Chapter Six: Wandering Spirit with the Azure Brush

Qingbi Mountain is a picturesque range that rises before the Onsen Pass. Legend tells that in a certain dynasty, a great general once guarded this place. Born to a family of scholars, he was as adept with words as with the sword. One day, while hunting on the plains before the pass with his retinue, a venerable old man dressed in green approached, holding a scroll and a jade brush, and engaged the general in profound conversation. Overjoyed, the general ordered wine and tea to be served, and on the plain, he and the old man spent three days and nights in companionship, composing poetry and painting. Yet, upon returning to the Onsen Pass, the general discovered that thirty years had passed in the blink of an eye.

Thirty years, gone in an instant!

The world he knew had changed—his dynasty overthrown by rebels, his homeland unrecognizable. Standing outside the gates of Onsen Pass, the general was overwhelmed with emotion. He cast aside the jade brush the old man had gifted him, and from it sprang the undulating peaks of Qingbi Mountain, stretching for hundreds of miles.

Afterward, the general retreated into the mountains to cultivate the Dao, and it is said he became an immortal, leaving behind only the eight-hundred-li stretch of Qingbi Mountain as a testament to his existence.

Yang Nan, traveling alongside Chiyang, changed horses but not his rider, racing day and night for two days before finally reaching Qingbi Mountain before Onsen Pass. Night had already fallen. Sensing Yang Nan’s youthful resilience, Chiyang began recounting local tales to distract him. As Yang Nan gazed at Yubi Peak, which soared into the clouds, he found himself intrigued by the story of immortals, and his fatigue seemed a little lighter.

“We’re still three hundred li from Onsen Pass,” Chiyang said, spotting a lush grove ahead on the official road winding into the mountains. “Let’s rest here at the foot of Qingbi Mountain. At dawn, we’ll cross the range and reach the pass. Can you keep going, Nan?” He led Yang Nan into the grove.

It was late at night. The moon shone in a sky scattered with stars; the Milky Way hung overhead. Two sleepless nights were nothing to Chiyang, but for twelve-year-old Yang Nan, exhaustion was overwhelming. He nodded, signaling Chiyang not to worry. They entered the woods, where Chiyang gathered dry branches to build a fire, and Yang Nan, utterly worn out, leaned against a tree and drifted into a fitful sleep.

Never before had he known such hardship. Once a young marquis, now a fugitive with nowhere to turn, the pain was almost unbearable, even for someone who had lived two lives. Yang Nan kept his suffering to himself, knowing that without strength, it would be hard enough just to survive, let alone hope for the warmth of home or the glory of nobility.

His journey to Kunlun was for more than immortality—it was also the only way to gain the power to defend himself. This was the old man’s wish, and it had become Yang Nan’s sole purpose.

Lost in thought, he was soon overcome by exhaustion. No sooner had he closed his eyes than he slipped into a deep sleep. Chiyang planted the Fire Yuan Sword in the earth, summoned his life-bound spiritual weapon from his brow, and with it drew a blazing circle on the ground, enclosing the two of them and their horses. Should anything—man or beast—cross into that circle, he would know instantly.

Having arranged this ward, Chiyang draped a fox-fur cloak over Yang Nan, wrapping his small form snugly, then sighed softly and sat beside him, eyes closed, focusing inward to cultivate his strength.

Although the Xuantian Sect was not considered a first-rate school, its Martial Arts Doctrine was among the best. Unlike Kunlun, the Xuantian Sect was less strict when accepting disciples—those of average talent could still receive superior teachings. The Fire Hao Sword Technique that Chiyang cultivated was one of the sect’s finest. Yet, despite twenty years of arduous training—having joined the sect at twelve, now thirty-two—he had reached only the third rank of Weapon Master.

The immortal path has always been arduous. Upon entering the Weapon Master stage, one can command their life-bound spiritual weapon to transform and wound enemies. Chiyang’s innate spiritual form was that of a firebird—a high-grade ancient spirit beast, said to be descended from the Golden Crow of the Sun, fierce and blazing, always victorious in battle.

The Fire Yuan Sword bestowed by Yang Pu was a superb blade, forged entirely from several fire-attribute spiritual irons. In his haste to escort Yang Nan to Kunlun, Chiyang had not yet had time to refine this magical weapon. The cultivation method of the Fire Hao Sword Technique allowed him to absorb the spiritual energy within such metals. Once he succeeded in refining the weapon, his own cultivation would advance further.

Thus, he used the night to draw in the fiery energy from the Fire Yuan Sword, soon falling into a state where all sense of self and surroundings faded away.

Moonlight poured down from the heavens. As Yang Nan drifted into slumber, he suddenly felt a tug at his neck. In a daze, he stood up; a gentle, seven-colored glow emanated from his chest, like a misty haze enveloping his entire body. He stared in astonishment: the piece of jade he wore seemed to come alive, glowing with boundless radiance, floating before him, pulling him forward.

He realized, with a start, that his body felt as light as paper—like a spirit!

“But wasn’t I just sleeping?” Looking down, Yang Nan saw himself floating above his own sleeping body, still wrapped in the fox-fur cloak below. In an instant, a hundred possibilities flashed through his mind:

A soul leaving the body? Spirit separated from flesh? Had he really died?

“Brother Chiyang! Brother Chiyang!” Alarmed, Yang Nan called out several times, but Chiyang, deep in meditation, remained oblivious.

No, he thought, I can’t be dead so easily. Cradling the jewel that shimmered with seven-colored light, he understood at last—this stone was indeed extraordinary! It had drawn his soul from his body!

“What are you trying to do, little coin?” Yang Nan murmured to the jade, which resembled an ancient copper coin.

For twelve years, the stone had lain dormant, only to emit its strange radiance here at the foot of Qingbi Mountain. Could something in these mountains have drawn it forth? In legends, it’s said that mortals sometimes wander a thousand miles in a single night’s dream, returning at dawn unsure if it was true or false.

His panic subsiding, Yang Nan reasoned: Dead or not, out-of-body or otherwise, I may as well see where this stone wishes to lead me.

Buoyed by the jade, he soared through the air toward Qingbi Mountain, the stone flying unerringly ahead, crossing peak after peak until they stopped before Yubi Peak. Suddenly, the stone pulled him straight into a cliff face!

Yang Nan recoiled in fright—if he’d been in his flesh, he would have been dashed to pieces. But now, insubstantial as mist, he passed through the stone with ease, the jade guiding him through rock and earth until, in no time, they arrived in the heart of Yubi Peak.

Within the mountain, a different world unfolded. The green stone grew ever paler the deeper they went. Protected by the jade’s radiance, Yang Nan traveled unhindered until, at last, he found himself surrounded by dazzling whiteness—as though the blue rocks had all turned to fine jade.

The mischievous coin finally stopped in a cavern at the mountain’s core, before a massive boulder that emitted a pure, jade-like glow. Hovering above it, the coin released its seven-colored light, enveloping the boulder, from which wisps of white vapor began to rise. The jade’s glow drew in every thread of that vapor, as if a great whale were drinking from the sea—one after another, the white mists were absorbed, the luminous aura illuminating the entire chamber.

With each breath the jade drew, its radiance grew more intense.

Yang Nan realized, at last, what his copper coin was doing—it was seeking spiritual energy from the world, absorbing it for itself.

He had read in stories of how innate spiritual objects, after a time, would develop a consciousness much like a human child. The coin had lain dormant in the marquis’s estate because there were no treasures there to attract it. But this ancient boulder, hidden in the heart of Qingbi Mountain for who knows how many millennia, contained spiritual essence beyond measure, enough to awaken the stone and prompt its strange behavior.

Once sated, the coin broke free from its golden thread and hovered above the boulder, releasing even more dazzling light. The milky vapor, now almost tangible, streamed into the glow like ribbons. The massive boulder shrank steadily, while the coin quivered lightly, as if a baby was finally full. When the boulder was reduced to a fist-sized stone, the coin flew back and hung once more around Yang Nan’s neck.

He was astounded—a boulder several yards tall devoured in an instant, a feat more fearsome than any legendary technique. Yet, despite consuming so much energy, the coin remained unchanged in size.

When they left the mountain’s heart, the coin seemed to fall into slumber, simply enveloping Yang Nan in its protective glow. Now insubstantial, neither flesh nor bone, he drifted through stone and mountain as if a wandering ghost.

The mountain scenery under the stars was shrouded in mist. Here and there, points of light flickered among the trees—spirits and monsters absorbing moonlight to cultivate their essence.

Yang Nan gazed out at the silent, deep valleys of Qingbi Mountain, smiling wryly. So the stone wanted to feast—very well. But did it have to drag his soul into these wild mountains? And now, how was he supposed to return?

This sensation, as if his spirit had left his body, was dreamlike, half-real, half-unreal. He began to wonder if this was all just a dream—how else could a soul wander so freely among the hills?

The moonlight shimmered, the mountain breeze was gentle. Yang Nan floated aimlessly, drawn in by the beauty of the scenery. Suddenly, a low howl sounded beneath Yubi Peak, and a column of black vapor rose up. Fixing his gaze, Yang Nan saw a fearsome, yaksha-like figure standing before him, bowing deeply: “Esteemed Immortal, forgive me for not welcoming you sooner. Please pardon my offense.”

The yaksha’s eyes were wide and fierce, his fangs protruding, a terrifying sight. Yang Nan asked in surprise, “You can see me?” He had wandered through the mountains, invisible to birds and beasts alike, yet this creature could see him?

The yaksha answered with obsequious deference, “Immortal jests. A sage radiates auspicious light; a deity, divine light; a transcendent, clouds of fortune. Your body shines with seven-colored rays, a divine glow soaring to the heavens. As a mountain spirit and an underworld servant, how could I fail to notice?”

So even among immortals, there are ranks? Yang Nan glanced at the radiant coin at his chest, feeling a bit exasperated. He’d only wanted a good night’s sleep, yet this strange stone had dragged his soul into the wilderness, where he was now mistaken for some ‘Immortal’ by a mountain spirit. Still, the yaksha’s deference seemed sincere enough—perhaps this was not a bad thing.

“Why have you sought me out?” Yang Nan asked, wary that the yaksha, a denizen of the underworld, might be here to drag him off to the netherworld.

The yaksha bowed deeply. “Immortal, forgive my intrusion. This is Qingbi Mountain, home to a temple dedicated to the Mountain God, who was appointed by the Northern Emperor of the Earth’s Virtue. The Lord of Qingbi Mountain governs these eight hundred li, ruling over all living things and spirits within. But several years ago, the Lord received the Emperor’s summons and has not returned since, leaving countless cases unresolved. Seeing divine light on Yubi Peak, I knew an immortal had arrived and have come to invite you to rest at the temple.”

Yang Nan recalled what Chiyang had told him about the Northern Emperor of Earth’s Virtue—one of the Seven Gods of Heaven and Earth. The Underworld God, Cold Radiance, ruled the netherworld; the Earth God, Prime Source, resided on Heaven’s Pillar Peak and governed the mountains. Each mountain had a temple to suppress demons, and Qingbi Mountain was no exception. Still, for this yaksha to mistake a mere mortal for an immortal—his judgment was questionable, to say the least.

Yang Nan dared not deny his divine status, lest the yaksha take him for a wandering ghost and drag him to the underworld.

“You want me to help clear the backlog of cases?” Yang Nan guessed at once what the yaksha wanted. Why else would he seek him out in the dead of night, if not to beg for assistance?

With a look of admiration, the yaksha nodded vigorously. “I have petitioned the Emperor many times for a new Mountain God, but no reply has come. If you would lend your aid, I would be eternally grateful.”

So the Mountain God’s duties included a mountain of paperwork—who would have thought? Yang Nan shook his head with a sigh. “Very well, take me to the temple. I’ll have a look.” He thought to himself: I don’t know the way back anyway, so I might as well see what this is about—perhaps they can help me return.

The yaksha, delighted, led Yang Nan to the Mountain God’s temple beneath Yubi Peak. There, a host of spirits and ghostly officials came to greet him. At their head were a pig-headed spirit and a ghastly-faced ghost. Seeing the yaksha bring forth a radiant immortal, they were overjoyed. In the main hall stood the image of the Northern Emperor of Earth’s Virtue, with the Mountain God beside him, spirit servants arrayed in two lines, a scene of solemn order.

The temple consisted of several buildings, the main hall spacious and grand. Yang Nan sat in the hall, where a divine seal rested on the table—a stamp entwined with dragons and serpents, shining with spiritual light, its form as solid as a mountain, adorned with the shape of a jade brush. The yaksha had explained: only one protected by divine light could lift the seal. The ghostly officials were mere underlings, unable to move the Mountain God’s heavy seal. Without the god, no one could clear the accumulation of cases.

Yang Nan reached for the seal. As he did, the coin at his chest emitted a seven-colored ray, enveloping the seal. He saw clearly the words inscribed upon it: “Seal of the True God of Eight Hundred Li Qingbi Mountain.”

Though he did not know the seal’s full power, he could sense the awe-inspiring divine might emanating from it—clearly, it was no ordinary artifact.

The seal, once as heavy as a mountain, was now light as a feather in his hand. The yaksha, pig-head, and ghost-face saw the immortal lift the seal with ease and rejoiced, their hearts set at ease.

A monkey spirit brought fruit, a grey crane poured tea, and a flower maiden fanned him—spirits and ghostly officials attended to Yang Nan as though he were the Mountain God himself. Though he was only a soul, he found he could savor the essence of the offerings and the fragrance of the mountain tea.

After a brief rest, Yang Nan turned to the mountain of case files. With the seal in hand, he made his judgments without hesitation, commanding the ghostly officials to apprehend the culprits. The yaksha, pig-head, and ghost-face led squads of ghostly soldiers, running back and forth at his bidding.

The temple was equipped with divine tools: the Command of Soul-Summoning, Chains of Captivity, and Cords of Guidance—artifacts granted by the true god. Without the god, the ghostly officials lacked the power to enforce the law. But with Yang Nan stamping the seal, their warrants were imbued with divine energy, enabling them to travel the eight hundred li of Qingbi Mountain to detain spirits and monsters. The soul can travel a thousand li in an instant, so it was not long before the accused were brought before him.

These spirits might possess powerful bodies, but their souls could not withstand the authority of the divine seal. The hall was soon filled—some howled in rage, others wept and pleaded, a cacophony of monstrous forms awaiting judgment.

Yang Nan did not bother to look at their grotesque appearances. With a stroke of the brush, he passed judgment on each case—some were man-eating monsters, some malicious ghosts, others demons who had descended to harm mortals. The statutes of the mountain were inscribed in the hall, and Yang Nan judged strictly by the code, showing no leniency.

Compared to mortal courts, the cases here were simple. With Yang Nan issuing orders, the most wicked were consigned to the yaksha for soul-devouring, the felons imprisoned beneath the mountain by the pig-headed spirit, and the lesser offenders flogged and intimidated by the ghost-face. According to the severity of their crimes, each received punishment. The officials and spirits were kept busy, and judgments were quickly executed.

The laws of the Mountain God differed from those of the mortal world. Most offenders here were monsters or ghosts. The Northern Emperor of Earth’s Virtue and the Underworld God were both true deities of heaven and earth; thus, spirit cases were judged here, not sent to the underworld. Only the souls of mortals lost in the mountains would be escorted to the City God’s temple and thence to the underworld. The mountain spirits, simple-hearted, were terrified by the ghostly wails of their punished fellows. The light of the divine seal shone from the temple, and all the monsters of Qingbi Mountain were seized with dread.

Within less than an hour, the mountain of case files had dwindled to a thin sheaf. Whether thousand-year-old monsters or long-grudging ghosts, under the weight of the divine seal, all hung their heads and confessed, accepting their punishments. The divine light enveloping Yang Nan inspired awe even in the official spirits—none among the wild monsters dared make trouble.