Chapter 33: The Mysterious Swordsman

The next day.

Xu Xuan set out together with the Fox King, heading for Black Cloud Mountain two hundred li away.

Along the way, Xu Xuan felt somewhat drained. It was hardly surprising; who could possibly sleep well after being entangled half the night by a stunningly beautiful female ghost? He could not break his chastity, not that he was incapable, but with such a warm, soft beauty in his arms, as a young man full of vigor, it was excruciatingly difficult to resist. Silently, Xu Xuan swore to himself that once he broke through his limits, if anyone dared seduce him again, he would certainly have a thorough exchange with them.

Otherwise, these female demons would not know his strengths and weaknesses, and would go on thinking he was easy to take advantage of.

Meanwhile, Zhao Jinqian, hiding in the yellow gourd, was also full of melancholy, her thoughts bubbling up endlessly:

“Does Young Master not like me?”
“Is Young Master truly a gentleman unmoved by beauty?”
“Is it that I’m not pretty enough for Young Master?”
“Oh! Could it be Young Master prefers men, or perhaps he is… afflicted in some way?”

As Zhao Jinqian’s thoughts ran wild, Xu Xuan and the Fox King were striding rapidly towards Black Cloud Mountain.

Throughout the journey, Xu Xuan found the Fox King to be quite learned, well-versed in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Most notably, in his human form, the Fox King was exceptionally handsome—features as if sculpted, long eyes and brows, a cascade of dark hair falling to his shoulders, with a hint of unruliness. For a man to look like this was truly rare in the world. In a previous life, he would have been a top-tier celebrity, a heartthrob for young women everywhere.

The man and the fox conversed as they traveled. Though the mountain roads were rough, they posed little difficulty for the two of them.

It was already autumn, and the mountain scenery stretched on in endless splendor. Passing through a grove of maples, they saw the mountainsides ablaze with crimson leaves, as vivid as fire. Xu Xuan felt his spirits lifted at the sight, the dust of the mundane world clearing from his heart, leaving a sense of ethereal detachment.

No wonder so many cultivators sought seclusion in the deep mountains—watching the seasons change, keeping far from the dust of the world, ever closer to the Dao.

Though both had strong legs, the two hundred li of rugged terrain took them most of the day. At last, travel-worn, they arrived at Black Cloud Mountain.

As dusk approached, the Fox King mused, “There’s a ruined temple on Black Cloud Mountain, not far from the lair of the Old Ancestor Black Cloud. Let’s rest there tonight.”

The Old Ancestor Black Cloud would hardly expect Xu Xuan and his companion to come knocking, so there was no fear of alerting him for now.

“Agreed, we’ll rest at the temple.”

Xu Xuan nodded, and they pressed on until at last they glimpsed the ruins of a temple.

“This temple was once prosperous,” the Fox King explained, “but after the main road was rerouted and a mysterious death occurred among the worshipers, rumors of ill omen spread, and it fell into decay.”

Hearing this, Xu Xuan couldn’t help but sigh. In times of peace, temples flourished. But now, with turmoil everywhere, mountaintop monasteries often fell into ruin. The monks did not work, and without worshipers, they lost their means of livelihood—how could they even eat, let alone recite sutras?

Entering the temple, they found wild grass growing rampant. The halls were in ruins, but traces of former splendor could still be discerned. Now, weeds covered the ground, and there was no sign of the temple’s former glory.

In the main hall sat a statue of a Bodhisattva, its paint peeling and faded, half the figure crumbling, cobwebs thick upon it, the gold lacquer fallen away to reveal the stone beneath.

As for the temple’s name plaque, it had long since been taken by the local villagers and chopped up for firewood. Thus, though Xu Xuan walked all around, he could not discover the temple’s name.

“Fox King, why does this temple have no name? Don’t tell me it’s called Black Cloud Temple?”

“No, this temple is named Lan…”

“Lanruo Temple?” Xu Xuan blurted out in shock before the Fox King could finish.

“No, it is called Lanhua.”

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Xu Xuan patted his chest. If it were Lanruo Temple, he would have expected Nie Xiaoqian to appear, and his mind would have been thrown into turmoil once more.

As night fell, they bypassed the main hall and headed for the monks’ quarters to rest.

The monks’ quarters were dilapidated, the doors hanging loosely, cobwebs everywhere, and the broken windows thick with dust. Weeds choked the courtyard, where a large pond lay at its center, a stone lotus rising from the water, the surface covered by floating, rotting grass, adding to the desolation.

As Xu Xuan stepped inside, he saw a fire burning within, and someone singing in a bold, unrestrained voice—it sounded like a passing knight-errant. On the breeze came the faint aroma of wine.

“Fine wine… the finest is brewed by my own hand!”
“Drink my wine, feel refreshed and strong as an ox…”
“Drink my wine, and your vigor will rival a dragon…”
“Drink my wine, and roam the world at your leisure…”
“Drink my wine, and even gods must bow their heads…”

“What a rousing song,” thought Xu Xuan, “Heaven and earth are mine to roam, even gods must yield…”

Listening, Xu Xuan felt a surge of heroic spirit, an uncontainable force welling up within him.

“What potent masculine energy—this man must be a master of martial arts.”

At that, Xu Xuan’s eyes flashed with golden light. He wished to see what manner of man dwelled in these quarters. Activating his Heavenly Eye, the world before him changed.

He saw, atop the beams of the monks’ quarters, a blaze of red light as if the roof were on fire, the scorching aura rising to the heavens. Xu Xuan’s eyes stung as if pricked by needles, almost bringing tears to his eyes.

Such overpowering masculine energy—pure, vigorous blood-force that no ghost or demon could approach.

There are certain people whom spirits and ghosts dare not trouble: first, those favored by imperial fortune and great destiny; second, scholars with upright energy and noble minds, who can suppress spirits with the stroke of a brush; and third, martial masters whose blood vigor is so intense that it suffocates malevolent spirits.

This knight, whom he had never met, possessed a blood-force so overwhelming that Xu Xuan realized instantly the man was far from ordinary. His martial cultivation was at least at the level of a Martial Lord who could shatter mountains, perhaps even a Martial Saint capable of changing his blood.

Just as Xu Xuan withdrew his Heavenly Eye, a chill ran down his spine, as if he were being watched by some great beast.

“Who is lurking outside my door? Why not come in and join me?”

A clear voice called from within, straight to Xu Xuan’s ears. The ability to transmit sound like this confirmed the man’s martial mastery.

Xu Xuan hesitated, exchanged a glance with the Fox King, then entered the monks’ quarters together.

Inside, the scent of liquor grew stronger. A middle-aged man with a bristling beard and dressed in black was warming his wine. He appeared carefree and unrestrained, his eyes sharp as blades.

Beside him lay a purple gourd about a foot long, and on his back, a long sword—a man who seemed every bit a treasured blade, merely biding his time.

Xu Xuan and the Fox King quickly offered their greetings and stated their purpose.

The bearded knight first glanced at Xu Xuan, then looked at the Fox King with a hint of surprise. Though his eyes betrayed some curiosity, he did not let it show.