Chapter Five: Weiyang City

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Weiyang City—one of the six auxiliary cities within several hundred miles of Chang’an. For Yang Nan, this was his first time riding a horse outside, and he was exhilarated beyond words. He had not set foot outside his home for twelve years, but now, with Chiyang by his side, he practiced his riding confidently and boldly. Within the Duke’s manor, as long as he remained within the gates, all the wonders of the world were at his disposal—fine horses, of course, were no exception. Yang Nan sat astride his mount with surprising aplomb, though even the grandest estate paled in comparison to the thousand-mile stretch of broad imperial roads.

With the wind in his hair and the world at his feet, Yang Nan rode at full gallop, shouting with joy atop his high-stepping steed. Chiyang’s cultivation had not yet reached the point where he could carry Yang Nan flying through the air on a sword, but keeping him safe from falling off the horse was no challenge. Seeing the boy so rarely delighted, Chiyang let him have his way.

Though the Great Yuan Dynasty had enjoyed peace for many years, the wilderness was still beset by bandits and monsters. With Chiyang by his side, Yang Nan could watch with cool detachment as these petty demons and brigands were dispatched one after another. Fortunately, the more powerful spirits among the mountain fiends rarely appeared, or the journey would have been far less smooth. Having already encountered ghosts upon leaving home, Yang Nan found that even mountain spirits and tree demons held little novelty for him.

This world was unlike any Yang Nan had known before. Ordinary demons were commonplace, though they rarely mingled among humans—yet the wilds belonged to the spirits. Travelers and merchants passing through often had to offer food for safe passage. The three great heavenly laws that Chiyang spoke of seemed to be losing their power; the monsters and spirits were growing ever more brazen in showing themselves among men.

But with Chiyang wielding the Fire Yuan Sword, his whole person exuding murderous intent, what foolish little demon would dare approach?

The two raced along the official road for a day and a night, arriving in Weiyang City at dawn. Beyond Weiyang lay the Hot Springs Pass, and past the pass was the Tianzhou territory, where the Celestial Mountain Kunlun was found. Though only an auxiliary city, the scale of Weiyang rivaled that of any great city. Chiyang led Yang Nan to the “Return Again” Inn—a venerable establishment with a hundred years of history, its branches scattered across all twelve provinces of the Great Yuan.

With Chiyang, Yang Nan wandered the bustling city, marveling at its prosperity and the teeming crowds. For a time, the sights made him forget the sorrow of leaving home. Chiyang escorted him to their room and then, with unusual gravity, said, “A’nan, I’m going into the city to gather information. Remember, stay in this room and do not leave, no matter what happens!”

Yang Nan noted Chiyang’s serious tone; he knew Chiyang was going to see whether Grandfather’s plan of substitution had been uncovered by his uncles. He nodded solemnly. Despite his childish appearance, he was not as naïve as he looked—he would never let curiosity or mischief ruin important matters.

Chiyang, trusting in his precocious sense, left and closed the door behind him.

Left alone, Yang Nan read from a scroll he carried, but soon grew bored. After twelve years of study within the Duke’s manor, it was chagrining to find himself still reading even after leaving home. He sighed, set the book down, and propped his hands on the table, lost in thought.

Before departing, his grandfather had solemnly entrusted him with the Scroll of the Sages, a symbol of the Confucian sect. Given his grandfather’s character, he would never have given away such a treasure without reason. Unless he returned from the dead, the true motive would remain a mystery. For now, Yang Nan could only treat it as a protective talisman.

His gaze fell to the birthmarks on his wrists—a black snake on one, a blue dragon on the other. Suddenly, he began to wonder: among mortals, those born with unusual marks were one in a million, and yet he bore two. Was this fortune or calamity?

This world teeming with demons and spirits was unlike any he had known before. Here, cultivating the Dao required innate markings? What purpose could these birthmarks possibly serve?

Yang Nan reached into his collar and pulled out a strange jade disc, strung on a golden silk thread. He cradled the odd, neither-gold-nor-iron, neither-jade-nor-stone object in his palm, memories of his past life stirring.

The strange stone Ren Xue had given him in his previous life had become a coin-sized stone here, and he was said to have been born with it. The marvel of being born clutching jade had caused a stir in Chang’an. Were it not for the absence of Dream of the Red Chamber in this world, Yang Nan would have thought himself the very image of Jia Baoyu reborn.

The cryptic script on the small coin had long since faded to invisibility. Square on all sides, hollow at its center, the gold thread ran through the stone and had hung about Yang Nan’s neck for twelve years.

In all that time, the jade had shown no signs of magic. Even the ghost talisman drawn by the old Daoist had somehow followed him into this world—a mystery Yang Nan could not fathom, no matter how he tried.

And now, while his right wrist had once been unmarked, it bore a blue dragon. The more he pondered, the more his head ached. Chiyang had once shown him his own “Fire Yang” mark—a firebird birthmark on his wrist. It was this mark that had allowed him to study immortal arts under the Xuantian Sect.

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But even among those with Daoist bone markings, there were distinctions. The firebird pattern was only of medium grade, while the blue dragon was high grade. Though not as rare as the legendary divine beast marks, the Blue Dragon’s Water-Absorbing aspect was still a remarkable gift.

According to Chiyang, such talent was nothing special in Kunlun Mountain, the most orthodox of all sects.

Kunlun’s customs differed greatly from other sects. They believed in the order of sun and moon, heaven and earth. From registered disciples to outer disciples, and finally to orthodox disciples—only after becoming an orthodox disciple would Kunlun truly take one as an apprentice, marking entry into the world of cultivation.

Registered disciples learned martial arts, outer disciples studied the arcane arts. Even the lowest among them, when in the mortal world, were formidable warriors and mighty magicians. As for orthodox disciples, their prowess went without saying.

Kunlun’s rules for accepting disciples were even more peculiar. Once one became an orthodox successor, a master would take only a single disciple, and they would remain together for centuries, inseparable.

Odder still—male masters took only female disciples, and female masters only male disciples!

Yin paired with yin, wood paired with fire; together for eternity, mutually completing the way of heaven.

Only if the master ascended or died could the disciple take on a pupil—this was the doctrine of balancing yin and yang, the unity of heaven and humanity.

One had to wonder if Kunlun was the sect with the most master-disciple romances under heaven? If Chiyang were not a man of his word, Yang Nan would never have believed that this was the way cultivation worked. All he could do was quietly grumble to himself.

Yet, by following this method, Kunlun had become the leader of all sects in the world. The prowess of Kunlun’s orthodox disciples was extraordinary, unrivaled. Clearly, this “master-disciple romance” was a formidable teaching model.

Master and disciple together, whether in single combat or in battle, feared nothing. Even ascension was often achieved in pairs.

“Kunlun Sect… I wonder if it’s like the ones in the novels?” Since he had set his heart on the Dao in this life, Yang Nan cast aside the memories of his past existence. Now that he was about to enter Kunlun, his thoughts could not help but wander.

As he was lost in thought, a commotion erupted outside the street-facing window. Unease pricked at his heart. Peering out, he saw vendors wailing and scurrying as a troop of soldiers marched in, exuding a chilling aura.

Yang Nan’s heart skipped. “Are they here for me? Impossible—Grandfather’s substitution plan couldn’t be exposed so soon, not in a single day!”

He looked closer. The soldiers were impeccably arrayed, armored in iron, their steps drum-like upon the ground. Each man wore a white plume in his helmet, trembling slightly with each stride, their crimson cloaks fluttering behind. Even at a distance, their presence sent a shiver down his spine.

“Could these be the Imperial Guards?” Yang Nan remembered his grandfather saying that only the Imperial Guards wore white plumes and red cloaks—symbols of blood-forged loyalty and royal honor. But the Imperial Guards were meant to protect the capital—why were they in Weiyang?

The formation encircled a sumptuous carriage, proceeding slowly toward the governor’s mansion. Yang Nan realized at once that only a prince or princess could merit such an escort.

It was said that every Imperial Guard soldier possessed the strength of a master in the mortal realm, while the commander of the palace guards had attained the rank of Martial Saint, a level comparable to his grandfather, the Confucian Grandmaster. Martial Saints had reached the pinnacle of the mundane world, though, like the Confucian masters, their lifespans could not match those who cultivated in seclusion. With such a formidable escort, what assassin would dare try their luck?

Watching the Imperial Guards accompany the carriage into the distance, he suddenly heard the laughter of young women. Looking more closely, he saw, across from the inn at a cosmetics shop, two girls in the bloom of youth, hand in hand, giggling with bell-like laughter.

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One girl wore a pure white dress, the other was robed in colors bright as rosy clouds. The Great Yuan was an open-minded realm, and it was not uncommon for girls from ordinary families to appear in public. Yang Nan, seeing the two young ladies, so lively and innocent, found a smile curling at his lips.

They were clearly unacquainted with worldly ways, for they took some rouge and simply walked off. The shopkeeper rushed out, bowing and pleading, but seeing their fine clothes and charming naïveté, he guessed they must be young ladies from some great family, albeit unaccompanied by servants—a peculiarity. Not daring to offend, he continued to beseech them, while the two girls, wide-eyed and oblivious, chattered on, entangled with the shopkeeper. Yang Nan, finding the scene amusing, could not help but smile. Unexpectedly, the girl in white sensed his gaze, snapped her head up, and glared at him fiercely, shouting, “Brat, what are you staring at? Look again and I’ll gouge your eyes out!”

For all her prettiness, her attempt at a menacing scowl was more comical than frightening. Yang Nan couldn’t help but laugh. Though scolded, he took no offense. Seeing his impish grin, the girl grew even more annoyed, hands on hips, ready to start a tirade, when her companion in colored robes gently tugged her hand and whispered, “Enough, White Robes. He’s just a little boy—what harm is there in a few glances? No need to quarrel with a child.”

The girl’s voice was soft as silk, gliding past Yang Nan’s ear. From the sound, one could tell she was gentle by nature, quite unlike her fierce friend. Yang Nan grinned even more broadly, his gaze growing bolder as he studied the two girls from head to toe. He had seen countless maids in the Duke’s manor, some of great beauty, and, having been wounded by love in a past life, he felt less moved by women in this one—besides, wasn’t he just a child now?

Teasing this wild girl seemed an entertaining diversion.

White Robes saw his eyes widen and his gaze grow ever more insolent. Flustered and angry, she stamped her feet but, being in the street, could not make a scene. Her friend, worried he would cause trouble, whispered gentle words, took her hand, and led her away through the crowd.

“What a naïve little wildcat,” Yang Nan thought with a smile, soon dismissing the matter. He waited in his room until dusk, when Chiyang finally returned, his expression now grave.

When Chiyang had left, he had seemed lighthearted, but now he sighed heavily and said, “The Emperor is dying.”

Yang Nan was startled. “How do you know?”

Chiyang grabbed the teapot and drank deeply before replying, “This is the main road to Chang’an. The word is that all the princes, princesses, and royal children stationed in distant provinces have been summoned home. Today, that procession was the Third Princess. Think about it—if something momentous hadn’t happened in the capital, why would a princess married far away in the West return? Without an imperial edict, how could the princes dare return without summons?”

The law of Great Yuan: Any prince who returns without an imperial summons is considered a rebel.

Yang Nan nodded. He agreed—imperial power shaped the fate of the world, especially in times of succession. A single misstep could plunge the realm into chaos. When an emperor died and a new one ascended, all the princes were summoned to the capital to be kept in check, only returning to their domains once the new reign was secure—a common imperial stratagem.

Although the princes and princesses held no military power, if left in the provinces, their names could still be used by the ambitious to foment rebellion. Governing a great realm was like cooking a delicate fish—Yang Nan had seen such things many times.

The emperor’s death, however, had nothing to do with him—he had no desire for the throne, so why did Chiyang look so anxious?

As if reading his thoughts, Chiyang said, “I estimate the emperor will die within three days. When that happens, the gates will close and we’ll be trapped. We must reach the Hot Springs Pass within three days. Let’s hope the emperor holds on that long.”

Yang Nan offered a wry smile. “I never thought the emperor’s last days would affect us so. This is trouble.” Hot Springs Pass was the only route to Tianzhou, guarded by elite troops. If the pass was shut, they would have to find another way through the mountains, a dangerous journey filled with demons and treacherous terrain. Reaching the pass in three days was difficult enough.

Chiyang said gravely, “Let’s rest now. We must set out at dawn and reach Hot Springs Pass within three days.”