Chapter 80: The Qilin Gazes Toward the Emperor’s Homeland

Zhou Qingyun hesitated a little, but in the end still accepted the jade slip.

Master Canxia smiled and said, “Off you go then. As the sages say, ‘Among any three people, there must be one who can be my teacher.’ Sanqing Mountain truly deserves its reputation as a great sect, its foundation even deeper than Emei, and with a heart set on aiding the world. Any two disciples from its ranks are extraordinary in their own right; follow them well, and you’ll learn much.”

Zhou Qingyun responded affirmatively.

So the three did not dare linger further. They took leave of Master Canxia and continued their circuit around the mountain, observing the flow of energies.

“Friend Qingyun, are you versed in reading the energies?” one asked.

Zhou Qingyun blushed and shook her head. “I haven’t learned such skills yet, senior. And please, just call me Qingyun.”

Jianxian nodded slightly and then fell silent.

Cheng Xinzhan focused even more intently on surveying the land’s geomancy, his observations now all the more meticulous. He paid no more heed to the scenery, determined not to repeat past errors.

With a newcomer among them, the master and disciple refrained from discussing the arts of thunder, and the addition of another person made the atmosphere even more subdued.

Zhou Qingyun could not tell whether these two were always so reticent, or if her earlier words and actions had made them unwilling to speak. For a time, she felt a little stifled.

Yet she was not one to be discouraged. She kept Master Canxia’s exhortations close in her heart, watching carefully as the two leapt among the rocks, sometimes listening to the wind, sometimes sniffing the earth, and at times riding clouds to survey the land from above. She felt she learned much just from observing.

Occasionally, she would speak up, calling out warnings—identifying the residence of some household ahead where they should not ride the clouds too high, or warning of old poisonous miasmas they should avoid. Sometimes she would stop them, pointing out a particular spring, saying it was excellent sweet water and inviting them to taste.

After half a day of this, Jianxian and Cheng Xinzhan found it hard to remain silent.

Jianxian, unwilling to converse, signaled to Cheng Xinzhan.

Understanding, Cheng Xinzhan, upon reaching a certain spot, pointed toward the mountains beyond a long ridge and said to Zhou Qingyun,

“Look at that long ridge behind us. The mountain rises high above, then gradually descends, undulating all the while. At the lower spots, you’ll see flanking hills on either side, and streams collecting to form rivers that flow out into the plain. This is what is called a dragon formation.

What we see here is the lesser ancestral dragon; above, the taller one is the ancestral dragon, and below is the entering dragon. Look there—where the two hills flank the stream’s confluence, that’s the dragon’s cave, the ideal place for burial.

The river below is the water vein, but also the continuation of this mountain line. If anything goes wrong along this line, it will show in the ancestral mountain and the dragon’s cave. We need only observe these spots. Now that the ancestral mountain is close, let us go and see.”

Cheng Xinzhan picked out the most basic and universally acknowledged mountain forms from the study of fengshui, sharing them with Zhou Qingyun. This did not count as giving away any secrets, for the myriad miraculous mountains and rare caves recorded in the “Scripture of Qingfu’s Metamorphosis” he would naturally not mention, nor were they likely to encounter such.

Zhou Qingyun did not fully understand, but knowing Cheng Xinzhan was teaching her, she listened with extra attention.

Daoist Jianxian, listening, was secretly astonished. Judging by his grasp of forms and formations alone, Xinzhan had already surpassed him! Though he himself only practiced geomancy as a side study and wasn’t deeply versed in it—certainly not to the level of Mingzhi Mountain’s tradition—Xinzhan was still so young, surely hadn’t read as many books as he. Yet his understanding of the mountain’s pulse and his eye for terrain were already far beyond his own!

Take the dragon formation just now—if he had stood at the lower spot of the entering dragon, he would have seen it, but from their current vantage high on one side, with a ridge in between, he had not perceived it at all!

Cheng Xinzhan himself felt that he had gained much from this journey. The terrain of Mount Huang was ever-changing, with strange rocks and springs scattered everywhere, transforming the original mountain lines into entirely new shapes and creating endless variety.

He felt that what he had understood from books before was only four or five parts out of ten; now, seeing the mountains with his own eyes, he grasped six or seven parts. The remaining three or four, by referencing text with reality, he could at least dimly surmise.

Thus, they circled most of Mount Huang, and by the third day, finally made a discovery.

Cheng Xinzhan stared intently at a certain range, then looked toward a dense forest.

“Something isn’t right,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Jianxian.

“That area shouldn’t have a forest, much less such a dense one.”

Jianxian could not see why.

“Look at the mountain—it’s in the form of a qilin. But atop the qilin’s brow stands an extra peak, forming a three-horned qilin. Yellow mist crowns its head, seas of clouds behind—it’s the configuration of an extraordinary unicorn being enfeoffed, a most auspicious omen. The unicorn bows its head, but as a celestial beast, it normally would not bow. If it does, it should meet the moon—meaning water. But there’s no lake there, only a dense forest. That’s not right.”

Jianxian had never heard of such a formation. “Let’s go take a look,” he said.

The three of them flew toward the forest. Upon entering, they felt a chill. Deep within, they found a small pond, scarcely a fathom across, with water turning black.

Cheng Xinzhan surveyed the area. The ground around the pond was all soggy mud, overgrown with shrubs.

“This was once a lake, fed by an underground spring, but it’s dried up into a mere pool. The water’s become stagnant, nourishing these shade-loving trees. This moon lake was the node of the mountain’s energy. When the lake dries up, the yellow mist and cloud seas will dissipate, the rocks will crack, and the qilin will die. By the look of things, it won’t be ten years before that happens.”

“Can you trace the source?” Jianxian asked.

Cheng Xinzhan examined the mountain carefully. The qilin faced north; he gathered some earth from the northern slope and sniffed it.

“The moon lake was once fed by living water from underground, the subterranean river being an extension of this energy line. Now, the soil below reeks of rot. But following this direction, we should find clues. Farther ahead, the underground river surfaces, connecting with the mountains above—a clear thread to follow.”

“Can you tell the cause?” Jianxian pressed.

Cheng Xinzhan shook his head this time. “I can’t say. The earth vein downstream has surely suffered, but whether it’s a natural disaster or man-made, I do not know.”

“Alright, let’s finish our circuit. If nothing else is as urgent or revealing, we’ll return here,” Jianxian said.

Zhou Qingyun agreed.

Over the next day and a half, they completed their survey but found nothing to compare with the dying qilin formation. Thus, they resolved to follow the mountain’s northward path, as indicated by the qilin’s gaze.

“Friend Qingyun, we owe you much these past days,” Daoist Jianxian said.

Zhou Qingyun shook her head. She truly felt she had contributed little, but learned much. Her admiration for Cheng Xinzhan only grew—how did he seem to know everything?

“From here, my disciple and I will continue the investigation. You must have much to discuss with Master Canxia after a long parting,” Jianxian said.

Zhou Qingyun understood she could be of no further help and might only be a burden. She did not insist on accompanying them. Instead, she said,

“Then, Daoist Jianxian, friend Xinzhan, I wish you a smooth journey and a swift discovery of the truth. If you need anything, you will find me at Wenbi Peak; my master and I will not refuse to help.”

Jianxian and Cheng Xinzhan both nodded with a smile.

Zhou Qingyun glanced at Jianxian, then lingered a moment longer on Cheng Xinzhan’s face, cupped her hands in farewell, and departed.

The master and disciple returned to the qilin formation, following the polluted underground river northward.

After traveling seventy or eighty li, they saw a small stream emerging from the earth. The old riverbed showed that it had once been a great river.

They followed the stream northward.

To Cheng Xinzhan’s eyes, the earth vein was clear as day: sometimes a stream, sometimes a ridge, sometimes flat land with underground rivers and ore veins still pointing the way. Thus, they traveled, listening to the wind and sniffing the soil, for about a thousand five or six hundred li.

At last, a great mortal city rose before them.

Using their mountain-observing art, all they saw was a vast, roiling world of dust and mortal concerns, daunting to approach.

And on the southern gate of that grand city, three powerful characters were inscribed:

Hongwu Gate!

The two watched from afar.

“It’s the Zhongdu of Fengyang,” Cheng Xinzhan said.

Jianxian nodded. “This will not be easy. The imperial capital of the mortal world—its aura of dust and desire is more poisonous than any miasma. Even from here, my heart feels uneasy.”

Cheng Xinzhan said softly, “The qilin vein runs straight into the imperial city of Zhongdu. Does it connect to the dragon vein? Could this evil energy originate from the dragon vein of the Ming realm? Perhaps the qilin vein is merely affected.”

Jianxian shook his head. “I cannot say. This is not a small matter. We must not act rashly. I’ll report to the sect first.”

Cheng Xinzhan agreed.

Jianxian produced a command arrow, used his hand as a brush to write swiftly on it, and sealed it with a talisman. With a flick, the arrow vanished into the void.

“It’s done. Now we wait for the sect’s instructions.”

He noticed Cheng Xinzhan watching curiously where the arrow had disappeared and laughed. “It’s just a message arrow that travels through the void, inscribed with Sanqing Mountain’s secret seal. It’s hard to intercept and will fly directly to the Letter Mountain at the sect. Since we have time, I’ll teach you the method.”

Cheng Xinzhan readily agreed.

The two waited on a hill outside Zhongdu from sunset into the next morning. Just as Cheng Xinzhan mastered the message arrow technique, word came from the sect.

From the southwest, several black dots appeared in the sky—people approaching.

As they drew near and landed on the hilltop, Cheng Xinzhan’s eyes lit up.

“Brother Jiehu! Brother Miaoyuan!”

Five people had arrived, all young; among them were Feng Jiehu and Wang Miaoyuan. The other three he did not recognize.

The five landed and bowed to Daoist Jianxian.

“We greet our instructor.”

Jianxian laughed. “All of you are here—how thoughtful of the sect!”

One among them stepped forward. “Instructor, the sect directs that since the mortal city is thick with worldly dust, and you are at the threshold of the Second Realm, you should not enter. The five of us at the First Realm, with Xinzhan, will go in. Afterward, a few months of meditation at the Tranquil Cliff should cleanse any dust from our spirits.”

Jianxian nodded with a smile. “With all of you here, I have no worries. Xinzhan, you may not have met all of them—introduce yourselves. I’ll take my leave.”

With a wave of his sleeve, Jianxian mounted his cloud and departed, leaving the young disciples behind.

Feng Jiehu spoke up, “Let me introduce everyone. This is Cheng Xinzhan, the twenty-second generation true disciple of Mingzhi Mountain. He’s to be called Master Dao by all, and was poisoned by miasma while opening his Heart Mansion, so he’s now attending lectures on thunder arts at Shujishan.”

“I know—six breaths to draw in qi, a figure on the Southern Dipper roll,” someone joked.

The group all greeted Cheng Xinzhan warmly.

Feng Jiehu then introduced the three unfamiliar faces.

“From Ziyan Mountain, Sun Miaoshu, a true disciple. All five mansions opened, ready to step into the Second Realm, expert in the arts of void. If we get into trouble, he’ll be the one to help us escape.”

He pointed to a young man in purple robes, handsome and composed; he had been the first to address Jianxian.

“Greetings, Brother Miaoshu,” Cheng Xinzhan said, bowing. Sun Miaoshu returned the gesture with a smile. “Greetings, little Dao Master. Jiehu exaggerates—my knowledge of void arts is only superficial.”

Feng Jiehu indicated another, dressed in robes adorned with stars, whose eyes were deep yet clear.

“From Yaoguang Mountain, Xu Jishen, a true disciple. Four mansions opened, skilled in stargazing, energy reading, and divination. He can foresee fortune and misfortune—if you need directions, ask him. I had him divine my fate when I left the sect to open my Water Mansion, and it was spot on.”

“Greetings, Brother Jishen,” Cheng Xinzhan said. Xu Jishen replied with a smile, “Don’t listen to Jiehu—he always exaggerates. I’m just a beginner.”

Feng Jiehu next pointed to the final unfamiliar youth, in white robes, with a round face and deep dimples showing as he smiled.

“From White Tiger Mountain, Zhu Jianmo, a true disciple. He has imperial blood, a collateral descendant of the founding prince, but his family has pursued the Dao in seclusion for generations, long severed from the mundane world. Last night, he pored over all the records on the construction of Zhongdu in Fengyang, and even brought the original blueprints for anything he didn’t finish. He’s likely younger than you by a year, has opened three mansions, and is skilled in mechanisms and puppetry—he’ll be our guide.”

“Greetings, Brother Jianmo,” Cheng Xinzhan said. Zhu Jianmo replied with a smile, “Just call me Jianmo, little Dao Master. I only know a little, not truly skilled.”

“Miaoyuan here you already know—we’ve had drinks together. A true disciple of Baicao Mountain, two mansions opened, an expert in formations.”

Cheng Xinzhan and Wang Miaoyuan exchanged a smile, both recalling their shared cups in silent camaraderie.

Feng Jiehu then gestured to himself. “I’m the least useful—just know a bit of medicine and alchemy. If I don’t hold you up, I’ll be content. The elders probably chose me because I’ve run a lot of errands and know everyone well.”

The group teased Feng Jiehu for being modest about himself while praising others.

Feng Jiehu laughed heartily, finally turning to Cheng Xinzhan. “The elders originally wanted to assign someone specialized in yang arts or thunder and fire, someone skilled in illusions, someone versed in dealing with yin and funerary spirits, and someone who knows the terrain—but Master Sukongyu said none of that was needed. With you, all is covered.”

Everyone laughed, turning to Cheng Xinzhan.

Cheng Xinzhan could only smile wryly—his master placed too much trust in him and was far too generous with his praise. All he could say was, “I only know a little, just enough to get by.”

The group burst into laughter.

[End of chapter.]