Jianghu Demolition Squad

Savoring Life’s Hundred Flavors (Part Four)

Daoist Yiye and Venerable Kuyuan decided to take Qing Jiu to Canglong Mountain for seclusion, having already informed Valley Master Xuan Shen of their intentions.

They knew Qing Jiu was consumed by hatred, her actions becoming increasingly violent. She was exceptionally intelligent and talented, and if left unchecked, she could easily become a formidable threat to the jianghu, unleashing chaos and bloodshed.

Daoist Yiye initially believed Qing Jiu was too dangerous to keep alive. Mired in darkness, her heart poisoned by vengeance, she would never let go of her hatred. If given the chance, she would undoubtedly seek to eradicate anyone even remotely connected to her family’s massacre, showing no mercy.

Her ruthlessness was chilling, evident in her impulsive decision to kill the man who accidentally shattered the urn containing her family’s ashes. She treated human life with callous disregard.

Crippling her martial arts skills felt like a waste of her extraordinary talent. Besides, even without her abilities, her intelligence and cunning would make her a dangerous adversary. But killing her, eliminating the threat entirely, felt unjust. She was still a victim, after all.

Venerable Kuyuan, guided by compassion, urged Daoist Yiye to reconsider. “We came here to guide her, to nurture her,” he argued. “With time and patience, we can help her find peace and let go of her hatred.”

“If we let her go and she enters the jianghu one day to harm others, wouldn’t that be our fault?” Daoist Yiye argued.

“We can’t know what the future holds,” Venerable Kuyuan replied. “And if that day comes, we will bear the responsibility for our failure to guide her properly. We will personally intervene, stop her, and then atone for our sins by taking our own lives.”

Daoist Yiye fell silent. He couldn’t bring himself to take Qing Jiu’s life and ultimately agreed to Kuyuan’s plan.

To prevent future tragedy and fulfill Lin Qingchao’s dying wish, they decided to take on the responsibility of mentoring Qing Jiu, hoping to avert disaster. If they could quietly prevent a catastrophe, it would be a testament to their compassion and a worthy deed in itself.

The two took Qing Jiu to Hangzhou, scattering Lin Qingchao’s ashes over West Lake, before changing course and heading towards Canglong Mountain.

Qing Jiu stayed at Canglong Mountain for several years, enduring the agonizing flare-ups of the Ghost Sect poison twice, each time more painful than the last. If not for Daoist Yiye and Venerable Kuyuan’s forceful suppression of the poison using their internal energy, she might not have survived.

Canglong Mountain, located near Jade Mountain, where Wuwei Palace resided, experienced long winters and short summers. The peak was perpetually covered in snow.

With white cranes and reindeer, clear streams, and tranquil springs, it was a serene place, almost like a paradise.

Qing Jiu spent her days listening to Yiye and Kuyuan’s endless lectures on the virtues of compassion and the benevolence of heaven and earth. It was often tedious, but over time, she grew accustomed to their constant teachings.

Their presence became a comforting constant. When she sought solitude, she would retreat to the depths of the forest, immersing herself in the sounds of birdsong and wind rustling through pine needles. But even in the tranquility of nature, a sense of loneliness would creep in, and she would find herself returning to their humble hut, drawn back to their familiar chatter.

Sometimes, she thought this life wasn’t so bad. It was peaceful, free from the complexities and turmoil of the jianghu. She could escape the painful memories that haunted her and never truly felt alone. Yiye and Kuyuan always had endless teachings to share, keeping the place from feeling too lonely.

After they taught her the Yin-Yang Limitless Technique and the Great Freedom Heart Method, her mind became more peaceful, and she no longer felt sudden surges of rage as before.

Kuyuan told her that although she had learned much, studying too extensively could be detrimental. Without careful attention, it was easy to become obsessed and lose oneself.

These two methods were most suitable for her to learn: one encompassing all things and integrating various internal energies, and the other balancing yin and yang, transforming the rigid into the soft, ensuring she need not worry about her internal energy being too fierce and harming herself.

Daoist Yiye’s martial arts emphasized serenity and detachment. When Qing Jiu practiced it, she couldn’t fully embrace the concept of serenity, but found a newfound sense of freedom in his teachings.

Time swiftly passed, and after two years, Valley Master Xuan Shen sent a letter asking Yiye and Kuyuan to bring Qing Jiu back to the Xuhuai Valley. He had developed a pill that could suppress her Gu poison and wanted her to try it.

To her surprise, Yiye and Kuyuan allowed her to travel alone. She had assumed they would never let her set foot in the jianghu unsupervised.

Qing Jiu asked, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off and cause trouble in the jianghu?”

Venerable Kuyuan removed his prayer beads, took Qing Jiu’s hand, and wrapped the beads around it, muttering Buddhist verses under his breath. Finally, he said to her, “I expect you to be perfectly virtuous or benevolent, but I urge you to live a life free of regret.”

Daoist Yiye held a sword, its guard decorated with the Taiji symbol. Qing Jiu recognized it; this sword had always been displayed on the weapon rack in their hall.

Daoist Yiye handed her the sword and said, “This sword is blunt, named Tiangyi. From now on, use this sword. When you face an opponent, remember the preciousness of life and show mercy.”

Daoist Yiye and Venerable Kuyuan, choosing to live in seclusion, no longer involved themselves in jianghu affairs and thus did not accompany Qing Jiu to Xuhuai Valley. They allowed her to go alone as a way to test her character.

Qing Jiu held the sword in both hands and smiled, “I’m afraid I might disappoint you.”

The two masters simply smiled, offering no further comment. Qing Jiu descended Canglong Mountain, her new sword at her side. It was winter, and snow blanketed the slopes, stretching down to the foothills. As she made her way down the mountain, a light snow began to fall.

When she reached the foot of the mountain, she brushed off the accumulated snow on her head and walked into a tavern by the road to have a hot meal.

As she lifted the curtain and stepped inside, she noticed a makeshift bed fashioned from a door panel propped against the wall. A young woman, dressed in a white Daoist robe, lay upon it. Two young men, also in Daoist robes, stood beside her, their attire suggesting they belonged to the same sect.

The innkeepers were diligently tending to these three, pouring hot water with great care. Upon noticing a new guest, the woman came over to greet, “What would you like, miss?”

After a quick glance at Qing Jiu, the woman’s face showed a flicker of confusion, then she scrutinized her more intently and called to her husband, “Old man, come here. Doesn’t this girl look like the one Daoist Yiye took up the mountain two years ago?”

Qing Jiu remained silent. Indeed, she had stopped here with Yiye and Kuyuan two years earlier, and the woman’s memory was impressively sharp.

Hearing this, the two young men turned to look at Qing Jiu with a spark of recognition in their eyes.

Qing Jiu observed them, realizing they were most likely disciples of the Wuwei Palace. Had they come looking for Daoist Yiye? But hadn’t he said he had instructed the Wuwei Palace not to seek him out?

The innkeeper scrutinized her and nodded, “Yes, she does look like that girl.”

The two disciples from Wuwei Palace approached Qing Jiu, bowed, and asked, “Is it true, as the old uncle said, that the miss has seen Daoist Yiye?”

Qing Jiu replied with a grin, “That bull-nosed old Daoist? I have seen him…”

Not only had she seen him, but she saw him every day.

One disciple, unable to conceal his anger, rebuked, “How dare you speak of Grandmaster with such disrespect!” His youthful temper flared, and his hand moved towards his sword.

Qing Jiu stared at him, her eyes widening. “Oh my, are you trying to pick a fight?”

With a smirk, Qing Jiu drew her Liangyi sword from behind her back, “Fine by me!”

She had grown tired of practicing with trees and rocks on the mountain and was eager for a real challenge. Now, faced with a living opponent, she was more than ready to stretch her limbs.

With a flick of her wrist, she launched a swift attack, her sword flashing like a shooting star, executing three moves in rapid succession.

The disciple had not intended to fight, and Qing Jiu’s rapid attacks forced him to retreat repeatedly.

The other disciple exclaimed in surprise, “The Taixu Sword Art, Liangyi? Junior Brother, stop!”

But the disciple found himself unable to stop as Qing Jiu gave him no chance. Ultimately, he threw down his sword and knelt, offering his neck to her blade.

Qing Jiu’s sword followed swiftly, pressing against his neck, but since the sword was blunt, it didn’t cut him.

She raised an eyebrow at the thick blade and withdrew her sword, “How boring.”

The other disciple also knelt before Qing Jiu, saying, “Disciple pays respects to Shishu. We were unaware of your presence and have offended you. Please forgive us, Shishu.”

Qing Jiu thought to herself, “Who’s your Shishu?”

The woman lying on the bed also turned over and got off the bed. She swayed a little and directly knelt on the ground.

Seeing this, the two disciples rushed to assist her, “Senior Sister!”

This woman bowed deeply on the ground, performing a grand courtesy, “Disciple Yan Li pays respects to Shishu.”

Her voice was weak, obviously injured.

One of the disciples pleaded with Qing Jiu, “Shishu, our senior sister has an injury on her leg.” His words implied a request for Qing Jiu to allow Yan Li to rise.

Qing Jiu glanced at Yan Li’s leg and noticed a stain of blood seeping through the white robe, indicating a serious injury.

“Get up, both of you, get up,” Qing Jiu said, waving them off.

The disciples helped Yan Li back to the bed, giving Qing Jiu a clearer view of her. Yan Li’s features were delicate, her demeanor detached but elegant, her most striking feature a streak of white hair at her temple.

In Wuwei Palace, respect for elders was paramount, and juniors could not speak out of turn before the elders had spoken.

Yet, driven by urgency, the disciple blurted out, “Shishu, you came down from Canglong Mountain, so you must have been living with the Grandmaster and received his guidance. Could you please take us to see the Grandmaster? I beg you, please save a life.”

Qing Jiu looked around and asked, “You seem healthy, so whose life needs saving?”

“It’s not me, it’s our senior sister. She, she…” The disciple exchanged glances with the other, then stood up, approached Qing Jiu, and bowed, saying, “Respected Shishu, please follow me outside to talk.”

Qing Jiu turned and followed him out. As she left, she glanced back at Yan Li, who sat quietly like a lifeless puppet.

The moment they were outside, the disciple dropped to his knees before Qing Jiu, startling her.

“Why are you kneeling again…?”

The disciple, with tears streaming down his face, recounted the troubles that had befallen the Wuwei Palace. He told of how Yan Li, during her travels, had befriended someone named Wu Yu.

Wu Yu was originally the City Lord of Jile City and the daughter of Yan Li’s master. She had initially befriended Yan Li seeking revenge, but Yan Li, unaware of her true intentions, treated her with genuine kindness, inadvertently aiding Wu Yu in her plot to kill her own father.

The Wuwei Palace was attacked, many disciples were injured, and Yan Li watched her master die before her eyes. This greatly traumatized Yan Li, who felt an overwhelming sense of guilt.

Yan Li wanted the sect leader to punish her with death according to the sect rules and then expel her from the sect.

He refused, but Yan Li, determined to atone for her perceived sins, knelt before the Wuwei Palace gates, refusing to move, ignoring all pleas and attempts to persuade her. Jade Mountain was cold and harsh, its peak perpetually covered in snow. Even for trained martial artists, kneeling for a few hours was bearable, but days, weeks, months? It would cripple her, if it didn’t kill her first.

A few days ago, Yan Li collapsed from exhaustion and illness. She was carried back inside, and the healer discovered her knees were severely infected. Coupled with a high fever, her condition deteriorated rapidly. By the time she woke, half her life force was gone, and her hair had turned white at the temples.

The sect leader, witnessing her deep remorse and yearning for death, realized that healing her physical wounds would be pointless without addressing her emotional turmoil.

When it came to matters of the heart, Daoist Yiye was renowned for his wisdom and insight. Only he could guide Yan Li, help her find peace and rekindle her will to live.

As Qing Jiu listened, she felt a strange sense of familiarity. The story struck a chord deep within her. She thought for a moment, then slapped her hand against her leg. “Ah,” she exclaimed, “this is just like me…”

The disciple looked up at her, puzzled. Qing Jiu chuckled, “It’s nothing. It’s just that you know, that old bull-nosed… Daoist Yiye doesn’t see outsiders now.”

“Even so, even so,” the disciple pleaded, desperation lacing his voice, “this is a matter of life and death! If Grandmaster knew it was to save someone, he wouldn’t be angry. Shishu, I beg you, please save Senior Sister’s life.”

“Alright, alright,” Qing Jiu relented. “Let me think about it.”

After some thought, Qing Jiu decided to take Yan Li up Canglong Mountain herself, leaving the two disciples behind.

Since Yan Li couldn’t walk, the disciples had taken turns carrying her up the mountain. Now, it was up to Qing Jiu to carry her.

Stepping through the snowy landscape, Qing Jiu sighed, wondering why she had taken on this thankless task.

She set Yan Li down against a tree, took a deep breath, and pulled out her gourd, taking a few hearty gulps.

With nothing better to do in the mountains, she had taken to brewing her own wine using a recipe from Jue Mingzi, and it turned out quite well.

She handed the gourd to Yan Li, saying, “Take a sip, warm yourself up.”

“Those who cultivate the path do not indulge in alcohol or meat,” Yan Li responded flatly, her tone devoid of interest.

Qing Jiu crouched beside her, pouring a bit of wine onto her injured knee.

As the alcohol seeped into the wound, a searing pain shot through Yan Li’s leg. She winced, a soft moan escaping her lips.

Qing Jiu smiled, “Does it make you feel alive?”

Pain brought tears to Yan Li’s eyes, and she looked at Qing Jiu, really seeing her for the first time.

Qing Jiu was strikingly beautiful, especially those eyes, which looked as if they had been washed by snow, always viewing people with a teasing gaze.

Qing Jiu asked, “Didn’t you know that bull-nosed old Daoist Yiye also drinks?”

Yan Li shook her head. Qing Jiu laughed, “What a hypocritical master, drinking himself while making his disciples follow strict rules.”

She offered the gourd to Yan Li again. “Here, have a drink,” she urged. Yan Li still refused to touch it.

“If you don’t drink,” Qing Jiu warned, “you’ll freeze to death before we reach the hut. Then Yiye and your junior brother will blame me, accuse me of breaking my promise, and probably leave you in a ditch somewhere.”

Yan Li frowned at that. Qing Jiu continued, “If you want to die, go ahead, but don’t make me bear the sin.”

Shocked, Yan Li opened her mouth a few times but couldn’t speak; finally, she took the gourd and sipped. The sharp taste was unfamiliar, and she coughed incessantly after just a little sip.

The fiery liquid burned her throat, a sensation she had never experienced before. She coughed, sputtering, her eyes watering.

Qing Jiu watched, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before she hoisted Yan Li onto her back and continued their trek up the mountain.

Yan Li leaned against Qing Jiu’s back, taking small sips of the wine, the unfamiliar warmth spreading through her body.

People claimed alcohol could drown sorrows. Could she, just for a moment, forget her pain and guilt if she drank enough?

As she drank, a pleasant dizziness clouded her mind. For a brief moment, the weight of her guilt lifted, and she felt only the cold wind whipping past her ears.

But then, the wind transformed into scorching flames. She was back at the burning palace, her master’s lifeless body lying beside her, a shadowy figure looming nearby.

She stared at the figure, her heart breaking. Tears streamed down her face, a single drop landing on Qing Jiu’s neck.

Qing Jiu muttered, “Why are you crying now?”

“I gave you my heart,” Yan Li whispered, her voice choked with emotion, “how could you betray me like this?”

“You seem so reserved, but your words are quite dramatic…” Qing Jiu instinctively responded, then realized Yan Li was speaking about someone else.

She was drunk. Those who never drank were easily affected by alcohol.

Yan Li’s eyes brimmed with tears, the loss of control brought on by her first experience with alcohol stripping away her usual composure.

“Why did you lie to me?” she cried, her voice breaking. “Why did you deceive me? You made me betray everything I believe in!”

“But why… why can’t I hate you?!”

“Wu Yu, you might as well kill me too, at least that would be a final act of kindness from you!”

Qing Jiu shook her head, “To think you’re willing to die over someone like that, you’re really useless, she’s nothing but a scou…”

Before Qing Jiu could finish, Yan Li, who had been lying on her, suddenly sat up and said, “Yes, she is a scoundrel!”

Yan Li hurled the gourd forward forcefully, shouting, “Wu Yu, you scoundrel!”

“Ah, oh no, my gourd!”

“Scoundrel!”

“You’re a scoundrel!”