The two of them exchanged identities. As it turned out, Hua Bucheng was indeed the legendary final disciple of the Sword Pavilion Master, having lived in solitary cultivation within the pavilion for a hundred years.
"I am that 'fool' from the legends," Hua Bucheng said.
Mo Qingbei privately thought that this beauty might indeed be a bit slow-witted.
He explained his purpose. Hua Bucheng led him toward the top floor to observe the stars, saying as they walked, "You’ve come at an ill time. The sea of clouds has been surging lately; it’s likely you won’t see any constellations." He smiled faintly. "Though, it has been a long time since a Penglai disciple was punished with star-gazing duty at the Sword Pavilion. Everyone thinks this place is haunted."
Mo Qingbei made small talk. "How long is 'a long time'?"
Hua Bucheng tilted his head in thought. "Apologies, what year is it now?"
Mo Qingbei recited the current calendar.
"It should be over ninety years," Hua Bucheng calculated. "Since my Master passed away, I have cultivated alone in the Sword Pavilion. No one has visited since."
Mo Qingbei looked at the youthful appearance of the man before him. "If I may ask, Senior Brother, what is your honorable age?"
Hua Bucheng replied, "Take your age and multiply it by ten."
Mo Qingbei decided that if the beauty’s brain didn't work well, it was excusable—after all, he was getting on in years.
Hua Bucheng pushed open a door. The top floor was actually a boathouse, with a pavilion built beside it. There was no water in sight, only a small skiff floating in mid-air next to a rootless flowering tree.
The Sword Pavilion was already situated on the highest peak of Penglai, and this top floor was at its absolute zenith. The surrounding sea of clouds seethed with such density they felt tangible.
*A tower a hundred feet high, where one might pluck the stars with one's hand.*
However, Hua Bucheng was right; there were no stars or moon tonight. Mo Qingbei wasn't worried—he could always find a way to fudge his reports—but he was more interested in what the other had said earlier. "Senior Brother, what did you mean by the 'surging sea of clouds'?"
"Shh." Hua Bucheng placed a finger to his lips. "Be patient."
The two stepped onto the skiff and lit a lantern at the prow.
Instantly, the entire flowering tree lit up. The buds transformed into goldfish, their tails shimmering as they swam through the air. The sound of wind chimes rang out, and the air grew heavy and damp as flowers and water drifted together.
The sea of clouds gathered from all directions, gradually submerging the roof. The skiff rose into the air as waves of cloud struck the hull like literal water. A vermilion bird leaped from beneath the boat, shedding its long feathers in mid-air to become a golden carp.
As the clouds shifted, the swirling white mist receded from the prow. Only then did Mo Qingbei realize that the Sword Pavilion beneath them had vanished, replaced by a vast, silver lake.
The skiff drifted upon the lake, the water perfectly still.
"Above the Sword Pavilion and beneath the full moon lies a great silver lake called the White Cloud’s Edge." Hua Bucheng produced a green fishing rod from nowhere. "The White Cloud’s Edge only appears when the sea of clouds surges. It can only be seen once a year. You’ve come at a fortuitous time, Junior Brother."
Mo Qingbei watched, entranced. "I’ve only heard the seniors speak of 'Watching the Steed in the Sea of Clouds.'"
"That is a rumor. It has been too many years since anyone ascended the Sword Pavilion; people simply pass on falsehoods." Hua Bucheng explained, "Watching the Steed is an old joke from years ago. Back when my Master was alive, he once smoked too much in the pavilion. The smoke he exhaled was like a sea of clouds, and before he knew it, several days had passed. When he came to, he lamented that time flies like a white steed passing a crack in a wall. That is how the name 'Watching the Steed in the Sea of Clouds' came to be."
Mo Qingbei: "..."
"This is the true final site of the Eight Wonders and Ten Scenes of Penglai." Hua Bucheng cast his line. "The Immortal’s Fishing Ground: The White Cloud’s Edge."
Hua Bucheng caught many fish. It turned out Mo Qingbei’s basket of garlic was useful after all—it helped remove the fishy odor from the soup.
The two sat at the prow drinking soup. "I haven't had the chance to ask—why was Junior Brother punished and sent to the Sword Pavilion?"
"Because I went down the mountain to buy braised pig trotters," Mo Qingbei said between gulps. "And I started a wholesale resale business among the disciples." He let out a burp. "In the end, I accidentally sold some to my Master."
"Master thought they tasted great and wanted the kitchen to make more. He didn't expect they weren't from the kitchen, and the investigation led straight to me."
"Even while punishing me, the old man dropped all sorts of hints that I should bring him more the next time I go down." He shrugged. "And of course, he won't pay."
Hua Bucheng laughed. "Our Masters were of the same generation and sect. Though it's been years, Uncle’s temper hasn't changed." He looked at Mo Qingbei. "And what about you, Senior Brother? Why have you stayed in the Sword Pavilion all this time?"
"I am following my Master’s dying wish to cultivate here," Hua Bucheng said. "Until I reach an unknown realm, I cannot leave."
The next day, Mo Qingbei went down the mountain and was immediately surrounded by his fellow disciples. Everyone asked what he had seen at the Sword Pavilion.
Mo Qingbei thought for a moment and said, "There are big fish."
"Easy to overeat."
Later, word spread among the disciples that a water monster with indigestion lived atop the Sword Pavilion.
After that, Mo Qingbei frequented the Sword Pavilion. The mountain path was long and arduous, taking a full day and night to climb. He always carried a jug of wine, a sword, and various novelties he had collected recently. The White Cloud’s Edge could only be seen once a year, so fishing was out; instead, they sat in the pavilion by the boathouse, brewing tea and discussing the Dao amidst ten thousand leagues of clouds and endless snow.
Hua Bucheng was not the fool the rumors suggested. On the contrary, his attainment in the Way of the Sword was incredibly high. Mo Qingbei had seen him practicing on the high tower—a single strike like a startled swan, kicking up a thousand drifts of snow. Wherever his sword intent landed, lotus flowers bloomed.
Mo Qingbei knew he was no match, but with the spirit of youth, his fighting intent only grew with every defeat. They debated swords in the snow, brewed tea among the clouds, sang loudly and drank during the day, and lay beneath the vast sea of stars at night.
Their temperaments were perfectly matched. Hua Bucheng was like white jade on the outside, but possessed a "sword bone" within.
They would always wash their blades with wine after a fierce bout, then drink until they were dead drunk.
Thanks to this, Mo Qingbei’s swordsmanship improved by leaps and bounds. By the time of his capping ceremony, he was already the pinnacle of his generation.
On the day he came of age, Hua Bucheng gave him a sword. According to Penglai tradition, bestowing a sword was the Master's responsibility, but ever since Mo began studying with Hua Bucheng, his Master rarely taught him anything, merely huffing and turning a blind eye to his activities.
Mo Qingbei wasn't sure if he should accept it. The swords of the Sword Pavilion all had storied histories; if this was some peerless divine weapon, using it as a pole to carry wine would be a criminal waste. He hesitated for a few days until Hua Bucheng saw through his thoughts and told him, "This sword is no treasure. I forged it myself decades ago when I was learning smithing. It is no ancient relic."
It wasn't until Mo Qingbei looked through the records that he realized Hua Bucheng was the only remaining sword-smith in Penglai.
One day, his Master uncharacteristically summoned him and said indifferently, "The sect will hold a Sword Trial Assembly in a few days. You will participate this year."
Mo Qingbei thought he had misheard. "Surely not, Master? I have over a dozen senior brothers above me. I’ve only been under your tutelage for twelve years; I’m the lowest in seniority. Aren't you afraid I'll embarrass you?"
The Master stroked his beard, looking sage and composed. "Your swordsmanship wasn't taught by me. You can't embarrass me."
"Those from the Sword Pavilion never lose once they step out," Hua Bucheng said calmly when he heard the news. "If you lose, you'll be throwing away the Sword Pavilion's face."
Looking at the man's elegant and gentle expression, Mo Qingbei suddenly regretted telling him.
"Uh, let's talk this over," he tried. "Look, I'm not exactly a 'pure-blooded' Sword Pavilion disciple. My Master is a pill-refiner. My swordsmanship being this good is actually a bit of a freak occurrence. It wouldn't be shameful if I lost..."
"You are indeed not a Sword Pavilion disciple," Hua Bucheng cut him off. "But you were taught by me. At the very least, you're my sparring partner." He glanced at him. "Do you actually think you'll lose?"
Mo Qingbei scratched his head. "Well, not really."
"Then why are you unwilling to fight?"
"Because there's a big fair at the foot of the mountain on the day of the assembly. I want to go drink."
"...You truly live up to your name," Hua Bucheng said with a hint of regret. "There is no one in Penglai who enters the Dao through wine; otherwise, you might have become a Wine Immortal."
*I urge you, do not tilt the cup; seek only a moment of wild intoxication.*
Hua Bucheng thought for a moment. "The winner of the Sword Trial's top grade may enter the Library of Scriptures. My Master hid a jar of wine there years ago."
"If you win, I will tell you where it is hidden."
The rest was a story known to all. The stunningly brilliant genius was thrown out along with his jug, lying drunk on the green stone steps until dawn.
Then he descended the mountain, and a hundred years passed.
For a century, every Great Cold, Mo Qingbei would sneak back to Penglai, still carrying a jug of wine, a sword, and the novelties he had gathered from across the land to attend the surging of the clouds and fish at the White Cloud’s Edge.
"The sect has taken in many new disciples; so many fresh faces." Mo Qingbei couldn't stand the taste of the fish soup and took a large gulp of wine. "It’s been a hundred years. Some people don't recognize me at all, yet the rumors still fly everywhere."
He was referring to the incident where he was thrown out of the Library. Even now, it was a favorite topic of gossip, with rumors claiming he was a hopeless drunkard.
"It’s the same for me. I haven't been down the mountain in nearly two hundred years," Hua Bucheng said. "Yet I am still called a water monster with indigestion."
Mo Qingbei choked. "These cultivators... they have nothing better to do all day. They gossip more than old village women."
"Many enter the gates, but few have the immortal affinity," Hua Bucheng said. "The Penglai lineage has sought longevity since ancient times, yet it only adds a few centuries to one's life. Rarely does anyone truly ascend."
"I’ve always wanted to ask," Mo Qingbei said. "After centuries of seeking the Dao, has anyone actually become an immortal?"
Hua Bucheng shook his head. "I do not know. Perhaps only Changshengzi himself knows."
The current Changshengzi was Mo Qingbei’s Master, the Sect Leader of Penglai. Thinking of his Master’s huffing and puffing, Mo Qingbei shrank his neck. "Forget it. My expulsion order hasn't been lifted; I’d better not go looking for trouble."
"How is Uncle’s health lately?"
"I caught a glimpse of him before coming up to the Sword Pavilion. He looked alright. The old man hates fasting; he can still eat and drink plenty." Mo Qingbei laughed. "You’re the one living in Penglai, yet you’re asking me for news."
"I’ve grown used to living in the Sword Pavilion. What about you? When do you plan to come back?"
"I don't think Master has cooled off yet." Mo Qingbei leaned back, sprawling out on the skiff. "Besides, I enjoy the freedom of the mortal world. You see many things in the human realm that you can't see on the mountain."
"As you wish. As long as you enjoy yourself."
"Tell you what," Mo Qingbei sat up abruptly. "I plan to take the Imperial Examinations next year."
"Again?" Hua Bucheng asked. "Didn't you take them before? You even placed third as the Tanhua."
"That was over a hundred years ago. Diplomas have an expiration date," Mo Qingbei said. "But this time I’m not going as a commoner. I’ve prepared an identity for myself—the grandson of a Grand Academician from the previous dynasty. That way, it’ll be easier to pull strings in the capital. Maybe I can even snag the title of Zhuangyuan."
Hua Bucheng looked hesitant. "Grand Academician? I recall your previous official rank was..."
"Exactly!" Mo Qingbei slapped his thigh, excited. "I’m using my old identity. Now, I am the grandson of my former self!"
After explaining the convoluted logic, he looked quite proud of himself. "Being my own grandson—either way, I don't lose out."
Hua Bucheng shook his head helplessly. "You said being an official was boring. Why are you setting your sights on the imperial household again?"
"The smoke of war is about to rise," Mo Qingbei said. "You don't enter the world, so you might not sense it, but the mortal realm is quite 'lively' right now."
"I have heard something of it," Hua Bucheng said. "There is the scent of beacon fires in the clouds. The white cranes brought news when they returned in the spring, saying the imperial court lost a battle."
"They did lose, and they lost miserably. The gates of the Celestial Empire have been smashed open."
Mo Qingbei stood up, shaking out his long robes. "I have a feeling this is only the beginning. The emperors and ministers in the palace think they can brush the barbarians off with a few treaties, not realizing those people aren't here to beg—they’re here to rob."
"The mortal world is facing a period of great upheaval."
Hua Bucheng put away his fishing rod. "Just keep your wits about you. Don't play too hard. It is inauspicious for an immortal to become too deeply entangled in the world."
"Why does everyone say that?" Mo Qingbei laughed. "You sound exactly like that little monk."
"Little monk?"
"Oh, I forgot to tell you. I met a very interesting young novice in the mortal world," Mo Qingbei said. "He walks the streets with a porcelain bowl. Years ago, he even cast a divination for me. At first, I thought he was just a street swindler, but his prediction was surprisingly accurate."
"He cast a divination for you years ago, yet his appearance remains unchanged?" Hua Bucheng mused. "Does that mean he is a fellow cultivator?"
"Not quite." Mo Qingbei said mysteriously, "I only learned his true identity later. Guess who he is?"
"He is this generation’s Tiansuanzi."
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Of Weddings and Wakes | Chapter 55 | The White Cloud's Edge | Novela.app | Novela.app
