solely on their comprehension of the sword path. The Heavenly Dao Alliance’s designated First Sword comes from the Wu Clan of Spirit Mountain.” There was a clatter as Lang Fengya spun her Buddhist beads. Her voice was lazy, betraying no awe for the “First Sword.” Amid a chorus of “Oohs” and “Ahs,” she added, “Spirit Mountain’s Wu Clan has Four Paragons. One of them is the Sword Paragon, Wu Jianhuan.”

“The Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain? Which four?” Wei Mingyi couldn’t help but interrupt. As soon as she spoke, a gentle but definite force landed on the back of her hand. Turning her head, she saw Wu Chongyun holding her whisk—the previous flick had sent the whisk’s tail striking her hand. She’d thought Wu Chongyun had something to say, but when she looked over, Wu Chongyun’s eyes were closed, seemingly immersed in her own world. So Wei Mingyi let it go and continued listening to Lang Fengya.

Lang Fengya said, “The Zither Paragon, Sword Paragon, Painting Paragon, Chess Paragon.” Her interest in the Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain was minimal. Brushing off Wei Mingyi, she added, “Those ranked by the Heavenly Dao Alliance are certainly from aristocratic families. But in the eyes of us rogue cultivators, the true Sword Paragon is someone else.”

Wei Mingyi: “…” She wanted to hear both about the Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain and the Sword Paragon Lang Fengya spoke of! But before she could ask, a disciple from Hidden Moon Sect beat her to it with a crisp voice: “Who is it?”

Lang Fengya smiled faintly, a look of reverence on her face. “The Merciful Sword!”

Despite wanting to seem worldly, Wei Mingyi had to admit—Chongyuan Sect… was truly from the backwater mountains. They knew nothing. She maintained her composure, but her fellow sect members all showed blank expressions. The Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain? The Merciful Sword? Never heard of them! “Shizun?” Wei Mingyi turned to her knowledgeable Shizun, only to be met by a snow-white whisk.

It didn’t hurt, but it covered her entire face.

” ‘Merciful Sword’ is her title. As for her real name or origin, no one knows,” Lang Fengya paused. “There are rumors she once joined Jade Emperor Sect but abandoned it and left after only a few days. Jade Emperor Sect didn’t react, but a Nascent Soul Daoist from the Pure Clean Sect publicly condemned her as a traitor to the Master-Disciple Lineage, even proactively offering to ‘cleanse the sect’ for them. Within days, that person’s head was hung on the Pure Clean Sect’s mountain gate. Since then, the Pure Clean Sect has kept their mouths shut.”

“But… isn’t her title ‘Merciful Sword’?” The Hidden Moon Sect disciple who’d asked about it earlier felt a chill, goosebumps rising.

“Courting death, who can you blame?” Lang Fengya drawled. “Some of our Master-Disciple Lineage have died to her, yes. But far more were aristocratic Daoists. Forget the Prosperous Clans—the Four Great Families were nearly exterminated by her, their generations severed.”

Wei Mingyi raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”

“False,” Lang Fengya smiled. “But among the aristocratic families’ previous generation of geniuses, quite a few fell to her sword. The families first called her Sword Devil, but later, her very existence became a taboo. No one dares speak of her casually anymore.”

Wei Mingyi blinked. “So where is she now?” The aristocratic families still stood firm, showing no signs of having been weakened at all.

Lang Fengya’s expression turned solemn, her voice growing serious. “The last place the Merciful Sword was seen was the Cloud Realm. The families claim she died at the hands of that Grotto-Heaven cultivator from the Cloud Realm. But in truth, no one has ever seen her body. Perhaps she just… disappeared.”

“With such a strong inclination for killing, can she still be called the Merciful Sword?” The young Junior Sister from Hidden Moon Sect was somewhat frightened.

“Junior Sister, your words are mistaken,” Wei Mingyi looked at her with a beaming smile. “Those people wished for death, and the Merciful Sword granted them death. Is that not the greatest mercy?”

“Amitabha,” Lang Fengya chanted a Buddhist invocation. She looked at Wei Mingyi with appreciation and said, “Fellow Daoist, your words deeply resonate with me.”

“So, tell us about the Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain then,” Wei Mingyi prompted. These people of Spirit Mountain’s Wu Clan might become her opponents in the future. Know yourself and know your enemy, and you will never be defeated.

Before Lang Fengya could answer, Wei Mingyi was struck by the whisk again.

Wei Mingyi: “?”

She looked at Wu Chongyun once more. This time, Wu Chongyun wasn’t pretending the whisk moved on its own with her eyes closed. Instead, she was pursing her lips and rising shakily. Wei Mingyi was alarmed by her swaying motion. Whatever “Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain” she had in mind were instantly thrown to the winds. She scrambled up, wrapped her arm around Wu Chongyun’s waist, and half-dragged her, letting Wu Chongyun lean against her.

Wei Mingyi asked gently, “What does Shizun need?”

Wu Chongyun: “Don’t interfere.”

Wei Mingyi: “…” Why had she suddenly gotten unhappy for no good reason?

Though Wu Chongyun said that, Wei Mingyi couldn’t really just not interfere. Behind her, Lang Fengya’s voice sounded again. She just barely turned her head when she was pushed—neither too roughly nor too gently—by the person in her arms. The word “Go” sounded near her ear.

Fine, no more stories.

Wei Mingyi hastily turned back, hugging Wu Chongyun, and settled her back into the wheelchair.

A click sounded, and the wheelchair shot away like an arrow before she could even push it.

Wei Mingyi barely had time to say “Goodbye” before chasing after it.

Lang Fengya’s eyes went wide.

Only after a long moment did she turn back to the group of Meridian Opening cultivators from Hidden Moon Sect, saying, “I’m not too clear about Spirit Mountain’s Wu Clan either. The last I heard of them was years ago. Those families high up in the clouds—it’s not like we’d run into them anyway.”

…

The wheelchair sped, then slowed. Before they even reached the courtyard, Wei Mingyi had caught up to Wu Chongyun and taken hold of the handles, gaining control of the wheelchair.

Brushing the fallen petals from Wu Chongyun’s shoulder, Wei Mingyi asked, “Is Shizun tired?”

Wu Chongyun lowered her eyelids and said flatly, “Tired.”

Hearing this, Wei Mingyi let out a secret sigh of relief.

Just tired. That was good.

“Then let’s go back and rest.”

“Why not continue listening?”

Two voices sounded at the same time.

Wu Chongyun rarely questioned her, and that inquiry instantly made Wei Mingyi’s heart lurch. The word “Uh oh” echoed in her head.

Recalling the previous events, Wei Mingyi realized Wu Chongyun had swatted her with the whisk several times, but she’d only glanced back without truly checking on her. Perhaps she’d been exhausted back then, but in her usual silence, she hadn’t said anything.

And she, the self-proclaimed filial disciple, hadn’t paid enough attention.

“It’s this disciple’s fault,” Wei Mingyi immediately apologized. But after admitting fault, she took the chance to make a small request. “Whatever Shizun wants, you just need to say so directly.”

Wu Chongyun’s gaze was somewhat unfocused. She responded casually, “Mm.”

She said she was tired, but when they got back inside, she didn’t lie down to rest.

After tidying herself up, Wei Mingyi found Wu Chongyun still sitting at the desk, her brow tightly furrowed, her face somewhat pale. Hearing Wei Mingyi’s footsteps, she cast a faint glance but didn’t put away the item in front of her.

This time, Wei Mingyi saw it clearly: that “Zither Rest Decree” was a Daoist scripture. With her current eyesight, she couldn’t judge the quality of the technique. But looking at the unfinished Dao Script… it wasn’t a copy—it was being deduced! Wei Mingyi had no idea what was consumed in deducing techniques, but the deathly white pallor of Wu Chongyun’s face made her heart pound with alarm. Pressing her hand onto the manual, she asked in a deep voice, “Shizun, why aren’t you resting?”

Wu Chongyun didn’t answer, instead countering with a frown: “In such a hurry to hear stories?”

Wei Mingyi: “…I don’t want to hear anymore.” She put away the unfinished manual and pushed Wu Chongyun away from the desk. At the bedside, she reached up and removed her hair crown. White hair spilled down over her shoulders. Wei Mingyi used her fingers as a comb, letting the smooth white strands slide through the gaps. “Shizun shouldn’t do things that are overly taxing for both mind and body,” she admonished softly, simultaneously massaging Wu Chongyun’s shoulders and neck.

Wu Chongyun gave a light hum. When Wei Mingyi’s fingertips first touched her, her body had been somewhat tense. But as the perfect pressure brought soothing relief that spread through her limbs and bones, her body grew soft and pliant again.

Wei Mingyi wasn’t sure if this counted as agreement or not, but she silently noted the matter, planning to keep a closer eye on her in the future.

A quarter hour later, Wei Mingyi lay down beside Wu Chongyun. Most of the time, Wu Chongyun slept with her back to her, only rolling into her arms when she woke.

In a daze, a rustling sound emerged.

Wei Mingyi cracked her eyelids open a sliver.

Somehow, Wu Chongyun had turned around, silently gazing at her with deep, unfathomable eyes.

Moonlight flowed like quicksilver. Her face was serene and luminous, captivating.

“The Four Paragons of Spirit Mountain… I know about them, too.”