Taiyi Mountain, the sacred gateway to the Daoist school, had long been a place where generations of Daoist sages lectured on the Way and spread their teachings. Recognized and bestowed as the ancestral land of the Daoists by the lords of multiple states, Taiyi Mountain accepted no tributes and bowed to no laws—a true paradise beyond the mortal world, an ethereal realm untouched by worldly strife. In short, here the Daoists were utterly unbound, free to act as they pleased, even recklessly so.
When it came to the Daoist school, it was nothing short of a colossal force, rivaling the Confucian, Mohist, Military, or even Guiguzi schools. The only hitch was its management—or lack thereof—which was downright awkward. The world's two dominant schools were Confucianism and Mohism: Confucians boasted disciples scattered across the realm, Mohists claimed an army of a hundred thousand wandering knights, and even the Peasant school numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Yet the ancient Daoists seemed to have played themselves into oblivion. Two hundred years ago, the Dao split into Yin and Yang, birthing the Yin-Yang school from its midst. A century back, internal strife fractured it further into the Celestial and Human sects: the Celestial sect withdrew into secluded cultivation, while the Human sect ventured into the world for trials and tempering. And yet, even divided, each Daoist faction could stand toe-to-toe with any other school.
Zou Yan had divided the Dao into Yin and Yang, delineating the Five Elements. The Yin-Yang school's leader, Eastern Emperor Taiyi, along with Chunan Gong, Moon Goddess, Star Soul, Lord Dongjun, and the five division elders, were all legendary figures in the jianghu.
As for the Celestial sect, it boasted old masters like Beimingzi, whose prowess matched Eastern Emperor Taiyi's, and Chishenzi, whose renown equaled that of the carefree Xiaoyaozi. There were also six great elders, followed by the prodigy Xiaomeng, who at just eight years old had bested them all. But Chishenzi's Daoist title—"Red Pine Nut"—must have been a poor choice; at over eighty, munching on pine nuts all day, it's no wonder he kicked the bucket. The year after losing a bout to Xiaoyaozi, he passed on, and Xiaomeng ascended to lead the Celestial sect.
Yet the Daoist school seemed blessed by heaven, never short on talent. Generation after generation, luminaries arose: Laozi, Liezi, Zhuangzi, then Beimingzi, and now Xiaomeng.
"All these proxy apprenticeships... I think you've got it all wrong. I don't even want to come down the mountain—I should've gone to the Celestial sect. Xiaomeng's always sneaking off to the foot of the mountain; she should be in the Human sect." At the gates of the Daoist Human sect, a six-year-old boy addressed Xiaoyaozi, the middle-aged charmer in flowing white robes, radiating an air of immortal grace.
Just yesterday, at the Daoist school's once-every-five-years Celestial-Human Accord on the Ideological Platform, Xiaoyaozi had lost—again, and again, and again. Wuchenzi didn't even want to rub it in; the man was over forty, dueling a sixty-something elder.
That was embarrassing enough, but this time's Celestial-Human contest was different. Beyond control of the Xueji sword, two apprentices were up for grabs: a delicate three-year-old girl named Xiaomeng, and a six-year-old boy in the awkward "least wanted" age bracket—Wuchenzi himself.
This was a world that valued looks above all. What nonsense about whose temperament suited the Celestial sect better—pfft—it was simply that Xiaomeng was cuter. So she joined the Celestial sect, with Chishenzi taking her as a proxy apprentice. Otherwise, claiming her temperament fit the Celestial way better, her talent surpassing his own? That would've been a slap in the face.
Xiaoyaozi took one look and thought, Damn it, I can't beat you, fine—but this is too much. A three-year-old girl as my junior sister? I'm nearly fifty; that's a direct hit to my pride. Fine then, you said their talents were equal? I won't teach this brat either—proxy apprentice for me too. Let's hurt each other. And so Wuchenzi became a direct disciple of the Daoist school's leadership generation.
But at six years old, he truly lived up to that "least wanted" age. Not even back at the sect gates, and the little rascal was already scheming to defect to the rival Celestial sect. Talk about awkward.
Wuchenzi wasn't some ordinary kid, though. As a twenty-first-century keyboard warrior, how could he not have binged Qin Shi Mingyue? Knowing full well how terrifying this world was, he'd bolted straight for the Daoist school. No choice—survival came first.
Sure, Confucianism was swaggering now, with Fonian, Yanlu, and the big boss Xunzi holding the fort. But anyone versed in history knew Emperor Shi Huangdi would unite the realm and then screw them over. As for the Mohists? Just recall their sorry state in Qin Shi Mingyue, hounded like stray dogs—pass.
The Yin-Yang school? Textbook villains, and villains rarely get happy endings. Plus, he couldn't even find them.
The Peasant school? Eh, too lowbrow—from their getups at debut, you could tell.
So Li Haimo made a beeline for Taiyi Mountain. In this world, a six-year-old wandering alone spelled disaster, but after a thousand hardships and twists of fate, he finally clambered up—only to slip and tumble from the peak, landing on the Guantai Pavilion.
If he had one more shot, Li Haimo would never have dragged that little girl along to Taiyi Mountain. If he'd known she was Xiaomeng, he'd have steered clear of Guantai altogether. Raising a loli sounded way better—trailing the big boss and mooching off soft rice, easy life.
His goal: the Celestial sect. His fate: the Human sect. Word was, the Human sect later colluded with Xiaomeng, leading to their gates being breached and the sect's supreme treasure stolen. With his senior status now, he might end up guarding that treasure someday. The thought of facing off against that powerhouse Xiaomeng? Headache city.
"Quit yapping. You think I wanted to pick you? You were the leftovers, remember?" Xiaoyaozi flicked a knuckle on the boy's forehead. Sure enough, scraps were scraps.
Li Haimo shut up, slinking off to doodle circles in a corner like a sulky kid. Just yesterday, with Taiyi Mountain in sight, he'd tagged along with a group of spectators up the path. Then he spotted a seven-colored deer, trailed by a three-year-old girl. The deer nudged her toward him and vanished into the clouds.
So Li Haimo had no choice but to bring Xiaomeng along. When the gatekeeper demanded an invitation, he fibbed about coming with his family and slipped in. He schemed his way to the grand hall on Taiyi Mountain, but curiosity killed the cat—he and Xiaomeng hid on a hillside to peep at Chishenzi and Xiaoyaozi's duel. Then Xiaomeng slipped and fell. No way out; Li Haimo grabbed her hands. Pathetic—at six, what strength did he have? They tumbled together onto the Guantai Pavilion.
Daoists, whether Celestial or Human, were all about fate. When asked who they were and where their elders were, Li Haimo lied smoothly: raised by a seven-colored deer since infancy, and lately joined by Xiaomeng. Chishenzi examined them on the spot and declared them heaven-chosen, destined to inherit the Celestial and Human sects. This duel decided not just Xueji's keeper, but first pick of the two.
And just like that, Li Haimo was the leftover. Anyone could see Xiaomeng was the real chosen one; he was just the freebie. So they dubbed him Wuchenzi—"Wuchen," meaning nothing at all, hence the name.
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