Liu Zhengfeng finally agreed.
He could see Linghu Chong’s chivalrous nature and how much he cared for Zhong Lingxiu. As long as she stayed in Hengyang, she would never betray them. This way, his conscience was clear, and it avoided trouble from information leaks—two birds with one stone.
“Junior Sister Yixiu understands the greater good; I won’t let you lose out. Since you follow me to learn, it’s not just music; when Senior Brother Bingming, the sect leader, returns, he will teach you the Returning Wind Falling Goose Sword Technique.”
The three great skills of Mount Heng were not lightly taught outside, but ordinary swordplay was fine. The disciples of the Five Mountains Sword Sects borrowed from each other’s techniques regularly; it was nothing strange.
Zhong Lingxiu didn’t expect such a benefit and said immediately, “Thank you, senior.”
Her willingness made Linghu Chong uneasy about objecting. He helplessly said, “Junior sister, take care of yourself.”
“Don’t be so solemn.” Zhong Lingxiu saw his distress and comforted him kindly, “One’s honey is another’s poison. This is not bad for me; don’t blame me for seizing your chance.”
Linghu Chong shook his head and smiled, “Your open-hearted nature is the real opportunity. I…”
He stopped, seeming confused. “I don’t understand as well as you.”
According to his master, the Demon Cult were all cruel villains who drew swords on sight. He shouldn’t speak of them, lest he be led astray by false words and harm himself. Yet with Senior Uncle Liu and Qu Yang, mutual confidants, and Junior Sister Yixiu being completely unconcerned, his heart was troubled and conflicted.
“The jianghu is never simple.”
Zhong Lingxiu lowered her head, looking at Qu Feiyan. Her fate was vague, unlikely to be good. She said, “Heaven’s walls have no secret leaks. Today, Linghu Chong doesn’t know, but what if others did? Once discovered, Senior Uncle Liu, I, and Linghu Chong would all be in trouble. It’s best to prepare early.”
Qu Yang said nothing but raised his hand to stroke his granddaughter’s head.
Liu Zhengfeng sighed. “Brother Qu anticipated this. When the Guangling San is found, we will retire from the jianghu and no longer meddle in worldly affairs.”
“Who knows when?” Zhong Lingxiu said, “Why not retire now? Later, when we meet again, there will be plenty of time to discuss music. Isn’t that better than hiding and whispering? Don’t put the cart before the horse.”
Linghu Chong agreed strongly. “Right. Elder Qu once scorned other cult disciples. Why not quit early and turn to the light?”
Qu Yang sighed long and hard, hesitating to speak.
He disliked the recent ways of the Divine Cult. What kind of man was Dongfang Bubai? Quitting the Demon Cult was not that simple.
After a long pause, he muttered vaguely, “We must consider carefully.”
–
At the end of midsummer, Zhong Lingxiu arrived in Hengyang.
Liu Zhengfeng wrote to Mount Heng, praising her musical talent and unwilling to let a pearl lie hidden. He promised to teach her music theory and asked the abbesses to rest assured he would ensure her care.
Zhong Lingxiu wrote a more detailed letter, saying she had planned to return to Mount Heng but got half lost and was saved by Senior Uncle Liu. During that time, she had learned some music theory and felt ashamed for not returning sooner. She asked the elders to forgive her.
The Five Mountains Sword Sects were closely allied, and their outstanding disciples were highly valued. The abbesses unsurprisingly approved and reminded her to study diligently, not to become arrogant, and to respect Senior Uncle Liu as if he were a relative from her sect.
Those most opposed were Liu Zhengfeng’s disciples.
Their feelings toward the new junior sister were complicated. As men, having a beautiful, gentle junior sister was pleasing to the eye, but jealousy lurked—how could their master snatch someone from Mount Heng? What was so great about her?
The hot-blooded young disciples responded in kind—they requested sparring sessions but were defeated one by one by Zhong Lingxiu.
Both sides were stunned.
The Hengyang disciples didn’t expect her to be so young yet swordplay so refined that none gained advantage; Zhong Lingxiu was surprised that among the younger generation of Mount Heng, not one could surpass Linghu Chong as leader.
Liu Zhengfeng was also shocked, scowling for days and scolding those who shirked training.
Zhong Lingxiu didn’t want trouble. She deliberately slowed her progress in music and asked senior brothers for help when confused. If someone challenged her, she simply accepted and never drew her sword rashly.
After a few rounds, conflicts naturally dissipated.
She smoothly learned the Returning Wind Falling Goose Sword and mastered playing the flute, with just beginner’s knowledge of the dongxiao.
She understood how to read gongche notation and barely remembered the fingerings for the guqin.
When early winter came, she set off to return to Mount Heng.
Liu Zhengfeng had already received news from Qu Yang about another ancient tomb lead and didn’t keep her. He gifted her a beautiful jade flute. His daughter Liu Jing had grown quite familiar with her, half a handkerchief in trust, and copied a collection of scores for her.
Qu Yang arranged to send her a knee qin and the Ancient Lost Sounds he had given earlier, as thanks for keeping their secret.
Zhong Lingxiu accepted everything and pressed once more.
“Searching for the Guangling San is endless. Even if found, you two probably want to compose a timeless masterpiece. That will take time. Without a thousand days of guarding against thieves, it’s best to prepare early. Even if not for yourselves, think of the young girls and the senior brothers—who all truly respect you as master. If things go wrong one day, how will they face the jianghu?”
Liu Zhengfeng turned pale, stroking his beard silently.
“That’s all I have to say. Please think carefully.”
She couldn’t decide for him, only wait for his own conclusion. If disaster could be averted, great; if not, she would follow her sect in attending his retirement ceremony and think of a solution then.
She held hope for a good outcome.
Embracing this hope, she set off back to Mount Heng.
This time, a merchant caravan specially arranged by Liu Zhengfeng accompanied her. They ate meat and drank wine along the way. On fine days, she sat in the cabin playing her flute. Peacefully, she arrived at her doorstep.
It was deep winter; Mount Heng was clad in silver and white snow.
She carried a huge bundle, puffing up the mountain to visit the sect leader, Abbess Zhuoxian Peak.
“Good to have you back,” Abbess Zhuoxian said kindly. “It was hard coming down the mountain.”
Zhong Lingxiu naturally denied any hardship.
In her letter, she had detailed the whole story of killing Tian Boguang. Abbess Zhuoxian didn’t ask more but said, “How is Master Liu’s health?”
“Senior uncle is well, obsessed with music. The senior brothers of Mount Heng are diligent in martial arts, hate evil, and take good care of disciples,” Zhong Lingxiu answered politely. “Senior uncle asked me to send his regards.”
Abbess Zhuoxian nodded and asked about her progress in music theory.
She shyly said, “I can play two simple tunes now.”
“That’s fine, take your time.” Abbess Zhuoxian touched her prayer beads and smiled warmly. “Go see Master and Senior Sister Yizhen.”
Zhong Lingxiu was surprised. “What happened to Senior Sister Yizhen?”
“She left the mountain and returned to secular life,” Abbess Zhuoxian smiled. “The Zhao couple came up personally to plead. They are old now, and her fiancé remains unmarried. Now that Tian Boguang is dead, Yizhen’s heart is at peace. She wants to marry and accompany her two masters.”
Zhong Lingxiu couldn’t help but smile. “Really? That’s wonderful.”
3、
Returning to Mount Heng, many things awaited.
She paid respects to Abbess Zhuoxian, then Abbess Jing and Abbess Yi. Abbess Yi caught her and tested her martial arts; only after she survived the fierce sword techniques was she released. She met senior sisters Yiqing and Yiyang, distributed southern specialties—needles, herbs, ink—for daily use.
Then, she went to offer incense at Master Abbess Yiyan’s grave.
Mount Heng was simple; the grave was small, cleaned at Qingming with only scattered weeds.
“Master,” Zhong Lingxiu gazed at the tombstone, “I killed Tian Boguang.”
Perhaps the transmigrator’s mental barrier or Mount Heng’s calm atmosphere made Master Abbess Yiyan’s death feel like that of a distant relative—sad and regrettable, but not mournful.
Feelings cannot be forced. She folded her hands and bowed, “Rest in peace.”
Finally, she bought winter clothes and quilts, and visited the now secular Yizhen.
She called her Zhao Zhen.
The Zhao couple knew she had killed Tian Boguang and were endlessly grateful, tailoring new clothes and shoes for her, showing great hospitality. Zhong Lingxiu refused several times but failed and had to accept their kindness, wearing the new clothes to Zhao Zhen’s wedding.
Yiqing and others were also invited, with a separate vegetarian table, congratulating her on rebirth.
After the wedding, returning to the mountain meant the year-end busyness.
Zhong Lingxiu bought a strip of cured meat with her own money and sliced two pieces a day for extra meals. The creek water froze and was hard to fetch, but she still got up early, broke the ice, and carried water back to the nunnery. Compared to before, it was much less effort now.
Each step her shoes seemed to stick to the ground, even on icy spots, holding firm and never slipping. The cold wind was biting, yet wearing just an ordinary jacket, she didn’t feel cold. The warmth spread through her limbs, dispelling the cold as mist swirled around her, merging with the wind and snow.
Noon was for chanting and sword practice, occasionally playing the qin.
Outside suited flute playing; at home, the qin was better—sitting quietly in the chamber, letting the sound flow.
The year-end passed in a blink.
In early February, Zhong Lingxiu felt her state was good and took out the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual hidden in her menstrual belt, preparing to practice this skill.
She had to admit, this style was so difficult it should die out.
Mount Heng’s heart method was balanced and compassionate, but the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual’s method was strange, yin and subtle. To compare, the former was like nurturing pearls—polishing slowly until smooth and bright. The latter was like cultivating diamonds—sharp and angular, stabbing meridians painfully.
Especially passing through the kidney region. For men, unknown; for women, it caused stomach pain.
Like ovulation pain or menstrual cramps, a heavy ache in the lower abdomen as if turbulent currents flowed inside. No wonder practitioners castrated themselves—otherwise, it was easy to derail the meridians and fall into madness.
Too painful. The first attempt unsurprisingly failed.
Calming the dantian and gathering her thoughts, she used Mount Heng’s heart method to dispel the errant qi.
After a week, her mind returned to peace.
The next day, she tried again.
This time, she rehearsed the movements mentally beforehand, prepared for it, and tried a second time.
With Buddhist heart method protecting her, it was better. She barely controlled the strange sensations and exerted every bit of strength to guide the qi flow. After practice, it returned to her limbs smoothly.
This practice was paired with the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual sword techniques. To unleash its power, one had to guide the internal energy precisely. The moves themselves weren’t difficult—Lin Zhennan learned them but without power.
Zhong Lingxiu had already drilled the sword techniques thoroughly, but as soon as she moved the internal energy, the moves distorted or lacked force. She clearly missed some key point and could not grasp it.
But this couldn’t be rushed. It took her ten years to master Mount Heng sword techniques properly. Three months with the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual was just a start.
She didn’t push herself. If practice went well, she’d keep at it; if not, she’d do something else.
Like writing letters to Linghu Chong, asking what swordplay he was learning, his progress, whether Yue Buqun and his wife suspected anything about the lake incident, and that she had learned the Returning Wind Falling Goose Sword and wanted to spar soon.
She also wrote to Liu Jing, Liu Zhengfeng’s daughter, asking how she was doing, thanking her for the scores she sent, saying she could now play the flute and xiao but was not very skilled, stumbling through guqin fingerings. She asked if Senior Uncle Liu was well or had gone out again, and to send him her regards.
Spring peach blossoms withered on the letters, welcoming the cool mountain summer.
Zhong Lingxiu sometimes went down to buy melons—no watermelons, but cantaloupes were delicious. She roamed nearby villages hunting wolves and bears, removing wild beasts and earning pelts for fur robes.
The meat was not tasty, so given to villagers to improve their diets.
Although this was the martial world, ordinary folks in unseen places still lived hard lives.
She bought herbs from mountain folk, giving them extra income and ensuring Mount Heng could continue making good medicines—the Tianxiang Duanxujiao and Baiyun Xiongdan Pills worked well. She memorized the recipes and made two bottles as backup.
In autumn, the sisters went into the mountains to gather wild fruits for brewing wine.
Mount Heng forbade meat and alcohol, but on festivals, they drank some vegetarian wine, made from wild fruits. The taste depended on luck—sometimes sweet and sour, sometimes so bitter even dogs wouldn’t drink it.
Winter approached.
–
Late autumn, Linghu Chong lay asleep under a tree with a wine jar, golden leaves covering the hill, nearly burying him.
Lu Dayou searched for a while before finding him and helplessly dug him out. “Senior Brother, wake up.”
“Six Monkeys.” Linghu Chong opened his eyes lazily. “Which move are you not getting? Phoenix Arrival?”
“No, there’s a letter.” Lu Dayou pulled out a letter. “From Mount Heng.”
“Mount Heng?” Linghu Chong suddenly woke, sitting upright like a carp jumping. He took the envelope—“To Linghu Chong, personal”—in the handwriting of Junior Sister Yixiu. He opened and read, his expression relaxing and eventually smiling.
Lu Dayou peeked over. “Who wrote it? Which little master from Mount Heng? The one who sparred with you last time?”
Linghu Chong folded the letter and took a swig of cold wine. “Stop prying; you weren’t this gossiping before.”
“I’m curious.” Among his brothers, Lu Dayou was closest to Linghu Chong, sharing everything, grinning. “Senior Brother has been restless since returning. Junior Sister kept pestering him and he wouldn’t answer. It worried everyone.”
Linghu Chong felt comforted by their care and laughed, “It’s nothing major. I was just troubled by my insufficient skill against Tian Boguang.”
Lu Dayou was curious about Tian Boguang’s skill. “Was he really that strong?”
Linghu Chong nodded. “His saber and lightness skills were both good, not inferior to any senior of the sects. Without Junior Sister Yixiu’s persistence, it would have been very hard to kill him.”
Lu Dayou looked fearful but curious. “Junior Sister Yixiu is two years younger than Senior Brother. How is she so formidable?”
“She’s not just strong in martial arts,” Linghu Chong sighed. “Compared to her, I’m like a stubborn stone in mud versus a cloud in the sky—vulgar and uninteresting.”
Lu Dayou shook his head. “To me, Senior Brother is the best. I wouldn’t trade him for a hundred Junior Sister Yixius.”
Feeling loved, Linghu Chong laughed heartily. “Good, good. Six Monkeys is my little rascal. It’s best you’re brothers with this old drunkard. Come, drink.”
Lu Dayou accompanied him through two bowls of wine, taught a few sword moves, then left.
After he left, Linghu Chong opened the letter again, reading her hints: By Poyang Lake, the Xiao and Qin families were hereditary enemies, but their daughters secretly loved each other. Concealing this from elders was unsustainable. She asked if he had any solution.
He couldn’t help but laugh bitterly, thinking he had no good ideas. He could only hope to keep it from his master.
Qu Yang and Liu Zhengfeng’s friendship was based on music, transcending origins, only valuing righteousness and never committing heinous acts. Linghu Chong admired yet feared them, hoping they would not become reviled by the jianghu.
What could he do?
Linghu Chong sighed long and looked fondly at her handwriting.
Besides qin and xiao, the letter mentioned many trivial matters.
The Returning Wind Falling Goose Sword differed from Mount Heng swordplay with exquisite grace. One move, “Goose Returns,” rolled up a pink tide of peach blossoms, its momentum stunning. He wondered how it compared to Mount Hua’s Phoenix Arrival.
She asked when he would learn the sect leader Yue’s Purple Mist Palm and wanted to see its power, not wanting to be disappointed.
Each sentence invoked her expression in his mind—dark eyebrows like ink strokes, pale and elegant face, lips pressed lightly, youthful but mature, handsome and carefree.
He remembered the Water Moon Guanyin he once worshipped—equally transcendent.
Is this Buddha nature?
For some reason, his heart grew a little bitter.
He folded the letter carefully and tucked it into his bosom, lifting the wine jar to drink deeply.
Wine dulls sorrow; all troubles must retreat. He drank heavily until the moon was high and clear.
The bright moon hung silent and high, illuminating a thousand miles.