Chapter Twenty-Five: Suddenly Hearing the Lute on the Water

With his mind withdrawn from the jade slip, Yun Qi kept his eyes closed, quietly absorbing the lingering resonance of the incantation.

After a brief rest, he put the jade slip away and glanced at the massive boulder opposite him.

Forming a seal with his left hand—thumb pressing against middle and ring fingers, index and pinky straight—he drew upon the metallic energy within his body, pointed at the boulder, and commanded aloud, “Split!”

As the incantation fell from his lips, a razor-sharp intent surged forth, striking the surface of the boulder. Instantly, a webwork of cracks appeared, spidering across the stone. The next moment, a gust from the lake swept by, peeling away a layer of stone skin.

Yun Qi took a look; the force had penetrated barely half an inch into the boulder. Still, he was not disappointed—cultivation always progressed from the shallow to the profound, each repetition honing his skill.

Thus he practiced time and again, deepening his mastery of the incantation even as his reserves of magical power dwindled rapidly. Fortunately, this laurel grove was an excellent place for the element of metal, and replenishing his energy was an easy task.

By the second day, a square depression four feet wide and a foot deep had appeared in the boulder, and the fallen fragments had all been ground into dust by Yun Qi’s spells. He estimated that, given another day, he would have space enough to sit cross-legged within. Though it would be faster to simply carve it out with “Autumn Water,” this process of magical refinement and attunement to the element of metal was itself cultivation.

As dusk approached—when the metal energy was at its peak—Yun Qi was seated in meditation, drawing in ambient power, when suddenly a sharp, metallic sound, like the tearing of silk, echoed across the lake.

Yun Qi opened his eyes. His mother’s bell had not stirred at all, which meant the sound came from at least three miles away, yet it fell on his ears as clear as if beside him.

He grabbed his sword, leaving his bundle in the stone hollow, and set out toward the source of the sound by the water’s edge.

Just then, three more piercing notes rang out—each a metallic chime, differing in pitch, almost as if carrying a tune. The sounds struck his ears with a stinging clarity, unlike any noise made by ordinary folk.

The sound seemed to come from the north, but when Yun Qi gazed out over the water, he saw nothing, uncertain of what could produce such a sound.

Curious, Yun Qi reflected that his month since leaving the mountains had been uneventful, devoid of encounters with other cultivators—this was the first time. Unable to restrain his intrigue, he summoned the “Dragon Chariot,” mounting the clouds and heading out over the great lake.

The sound persisted, and Yun Qi felt a growing sense of unease; was it heading straight toward him?

As he drew nearer, human voices became audible.

“I say, young master of the Golden Aspect Sect, I haven’t even killed anyone from your family—why chase me across half the lake?”

Golden Aspect Sect?

Yun Qi knew the full name: Tai Xi Golden Aspect Sect—a great sect upon Lake Poyang, renowned for its focus on metallic cultivation, skilled artisans, famed for seals and musical instruments.

At this thought, Yun Qi suddenly recognized the piercing sound: it was the voice of a pipa!

The Golden Aspect Sect belonged to the orthodox Daoist line—so who was the other speaker?

The sect’s disciple seemed disinclined to respond; only the pipa’s notes grew ever more urgent.

Yun Qi entertained the idea of lending a hand, but uncertain of the two strangers’ cultivation, he—a mere novice—feared dragging the young master down.

With that, Yun Qi lowered the “Dragon Chariot,” spotting a small island nearby and quickly descended.

Hiding amid the grasses and trees, he looked up and soon spotted two tiny figures skimming over the distant lake.

They were indeed heading toward him. The one in front soon resolved into a human form, and Yun Qi was relieved to see the fugitive was a young man, likely not much older than himself—hardly some ancient monster disguised as youth, or a prodigy of legendary talent.

Yet this fellow was remarkably gaunt, dressed in a loose azure robe that billowed in the wind, making him appear even thinner. His lower half was shrouded in a haze of gray mist, which bore him swiftly over the water’s surface—faster than Yun Qi’s own “Dragon Chariot,” though not by much.

His expression, however, was light and untroubled, more like someone out for a stroll than fleeing for his life.

Once Yun Qi had scrutinized the first, the young master of the Golden Aspect Sect drew near.

He stood tall and elegant, clad in a cobalt-blue Daoist robe, a white egret emblazoned on his chest. Underfoot was a white feather, large as a skiff, and in his arms lay a pale apricot pipa. Just his appearance alone would inspire admiration from any onlooker.

The young master was strikingly handsome—refined features, noble bearing, a luminous presence, clear eyes beneath well-shaped brows.

They looked the picture of the villain and the hero from a storybook, though the “villain” wasn’t quite villainous enough—were he wild-haired and bloodstained, the Golden Aspect hero would seem even more heroic by contrast.

Yet the villain’s tongue was certainly sharp. “I say, Golden Aspect, you’ve chased me all this way without a word—are you mute, or a eunuch hiding your shame? Or is it you’re actually a woman, only born with a man’s face? I can smell the perfume on you from upwind—how much scented powder have you used?”

At last, the young master seemed to lose patience. “Evil must be purged; everyone has a duty to strike down the wicked. Scrawny Daoist, you commit crimes on Lake Poyang—do you think you’ll escape justice?”

“Ha!”

The one called Scrawny Daoist laughed, turning his head and raising a red money pouch. “Young master, you’re from the Golden Aspect Sect, I’m from the Dharma Aspect Sect—by rights, we’re kin. I only killed a nobody from some minor sect, nothing to do with you. This lake isn’t yours alone—why meddle in my affairs? Tell you what, let me go today, and I’ll share the spoils with you—look at this heavy pouch. We’re at the lake’s edge; no witnesses…”

“Suppress!”

“Aiyo!”

“Zheng! Zheng! Zheng! Zheng!”

Before he could finish, chaos erupted on the lake.

A sudden incantation cut off the Scrawny Daoist’s rambling. He jerked to a halt midair as if he’d slammed into a wall, crying out in pain. The Golden Aspect young master seized the moment, plucking and flicking his pipa’s strings with a flurry of motion, producing four sharp notes. Whether due to the extraordinary instrument or the young master’s formidable power, four streaks of golden light flickered into existence, like flying daggers, and shot toward the Scrawny Daoist.

Not even the span of a single breath had passed before the Scrawny Daoist broke free. But the golden streaks, born of the pipa’s magical notes, moved with impossible speed. Though the two were still half a mile apart, the gold lights arrived in an instant.

“Ghostfire!”

The Scrawny Daoist spat some curse, still clutching his money pouch in his right hand. His left hand, which had been holding a talisman arrow, twisted to produce a bronze medallion, which he flung into the air.

The medallion swelled with the wind to seven or eight feet across, shielding him perfectly.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

A series of metallic crashes rang out—the golden lights carved deep gouges in the medallion, as if hacked by axe and blade. Had they struck flesh, no limb would have survived intact.

“Seize!”

Amid the sharp clatter, the voice that had triggered the disruption rang out again. The talisman arrow, which had fallen from the Scrawny Daoist’s fingers, suddenly flew off at an angle.

The Scrawny Daoist’s eyes widened, making his already gaunt face appear even more ghastly. He reached out to snatch it back, but was a moment too late—his grasp closed on empty air.

“Ghostfire! Which bastard is meddling now?”