Chapter 925: The Old Youths Leave the Mountain
Tang Thirty-Six’s gaze flickered between the two of them as he asked, “Why can you discuss something so serious—even terrifying—with such calm?”
Chen Changsheng said, “Back at the National Academy, I told you I’ve been ill since childhood and wouldn’t live past twenty.”
Tang Thirty-Six certainly hadn’t forgotten that.
At the time, the National Academy had been shrouded in gloom.
Every word Chen Changsheng spoke had sounded like a final testament to them.
Zhe Xiu said, “I’ve had this illness since childhood too.”
Indeed, in a certain sense, Chen Changsheng and Zhe Xiu shared a strikingly similar tragic fate.
They had known from the moment they entered this world that they wouldn’t be staying long.
The phrase “living toward death” could not have been more apt.
In those bygone years, they must have felt low, disappointed, even despairing, staring day and night at the shadow of death until numbness finally set in, and with it, calm.
Even now, they were still very young, yet their attitude toward death was far more detached than that of most elderly people in the world.
It was admirable, even moving, but also somewhat sorrowful.
Hu Thirty-Two sighed.
Ye Xiaolian, who had remained silent all along, turned away and wiped her eyes.
Silence fell on the cliffside, the atmosphere heavy.
Tang Thirty-Six felt an odd sense of awkwardness, inexplicably apologetic, and mumbled, “Should I have been sick since childhood too?”
Zhe Xiu said flatly, “You’re already sick.”
Tang Thirty-Six’s eyes went wide. “What sickness?”
Chen Changsheng said, “The rich man’s sickness?”
Seeing that they still had the humor to tease him, Tang Thirty-Six relaxed a little, realizing the situation wasn’t as dire as he’d imagined. He patted Zhe Xiu on the shoulder and said, “Then let’s go. Whether it’s a dragon’s den or a tiger’s lair, or even a formation of ten thousand swords, I’ll go with you today and help fulfill your dying wish.”
He was, of course, referring to the mist-shrouded peak ahead.
Zhe Xiu said, “I might not necessarily die, so it can’t be called a dying wish.”
Chen Changsheng said, “That’s right. I’ve already lived to twenty.”
Tang Thirty-Six asked, “Then why are we going to Li Mountain?”
Chen Changsheng replied, “Because Li Mountain is right there.”
(There’s a line from *Interstellar*—Why fight? Because the enemy is right there! It comes from a mountaineering saying. It’s cheesy, but I find it especially endearing. I know using it here is particularly cheap and deserves a slap, but I couldn’t resist. Everyone, just close your eyes and bear with it.)
Why go to Li Mountain?
Because Qi Jian was at Li Mountain, and Zhe Xiu wanted to see her. It was that simple.
Besides, Li Mountain was very close to Holy Maiden Peak; it wouldn’t take long to get there.
For Chen Changsheng, beyond fulfilling Zhe Xiu’s wish, a more important reason for this trip was that he had once read a sword treatise in the Dao Canon mentioning a technique from the Li Mountain Sword Sect that might help stabilize Zhe Xiu’s condition temporarily. He just didn’t know if anyone at Li Mountain had ever cultivated it.
The iron chains in the mist flickered in and out of view, swaying in the wind, looking extremely perilous. But for Chen Changsheng and his group, it was no great difficulty.
Before long, they had crossed the bottomless mountain stream and arrived at the peak opposite.
Led by Ye Xiaolian, they traversed the steep stone paths between the cliffs, heading toward the northern peaks.
After walking for some time and rounding several green mountains, they finally caught sight of Li Mountain’s main peak in the distance.
The main peak was split in two by layers of clouds. Below, dense vegetation grew; above the clouds, the peak was entirely rock, like a towering stone pillar that gleamed dazzlingly in the sunlight. From afar, it looked like a giant sword poised to stab the sky.
As they gazed at this stone peak, Chen Changsheng and the others felt a sharp sword intent rushing toward them.
They even had the sensation that the light refracted from the peak could at any moment transform into sword energy sweeping across heaven and earth.
The closer they got to Li Mountain’s main peak, the clearer this feeling became. Yet they never saw any flying swords come to challenge them, only occasional flashes of sword light deep within the mist—through Ye Xiaolian’s explanations, they learned this was likely disciples from the various peaks diligently practicing their swordsmanship.
Chen Changsheng’s talent in the sword was extraordinary, and his study of Li Mountain’s sword techniques was especially deep. From the traces of those sword lights alone, he could discern what sword techniques the disciples in the mist were practicing, what path of the sword they were cultivating, and how far their mastery had progressed. He was deeply impressed.
Zhe Xiu and Tang Thirty-Six’s impressions of those sword lights were more intuitive. They found the lights dazzling, the sword intent sharp, yet utterly righteous and upright, giving a sense of dignified openness, brimming with youthful vigor and vibrant life force.
Even though there had been many incidents with the Li Mountain Sword Sect in recent years, and Tang Thirty-Six had never liked them, he had to admit it reminded him of the National Academy.
His beloved National Academy.
Zhe Xiu and Chen Changsheng felt the same, even thinking that if they hadn’t entered the National Academy back then, coming to cultivate at Li Mountain might have been an excellent choice.
Following the stone path diagonally upward, the terrain grew higher, the mountain forests colder, the leaves sparser, and the mountain winds fiercer. The mist thinned considerably, gradually revealing the scenery between the peaks.
On countless cliffside platforms, sword lights crisscrossed everywhere. In some quiet cave dwellings, disciples sat cross-legged, contemplating the sword.
Ye Xiaolian explained that those cave dwellings were often the residences of Li Mountain’s elders. The building with red maples was the Punishment Hall, the cluster of stone houses higher up was the Sword Hall, and the dozens of white courtyards amid the cliff platforms were the disciples’ quarters. As for ahead…
“What’s this stone?”
Tang Thirty-Six pointed to a square stone by the path that looked as if it had been washed by water for millennia, polished to an incredible smoothness.
The stone’s shape was unremarkable, but it faintly emitted a certain sword breath, clearly no ordinary object.
Ye Xiaolian said, “Legend has it that the founder of Li Mountain sharpened his sword on this stone for three hundred years before comprehending the ultimate way of the sword. They say this is that whetstone.”
Tang Thirty-Six said, “If the legend is true, that’s quite a treasure. I wonder how many spirit stones it could fetch at auction in Snow Old City.”
Ye Xiaolian said irritably, “What you need to consider isn’t how much money you’d get, but how many days you’d survive under the full pursuit of the Li Mountain Sword Sect.”
Tang Thirty-Six shrugged nonchalantly. “Just a joke. No need to be so serious.”
With that, he started to walk forward, but Ye Xiaolian stopped him.
“This stone is now called the Sword-Doffing Stone. Any cultivator entering Li Mountain’s main peak must remove their sword here as a sign of respect.”
Ye Xiaolian said, “If you just walk past it like that, don’t blame me for not warning you when trouble comes.”
“How arrogant.”
Tang Thirty-Six had never liked the Li Mountain Sword Sect, and he was usually the most arrogant one himself. “So what if I don’t doff my sword? What can they do?”
Ye Xiaolian knew his temper and didn’t provoke him further. “You don’t have to doff your sword, but you need to wait for a Li Mountain disciple from the peak to come and receive you.”
Tang Thirty-Six found it all terribly troublesome and didn’t believe anything would really happen, so he simply walked straight past.
Seeing this, Chen Changsheng shook his head.
Just as Tang Thirty-Six passed the Sword-Doffing Stone, a sword breath—not sharp but extraordinarily mellow—emerged from the stone.
A light mark like a water ripple flowed across the sheath of the Wenshui Sword, and it hummed softly, as if responding or explaining.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—the sound of tearing air filled the peaks densely. Dozens of white lines appeared in the mist.
Dozens of swords arrived at the scene, hovering silently in the air, their sharp tips aimed at Chen Changsheng and the others.