“Aunt, you don’t understand martial arts?”
Li Guanyi wanted to retort.
However, he now understood cultivation better and said, “Aunt, are you referring to the fact that you are not a crude martial man?”
“Is cultivation a different path?”
Murong Qiushui blinked, rubbing the boy's head with her palm, and said, “Don’t interrupt, Little Fox, sit still.”
“You’re gradually growing up; in this manner, your brows and eyes resemble your father a bit.”
“But overall, you look much better than your father, more like your mother.”
Li Guanyi rarely heard Murong Qiushui mention his parents and asked, “Does that mean my father isn’t good-looking at all?”
Murong Qiushui frowned slightly and laughed, “I can’t say he’s not good-looking. For men, it’s about heroism. Not to mention, when your father was out fighting in wars, he wore a mask. Ninety-nine percent of the people in the capital wouldn’t recognize him, and those who did wished for your disappearance.”
Li Guanyi pondered this question and asked, “What about changing one’s appearance?”
Murong Qiushui replied, “But there are many ways to recognize someone in this world. Even if turned to ash, one can still identify the true self or a substitute.”
“Perhaps in chaotic times, the killings among people and the games among kings are too numerous.”
“The techniques for discerning whether someone is the true body have developed faster than in the previous peaceful era by a thousand years.”
“Some call this observing qi, others call it fate. In reality, it relates to the divine. Different people may have changing and concealed auras, their bodies can shrink and change appearance, but only the divine is difficult to alter. Like many legends say, the soul is the divine.”
A ripple flashed in Li Guanyi's eyes, “Really, it doesn’t change?”
He thought of himself.
Murong Qiushui smiled and said, “Of course. When I first saw you, you were just a wrinkled little thing, not cute at all. Your divine was curled up, like a flower bud. When we were being chased back then, perhaps it stimulated you, and your divine finally unfurled.”
“And then you suddenly became sensible.”
She said softly, “Books say that these calamities can temper a person; it’s truly not false.”
Murong Qiushui didn’t continue but sometimes felt that she would rather the boy before her be a bit duller, a bit more willful, living peacefully for a hundred years, than to have experienced these ten years of fleeing. However, she would never say such words in front of her Little Fox.
In front of Little Fox, she would always be lazy and bright, never showing a hint of sadness.
Li Guanyi sensed the undertone and deliberately said, “Such a rare method, where can one find it?”
The young man sighed, “There’s no way; what can I do?”
Then he saw his aunt’s brows raise, and Murong Qiushui smiled, saying, “So, Aunt just happens to know a method that can conceal the divine.”
The young man exaggeratedly responded, “Is it really that coincidental?”
Murong Qiushui was amused, laughing so hard she bent over, reaching out to pinch the boy's cheeks, then rubbed them while complaining, “Alright, I know you’re clever, but don’t give me that expression like you’re in a puppet show.”
“It’s actually just a small trick.”
“The divine is hard to conceal, but it can be disguised.”
Li Guanyi looked at Murong Qiushui, puzzled, “How can the divine be disguised?”
Murong Qiushui, with a smile, casually said, “This is just a method that many people know.”
“It’s a technique of playing the guqin.”
Li Guanyi was suspicious, “Everyone knows?”
Murong Qiushui widened her eyes and said, “Of course, would Aunt lie to Little Fox?”
Li Guanyi snorted for a long time, unsure how to respond. How could he mention that he knew it? He couldn’t bring himself to say it because once he did, this beautiful woman before him might suddenly lower her head, tears in her eyes, as if she had encountered some unimaginable harm. And once Li Guanyi admitted defeat, she would immediately laugh.
It really felt like the winds of Jiangnan.
Sometimes it drizzled, sometimes it was gentle.
Murong Qiushui took out a guqin and began to play, saying, “The guqin is the sound of the heart.”
“It can express the sounds of battle at the border, the elegance of the desert, the spring breeze of Jiangnan, and the desolation of the Central Plains.”
“Did I really go to these places? Those majestic sounds of battle, those fierce heroes, am I an old general or a free-spirited hero? If I am, who am I? If I am not them, then why can I convey all this through the sound of the guqin?”
“None of it; it’s just my heart fabricating all this, which then falls onto the guqin’s strings.”
“Little Fox, do you still remember what Aunt said?”
As Li Guanyi listened to his aunt play the guqin, it was as if he saw Jiangnan and the northern borders, heard the long winds, and because of Aunt’s guqin sound, he forever felt he was just an uninitiated disciple. He sat quietly, back straight, and softly replied:
“Sound like the heavens, pressing sound like a person, scattering sound like the earth.”
Murong Qiushui pressed her hands on the guqin strings and replied, “This phrase needs to be broken down.”
“It is heaven, earth, and man; it is the three talents, the myriad phenomena.”
“Little Fox, in this phrase, it is for internal cultivation, just for playing the guqin. If you want to use it to deceive others, you must reverse it. This is the difference between practice and application; one is for the inner, the other for the outer.”
“Look—”
Murong Qiushui’s fingers fell on the guqin strings, smiling gently. As she played, Li Guanyi’s eyes widened. He felt his hair slightly rise, and the surrounding environment suddenly changed. He seemed to arrive in Jiangnan, seeing the willow-lined banks in spring.
It was as if he had come to the mountains and forests of the Central Plains, sitting at the highest peak of the world, watching the sea of clouds swirl.
It was as if he had arrived in the northern borders, witnessing the clash of swords, seeing the heavy cavalry reunite, with Jiangnan women singing softly on the left and swift horses galloping across the horizon on the right. The ambitions of men, the tenderness of women, the clash of swords, and the myriad emotions of the world surged like rivers.
He seemed to see this world.
Lost in a daze.
Finally, the sound of the guqin ended, and Li Guanyi took a long time to come back to his senses.
Until something poked his cheek, he regained his awareness.
He looked up to see Murong Qiushui squatting in front of him, her fingers pointing at his brow’s spiritual platform, softly saying:
“The guqin is the sound of the heart; the next line is, ‘The heart transforms the divine.’”
“Sound like the heavens, pressing sound like a person, scattering sound like the earth.”
“Thus, it can ‘depict the emotions of humanity and reach the principles of the universe.’”
“Thus, the myriad forms in my heart fall upon the guqin strings.”
Murong Qiushui stood up, placing her hands in front of her, her hair slightly lifted by the wind, smiling:
“Thus, it is heaven and earth, all things and phenomena.”
……
When Li Guanyi was stopped, the Old Man of Fate swiftly returned to his residence. He picked up a brush and wrote letter after letter, briefly describing the events that had occurred here. Then, he blew on the letters, and they seemed to come alive, fluttering like butterflies, flying into the sky.
The letters flew away on the flowing wind, faster than a soaring eagle.
The yin and yang energies closed, invisible to the naked eye.
Those who could see through the Old Man of Fate’s methods would not lower themselves to retrieve the letters.
The Old Man of Fate sighed, saying, “With the seal of a king, it can refine one’s body.”
“Golden skin and jade bones, dragon tendons and tiger marrow.”
“It requires exceedingly harsh conditions, often difficult to gather.”
“But coincidentally, this place will become the vortex of the world. In this capital, there are truly enough old men with the ability to calculate perfect formations, enough Confucian scholars who can conceal their breakthroughs with their auras, and enough Moists who understand body refinement, and they all want to meet him.”
“My old friend, I can’t understand anymore.”
The old man closed his eyes, the Mystic Turtle raised its head.
The Old Man of Fate pointed to the sky and said:
“Is it that his luck is exceptionally good, that the destiny of the White Tiger has swept through this situation?”
“Or are we all transforming into this situation?”
“Only then could it be possible to shape the White Tiger Sect that cultivates both internally and externally?”
The long-lived Mystic Turtle shook its head slowly and said:
“You’ve seen much; who can say for sure?”
“Before things happen, everything is possible; the world is vast and can be explored. But looking back later, it seems there’s only one choice. In fact, it’s not one choice, but merely looking back at what has already happened, which can no longer be changed.”
The Old Man of Fate sent out all the letters. He looked at the seal, thought for a moment, and tucked it into his clothes, wandering out. The old man turned around and went to the tavern, ordering strong liquor. This time, he didn’t dilute it, as if he had forgotten that he had previously drunk and vomited uncontrollably.
Strong liquor, two cups.
The Fat Shopkeeper, curious, wiped his hands with a cloth and smiled, “Old man, our liquor is a bit strong; how about you drink something ordinary today? I’ll send you a plate of peanuts.”
He was worried that the old man had encountered some trouble.
The old man laughed heartily, “No problem, today I want to meet an old friend.”
“It’s been many years since we last met; we should have a good drink.”
“Don’t worry, just one cup.”
Seeing the old man say this, the Fat Shopkeeper agreed, smiling, “Alright then.”
“Meeting an old friend is indeed a good thing.”
The Old Man of Fate held up a cup of liquor, sniffed it, and grinned, saying it was good liquor. In fact, it was strong liquor made from sweet potatoes, not fragrant, just a harsh burn down the throat. Those with a bit of spare change wouldn’t like such liquor. The Old Man of Fate rummaged in his clothes and took out the seal.
The old man examined the seal and suddenly smiled.
He placed the seal in front of him and then set the filled cup of strong liquor before the seal.
After a long while, he softly said:
“Ah Chai, after all these twists and turns, it’s been three hundred years; your seal has returned to my hands.”
“My friend, your ambitions, that long dream, have come to an end.”
He raised his cup, his face no longer carefree and wild as before.
Ah Chai.
That was a runaway slave who had been beaten severely and encountered a street-smart young conman. At that time, the young slave stared at him like a wolf, while the boy, who could only con with his mouth, was beaten black and blue, and in the end, stole a steamed bun.
At that time, the young Old Man of Fate didn’t know what he was thinking; he tore the bun in half and gave it to that boy.
It was like taming a wolf; in fact, they became the best of friends.
They traveled through much of the world together, but in the end, that dark-skinned boy returned. He raised the banner of rebellion beneath the mines, sweeping through the Western Regions as a servant, unifying the once thirty-six tribes.
Now, only the remnants of the Dangxiang and Tiele remained of the thirty-six nations.
The Old Man of Fate tilted his neck and drank.
The liquor was indeed strong; after just one sip, he was drunk, slumping over the table.
The winds of Jiangnan blew against his face, as if he had returned to his youth, to the days of stealing sweet potatoes with that emaciated boy from the Western Regions.
The youthful winds finally returned to him. He was drunk but seemed to awaken in memory.
It was as if he could still see that dark-skinned boy from three hundred years ago lying on a haystack, whip marks bleeding on his buttocks and back, pointing at the stars, gritting his teeth:
“I will return to the Western Regions. One day, I will become the greatest king, establishing a nation with my name. By then, you must come too, brother; I’ll treat you to sweet potatoes, we’ll eat one and throw one!”
“No one dares to whip me again!”
“Nor would they dare to whip you!”
“Whoever hits you, I’ll hit them!”
He tossed the stolen liquor to the nearby fourteen-year-old conman.
That boy, who relied on his mouth to con the world, wiped his mouth, and three hundred years later, he was still alive.
The Old Man of Fate, drunkenly raising his cup, seemed to see that boy lifting a cracked bowl filled with liquor, raising it towards him, grinning and revealing a missing tooth, saying, “What’s wrong? Didn’t you want to drink?”
“Hehe, the stuff we stole is really fragrant. I’ve never seen this in my hometown; it’s all for the big shots to drink, spicy enough to cut the throat.”
“Hey, Ah Feng, do heroes like this?”
“Drinking this, can we become heroes?”
The Old Man of Fate laughed heartily.
He raised his cup to his friend in memory.
Then he fell into a stupor, his eyes golden seal just like when the old man forged it himself.
The leaders of the thirty-five tribes were beheaded, blood falling into the furnace, and the flames seemed blood-colored.
The one conducting the forging was him.
His friend was named Ah Chai, like a wolf on the grasslands, despicable and shameless, looked down upon by others, driven away by lions, yet somehow managed to survive. His name was Ah Chai, and he had his true name, which was quite difficult to pronounce.
It was called Tuyuhun.
The greatest hero of the Western Regions in a thousand years.
The Fat Shopkeeper brought out the peanuts, watching the old man slumped over the table, already drunk, his white hair dancing in the wind. The Fat Shopkeeper placed the perfectly roasted peanuts on the table for the old man and closed the door to prevent the wind from blowing him. He wondered, “Strange.”
“Didn’t this old man say he was going to drink with a friend?”
“Where is his friend?”
The old man closed his eyes, sleeping, drunkenly murmuring: “The ambitions of kings in laughter.”
“Life is but a fleeting moment, a drunken affair.”
The young man in his dreams turned back, his eyes bright.
What a pity.
The heroes from three hundred years ago, who raised their swords against injustice for the common people, tearing apart the world.
Only he remained alive.
……
Li Guanyi took a long time to come back to his senses. He looked at his aunt and said, “This is…”
Murong Qiushui smiled and said, “Just a small trick. What you learned before was the basics, considered the first part; this is the second to the fifth parts.”
Li Guanyi asked, “How many parts in total?”
Murong Qiushui blinked.
Smiling calmly:
“Previously, there were twelve parts.”
“In these years, I’ve pondered a bit.”
“Now, it’s fifteen parts.”
(End of this chapter)