Their pace wasn’t fast; the journey took them a fair number of months. It was already early August when they arrived at the foot of Mount Tai.
Mount Tai had many peaks, both large and small, totaling over a hundred. Bixia Sect wasn’t located on Dai Summit where many generations of kings and emperors had performed their imperial ceremonies of mountain worship, but on a rather unknown peak around the northeast side called Zhunan Peak.
Zhunan Peak wasn’t particularly tall, but its environment was auspicious and blessed by nature. Jagged rocks circled its summit, and clear streams murmured atop it. Due to its treacherous landscape, few travelers or woodcutters visited.
The two of them took a short break at the foot of the mountain to rest and prepare, then began their climb.
The closer they got to their destination, the more nervous Shiwu became. He grew fidgety and restless. As Shen Qiao led him up the mountain, he blurted out, “Shen-shi, do you know what kind of sect Bixia Sect is?”
Shen Qiao smiled and answered, “Bixia Sect was founded during the Han Dynasty. These days, it’s led by Zhao Chiying. Zhu-xiong said that Sect Leader Zhao is his shizhi, so in terms of seniority, you should be in the same generation.”
Shiwu clutched a corner of Shen Qiao’s robe, but not because he was afraid of falling. He’d been studying martial arts and swordplay under Shen Qiao for the past few months and had made great progress. He’d already internalized nearly half of Xuandu Mountain’s qinggong, “A Rainbow Stretches Across the Heavens.”
“Once you bring me to Bixia Sect, will your esteemed self leave?”
“Do you not wish for me to leave?” Shen Qiao deliberately teased him.
Shiwu was a little embarrassed. He gave a close-mouthed smile and didn’t answer.
Ever since the abbot and Chuyi passed away, Shen Qiao had been taking attentive care of Shiwu, both as a master and as a father. Shiwu had long grown to see him as his only family, and he admired and adored Shen Qiao deeply. Now that Bixia Sect was right in front of them, his shifu’s dying wish would soon be fulfilled. But it came with the prospect of separation, so he couldn’t feel happy at all.
“Don’t worry,” said Shen Qiao. “I won’t leave as soon as we arrive. We’ll check things out first.”
What he hadn’t told Shiwu was this: although Bixia Sect had once been a very large and powerful sect, they’d fallen into great decline over the recent years. Only the appearance of Zhao Chiying had boosted their reputation. Zhao Chiying was the kind of legendary talent who appeared once every hundred years, but a single person wasn’t enough for a sect to flourish. No matter how strong Zhao Chiying was, reversing such a raging tide proved difficult. Rumor had it that this sect leader had been in secluded cultivation for the past few years, so all sect affairs fell to a shixiong named Yue Kunchi. There must have been a reason Zhu Lengquan had left the sect, and it couldn’t be a happy one. Shen Qiao didn’t know how they’d react to Shiwu—if they disliked the boy, there was no way he could leave Shiwu there to suffer.
Shiwu didn’t know that Shen Qiao was so preoccupied with thinking about Shiwu himself. The boy was nervous and uneasy, first worried that he wouldn’t get along with the people of Bixia Sect, then also worried that he’d have to separate with Shen Qiao so very soon.
They’d ascended nearly halfway up the mountain in this way when Shen Qiao sensed something strange.
Many sects located on mountain summits had strict safeguards, with disciples stationed around the mountain’s foot, watching. Even the sects with laxer defenses would still have someone posted about halfway up.
But they were already almost to the sect itself and still hadn’t seen even the trace of a person. That certainly wasn’t normal.
Shiwu had also realized something was wrong. The hand clutching Shen Qiao’s robe loosened a little. If something happened, he didn’t want to become the millstone dragging Shen Qiao down.
“Look, Shen-shi!”
Shen Qiao couldn’t see well, but Shiwu had discovered a broken sword left in the brush along the stone path. He bent and picked it up, then handed it to Shen Qiao.
Shen Qiao felt along the break in the sword—it’d been snapped through excessive force. There didn’t seem to be any dead bodies around, so it was hard to say whether its master had fallen from the cliff or run away.
“Be careful,” said Shen Qiao. “There might be more near the top. Stay behind me.”
Sure enough, the higher they climbed, the more weapons they found. Soon, corpses began to appear, one after another. Whether they were Bixia Sect disciples or not was unclear.
Just then, a distant shout came from behind them. “Who goes there?! Halt!”
Before they’d finished speaking, they swung a sword at Shiwu’s back!
Shen Qiao heard the voice. His expression unchanged, he grabbed Shiwu and turned, swapping their positions in the blink of an eye. Then he himself went to welcome the blade.
He didn’t draw Shanhe Tongbei but sent a palm strike to knock the blade aside and off-course. With a flap and a furl of his sleeve, he caught the attacker’s wrist.
“Daoist Master Shen?” said the astonished attacker.
“Who is this distinguished master?” Shen Qiao squinted but could only make out a person’s silhouette before him, their features unclear.
“This one is Fan Yuanbai, a disciple of Bixia Sect. We’ve met once before, in the Su residence,” they said.
Shen Qiao thought for a moment, and a faint impression came to him. Back when he’d attended Madam Qin’s birthday banquet in place of Yan Wushi, he had indeed met a disciple from Bixia Sect.
“May this one ask why Daoist Master Shen is here?” said Fan Yuanbai.
There was obvious disquiet in his voice, but he’d endured it to politely ask after Shen Qiao. Partly because Fan Yuanbai was mild-tempered by nature; partly because he was one of many who’d been impressed with Shen Qiao’s duel against Duan Wenyang.