Chapter Fifty-Five: Storms Gather in Wuzhou

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At Yuntian Tower in the northern district, the disciples of Yuntian Sect who had arrived early had just settled in that morning.

That afternoon, over ten disciples of the “Yi” generation hurriedly sought out Mei Yiping. “Uncle Master, Uncle Master, something terrible has happened!”

Mei Yiping berated them sternly, “Why are you all panicking like this? Are you not ashamed to lose face in public?”

Although Yuntian Tower had been cleared of guests before their arrival, who knew how many spies from various factions were watching them nearby? Apart from other sects, the local aristocratic families and the City Lord’s residence surely had their own informants. All the disciples brought along were inner sect members, yet at the first sign of trouble they lost their composure. Such disgrace would only serve as a laughingstock for rivals.

The disciples dared not speak loudly again, but pressed on anxiously, “Uncle Master, two of our junior brothers went out for a stroll today, and were beaten up by people from Wuji Sect.”

Mei Yiping looked up and, sure enough, saw two disciples at the back with clothes in tatters, heads bowed in utter dejection and disarray. His anger flared, “So you lost a fight and still have the nerve to come complain?”

One of them protested, “No, Uncle Master, there were several of them—it was overwhelming odds!”

Mei Yiping scolded, “Fools! If they have numbers, don’t you know to target the ones who are alone?”

Disciples being beaten equated to the humiliation of Yuntian Sect itself, and Mei Yiping’s disappointment in them was evident. Once, the Yuntian Sect had been dazzlingly prominent; now, how many waited in the wings to witness their fall?

He recalled the days when Grandmaster Whitebrow founded the sect—back then, no one in Wuzhou dared challenge them, and all major sects bowed in respect. Though those days were long past, and he only knew them from elders’ tales, the heroic image and lofty spirit of Whitebrow had left a deep impression, inspiring generations of disciples.

Whitebrow was a rare prodigy, ultimately attaining the Dao and ascending to immortality in broad daylight, one of the few in the country of Liuyun to achieve such a feat. On the day he shattered the void and departed, he left behind only a single line: “Yuntian’s wild cranes, traces of immortals in the north; Whitebrow’s single sword, all things turn to nothing.” Later generations could not fathom its meaning, taking it as a sign of his pride and lament for the lack of rivals in the cultivation world.

From then on, from the second generation onwards, Yuntian Sect took those sixteen characters as the generational names, placing them before every disciple’s given name. The current sect leader was from the “Immortal” generation, Xian Peiran, with the youngest being disciples of the “Sword” generation.

Yet a hundred years after the Grandmaster ascended, Yuntian Sect began to decline. Several generations of disciples failed to distinguish themselves, and in several grand competitions in Wuzhou, the sect’s name faded. Even the upstart Wuji Sect now dared openly oppose them, with repeated clashes escalating to all-out sect wars. The two sides had become mortal enemies, with no room for reconciliation.

“That’s right, we should go out too, and whenever we see someone in Wuji Sect robes, we’ll teach them a lesson!” With their uncle master’s approval, the disciples felt emboldened. Mei Yiping knew well that as long as they didn’t kill openly in Wuzhou City, nothing too serious would happen, and the City Lord’s office would turn a blind eye.

Seeing they understood, Mei Yiping no longer concerned himself with them. Sweeping them with his gaze, he turned to return to his room, but barked, “You there! What’s that in your mouth? What a disgraceful sight!”

Everyone turned towards the disciple in question, who quickly sucked whatever it was into his mouth, but his lips were still stained bright red from spice. Especially the two who had been beaten looked particularly annoyed—they were still nursing their wounds, waiting for the group to rally together in righteous anger for revenge, and here he was, eating snacks.

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The disciple, feeling self-conscious under their scrutiny, stammered, “Uncle Master, it’s spicy strips. They’re just too delicious—I couldn’t help myself.”

Everyone was speechless.

With the arrival of various sects and wandering cultivators in Wuzhou City, the place had become bustling. All kinds of businesses flourished, while the streets and alleys became hotbeds of trouble. Cultivators with longstanding grudges could not help but draw swords when they met.

Some clever disciples from the various sects, wary of causing trouble openly in the city, resorted to ambushing rivals in dark corners and deserted lanes. The great local families cared little, using this opportunity to foster closer ties with the sects. The city’s criminal gangs, lacking standing and fearful of offending the sects, strictly ordered their members to keep a low profile.

The City Lord was forced to increase patrols, but even so, numerous murders occurred, implicating many innocents. The City Lord was at his wit’s end—he cared little for individual lives, but the chaos threatened his political future. If the royal spies scattered across Liuyun reported the disorder to the Emperor, his prospects would be bleak. His position at court was already precarious and he was not favored by the royal family; any further blemish would spell his downfall.

That was one problem. Another was that, as an outsider appointed to govern Wuzhou, he had never fully controlled the region. After decades of struggle with the great local families, he had won the support of some lesser clans, but the five major families remained thorns in his side, always in opposition. Fortunately, these families were mutually suspicious, each pursuing its own interests, and retained some respect for royal authority; otherwise, if they united, he would be powerless.

He hoped to use this rare convocation to curry favor with some sects and win over notable itinerant cultivators. Thus, the City Lord’s troops made a show of force to deter unrest and appease the royal court, but if a murder did occur, he would weigh his response carefully, reluctant to antagonize the sects.

At Qingyu Tower, the Qingyu Sect’s leader, Qing Mengchen, was hosting a banquet for Wei Yunhu, the leader of Xingyue Sect. The two sat in the most elegant chamber atop Qingyu Tower, drinking wine as they gazed over the city.

Qing Mengchen, slender and ethereal, embodied the airs of an immortal, while Wei Yunhu was bold and expansive—both exuded the bearing of true masters.

Pouring a cup of wine for his guest, Qing Mengchen said, “Brother Wei, it must have been over seventy years since either of us last came to Wuzhou City.”

Wei Yunhu laughed, “The last time was during the grand sect competition—more than seventy years ago. Times are hard now; who has the leisure to come wander here for pleasure? What, does this place still bring back bittersweet memories for you?”

Catching the undertone, Qing Mengchen hesitated, then smiled ruefully, “You jest, Brother Wei. Time is merciless—who knows where she is now? Back then, I was young and foolish, just a minor disciple of Qingyu Sect, foolishly believing I could singlehandedly oppose Chifeng Sect. I was the laughingstock of Wuzhou’s cultivation world. You alone believed in me then.”

Wei Yunhu replied, “You were brave enough to love and hate as you pleased. Back then, still in the Foundation Establishment stage, you stormed Chifeng Tower alone. I admired you. They may laugh, but what do they know of your true character?”

He drained a large cup of wine and continued, “Even then I thought you were destined for greatness. Who would have imagined that the boy everyone looked down on would one day become the head of a sect?”

Qing Mengchen said with a sigh, “But what is it to be a sect leader? Chifeng Sect is one of the eight great sects—minor sects like ours can never match them. Otherwise, how could it be that after over twenty years in this position, I still haven’t been able to bring her home?”

Wei Yunhu also sighed, “You truly offended Chifeng Sect—otherwise, for the sake of an alliance, they might have let her marry you.”

Qing Mengchen answered, “Sitting in this seat, I have to put the interests of my sect first, or I’d be failing the founders. Personal matters are best left unspoken. Now, Wuji Sect has grown powerful, even daring to challenge the other great sects, launching repeated wars at great cost. I hear that even one of their most brilliant disciples, surnamed Li, disappeared after a recent battle, his fate unknown.”

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“In the past, with Yuntian Sect leading, all was harmonious. Now that Yuntian Sect has declined and can barely protect itself, cultivation resources are ever more scarce, and the sects scramble to seize them. To expand their influence, they swallow up smaller sects, and Wuzhou’s cultivation realm knows no peace. Not only Wuji Sect, but Chifeng, Tiangang, Yuanzhen, Tiandao, Senluo, and Zixiao—the eight great sects have all made their moves.”

Wei Yunhu said, “Peace lasted too long; it was bound to end. Didn’t Jin Yi Sect and Fengren Sect disappear? If not for our long friendship and our sects’ alliance, we wouldn’t have survived against the great sects. Otherwise, our sects would have vanished long ago.”

Qing Mengchen nodded, “Exactly—fortunately, our sects are not far apart and can support each other. But given the current trend, I fear…”

“Fear what?”

Qing Mengchen smiled wryly, “If anyone truly set their mind to destroy our sects, there would be no lack of methods. But before they finish absorbing other sects, none wants to risk mutual destruction with us. I fear that, once the dust settles, we will be nothing but fish on the butcher’s block.”

Wei Yunhu nodded, and after a moment’s silence, spoke no more.

Qing Mengchen continued, “This time I invited you to Wuzhou partly to watch the duel between Bai and Liu, but also to discuss our response. Perhaps we can persuade other small sects to join us.”

Wei Yunhu agreed, “Most sects have come this time—it’s a chance to build connections. But few have the bond you and I share; most are just looking to use one another.”

Qing Mengchen sighed, “There is no better strategy for now. We must do all we can and leave the rest to fate. If our sects are destroyed in our generation, our own deaths are minor—how could we face our ancestors?”

Wei Yunhu, previously downcast, suddenly laughed, “Ha! You’re right. If we ascend and attain immortality, we’ll be ashamed before our sect’s founders in the celestial realm. If we perish, we’ll have no face before their spirits either. There’s truly nowhere left to go!”

Qing Mengchen laughed and scolded, “Brother Wei, you’re truly sanguine—to joke at a time like this.”

Wei Yunhu replied, “Though we are sect leaders and must constantly worry about survival, we can’t live as martyrs every day. As you say, do your best and let fate decide—live or die, we must still find moments of joy.”

“Bold words, Brother Wei! My admiration!”

The two burst into hearty laughter, the gloom dispelled, and resumed their drinking, clinking cups with renewed cheer.