Chapter 63: A Night of Upheaval in Beihai City

The moon hung bright in the sky, bathing the roof tiles of the He family’s main residence in a silvery glow. Upon those shimmering tiles, Old Jiang sat alone, pouring himself drink after drink.

Clang...

He finished the last drop of purple rice brew from his pot, gave the empty vessel a shake, and, finding nothing left, tossed it away with a flick of his wrist. The pot clattered into the courtyard below, ringing out in the quiet of the night, yet Jiang paid no mind to whether he disturbed anyone’s slumber.

Whoosh...

Just as he had thrown his pot, a sudden sound came from above. Jiang reached out with his right hand and caught a wine pot that had come flying from who knew where. Lowering the pot, he glanced at it, then lifted his gaze to the rooftop, which, moments ago, had held only himself but now bore another. The newcomer was dressed all in white, holding a wine pot in one hand—it was Jiang Fengnian.

Old Jiang squinted at him and said, “Kid, that’s not very generous of you. Two pots in your hands, and you only toss one to this old man.”

Jiang Fengnian simply smiled, sat down, and uncorked a pot of purple rice brew to drink.

Old Jiang turned away, promptly opened his pot, took a hefty swig, and then, with a meaningful air, said, “I’ve wandered the world for years, sampling fine spirits from every land, even the best from the other three clans of Shenzhou. Yet I never expected to discover such a hidden gem tonight.” He gazed at the purple rice brew in his hand, smiling. “This liquor is smooth and fragrant, with a potent aftertaste—a true rarity. This trip has not been in vain.”

Jiang Fengnian replied with a laugh, “A friend once told me of this brew. I tried it once, and I’ve never forgotten it since. He said it’s made in their hometown, Dragonfish Fort, and only the Zhang family’s shop crafts it so rich and strong.”

He fell silent, then suddenly seemed lost in thought, staring out at the southern sea where, under the moonlight, white waves rolled endlessly. After a long while, he murmured, “Fine wine is like a fair lady...”

Old Jiang’s mouth curled in a sneer. “Sounds to me like you’ve lost your wits over a girl.”

“There are things in this world that defy reason and explanation,” Jiang Fengnian shook his head with a helpless smile. He looked at Old Jiang, his tone earnest. “If you were in my place, what would you do?”

Old Jiang replied seriously, “When it’s time to cut ties, cut them clean.”

Jiang Fengnian took another drink, shaking his head with a sigh. “How does one cut off what can’t be named or explained?”

Old Jiang said nothing more, drifting away into the night, leaving behind only these words: “Scholars—always so fussy and long-winded.”

Long after Old Jiang had gone, Jiang Fengnian remained on the rooftop, gazing at the moonlit southern sea, the white waves gleaming far away. He whispered to himself, “I have good wine, but no fair lady to share it with.”

He stayed there, lost in thought, watching the distant white-capped sea, his feelings arising from nowhere, their end unknown.

...

Beihai City, the largest human settlement on the southern sea, had long had thousands of entrances. Although the major business, both within the city and overseas, was monopolized by the three great families of the southern sea, most of the people in Beihai and the nearby coastal villages were still fishermen.

Live off the land, live off the sea—such was the way of ordinary folk.

This morning, Li San from Lijia Village on the city’s outskirts set out to fish as usual. He had no choice—life pressed hard. Though the southern sea’s winters were not as cold as elsewhere, they were still chilly, and winter fish tended to hibernate, sluggish and with little appetite. Fishing in winter was a thankless, backbreaking task.

...

“Rolling, rolling waves...”

As always, Li San strode across the wharf, head held high, eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest for warmth. His steps were not long, but with each one, his skinny body gave a shiver, trying to keep warm. Striding across the wharf square like this was his daily routine. At this hour, he was always up the earliest—no one else competed with him for the square, and he could walk here like the king of Beihai.

Tap...

Suddenly, Li San felt his foot connect with something hard—a rock, perhaps. He frowned. Why did he enjoy walking here with his eyes closed? Partly to feel like a lord, but also because here, even blind, he’d never trip.

Irritated, he opened his eyes—and froze in astonishment.

Moments later, the news that Beihai’s wharf square had been left in complete disarray swept through the city.

Shortly after, word spread that the old Qian family patriarch, Qian Zhouliang, had passed away.

A flurry of rumors followed.

Some said last night’s storm had battered the wharf square, leaving it in ruins.

Others whispered of sea-ghosts, flexing their power to intimidate the living.

Most, however, linked it all to the Qian patriarch’s death.

...

Compared to the somber white mourning banners draping the Qian household, the He family was a scene of much greater cheer. Early in the morning they were already seeing off guests—lively and bustling.

“Uncle, there’s no need to see us all the way out of the city,” Qin Yi said, halting He Yongde, who was about to escort them to Beihai’s gates.

He Yongde smiled, “Very well. Remember to give my regards to your parents.”

Qin Yi glanced at He Anjian, who was preparing to set out with him, and teased, “You ought to say that to my grandfather.”

“Hmph!” He Anjian snorted, saying nothing.

The two of them exchanged a knowing smile.

Given that times were unsettled in Beihai, it made sense for someone to remain home as a steady presence. Yet this time, contrary to his usual reluctance to leave, He Anjian insisted on accompanying Qin Yi to Dragonfish Fort. He claimed he’d run out of purple rice brew at home after sampling some last night and was craving more from the Zhang family.

Qin Yi and He Yongde saw through the pretext but said nothing.

...

Among the group were also Old Jiang, intent on teaching Jiang Yao swordsmanship and thus following her on the journey, and Jiang Fengnian, who insisted he was only travelling with them because it was “on his way.”

Their caravan set off grandly from Beihai. As they passed the Qian residence, draped in white for mourning, the fierce eyes of the gate guards followed them, clearly aware, at least in part, of recent events.

Sunlight streamed through the pines; clear springs coursed over stones.

Along the mountain road outside Beihai, a mounted party made its way forward. Qin Yi and Zhang Chen each rode a fine white and red horse. As for Jiang Yao, Qin Yi knew well that those famed heroines of the martial world, forever astride their steeds, ended up with far from elegant backsides. Old Jiang, refusing the carriage, rode a red horse as well, dressed in blue with a straw hat, lazily spinning his battered black oil-paper umbrella. Jiang Fengnian, claiming he wanted to admire the scenery, rode a snow-white stallion—his white robes and horse outshining even Old Jiang’s nonchalance.

Thus, the only ones left in the large carriage were He Anjian, Jiang Yao, and a He family coachman.

Ever since leaving the city gates, Zhang Chen had kept close by Old Jiang, clearly intrigued by something Jiang had said the night before.

“Sir, in what way does your path differ from that of the Sage?” Qin Yi asked respectfully, riding alongside Jiang Fengnian.

Jiang Fengnian was not surprised, answering with a smile, “You must have read some passages from the Dao Sutra and found yourself puzzled.”

“Exactly so,” Qin Yi nodded. The question had arisen in his mind only last night as he pored over the Sage’s Dao Sutra. “Might you enlighten me, sir?”

In truth, in his previous life, Jiang Fengnian was not much older than Qin Yi. Even now, Jiang Fengnian was barely thirty—a mere youth by some reckoning. That is why the cultivators of the human race often said: “In overall strength, we may lag behind the other three clans, but in terms of prodigies, we outstrip them all.”

“To enlighten a supreme Dao seed is an honor for me,” Jiang Fengnian replied with a laugh. “Your question arises because my senior and I both follow the Dao—the Heavenly Way.”

“The Heavenly Way...” Qin Yi muttered. In all his lives, past and present, he had little contact with the Heavenly Way and knew little of it, so he waited for more.

Jiang Fengnian frowned, then said solemnly, “But I do not know how my path differs from my senior’s Heavenly Way.”

“Why?” Qin Yi was startled, his tone somewhat pressing. Was it possible that the Lord of the South merely paid lip service to the Sage’s teachings?

Jiang Fengnian only smiled, brushing off the sharpness of the question. “Because I myself do not know what path I walk. Why else do you think I never fight and am called the weakest in the Dao Realm?”

“Such talent as yours, sir, is not for ordinary men like me to judge,” Qin Yi replied, sidestepping Jiang Fengnian’s self-deprecating remark. Yet his words were sincere. Throughout the ages, out of countless cultivators in Shenzhou, those who attained the Dao Realm were vanishingly few. There were no weaklings in the Dao Realm—even Jiang Fengnian, reputedly the weakest and never one for combat, could dispatch any Golden Core cultivator with ease.

Just then, Qin Yi suddenly lifted his head and looked toward the mountainside.