Chapter 19: Mount Hua

Cold mist hung dense, water murmured steadily.

Gu Qing stood before a narrow pass, gazing at the waterfall cascading down the cliff to his left; he reached out and touched it—the chill pierced to the bone.

“Wuuu… wuuu…”

The whistle of arrows was drowned by the waterfall’s roar; several arrows struck Gu Qing’s back, causing his body to writhe before he collapsed face-down.

“Splash…”

From among the grass and bushes on both sides of the cliff, up and down, over a dozen Mongol officers and foreign monks suddenly leapt out—some with bows, others with curved sabers, others with vajra clubs—rushing toward Gu Qing to behead him first.

Gu Qing’s head was worth a fortune.

Just as they drew near, two sharp cracks rang out: the front Mongol officer collapsed backward; the monk behind sensed something wrong, stepped forward with his vajra club—but saw only a flicker of swordlight, felt a cold sting in his hand, and his weapon slipped helplessly to the ground.

To the Mongols’ eyes, the once-arrow-ridden Gu Qing suddenly rolled upright; where his blade passed, limbs flew severed; his palm strikes and fingertip jabs shattered bones and left men limp on the ground.

That white shadow darted like lightning, sweeping the entire field in an instant; the Mongol officers and monks, faced with this figure, could not even retaliate—let alone flee—and as Gu Qing completed his circuit, each one collapsed, staring as he sheathed his sword and stood still.

“I know you’re confused.”

Gu Qing picked up the bow and arrow, slowly aimed it at himself; when it neared, he twisted his body, clamped the bow between his armpit, and smiled at the Mongol officers and monks: “Just fooling you!”

The arrows? Just a trick.

Recently, Gu Qing had killed many Mongol cavalrymen, and naturally drawn their ambushes; he’d handled this kind of trap several times already—quite familiar with it.

【Satisfy Gaji’s curiosity…】

Gu Qing harvested a wave of good deeds from these men, but when tallying the points, he found he’d gained sixteen—yet only fifteen bodies lay on the ground.

Was there still one hidden, who hadn’t held his breath?

Gu Qing lost his composure; he glanced left and right, followed the foreign monks’ gazes to the cliffside of the pass—sheer, nearly impossible to stand on—yet he drifted like smoke, stepping as if on level ground along the narrow ledge, leaping several times upward toward the cliff top.

“Swoosh! Swoosh!!”

Two arrows shot down from the cliff; Gu Qing twisted his body against the slope, hooked a root with one hand, used the slight pull to dodge the arrows, then soared to the very top of the pass.

The Mongol officer above was just lowering his bow; Gu Qing lunged ahead, seized the bow, looped the string around the man’s neck, and slapped his spine—pinning him instantly.

“Damn it!”

Gu Qing slapped the Mongol officer hard, then bitterly reflected: his internal energy still needed strengthening, his hearing too—otherwise, some fish would slip through.

“Now, I speak—you write…”

Gu Qing ordered the Mongol officer to confess, preparing to fabricate evidence.

Gu Qing had recently killed many Mongol officers and gathered much “evidence”—some true, some false; through deliberate collection, a Mongol conspiracy against the Quanzhen Sect was gradually taking shape, with Zhao Zhijing as its chief architect.

Once he’d gathered enough, Gu Qing would get Hong Qigong’s signature, then send it to the Quanzhen Sect to cover up the deaths of Zhen Zhibing and Zhao Zhijing.

After securing this “new evidence,” Gu Qing tucked it into his robe, then terrified the rest again, granting them the mercy of swift death.

After harvesting this wave, Gu Qing set his direction toward Mount Hua.

Mount Hua, known as the Western Peak, was famed as the most perilous mountain under heaven; the closer Gu Qing drew, the colder he felt; by the time he reached its foot, he once again saw Yang Guo.

Gu Qing: “….”

Yang Guo: “….”

Since parting from Cheng Ying and others, Gu Qing and Yang Guo had not traveled together; Yang Guo wandered aimlessly searching for Xiaolongnu, while Gu Qing headed straight for Mount Hua—they’d crossed paths several times along the way, each time parting immediately, yet here at Mount Hua’s foot, they met again.

Gu Qing’s appearance remained unchanged; Yang Guo looked far more ragged, his clothes torn and tattered, like a beggar.

Gu Qing saw him, and tossed him two steamed buns.

“….”

Yang Guo glanced at the buns, then at Gu Qing; he gritted his teeth and bit into them fiercely. In his mind, Xiaolongnu hated crowded places, so his search led him through wild mountains and desolate valleys—he’d eaten nothing but wild greens for weeks; now, with two buns inside him, he looked human again.

“You’ve made yourself look like this, hoping Xiaolongnu will see you and feel sorry for you, right?”

Gu Qing suddenly said.

Yang Guo, furious, clawed at his throat, ready to vomit up the buns.

“Stop.”

Gu Qing halted him: “Come with me to Mount Hua—you might find your father there.”

Yang Guo had accepted Ouyang Feng as his father; on the night Zhen Zhibing tried to defile Xiaolongnu, Ouyang Feng had taught Yang Guo the essentials of the False Nine Yin Scripture and the Toad Skill; after imparting them, Yang Guo sensed a great discrepancy between the False Nine Yin Scripture and the True one, raised a few points—causing Ouyang Feng to realize his qi flow was vastly different, and his mind cleared slightly.

After leaving Mount Zhongnan, Ouyang Feng wandered everywhere seeking his past; Mount Hua held the deepest memories for him—he’d participated in the Mount Hua Sword Forum there, and claimed the title of Number One Under Heaven.

Yang Guo stopped his fingers, looked at Gu Qing, and asked curiously: “You seem to know a lot?”

“I was raised in the Quanzhen Sect—I have systematic knowledge of all the world’s masters.”

Gu Qing gazed at Mount Hua, then leapt upward.

Yang Guo used the Ancient Tomb Sect’s lightness skill to follow behind; though this skill excelled in navigating pavilions and towers, it was less practical on Mount Hua’s treacherous terrain than the Golden Goose Skill—but Yang Guo had studied it deeply, and didn’t fall far behind.

“Can you tell me about my father—my real father?”

Yang Guo suddenly asked from behind.

This was a sincere question.

Regarding Yang Kang’s death, Mu Nianci had raised Yang Guo for years without ever speaking of it; Guo Jing had taken him in on Taohuadao and refused to tell him; at the Quanzhen Sect, Qiu Chuji had also kept silent; Yang Guo’s question would remain unanswered for over a decade.

“Of course!”

Gu Qing was earning good deeds, waiting to obtain martial arts from Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng on Mount Hua—he was happy to fulfill Yang Guo’s request.

“But I want you to trade me the Toad Skill and the False Nine Yin Scripture.”

Gu Qing said.

The Toad Skill was Ouyang Feng’s lifetime martial essence; the False Nine Yin Scripture contained a method of shifting acupoints and unique pressure-point techniques.

Martial arts were never too many.

“Agreed!”

Yang Guo said: “Then you must teach me the True Nine Yin Scripture!”

Yang Guo chose the trade—he’d long wanted to exchange martial arts with Gu Qing.

(End of Chapter)