Absolute Courage

Yunmeng, a land of many lakes, is home to the foremost great cultivation clan of the region, the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, whose immortal seat, Lotus Pier, was built right along the water.

A short row from the pier at Lotus Pier brings you to a vast lotus field—Lotus Blossom Lake, stretching hundreds of li. Its broad emerald leaves and graceful pink blossoms crowd shoulder to shoulder; when the lake wind blows, flowers sway and leaves tremble as if nodding in endless greeting. Amid their fresh loveliness, there is also a touch of naive, foolish charm.

Lotus Pier did not hold itself aloof from the world as other immortal residences did, gates shut fast against ordinary folk for miles around. Instead, the broad pier before its gates bustled with vendors selling lotus pods, water caltrops, and steamed buns—a lively, crowded spot. Children from nearby homes, noses still running, could slip into the Training Grounds to steal glances at sword practice; even if caught, they were not scolded, and now and then they even played with the Jiang disciples.

When Wei Wuxian was young, he often shot kites by the shores of Lotus Blossom Lake.

Jiang Cheng kept a tight eye on his own kite, stealing glances at Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian’s kite had already soared very high, yet he still made no move to draw his bow; right hand shading his brow, he tilted his head back and laughed, as if he thought it was still not far enough.

Seeing the kite about to fly beyond the distance he was absolutely certain he could hit, Jiang Cheng gritted his teeth, nocked an arrow, and drew his bow. The white-feathered shaft shot out with a whiz. The kite, painted like a bizarre single-eyed monster, had its eye pierced straight through and fell. Jiang Cheng’s brows smoothed; he said, ‘Hit!’

Then he said, ‘Yours has flown so far—can you still hit it?’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘Guess.’

Only then did he draw an arrow, aim with concentration. The bowstring was drawn full, then released with a snap.

Hit!

Jiang Cheng’s brows knitted again, and he snorted. The pack of youths put away their bows and ran to retrieve the kites, ranking the results. The one that fell closest was the worst; every time the lowest rank went to the sixth junior disciple, who, as custom demanded, bore their teasing laughter good-naturedly—his skin was so thick he didn’t mind at all. Wei Wuxian’s kite had fallen the farthest, and right next to it was Jiang Cheng’s, in second place; neither of them bothered to go pick them up. The youths charged into the Nine-Bend Lotus Corridor built out over the water, clambering along the eaves and walls in rough-and-tumble play, when two graceful young women suddenly materialized.

Both were dressed as armed maids, wearing short swords at their belts. The taller maid held a kite and an arrow, blocking their path. She asked coldly, ‘Whose is this?’

The youths all inwardly groaned at the sight of the two women. Wei Wuxian rubbed his chin, stepped forward, and said, ‘Mine.’

The other maid snorted, ‘You’re honest enough.’

The two maids parted to either side, and from behind them emerged a sword-bearing woman in purple.

Her skin was creamy-white and strikingly beautiful, with fine, elegant features that nonetheless held a sharp edge. The corners of her lips seemed faintly curled in a perpetual sneer, exactly like Jiang Cheng’s. Slender-waisted, the purple robes flowing around her, her face and the right hand resting on her sword hilt were as cold and hard as jade; on her right index finger she wore a ring set with a violet crystal.

Jiang Cheng smiled at the sight of her and called, ‘A-niang.’

The other youths said respectfully, ‘Madam Yu.’

Madam Yu was Jiang Cheng’s mother, Yu Ziyuan. Of course, she was also Jiang Fengmian’s wife, and had once been his cultivation partner. By rights, she should be called Madam Jiang, yet for some reason, everyone had always called her Madam Yu. Some speculated that Madam Yu’s forceful nature made her dislike taking her husband’s surname. Neither of the couple ever objected.

Madam Yu hailed from the distinguished Meishan Yu Clan, where she ranked third in her generation, earning the name Third Lady Yu. Within The Mystic Gate, she bore the title ‘Purple Spider,’ a name that could frighten off a crowd just by being spoken. From a young age, she had a cold, fierce temperament and little taste for social niceties; when she did deal with people, it rarely went pleasantly. Even after marrying Jiang Fengmian, she spent most of the year night-hunting away from home and had little fondness for staying at the Jiang Clan’s Lotus Pier. Moreover, her residence within Lotus Pier was separate from Jiang Fengmian’s—a whole area she kept to herself, inhabited only by herself and the household attendants she had brought from the Yu family. The two young women, Jin Zhu and Yinzhu, were her trusted personal maids and never left her side.

Madam Yu swept a glance over Jiang Cheng and said, ‘Running wild again? Come here and let me look at you.’

Jiang Cheng sidled up to her. Madam Yu’s slender five fingers pinched his arm, then she slapped him on the shoulder with a crack and scolded, ‘No improvement in your cultivation at all—nearly seventeen, yet you still act like a useless child, wasting your days fooling around. Are you the same as others? Who knows what gutter they’ll end up flopping in someday? You are going to be the next leader of the Jiang Clan!’

Jiang Cheng staggered under the slap, lowering his head, not daring to defend himself. Wei Wuxian knew without a doubt that this was, once again, a veiled rebuke aimed at him. A junior disciple beside him stuck out his tongue; Wei Wuxian raised an eyebrow back. Madam Yu said, ‘Wei Ying, what mischief are you up to now?’

Wei Wuxian stepped forward as a matter of course. Madam Yu snapped, ‘That look again! If you have no ambition yourself, don’t drag Jiang Cheng into your idle games and corrupt him.’

Wei Wuxian said, astonished, ‘I’m not ambitious? Who works harder than me in all of Lotus Pier?’

Young people have little patience and always must talk back. At these words, a murderous look flashed across Madam Yu’s brow. Jiang Cheng hastily said, ‘Wei Wuxian, shut up!’

He turned to Madam Yu and said, ‘It’s not that we want to loaf around Lotus Pier shooting kites, but right now none of us can go out anyway. The Wen Clan has claimed all the night-hunt territories as their own; even if I wanted to go night-hunting, there’s no place to do it. Staying home and not stirring up trouble or fighting the Wen Clan over prey—wasn’t that what you and Father told us to do?’

Madam Yu laughed coldly. ‘I’m afraid this time, even if you don’t want to go out, you’ll have to.’

Jiang Cheng was bewildered. Madam Yu paid them no further attention, striding through the corridor with her head high. Behind her, the two maids shot vicious glares at Wei Wuxian before following their mistress away.

That evening, they finally understood what ‘even if you don’t want to go out, you’ll have to’ meant.

As it turned out, the Qishan Wen Clan had sent an envoy with a message. Citing the other clans’ inadequate instruction and wasted talent, the Wen Clan demanded that each clan send at least twenty family disciples to Qishan within three days, where Wen-appointed instructors would personally edify them.

Jiang Cheng said, stunned, ‘The Wen Clan actually has the nerve to say something like that? How utterly shameless!’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘They think they’re the sun in the sky, elder brother to all the clans. It’s not the first time the Wen Clan have been this barefaced. Relying on their size and power, they’ve been banning other clans from night-hunting since last year, seizing who knows how much prey and territory.’

Jiang Fengmian, seated at the head, said, ‘Hold your tongue. Eat.’

There were only five people in the vast hall, each with a small square table set with a few dishes of food before them. Wei Wuxian lowered his head and moved his chopsticks, when suddenly someone tugged at the corner of his robe. Turning his head, he saw Jiang Yanli passing him a little plate filled with several plump, white, freshly peeled lotus seeds.

Wei Wuxian said quietly, ‘Thank you, Shijie.’

Jiang Yanli smiled faintly, and her normally bland features were suddenly touched with a vivid warmth. Yu Ziyuan said coldly, ‘What’s the point of eating? Who knows if they’ll even get meals once they’re in Qishan. Might as well start starving them now so they get used to it!’

There was no refusing this demand from the Qishan Wen Clan. Countless past examples proved: if any clan dared to defy their orders, they would be branded with such preposterous charges as ‘rebellion against the immortal sects’ or ‘scourge of the hundred clans’, and then, on that pretext, openly and self-righteously annihilated.

Jiang Fengmian said evenly, ‘Why be so agitated? Whatever the future holds, today’s meal must still be eaten.’

Madam Yu struggled to hold back, then slammed the table. ‘Me, agitated? It’s only right that I’m agitated! How can you still be so utterly indifferent? Didn’t you hear what the Wen envoy said? A mere serving girl, a slave, dared to strut before me! And among the twenty disciples sent, there must be a direct-line descendant of the main family. What does direct-line descendant mean? At least one of A-Cheng and A-Li has to go! Sent for what? Edification? Since when do the Wen have the right to stick their noses into how other clans train their own disciples?! This is sending our people over to be held under their thumb, to be hostages!’

Jiang Cheng said, ‘A-niang, don’t be angry. I’ll go.’

Madam Yu scolded, ‘Of course you’ll go! Or do you expect your sister to go? Look at her, still cheerfully peeling lotus seeds. A-Li, stop peeling! Who are you peeling them for? You are a mistress, not someone’s servant!’

At the word ‘servant’, Wei Wuxian felt no prick at all—he simply finished off all the lotus seeds on the plate in one go, chewing with a cool, sweet freshness filling his mouth. Jiang Fengmian, however, lifted his head slightly and said, ‘Sanniang.’

Madam Yu said, ‘Did I say something wrong? Servant? You don’t like hearing that word? Jiang Fengmian, I’m asking you—this time, do you intend to let him go?’

Jiang Fengmian said, ‘It’s up to him. If he wants to go, he can go.’

Wei Wuxian raised a hand. ‘I’ll go.’

Madam Yu laughed coldly. ‘How lovely. You can go if you want, and you could certainly stay if you wanted to. Why must A-Cheng go whether he wants to or not? Raising someone else’s son like this—Sect Leader Jiang, you are truly a saint!’

She was full of resentment and only wanted to vent it, with no regard for reason. Everyone else stayed silent, letting her rage burn. Jiang Fengmian said, ‘Third Lady, you are tired. Go rest.’ Jiang Cheng, still seated, looked up at her and also said, ‘A-niang.’ Madam Yu stood and answered with contempt: ‘What are you calling me for? To tell me to hold my tongue, like your father? You’re a fool—I told you long ago that you’d never match the one sitting right beside you. Can’t match his cultivation, can’t match his night-hunting, can’t even match him at shooting kites! There’s nothing to be done; whose mother is not as good as another’s? You just can’t compare. Your mother has been indignant on your behalf, told you time and again not to run wild with him, and still you defend him. How did I give birth to a son like you!’

She stalked out, leaving Jiang Cheng sitting where he was, his face turning alternately pale and green. Jiang Yanli quietly set a plate of peeled lotus seeds beside his table.

After a moment, Jiang Fengmian said, ‘Tonight I will select eighteen more people. Tomorrow, you will all set out together.’

Jiang Cheng nodded, hesitating, not knowing what else to say. He had never understood how to talk with his father, but Wei Wuxian was perfectly at ease. Finishing his soup, he said, ‘Uncle Jiang, don’t you have something to give us?’

Jiang Fengmian smiled faintly. ‘What I had to give you was given long ago. The sword at your side, the precept in your heart.’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘Oh! “Attempt the impossible,” right?’

Jiang Cheng warned at once, ‘That doesn’t mean you should go ahead and cause trouble when you know perfectly well it’s trouble!’

Only then did the mood around the table loosen.

The next day, before they departed, after Jiang Fengmian had finished the necessary instructions, he added only one more line: ‘The disciples of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan are not so fragile as to be unable to weather a little storm from the outside world.’

Jiang Yanli saw them off leg after leg of the journey, stuffing each person’s arms with dried provisions and snacks, fearful they would go hungry in Qishan. The twenty youths, laden with heavy food, set out from Lotus Pier and arrived at the designated Office of Edification in Qishan before the Wen Clan’s deadline.

Young disciples from clans large and small had trickled in, all of them juniors. Among the several hundred, many were acquaintances or familiar faces. In groups of three or five, or seven or eight, they murmured in low voices, all wearing poor expressions—clearly, they too had been summoned in a less than courteous manner. Glancing around, Wei Wuxian said, ‘Gusu has sent people as well, as expected.’

For some reason, the youths sent by the Gusu Lan Clan all looked rather haggard. Lan Wangji’s face was especially pale, but his expression remained as cold as frost, keeping others at arm’s length, Bichen strapped to his back, standing alone in the chill emptiness around him. Wei Wuxian had been about to go up and greet him, but Jiang Cheng warned, ‘Don’t stir up trouble!’ and he had to let it go.

Suddenly, someone ahead shouted orders, commanding the disciples of all clans to assemble in formation before a high platform. Several Wen-clan functionaries walked up and barked, ‘Silence! No talking!’

The person on the platform was not much older than they were—about eighteen or nineteen—strutting with a swagger, his looks barely qualifying as ‘handsome’ at best. Yet, like his hair, he gave off an inexplicably greasy impression. This was none other than the youngest son of the Qishan Wen Clan’s leader, Wen Chao.

Wen Chao was fond of the limelight and loved to show off before the gathered clans on many occasions, so his face was not unfamiliar to the crowd. To his left and right stood two attendants. On the left was a graceful, bright-eyed girl with arching brows, large eyes, and lips like flames—her only flaw a black mole above her lip, placed so unfortunately that one always wanted to scratch it off. On the right was a man who appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties, tall and broad-shouldered, with an indifferent expression and a cold, heavy bearing.

Wen Chao stood on the raised ground, looking down on the crowd with an air of supreme self-satisfaction, and waved a hand. ‘Starting now, hand over your swords one by one!’

The crowd rippled with unrest. Someone protested, ‘A cultivator never parts from his sword—why must we surrender our spiritual swords?’

Wen Chao said, ‘Who spoke just now? Which clan? Step forward yourself!’

The person who had spoken immediately fell silent. The crowd below quieted once more, and only then did Wen Chao look satisfied. ‘It is precisely because there are still family disciples like you—ignorant of propriety, ignorant of obedience, ignorant of rank—that the roots are rotten, and that is why I am determined to edify you. Already so ignorant and reckless now; if I don’t set you straight early, in the future, someone will surely get ideas about challenging authority and climbing above the Wen Clan!’

Everyone knew his demand for swords was ill-intended, but the Qishan Wen Clan was at the height of its power, and each clan walked on thin ice, not daring the slightest resistance, terrified that one displeased move might bring some charge down upon their entire clan. They could only swallow their anger and submit.

Jiang Cheng pressed a hand on Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian whispered, ‘What are you holding me down for?’

Jiang Cheng snorted, ‘Afraid you’ll do something rash.’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘You’re overthinking it. Although that greasy fellow makes me sick, even if I wanted to beat him up, I wouldn’t pick a time like this to cause trouble for our family. Don’t worry.’

Jiang Cheng said, ‘You’re thinking of putting a sack over his head and beating him? That probably won’t work—see the man beside Wen Chao?’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘I see him. High cultivation, but he hasn’t kept up his appearance well—looks like a late bloomer.’

Jiang Cheng said, ‘That man is Wen Zhuliu; his nickname is “Core-Melting Hand.” He’s Wen Chao’s personal attendant, specially assigned to protect him. Don’t provoke him.’

Wei Wuxian said, ‘Core-Melting Hand?’

Jiang Cheng said, ‘Right. Those palms of his are terrifying, and he helps the tyrant in his crimes. Before, he helped Wen—’

The two faced forward, speaking in low voices. When they saw a Wen-clan servant collecting swords approach, they fell silent at once. Wei Wuxian casually unstrapped his sword and handed it over, involuntarily glancing toward the Gusu Lan Clan. He had expected Lan Wangji to firmly refuse, but to his surprise, though Lan Wangji’s face was terrifyingly cold, he still unstrapped his sword.

Madam Yu’s derision had proved prophetic: under the ‘edification’ in Qishan, they were indeed fed nothing but thin, tasteless gruel every day. The provisions Jiang Yanli had hung all over them had long since been confiscated, and none of these young family disciples had yet learned to fast—it was truly hard to bear.

The so-called ‘edification’ of the Qishan Wen Clan consisted of distributing a copy of the ‘Wen Sect Essential Records’ to everyone, its pages crammed with the glorious deeds and maxims of past Wen leaders and worthies, which they were ordered to read, recite, and keep constantly in mind. Every day, Wen Chao would stand high up and deliver a speech before the crowd, demanding they cheer him in unison and model their every word and deed on his example. During Night Hunts, he would bring along the disciples from various clans and drive them forward to scout the way, draw the attention of monsters and demons, and fight desperately. Then, at the very last moment, he would emerge, effortlessly strike down the beast that others had already worn down, behead it, and afterward go out and boast that it was all his own achievement. If anyone particularly offended his eye, he would single that person out and berate them publicly, reviling them as worse than pigs and dogs.

The year before last, during the archery competition at the Qishan Wen Clan’s Hundred Clans Discussion Conference, Wen Chao had entered the field alongside Wei Wuxian and others. Filled with the conviction that he would take first place, he naturally assumed everyone else would defer to him. As it turned out, of his first three arrows, one hit the target, one missed entirely, and one struck the wrong paper target. By rights he should have withdrawn immediately, but he stubbornly stayed, and no one dared to say anything. When the scores were tallied, the top four were Wei Wuxian, Lan Xichen, Jin Zixuan, and Lan Wangji. Had Lan Wangji not left early, his result would have been even better. Wen Chao felt deeply humiliated and therefore harbored a particular hatred for those four. Since Lan Xichen had not come, he seized upon the remaining three and berated them publicly day after day, swaggering and immensely pleased with himself.

The most aggrieved was Jin Zixuan, raised since childhood in the palms of his parents’ hands—he had never endured such humiliation. Had the other Lanling Jin Clan disciples not held him back, and had Wen Zhuliu not been a dangerous character, he would have rushed at Wen Chao on the very first day to perish with him. Lan Wangji, on the other hand, maintained a state of utter stillness, as if his mind were placid water and everything beneath his notice—like his soul had already left his body. As for Wei Wuxian, after years of Madam Yu’s colorful scoldings at Lotus Pier, he simply came off stage laughing merrily and didn’t take Wen Chao’s petty antics seriously at all.

Another day, the crowd was again rousted from sleep at the crack of dawn by the Wen servants and herded, like so many livestock, toward a new Night Hunt site.

This Night Hunt location was called Muxi Mountain.

The deeper they went into the mountain forest, the thicker the leaves and branches overhead grew, and the heavier the shadow underfoot spread. Beyond the rustling of the tree sea and their own footsteps, no other sound could be heard; any birdcall, beast cry, or insect hum would have seemed startlingly out of place in that profound stillness.

After a long while, the party came upon a small stream winding across their path. The water burbled gently, carrying drifting maple leaves along. The sound of the stream and the color of the maple leaves subtly lightened the oppressive mood, and from up ahead, there even came the faint sound of giggling laughter.

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng walked along, muttering under their breath and finding new ways to curse the Wen dogs. Unwittingly, Wei Wuxian glanced back and caught a glimpse of white robes. Lan Wangji was not far behind him.

Because he was walking slowly, Lan Wangji had fallen to the rear of the group. Over the past few days, Wei Wuxian had several times wanted to get close to him and catch up, but every time, Lan Wangji turned away at the sight of him, and Jiang Cheng had repeatedly warned him not to go pestering. Now that they were near, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help paying closer attention. He suddenly noticed that, though Lan Wangji was trying his best to walk normally, his right foot landed lighter than his left, as if he could not put his full weight on it.

At this, Wei Wuxian slowed his pace and dropped back to Lan Wangji’s side, walking alongside him. He asked, ‘What’s wrong with your leg?’