A SILENCE FELL OVER the vastness of Mount Jiao. The blood vines retracted, and the corpses controlled by Zhenlong chess pieces sank back into the earth. The final command Nangong Changying had given to the spirit of the mountain was to die away. Even his descendants were powerless to oppose this order.
Beneath the bright moon and lapped by the crisp breeze, everything was in disorder. After shooting its last arrow, the bow Chuanyun, cut off from Nangong Changying's spiritual energy, dulled and went gray in Nangong Si's hands as the weapon sealed itself.
Nangong Si hadn't moved, letting his blood drip onto the ground. The moment the barrier opened, Ye Wangxi rushed over and knelt beside him. "Don't move—stay right here." Her voice shook. "Let me treat your wounds…"
"Forget it. I'm still alive right now—if I let you treat me, I might end up no better off than the sect founder." Nangong Si coughed feebly and pushed Ye Wangxi away. His black eyes sought out Jiang Xi. "Jiang- zhangmen, if I could trouble you…"
Jiang Xi inclined his head. "Allow me." He was the leader of the medicinal sect Guyueye; no one would object to his intervention. He bent and pressed jade-like fingers to Nangong Si's inner wrist.
The moment he made contact, his pupils contracted. He wordlessly locked eyes with Nangong Si. He could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nangong Si's spiritual core had been shattered past repair. Nangong Si was no different from a commoner. Never again would he wield any magical techniques or channel spiritual energy.
Nangong Si most certainly knew this himself. But Ye Wangxi was right there—he met Jiang Xi's gaze and subtly shook his head.
"How is it? Jiang-zhangmen, how is A-Si doing?"
Jiang Xi silently withdrew his hand. Reaching into his qiankun pouch, he took out a muted red porcelain bottle and handed it to Ye Wangxi. "It's nothing major. None of his injuries are critical. Don't worry, Miss Ye. Take this medicinal powder and apply it to his wounds daily. They'll heal within ten days."
He brought spiritual energy to his fingertips and tapped Nangong Si's acupoints. Finally, he laid his palm over the gash on Nangong Si's shoulder; a moment later, the bleeding stopped. Jiang Xi straightened and addressed the crowd: "We shouldn't stay here too long. Things may change quickly. Let's go up the mountain."
So saying, Jiang Xi turned and strode to the front of the group. But he couldn't escape the conversation between Ye Wangxi and Nangong Si that floated by him.
"He said I'm fine." Nangong Si's voice was low. "I'll be better in a few days—why are you still crying? Ah, why are you always so useless— all right, all right, it's just a minor injury, that's all…"
Jiang Xi closed his eyes. He recalled what Nangong Si had mouthed to him through the barrier, when his life had hung by a thread. Sighing, he led the crowd up the winding jade steps toward the ancestral temple.
There were three more checkpoints between their position and the summit that required the blood of a Nangong descendant for passage. In his current condition, Nangong Si no longer needed to slice his finger open.
Covered as he was in wounds, he dispersed the barriers with a single touch. The group met with no more obstacles as they continued their climb.
At last, Nangong Si smudged a drop of blood onto the eye of a white jade dragon statue. The final massive stone gate sank slowly into the ground, and the grand temple at the top of Mount Jiao revealed itself to the crowd.
The holy temple that rose before them had a breathtaking ethereality.
Passing through the gate, they stood at the edge of a dense forest surrounding its walls. Over the lush flora and sparkling waters, they could see a flight of stairs extending heavenward: fully nine thousand, nine
hundred and ninety-nine steps. The staircase was so long the palatial temple at its top seemed nestled amidst the clouds. Only its shimmering outline could be seen, lustrous in the watery light of the moon, a celestial vision at the blurred boundary between the mortal and the sublime.
The sight of this temple, with its grand design and exquisite craftsmanship, stunned the crowd to silence. But it took only a moment for myriad other emotions—anger, envy, greed, desire—to surge up in their hearts.
Master Ma's response was the most baffling of all. Clapping a hand to his forehead, he wailed, "Mercy me! These stairs are so long, and we're not allowed to ride swords on Mount Jiao. How long will it take us to walk up? It's like another mountain at the top of the mountain!"
A few steps away, Huang Xiaoyue laughed. "No offense, but if I may say—no wonder Nangong Changying-xianzhang didn't feel the need to ascend. If he could build a temple like this, what's the difference between rising to the heavens and staying on earth?"
"The building of Rufeng Sect's temple for sacrificial rites was commenced by the sect's third leader, Nangong Yu," a cold voice interjected. "After two generations of toil, the project was completed by the fifth sect leader, Nangong Xian. This temple has nothing at all to do with Nangong Changying."
Flabbergasted, Huang Xiaoyue turned and was met with Chu Wanning's frosty features. Mo Ran could tell at a glance he had reached the limits of his patience. If one more person were to test him, they might all be treated to a reprisal of the whipping at Butterfly Town.
"Like Huang-daozhang, I mean no offense," Chu Wanning said icily. "But let me offer a word of advice: if you haven't done your reading, it's best to watch what you say."
Huang Xiaoyue cared for very little as much as he cared for his own reputation. Listening to Chu Wanning lambast him in front of the crowd was more than he could bear. He made to shoot back a stammering reply when Jiang Xi cut in: "Huang Xiaoyue, you forget yourself."
Jiang Xi's standing and authority were unimpeachable. Huang
Xiaoyue turned a crusty shade of gray and choked out a dry laugh, feigning indifference. "Jiang-zhangmen, don't take it so seriously. I already said I meant no offense…"
"Am I supposed to excuse your offensiveness because you say you meant none?" Jiang Xi rolled his eyes and shot Huang Xiaoyue a sidelong glare, unwilling to look at him straight on. "And am I supposed to tolerate your stupidity just because you're senile?"
Chu Wanning might have been a zongshi, but when all was said and done, he possessed only martial skill, not political power. Jiang Xi, however, was a different beast; his Guyueye had the cultivation realm at its beck and call. Huang Xiaoyue broke into a cold sweat and didn't dare talk back.
With a cool sweep of his sleeves, Jiang Xi strode into the forest, the rest of the sect leaders at his heels. Of those who glanced at Huang Xiaoyue as they passed, some were disdainful and some sympathetic; others ignored him completely. The abbot of Wubei Temple sighed out an "Amitabha." If the circumstances weren't so dire, Mo Ran would've burst out laughing.
A few steps into the woods, Nangong Si hummed in surprise. "What is it?" asked Jiang Xi.
"Tangerine trees…" Nangong Si cast his gaze around, taking in the trees on all sides laden with crisp white blossoms. "Why are there tangerine trees here? These all used to be spiritual longnü trees."
"Look!" A sharp-eyed young cultivator pointed toward the mouth of the stream running through the forest. "There's someone there!"
The crowd craned their necks; a man sat beneath a flourishing tangerine tree on the banks of the burbling brook, his back turned to them. His head was lowered as he examined something in his hands.
"Is that a human or a ghost?" Xue Zhengyong asked with a frown. "I'll take a look," Mo Ran replied. Using qinggong, he cleared the gap in a leap, landing silently in the trees nearby and creeping closer until he could see the man from the side. As soon as he got a clear look at the man's face, he stopped cold.
It was Nangong Si's father, the last leader of Rufeng Sect: Nangong Liu.
How could this be? Last anyone knew, Xu Shuanglin had fed Nangong Liu a lingchi fruit. He ought to have been subjected to three hundred and sixty-five days of torture before suffering a miserable death. What was he doing here beside a mountain stream, apparently hale and hearty—in good spirits even—washing a basket of tangerines?
Silvery moonlight glanced off rippling water and illuminated Nangong Liu's features. He had a faraway look as he drained water from the washed tangerines, which he placed in a basket, singing softly all the while. "Best are the years you come of age, seeing the world's flowers astride a fast horse."
His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, his arms unmarred as he reached into the clear stream. They bore no sign of the gory latticework the lingchi fruit should have left behind.
A furrow appeared between Mo Ran's brows. Something was clearly off about Nangong Liu—he'd been made into a Zhenlong chess pawn, but was unlike the corpses that had crawled from their graves. Nangong Liu seemed to retain much of his own awareness, moving about like a living person.
Mo Ran sped back to the others.
"Well?" Xue Zhengyong asked anxiously. "What did you see?" Mo Ran shot a glance at Nangong Si and lowered his voice. "It's Nangong Liu."
A good number of those present held deep grudges against the former sect leader. One immediately drew his sword and cried, "That bastard! I'll kill him!"
Nangong Si hung his head in silence, his face ashen. "Something strange is going on," said Mo Ran. "Nangong Liu's obviously been made into a pawn, but he bears no traces of the lingchi fruit.
It's best to leave him be."
After a moment's consideration, Chu Wanning asked, "Is it possible to nullify the lingchi fruit's effects?"
Guyueye was best poised to address such a question. "It is," answered Hanlin the Sage. "But it's far from straightforward. Why would Xu Shuanglin feed him a lingchi fruit only to go to such great lengths to reverse its curse? It makes no sense."
"Regardless," Jiang Xi added, "if Nangong Liu is here, then Xu Shuanglin is likely in the ancestral temple. We haven't wasted the trip."
Spying movement in the corner of his vision, Jiang Xi turned, and the crowd followed his gaze. They watched as the former leader of Rufeng Sect emerged from the trees with a basket full of tangerines on his back. He tapped a roughhewn staff against the ground as he walked, taking quick, light steps. The bright smile on his face became more apparent the closer he drew.
Nangong Si had told himself he wouldn't look, but how could he resist? His lashes began to quiver like windblown willow fluff with a single glance at his father. He couldn't say what he felt—hatred or heartache, or something else entirely. He didn't know. He wanted to look away, but that figure was like a barbed fishhook snagging his gaze.
A shout rose up from the crowd; someone could no longer hold back. "Nangong Liu! Today, you'll pay your debts with blood!" An arrow flew from the bow in their hand, streaking toward the back of Nangong Liu's head.
No one had time to intervene—but the archer's skill was fortunately lacking. The whistling arrow struck the basket Nangong Liu carried on his shoulders, embedding itself in several plump tangerines.
Many cursed silently. The downside of traveling in such a large party was that there would inevitably be some idiots in the mix. It was too late now to fuss over which imbecile had loosed this wayward arrow. More pressingly, Nangong Liu had slowly turned his head and taken notice of the crowd. Upon seeing the sheer number of people assembled in the forest, Nangong Liu froze. He began walking toward them, his face still plastered with a dreamy expression.
Several cultivators drew gleaming swords several inches out of their scabbards, eyes fixed on Nangong Liu's every move. Under the weight of a thousand oppressive stares, a sense of foreboding took hold of Nangong Liu at last. His feet stuttered to a halt beneath the swaying shadows of the trees. "Ladies and gentlemen…"
As soon as Nangong Liu broke the silence, dozens were impelled to step out from the crowd. A few drew their swords fully.
Suddenly Nangong Liu's face split into a grin. It was a familiar sight to the sect leaders at the front of the group: the same warm, simpering expression he had always shown outsiders. The Taxue Palace leader started in astonishment. "This…"
The sect leaders looked at one another, unsettled by this pawn's bizarre behavior. As they hesitated, Nangong Liu rolled down and smoothed out his sleeves. Then he fell to both knees and prostrated before the crowd of thousands, diligently pressing his forehead to the ground. "Aiya, this servant Nangong Liu forgets his manners! Esteemed sirs and madams, you have come from afar—welcome to our humble abode, welcome!"
Half the tangerines fell from his basket and rolled onto the ground around him. When he eventually raised his head and saw the spilled fruit, he shrugged the basket off his shoulders and gathered them up without a hint of embarrassment. Beneath countless confounded gazes, he filled the basket once more and rubbed his palms together, grinning. "Honored guests, do you wish to see His Majesty?"
His Majesty? Goosebumps rose over Mo Ran's skin. He had answered to "Your Majesty" for nearly a decade; hearing it now, he reflexively thought Nangong Liu referred to him.
The sect leaders exchanged another glance, utterly dumbfounded.
Xue Zhengyong huffed out an incredulous laugh. But no one could muster a word at that moment.
Met with their silence, Nangong Liu scratched his head, perplexed. He ventured again, more tentatively this time: "Heh, honored guests…do you wish to see His Majesty?"
Jiang Xi's mouth twitched, but remained closed.
Nangong Liu seemed to deflate somewhat, but he tried one more time. "Honored guests, do you wish to see His Majesty?"
Silence.
"Honored guests—"
Mo Ran cut in evenly. "Who is His Majesty?"
"His Majesty is His Majesty, naturally!" Nangong Liu was delighted to receive a response at last. "If you want to see His Majesty, walk right this way. He's very busy though—he may not have time to receive you. He has lots of extremely important business to attend to."
Despite the tense atmosphere, Xue Zhengyong finally lost it and burst out laughing in earnest. "Extremely important business? Ha ha, what kind of important business? Managing a mountain of corpses, playing chess against himself, puppeteering a bunch of marionettes? That's what you call extremely important business? Ha ha ha ha, Xu Shuanglin is quite the character."
Mo Ran's forehead creased with worry. "So he's in the temple now, and even though he's very busy, we can try to see him?"
"That's right," Nangong Liu said. "Of course you can try to see him.
If his door is closed, just wait in the city; he'll come out when he's done. Enough, enough—I have to go up too. We're out of tangerines, so I have to bring more. Otherwise His Majesty will be cross."
Without waiting for a reply, he strode off toward the temple, leaving the cultivators looking at each other in confusion.
"What should we do?" "Do we go up?" "Could it be a trap…?"
But Mo Ran had already flitted ahead on his own. His swift footwork quickly left Nangong Liu's fruit-laden figure and the rest of the crowd far behind.
At last, panting for breath, he reached the temple gates. He had been solely focused on his ascent; not until he looked up did he realize the full scale of this palatial hall. Its pair of doors was staggeringly tall, carved with expansive reliefs, their subjects spanning from the underworld to the heavens. On the lefthand door a soaring dragon swallowed the sun; on the right a magnificent phoenix spit out the moon. The two celestial bodies gleamed brightly, their radiance interweaving across the doors. The grooves between the majestic dragon's scales were filled with pure gold, the tip of
the phoenix's arcing tail inlaid with pearls and gemstones. From the temple's uppermost rafters hung thousands of intricate multitiered whale-oil lamps cast of bronze. Their undying flames dappled the towering gates in the rich light of luxury.
Mo Ran braced himself to push open the heavy doors. But at the lightest touch of his fingers, they swung ponderously inward with a sound like distant thunder, the dragon and phoenix parting to admit him without any of the difficulty he'd expected.
The instant the front hall came into view, Mo Ran froze where he stood. What kind of bizarre spectacle was this?