Chapter Fifty: Encounter with the Golden Eagle Once More

Chapter Fifty: Reunion with the Golden Eagle

Chapter Seven: Resentful Rain, Sorrowful Clouds—A Beauty Dances the Dragon Spring, Autumn Waters Startle Dreams, Chrysanthemums Bloom by the Fence (Part Five)

The group returned to the Secluded Orchid Monastery. Zhi Ku recounted in detail to Zhi Guang the circumstances of Ling Yun’er’s contest with Li Ningyue of Dragon Spring Temple, inevitably sighing, “Who would have thought that such a dazzling talent would emerge from Dragon Spring Temple, worthy of being compared with the Five Noble Gentlemen.”

Zhi Guang sighed, “Yet with Dragon Spring emerging into the world, it will unavoidably bring another... Alas! The great calamity brewing within the realm has begun to stir—it is indeed time.” Suddenly, his eyes flickered as he turned again to Zhi Ku and asked, “Junior Brother, you said she possesses great spiritual wisdom? Tell me more, in detail!”

Zhi Ku was taken aback and replied, “Junior Sister Zhi Mie only said that her disciple has remarkable spiritual roots. The one chosen by the Dragon Spring Sword could hardly be an ordinary person.” Zhi Guang nodded thoughtfully, “In past years, Zhi Mie and I spoke of our future disciples. She told me she had accepted one, possessed of extraordinary wisdom, known as ‘The Illusory Body of Love’s Heaven and Sea.’ Judging by the time, this must be Li Ningyue!”

Zhi Ku stood stunned for a long while, exclaiming, “The Illusory Body of Love’s Heaven and Sea?” Memories of ancient legends and miraculous tales flooded his mind, and his spirit trembled. “It’s said that this Illusory Body, also called the Sea of Sinful Love, can wound or heal through emotion itself—formless and traceless, nearly impossible to resist. Its wonders are unfathomable and inscrutable. Who could say if it’s true or false? Yet it seems such a power truly exists.”

Zhi Guang said, “The world has exaggerated the Sea of Sinful Love too much. In truth, they overstate the matter. Though I have not witnessed its power with my own eyes, I suspect it may not be so overwhelming as the stories claim.”

The two continued their conversation for some time. In the outer hall, Baishisong and the others were also enjoying cheerful discussion. Though everyone knew that tomorrow would bring Ye Hua’s contest, they did not bring up the matter. Only as they parted did they remind Ye Hua and Ouyang Tai, “Be cautious tomorrow when facing your opponents. Do not risk injury; your health matters most. Both of you are still young in your cultivation—there is much time ahead. Do not take victory or defeat to heart.”

Yet in their hearts, no one felt much concern; Ye Hua and Ouyang Tai’s low level in the Seven Treasures’ Fourth Realm meant they stood little chance. Though none would say it outright and urge them to surrender, the intention was clear enough, so they might avoid unnecessary injury.

Ye Hua and Ouyang Tai bowed and said, “Thank you, Senior Brothers, for your advice. We will exercise caution tomorrow.”

Ling Yun’er smiled and said, “Little Brother, tomorrow I must rest and recover—I cannot go to watch you myself. Be careful. If you win, I’ll give you a magical treasure as a reward. If you lose, there’s no harm done.”

Ye Hua felt a surge of gratitude. “Thank you, Senior Sister.”

Qing Xia and Qing Yu laughed in unison, “Little Brother, do not be deceived. She’s already decided you’ll lose for sure—only then would she make such a promise.”

Ling Yun’er laughed, “Don’t listen to their nonsense. Even if you lose, I’ll still give you a treasure. Don’t feel sad or discouraged.”

Ye Hua blushed with embarrassment. “Thank you, Senior Sister. My inner strength is shallow, my skills unrefined—I must be a laughingstock for you all.”

They chatted for a while longer before dispersing to rest. Returning to his room, Ye Hua thought of the contest awaiting him tomorrow, yet felt no excitement at all. Instead, a vague sorrow weighed upon him, leaving his expression bleak.

Outside, the bright moon hung cold and clear as day, casting a silvery light into the room. Moved by a sudden impulse, Ye Hua opened the window, leapt gently outside, and, seeing that none of his senior brothers had been disturbed, walked softly along the path.

He wandered without aim, unsure how far he’d gone, until he saw a low mountain ahead and slowly climbed to its summit. There, he couldn’t help but sigh in admiration. The mountaintop was bare save for a single cool pavilion; the surroundings were vast and open, with no other structures in sight. The jade rabbit hung high in the azure sky. There was a poem to mark the scene:

The Solitary Pavilion keeps no sleep, beholding the cool moon rising in the east. High above in the distant firmament, veiling the cold and constant stars. Emerging over rivers and mountains, clearing the celestial gate’s rugged heights. Its pale light stretches far and wide, crystal-clear and overflowing, casting distinct shadows on the steps, standing tall before the windows—though it shines elsewhere, never has it seemed so bright as tonight.

Unlike the fluttering white crane—its color indistinguishable; cold springs dropping, their sound lost in the void. Thus, the distant night is lit by empty candles, in truth the purest essence of the wind. Its radiance illuminates all, penetrating the deepest caverns. Its hue moistens every plant in the forest; its shadow polishes the restless rivers, deepens the silence of pools and pavilions, accompanying the chill of the night air. It stirs the sorrow of those far from home, and the myriad sorrows of those parted from their country. Where is it not seen? Who does not grieve beneath it? Is it only that travelers yearn for home, wandering among yellowed elms, or that beauties lament separation in their lonely chambers?

So it is, and thus I know that in this universe, light is supreme. It is not only a solitary feeling of desolation; it is also the likeness of purity and integrity. Those who gaze upon it may emulate the virtuous ruler; its whiteness suits the faultless gentleman. Alas, the unworthy are left wandering on distant ridges, the dew and rain have yet to reach them, and only their shadow keeps them company. I wish to exhaust the classics and grow old in study, yet fear I lack the guidance of worthy men. Fortunate is the gentleman, like the moon—may a ray of his light shine upon me.

Ye Hua admired the scene, and his pent-up gloom eased somewhat. Extending his right hand, a cold, gleaming sword appeared, the Moonlight Sword. His left hand caressed it gently; the moonlight shimmered on its blade, cold and fluid, soaking into his heart.

Suddenly, his body leapt into motion, sword dancing in his hand. He moved with the sword, the sword with his body—silver light flashed, cold and fierce. As he continued, blue, gold, and black hues swirled at the sword’s tip, minute arcs of lightning crackling, their sound sharp and unceasing. With a sudden leap, he spun, the sword whirling with him, sending a ring of invisible silver light outward, which struck several boulders nearby.

Settling his breath, he approached one of the boulders. A fine line was cut in, four or five inches deep—he felt a little relieved. His internal strength had increased these past days; he had not neglected his practice. If it had been a few days earlier, this move “Returning Wind, Flowing Snow” from the Nine Heavens Thunder Sword would not have cut so deeply.

As Ye Hua was musing in silent joy, a sudden rush of fierce wind assailed him from behind—so swift that by the time he sensed it, it was almost upon his back. Startled, he dodged right in a blur, not daring to look back. Glancing at the ground, he saw only a black shadow—not human, yet he could not tell what it was.

The thing behind him, having missed its strike, did not relent but followed as closely as a shadow, not allowing Ye Hua to turn. Another blow came; Ye Hua swung the Moonlight Sword behind him as fast as he could. With a clang, a tremendous force sent him sprawling forward, the sword knocked from his grip. Shocked, he rolled forward, the Red Crow Dagger already in his left hand.

When he looked back, the area was empty. He quickly glanced up—and sure enough, a creature was plummeting from the sky, its momentum forcing the breath from his chest even before it landed. In the moonlight, it appeared to be a great bird, its wings spread wide, shooting out several golden rays.

Ye Hua did not know what it was and dared not meet it head-on. He leaped aside, slashing upward with the Red Crow Dagger; two black beams shot toward the great bird. His right hand formed a seal, and the distant Moonlight Sword flew back in a streak of silver light.

The great bird twisted its wings, easily dodging the black beams. By then, the Moonlight Sword had arrived, but the bird’s talons stretched out and seized the sword, letting out a resonant cry.

Seeing the bird’s posture, Ye Hua’s heart skipped—he guessed who it was. The cry confirmed it. Slowly, he stood, dusted himself off, and smiled, “Brother Eagle, it has been too long.”

The great bird landed on a boulder, still grasping the Moonlight Sword, then tossed the sword to the ground and called out to Ye Hua with pride. It was the green-eyed golden eagle: iron-feathered, steel-winged, golden-beaked with silver talons, eyes bright as emerald lightning. Its might had grown since last they met.

Hearing its cry, Ye Hua readily understood its meaning. He recalled the Moonlight Sword with a gesture and said with a wry smile, “How could I ever be a match for you, Brother Eagle? You only wished to toy with me.” The golden eagle hopped down from the boulder, strode forward, and cried out again.