Chapter Fifteen: Severing the Ties of Affection

Liaochen was inexperienced, but by no means foolish. He realized someone had set their sights on him, especially when the villagers began to whisper behind his back, when the Zhang sisters blushed at the sight of him, and when the two elders of the Zhang family scrutinized him from head to toe.

The Zhang sisters were adorable—either would make a wonderful wife. Yet Liaochen could not allow himself to settle here. In this small village, he could indulge in a fleeting moment of tranquility, but one day, he would have to continue his journey.

He did not know how to explain himself without hurting this family’s feelings, particularly since they had saved his life.

As the moon rose high, Liaochen quietly closed his door, gazed at the cottage bathed in moonlight, and made his decision to leave. He had his own path to follow; why linger and bring needless trouble upon himself or others?

But as he reached the edge of the village, hurried footsteps sounded behind him. Turning, he saw the Zhang sisters.

“You’re leaving? Why?” The third sister’s eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at him.

“I…” Liaochen was at a loss for words in the face of this honest, good-hearted young woman.

“Could you not go?” Her voice was full of longing. Over half a year, Liaochen had become like family. Although her parents hoped he might stay and become a son-in-law, Liaochen’s reluctance didn’t mean he had to leave.

“Ah…” Liaochen could only sigh, unable to find words to comfort her.

“You look down on us, on this little village, on our family trying to keep you as a son-in-law, isn’t that it?” The second sister’s trembling voice was laced with both anger and sorrow.

“I, Liaochen, was wounded and fell into the Yangtze River that day, saved only by you two sisters. Such kindness I shall never forget. But I have my own sect to return to, my own road to walk. Mortal ties are as illusory as dreams. It is I who have wronged you both.” He bowed deeply, then turned resolutely and continued on his way.

“Brother Liao, will you ever return?” The third sister’s tearful voice reached him from behind. Liaochen’s heart clenched, but he forced himself not to look back, only shouting, “If fate allows, I will!”

Moonlight, silver and pure, spilled across the fields beyond the village. Behind him came the sisters’ muffled weeping. Liaochen quickened his pace, vanishing into the night, hurried and a little disheveled, leaving the sisters staring after him in silence.

He did not know how far he walked. Only when he looked back and found the village gone from sight did he stop to rest. Setting aside all thoughts and worries, he leaned against a roadside sapling to meditate and regulate his breath.

At dawn, he continued on his way, passing through village after village, never daring to rest long in any one place.

When Wudang Mountain finally appeared before him, Liaochen suddenly furrowed his brow, a sense of loss settling in his heart—for he realized the red thread entwined around him had broken.

“I shall prostrate myself before the Three Pure Ones and pray for your happiness and well-being,” Liaochen murmured, looking back toward the little village, offering his blessing.

Wudang Mountain, also known as Mount Taihe, had been famed since before the Qin dynasty as a sacred site of Daoism, a haven for immortals. After its elevation in the current dynasty, its renown had only grown, incense burning ceaselessly. Where there are people, there is wealth; and with the constant flow of pilgrims, a town had sprung up at the mountain’s foot, thriving on the mountain’s blessings. The town bustled with inns and taverns catering to the pilgrims. Street performers, sellers of miracle pills, and wandering fortune-tellers were a common sight. But as Liaochen reached the town center, he couldn’t help but laugh—this place had nearly become a street of fortune-tellers. That alone was amusing, but some brazenly flew banners proclaiming “Unerring Predictions, Fee Depends on Your Face”—had they even considered what certain people might think?

Liaochen stayed at the foot of the mountain for a night. The next morning, he joined the crowds ascending the sacred path.

Wudang’s beauty and spiritual vitality surpassed the world outside by far. Liaochen walked leisurely, admiring the scenery, until he reached the First Heaven Gate, where two Wudang Daoists blocked his way. Liaochen was momentarily surprised, but the two seemed harmless. As he was about to ask their purpose, the Daoists bowed deeply and said, “Boundless blessings, Celestial Master. Are you the Real Person Liaochen?” Only then did he realize that Wudang’s long legacy and great reputation were not without substance. He quickly returned the greeting, replying, “May I ask what business brings you here, fellow Daoists?”

“Our Patriarch invites Real Person Liaochen to visit Purple Cloud Palace,” they said, visibly relieved at having found the right man. They led the way with great deference—this was a true immortal, a figure akin to their own founder, Zhang Sanfeng.

The journey from the First Heaven Gate to Banner Peak was long, but the Daoist guides were clearly skilled in internal arts, showing no sign of fatigue. By the time they reached Purple Cloud Palace, it was already afternoon. Within the temple, the Daoists seemed to have been forewarned, for they all stopped to pay their respects. Liaochen returned greetings nearly all the way to a side hall of the palace. The main hall was reserved for ceremonies and worshipers; the side halls were where the Daoists resided. The current abbot, Elder Chongjing, awaited at the door. After some polite exchanges, they were seated as host and guest.

Liaochen stated his purpose for visiting. After some deliberation, Elder Chongjing replied, “All under Heaven who walk the Dao are brothers. Your presence here honors Wudang and brings radiance to our humble mountain. Whatever you seek, our temple will do its utmost, and will consult with the other halls on your behalf. However, since our Patriarch left to wander, he has not returned in a hundred years. If you meet our Patriarch on your travels, please convey the longing of his disciples and ask him to return. Also, we have heard you lectured at White Cloud Temple; now that you have graced Wudang, would you honor us by teaching our disciples as well?”

After hearing this, Liaochen felt a little suffocated. The old Daoist’s meaning was clear: first, he and their Patriarch were both figures of the highest order—if he should encounter their Patriarch, please ask him to return home; Wudang needed a great master to watch over it. Second, as a fellow on the path, Liaochen was welcome to treat Wudang as his own temple. But since he had lectured at White Cloud Temple, he must not favor one over the other, and should also teach the disciples here.

Liaochen considered this—no matter which temple he visited in the future, teaching the Dao would likely be unavoidable. With great reputation came great responsibility. He nodded, and the old Daoist was overjoyed, expressing his gratitude profusely. Liaochen was then led by a young Daoist to the rear hall to rest, while Elder Chongjing went to discuss the great immortal’s visit with the heads of the other halls on the mountain.

Following the two Daoists along the mountain path, Liaochen soon arrived…