"Woof woof woof!"
"Squeak squeak squeak squeak!"
……
The barking of a dog and the shrieking of a monkey wove together, echoing across Dazhu Peak of Qingyun Mountain and shattering the stillness that reigned there. Zhang Fan burst through the kitchen door, black fire stick clutched in hand, and roared in fury: "Damned dog! Damned monkey! Don't you dare run from me!"
Grey the monkey leapt onto Big Yellow's back in a single whoosh. The dog had been coiling his energy all along, and the moment he did, Big Yellow bolted with all four paws flying. Zhang Fan gave chase but couldn't keep up, watching helplessly as Grey pulled faces and tucked a fragrant meat bone into Big Yellow's mouth. Big Yellow was so overjoyed that his doggy face lit up with pure bliss — had it not been for his two rows of teeth needing to clamp down on the bone, he would surely have grinned so wide that every last tooth came tumbling out.
"Hah!"
Zhang Fan trudged back to the kitchen, his face a picture of sullen grievance. Ever since he had taken charge of the kitchen at the age of fourteen, his culinary skills had left everyone in awe. And Dahuang, with the Dao-wisdom befitting an "enlightened old dog," could not help but drool over Zhang Fan's handiwork — especially the meat bones he used to simmer his broth, rich with savory fragrance, the very feast Dahuang had long dreamed of.
However, the broth Zhang Fan made was meant for people. Though Dà Huáng was advanced in age and could claim the most seniority of all, it was entitled to none of the benefits — it could only drool in longing, forever denied its share. Then came the day it befriended the monkey Hui, and from that point on the scene described above became a common sight on Grand Bamboo Peak. It went on for two full years: no matter how cleverly Zhang Fan hid the meat bones, so long as Dà Huáng's nose worked in concert with Hui's nimble hands, the contest over those bones almost always ended in Zhang Fan's defeat.
Two years had passed in the blink of an eye—a year and a half in truth—and Zhang Fan had grown into a youth of sixteen, taller than before, now standing half a head above his senior sister Tian Ling'er. During this time, owing to the strict orders Tian Buyi had issued at the outset, every disciple on Da Zhu Peak had shut their doors to cultivate in earnest. Apart from the sixth senior brother Du Bishu, who had gone down the mountain to travel and temper himself, only Zhang Fan the cook was left with any real leisure.
Over the past two years, Zhang Fan had been cultivating alone without anyone taking notice. What even he himself could hardly believe was that, following the cultivation techniques passed down to him by his senior brother Song Daren, he had seemingly completed the second layer of the Yuqing Realm—Qi Refinement—in just one year's time.
He harbored doubts in his heart, but in the end did not go to Tian Buyi with them. Song Daren, Tian Linger, and the others had been devoted to closed-door cultivation, too absorbed to spare a thought for anything else, and Du Bishu, his closest friend, had already gone down the mountain — so he kept the question buried within him. Yet what now stood before him was a far greater difficulty: Tian Linger had privately passed him the formulas for the third level, and he knew full well that this was a grave violation of the sect's rules. Even so, whenever night deepened and he stood alone in the courtyard, lifting his gaze to the sky, a single phrase would rise in his mind:
No matter how much more you train, you'll never match Senior Brother Qi Hao!
After ten nights, he began to cultivate the techniques of the third level!
Within the Taiji Profound Clarity Dao, the first through third levels of the Jade Clarity Realm form the foundation of all techniques, with difficulty deepening at each stage. Unlike the first two levels — "Qi Guidance" and "Qi Refinement" — the third level's scripture, "Primordial Qi," places its emphasis squarely on cultivating the Taiji Primordial Qi. The scripture reads: "The Taiji Primordial Qi encompasses three as one; it moves through the twelve Earthly Branches… This is the united virtue of Yin and Yang — Qi gathers at the zi hour, giving birth and form to all things."
Among the disciples of Qingyun Sect who had cultivated to this realm, a clear watershed would invariably emerge, laying bare the differences in aptitude at a glance: those of keen intellect would often advance with unstoppable momentum, breaking through in a single stride to the higher realm of "Object Command," thereby laying a solid foundation for their pursuit of the immortal path — while those of lesser talent would more often than not stagnate, and it was by no means rare for such disciples to fritter away their entire lives at this impasse.
Zhang Fan had been at the sect for five years now, and over countless conversations with his senior brothers, he had heard these tales more times than he could count. But one thing was perfectly clear: every last one of them had quietly placed him in the category of "a little below average."
He walked back to the kitchen and came to the stove, filled it with water, then added more firewood to the hearth, preparing to boil some hot water. The bright yellow flames surged back to life. Zhang Fan picked up his pitiful black fire poker—the same one he had used for two years now—and prodded at the firewood inside the stove. Once the fire settled into a steady burn, his gaze gradually drifted down to the poker in his hand.
Not that he'd done anything remarkable, though — it was the most ordinary of things: he was simply spacing out.
The poker was wholly jet-black from end to end, barely a foot in length save for the round orb capping its head. Its sole peculiarity lay beneath that black surface: faint, vein-like traceries threaded through the darkness, resembling filaments of blood — most pronounced at the joint where the shaft met the orb, so vivid at times that one could almost believe the two pieces had been fused together with human blood.
Zhang Fan shuddered from head to toe. The thought that had just flashed through his mind—using human blood as a fusing medium—made even him feel sick. Over the years he had slowly let that journey into the secluded valley fade from memory, yet every now and then, deep in the night, it would return in dreams—that strange, uncanny experience—and he would wake drenched in cold sweat.
At that time, he felt profoundly alone — facing the unknown grimness by himself, facing the darkness of death by himself. Whenever he reached such moments, he could never quite suppress the inexplicable surge of emotion that rose within him, a feverish, frenzied impulse he could not hold back, an urge that bordered on the desire to kill. And in that darkness, he found himself drifting back to many years before — to Puzhi the monk, standing beside that crumbling grass-thatched shrine, watching him with that strange, fanatical light burning in his eyes.
Zhang Fan had absolutely no idea why he would have such a strange feeling, but fortunately he still had one method to calm his unnerved heart: the Great Brahma Prajna!
This supreme Buddhist scripture possessed the wondrous ability to suppress evil spirits and purify the mind. He had cultivated it for five years, and its greatest use had been to keep down the strange emotions that had inexplicably surfaced over the past two years.
*Slap*!
Zhang Fan felt a sudden pain atop his head as something clattered to the ground — a pinecone. Rage flaring, he wheeled around and bellowed: "You damn monkey, just you wait till I get my hands on you— it's… Senior Brother!"
Zhang Fan leaped to his feet. There in the doorway stood a man — medium build, sharp-featured, face wreathed in smiles, a bundle slung across his back. Who else could it be but Old Six, Du Bishu, whom he hadn't seen in ages?
Du Bishu looked Zhang Fan up and down, clicking his tongue in admiration. "Impressive — in just a few years, you've grown as tall as I am."
Zhang Fan strode forward and seized Du Bi firmly by the arm. "Sixth Senior Brother, what took you so long? We've all missed you terribly."
Du Bi: "But I'm back now, aren't I?"
Zhang Fan immediately asked, "Do Master and Mistress know you're back?"
Du Bi: "No, I just got back. I saw smoke rising from the kitchen here, so I came to check. Heh, I knew you'd be in here working. Haven't seen each other in years — have you missed me?"
Zhang Fan was overjoyed and nodded repeatedly. Du Bishu patted him on the head, then suddenly whispered, "I'm going to see Master."
Zhang Fan froze for a moment. "What—you want me to come with you too?"
Du Bi: "When Master sent me down the mountain, the agreed limit was one year. But I dawdled — I spent an extra half year searching before I finally found the right materials to forge the Artifact. I'm afraid Master is going to give me quite a scolding. Come with me, won't you?"
Zhang Fan shot him a glare. "You'd better come see me first. Oh right, Sixth Senior Brother, what Artifact are you refining?"
Du Bi: "Heh, of course I came to see you first, junior brother. Come on, let's go." With that, he grabbed Zhang Fan and headed off.
A moment later, Dahuang—who had been hiding in some corner gnawing greedily at a meatbone—and Hui, who was leaning against its back picking fleas, both heard a furious roar from the direction of the Hall of Tranquil Stillness: "You worthless wretch—you'll be the death of me!"
At dinnertime, the disciples of Big Bamboo Peak gathered for their second grand reunion in two years, all seated together at one table. Once everyone had settled, Tian Buyi's face remained dark with fury. After the disciples had finished greeting Du Bishu, they couldn't help but lean in and whisper to him one after another: "Sixth, why did Master fly into such a rage the moment he laid eyes on you?"
Du Bishu's expression turned awkward as he glanced left and right, steering the conversation elsewhere. Sitting beside him, Zhang Fan wore a face full of suppressed amusement—he didn't dare let the laughter out, which left him looking rather peculiar.
At that moment, Tian Ling'er, seated across from him, could no longer hold back. She was the first to speak up, asking Tian Buyi: "Senior Brother has finally made it back after all this time — why are you still throwing such a big temper?"
Du Bishu quietly glanced up at Tian Buyi. Tian Buyi shot him a glare, startling Du Bishu into quickly lowering his head. Tian Buyi let out a cold snort. "Six, bring out your own Artifact for everyone to see, will you?"
Du Bishu opened his mouth but couldn't get a word out. He looked up toward his master's wife, Su Ru, only to see her smiling as she said, "Bishu, just take it out and show everyone—let them see for themselves exactly what your master was so angry about."
Seeing that he could not put it off any longer, Du Bishu dragged his feet as he reached for his bundle, gave it a couple of shakes, and fished out a few items from inside, setting them on the table.
Everyone stared without blinking, eyes fixed dead ahead as though afraid to miss a single thing, and the dining hall fell into a moment of perfect silence. There on the dining table sat three objects roughly half the size of a fist, apparently fashioned from some kind of hard wood — six-sided cubes, pure white all over, each face engraved with various arrangements of dots. They were three dice.
Everyone stood dumbstruck, utterly speechless — then, a moment later, burst into uproarious laughter.
Du Bishu's face flushed crimson. Tian Buyi glared at him, his expression dark with rage, and snapped, "Rotten wood cannot be carved!"
Su Ru smiled and shook her head at that moment — it wasn't really a big deal anyway. Dice it is, then. After all, this Artifact was his own to use.
Tian Buyi shot his disciple a sharp glare, then turned to Su Ru: "How do you know he isn't using this to swindle people?"
Du Bi: "Master, Mistress, this disciple would never dare commit such a vile and shameless act. It is only that last year, beside the Red Water in the south, I came upon a thousand-year-old Three-Pearl Tree brimming with Spiritual Energy. On a whim, I extracted its essence and carved these three dice — nothing more than a passing fancy, with absolutely no other intention behind it..."
Tian Buyi's anger had yet to abate. "Pleased with yourself, are you? If you'd been cultivating anything else, I might have let it go — but now you've gone and forged a set of gambling implements! Come the Seven-Vein Martial Competition a month from now, the moment you step onto that stage and show your face, where will I put mine?"
Du Bishu dared not press further. Su Ru shook her head and said softly, "Buyi, this is something he loves himself — don't force him. Do you still remember Senior Brother Wan…"
Tian Buyi gave a sudden start and turned to look at Su Ru. Su Ru let out a soft sigh. "Your master and I have never once forced any of you to cultivate the Immortal Sword the way disciples of other lineages do. But Artifacts are often matters of the greatest consequence—you must each take this to heart."
Du Bishu stole a glance at Tian Buyi, only to find his Master's face clouded with displeasure, stewing in silent irritation. Daring not to say another word, he nodded again and again and said:
Su Ru glanced at her husband once more, then addressed the group: "Time flies. Next month marks the Grand Martial Competition of the Seven Veins. We'll all be heading to Tongfeng, where Changmen is located—start your preparations early." At that, her beautiful, gentle face suddenly turned grave, and she said sharply: "This time, do not disappoint me and your master again. Is that understood?"
The disciples' hearts skipped a beat, and they answered in unison, "Yes!"
"Mother." Amidst the loud, resounding replies of the crowd, a discordant, feeble voice rose up. Su Ru looked over and saw it was the last of them, the seventh child, Zhang Fan. She furrowed her brows. "What's the matter, Fan?"
Zhang Fan asked cautiously, "Did you mean just now that I should go as well?"
Su Ru froze for a moment, glanced sidelong at Tian Buyi, a smile rising to her face. "That's right," she said with a soft smile, "aren't you also a disciple of the Dazhu Peak line?"
Zhang Fan was overjoyed, cheering and leaping to his feet, exchanging a high-five with Du Bishu beside him, entirely ignoring Tian Buyi's snide remarks from across the way: "There are nine slots anyway—even if one goes to an idiot, it's still one slot wasted. Might as well take what you can get."
※※※
As night fell, Zhang Fan returned to his room to find Da Huang and Hui had long since made themselves comfortable on his bed. A year and a half ago, Da Huang had taken to sleeping in Zhang Fan's quarters on account of his close friendship with Hui. It had given Tian Buyi quite a fright at first—he had searched everywhere for his beloved dog—but once he learned the reason, he merely let out a humph and walked away without another word. Seeing that his master raised no objection, Zhang Fan never troubled himself to chase Da Huang out.
But as time went on—whether from growing accustomed to the crowding or simply from having grown familiar with one another—Zhang Fan no longer complained about sharing his bed with Dahuang and Hui. That night he was in excellent spirits. He walked into the room and sat down at the table, and with a casual glance he saw Dahuang sprawled out lazily, while Hui—no one knew when he had slipped away to the kitchen—had once again stolen back that black fire poker of his and was rubbing it contentedly against Dahuang's body.
His heart stirred, and he had a vague sense that Ash seemed oddly interested in this fire-poking stick. But he had no mind to dwell on that now—his heart was wholly consumed by the joy of his master unexpectedly permitting him to take part in the Seven Peaks Martial Competition.
Had Dahuan and Ash turned to look at Zhang Fan just then, they would have seen a human with eyes shining bright. Zhang Fan's gaze rested on the monkey and the dog, yet his words seemed addressed to thin air: "You see, I actually have a chance to take part in the Seven Veins Martial Assembly — how wonderful. Master is truly magnanimous; dull as I am, he's still taking me along to broaden my horizons. Who knows, I might even get to see Jingyu."
At this point, he seemed to recall something and murmured to himself in a low voice: "But if I really go up on stage to compete, I'm afraid I'll only embarrass Master. Well, whatever happens, happens. Dahuang, Hui — isn't that right?"
"Squeak squeak squeak squeak!"
Zhang Fan looked up, only to find that Gray's attention was buried entirely in Da Huang's fur, carefully picking out fleas, offering him nothing more than a few perfunctory meows. Da Huang was even blunter — both ears flopped flat against his head, without so much as a glance in Zhang Fan's direction.
"Dead dog!" Zhang Fan cursed indignantly. Suddenly his vision went dark—it was Ash, who had abruptly hurled the fire poker straight at him. Startled, he scrambled aside just in time; the poker struck the table, bounced twice, and clattered to the floor.
"Squeak squeak squeak, woof woof woof!" This time the cries of the big yellow dog and the grey monkey had joined together into something of a symphony. Zhang Fan pulled a face at the two beasts, sat down in a huff, and found himself, for no clear reason, suddenly picturing once more the heroic figure Qi Hao had cut atop Great Bamboo Peak two years ago.
"Condense ice into walls!" Zhang Fan murmured the phrase softly under his breath. Before he had taken up Cultivation, it had seemed a simple enough notion—but these past days, as his practice grew ever more profound, he felt with increasing keenness just how arduous and towering beyond reach Qi Hao's realm truly was.
His thoughts drifted back to that night once more — Tian Ling'er beside the lamplight in this very room, those eyes of hers so tender, yet burning with an ardent flame.
At that moment, his heart felt as though it had been pierced by a sharp needle.
The fire stick lay quietly on the ground while, nearby, the sounds of a monkey and a yellow dog at play drifted over. Zhang Fan suddenly felt that he and this fire stick were surprisingly alike—even the fire stick lying there on the ground seemed, in his eyes, to carry a trace of loneliness.
He let out a sigh, tried to picture what it would feel like to reach such a realm, then assumed a posture of complete ease and utter nonchalance—and for the first time in his life, performed the "Object Beckoning" motion that Qingyun Sect disciples had executed countless times: he beckoned toward the fire-stoking stick lying on the ground.
That single moment felt like forever.
Zhang Fan was perfectly calm — not a trace of grief — and had simply, as a matter of course, prepared to accept his defeat. Then he saw the fire poker lying on the ground twitch.
Just that slightest, faintest stir — as though something long asleep had only now awakened.