Chapter 859: Edict of the Graceful Beauty

Divine Capital, Luocang Mountain.

Rolling hills, winding stone steps, dense forests deep and quiet; on this winter morning, the mountain wind was crisp, filled with the fragrance of grass and trees.

On the moss-stained mountain path, Jia Cong wore a soft silver-white robe with faint bamboo patterns, his feet clad in white-soled, black-uppers Cloud-Treading Boots, ascending step by step toward the summit.

His thick, jet-black hair was neatly coiffed into a topknot, crowned with a snow-white fat jade hairpin, adorned with a white jade dragon-hook hairpin; his eyebrows were sharp, his eyes bright, his gait free and easy, his bearing peerless.

Behind him followed his personal attendant Jiang Liu, and three retainers from the Eastern Mansion carrying ceremonial gift chests, closely trailing behind them.

As they reached the mountain’s mid-slope, nestled among the emerald trees, stood a majestic Daoist palace—multi-tiered pavilions rising in layers, yellow tiles and green eaves, as if floating above the clouds.

From afar, the towering gate’s eaves bore a black plaque with golden characters: “Xuantian Guan,” its style ancient and simple, subtly infused with Daoist resonance.

This Xuantian Guan was the Divine Capital branch of the Longhu Mountain Zhengyi Sect; when the Tian Shi Zhang Yuqing came to the capital to pay homage, this was his residence.

Before sunset yesterday, Jia Cong had sent up his letter of introduction and arranged affairs at the workshop; early this morning, he entered the mountain to pay his respects.

He gazed toward the area near Xuantian Guan, where a refined two-courtyard residence stood, his eyes softening.

That was the Luoxia Biyuan, where Jia Cong had studied at the Qingshan Academy on Luocang Mountain; Zhang Yuqing had taken great interest in him, arranging for him to reside there.

Jia Cong lived in this villa with Wu’er and Qingwen for two years; even now, recalling those days, he still found them unforgettable and carefree.

Two qing further left along the mountain path from Luoxia Biyuan lay a gentle slope, the estate of Liu Jing’an—another place Jia Cong frequently visited.

When he first joined Liu Jing’an’s school, his master had often spoken of how, upon first meeting him at the Nanxi Literary Gathering, Zhang Yuqing had sensed his extraordinary destiny and felt inclined to nurture him.

Zhang Yuqing had even considered taking him as a disciple, but since Jia Cong’s fate held no Daoist affinity, he advised Liu Jing’an to accept him as a student and cultivate him diligently.

Jia Cong’s entry into Liu Jing’an’s school owed much to Zhang Yuqing’s guidance and support; for the impoverished, obscure Jia Cong of five years past, this was a profound act of promotion.

When Jia Cong arrived before Xuantian Guan, he explained his purpose to the reception Daoist and presented his secondary letter of introduction.

Not long after, a middle-aged Daoist, accompanied by two young acolytes, stepped out smiling.

He bowed and said, “This humble Daoist is Yunxi, abbot of Xuantian Guan. Yesterday, my master received the letter from the Marquis of Weiyuan; recalling old ties, he was delighted and has been awaiting your arrival.”

Learning of your noble visit, he ordered me to come out and greet you. My master and the True Person Qingyi await you in the rear hall, at the Yuansou Study, and invite the Marquis to join them for tea.”

Jia Cong smiled and replied, “Your reverence, Abbot Yunxi, I am unworthy of such an honor.”

Though he spoke politely, he felt a flicker of confusion—Yunxi was a disciple of Tian Shi Zhang, but who was this True Person Qingyi?

He suddenly recalled what Cai Xiaoyu had said: that Tian Shi Zhang had brought his young daughter to court for the New Year’s tribute, and that on the fifteenth day of the first moon, she would perform the Luotian Da Jiao in Taihe Palace to pray for national peace and prosperity.

To honor the Zhengyi Sect, Emperor Jiazhao had bestowed upon Zhang Tian Shi’s daughter Qingluan the title True Person Qingyi—this True Person was none other than the little Daoist girl Qingluan.

Jia Cong recalled how, years ago, she had visited his household, sword in hand, strikingly handsome and elegant, cold and proud, indifferent to all others—yet always attentive to him.

When she saw him severely injured by Jia She, she had been deeply indignant, even tempting him to become a Daoist on Longhu Mountain, to find freedom and ease.

Though her behavior then had been childish, her heart was truly good; even now, when Jia Cong recalled it, he would smile faintly.

…

Jia Cong followed Abbot Yunxi through the palace gate, walking along the central axis of Xuantian Guan’s outer and inner courtyards, deeper into the complex.

Along the way, they passed the Jade Emperor Hall, the Tian Shi Hall, the Four True Persons Hall, and the Xuan Altar Hall—all grand, majestic, awe-inspiring, filling Jia Cong with admiration.

The Great Zhou court revered Daoism; the Longhu Mountain Zhengyi Sect held exalted status, with deep ancestral ties to the Li imperial clan.

It was said that the founding Tian Shi of Longhu Mountain had met the founding emperor, Li Tianling, in obscurity, divined his fate, guided his path, and aided his ambition.

Li Tianling, thus strengthened in resolve, seized the tide of heaven and fortune, raised an army, swept across the land, reversed the cosmos, and established his great undertaking.

After the founding of Great Zhou, the founding emperor, mindful of this fateful bond, treated the Longhu Mountain Zhengyi Sect with great favor; successive generations of emperors repeatedly bestowed honors upon the Zhang Tian Shi lineage.

Each successive Tian Shi had been formally enfeoffed with first-rank merit status, granted a four-horse carriage, and accorded honor equal to that of a prince—truly unparalleled glory.

Throughout its generations, the Longhu Mountain Tian Shi lineage had followed ancestral teachings: paying homage, offering blessings, spreading the Dao, guiding virtue, soothing the people—never meddling in court politics or imperial succession.

For nearly a century since the founding of Great Zhou, the Longhu Mountain Zhengyi Sect had remained humble, gentle, detached, maintaining harmonious relations with the imperial house—perfectly blending with the world, sharing its glory.

The current Tian Shi, Zhang Yuzhen, was not only profound in Daoist arts and learned beyond heaven and earth; before succeeding as Tian Shi, he had been a renowned Confucian scholar, celebrated throughout the literati.

That was why, when Prince Kangshun hosted the Nanxi Literary Gathering, he had invited Zhang Yuzhen to preside.

Zhang Yuzhen and Liu Jing’an, both literary masters, had been close friends for many years, their literary lineages tracing back to the same source.

…

Jia Cong followed Abbot Yunxi for a considerable distance, passing through the outer halls and entering the inner halls.

Entering the private quarters of Xuantian Guan—the Tian Shi’s daily residence—he saw a Daoist of forty, with a spirit of immortality, smiling warmly at the entrance.

Though Jia Cong had not seen Zhang Yuzhen in five years, he appeared unchanged: his bearing expansive, his hair and beard still jet-black, his complexion radiant, as if no time had passed.

He wore a deep-blue wide-sleeved Daoist robe, crowned with a golden seven-star lotus cap; his bright eyes glowed with deep, dazzling radiance.

Zhang Yuzhen smiled and said, “Marquis of Weiyuan, we have not met in many years—your bearing surpasses even your youth; your achievements are renowned across the land. Congratulations.”

Jia Cong bowed and replied, “Your reverence overstates my worth. In those days, it was your support that gave me my chance. I remember the source of my fortune and will never forget your kindness.

I should have visited sooner; now I have been remiss. Please forgive me. I dare not address you by your title—I humbly offer the rites of a disciple; you may call me by my courtesy name.”

Zhang Yuzhen laughed and said, “We are old acquaintances, bound by fate. Set aside worldly formalities. Yu Zhang, please enter for tea.”

Jia Cong noticed beside Zhang Yuzhen a young Daoist, roughly his own age, tall and slender, with a purple cap binding his hair, his face like jade, elegant and refined.

He wore a loose, green silk Daoist robe, a thin green silk sash tied at his waist, a white jade fish-shaped pendant hanging from it, smiling warmly at him.

Though the robe hung loose and free, it still revealed a graceful feminine curve—she was, of course, the little Daoist Qingluan of years past.

Though Jia Cong dared not stare, he recognized the shadow of her younger self; five years had passed, and she had shed her youthful awkwardness, blossoming into brilliance, radiant and captivating.

…

Daoism made no distinction between men and women; it rejected worldly male superiority and strict gender segregation.

Years ago, upon first meeting Jia Cong, Zhang Yuzhen had sensed his unusual physiognomy and, using secret divination, determined his destiny was extraordinary, unpredictable, and astonishingly auspicious.

Thus he had felt compelled to guide him, treating him as a cherished junior, bringing his daughter along to receive him—this was simply Daoist propriety, nothing unusual.

Qingluan’s clear eyes shimmered with pure, unblemished light, so serene they made one forget the mundane world; her gaze shifted, carefully studying him.

Jia Cong bowed and smiled, “You must be True Person Qingyi. Many years have passed—I offer my respects.”

Qingluan laughed, “You’ve changed so much, I almost didn’t recognize you.

‘True Person’ sounds too old-fashioned. Just like before, call me Qingluan.”

Zhang Yuzhen smiled, “You are of similar age and old acquaintances—treat each other as peers. No need to use Daoist titles.”

…

After a few casual words, they entered the inner hall for tea. The Yuansou Study was Zhang Yuzhen’s place for quiet reading and meditation—like an ordinary scholar’s study.

His reception of Jia Cong here clearly reflected his affection for a cherished junior.

Jia Cong saw the study was elegantly arranged, furnished with polished bamboo and wood pieces, ancient and gleaming; half the wall was lined with shelves filled with Daoist texts.

Beside the shelves hung an ancient painting, its brushwork precise and lifelike, drawing the eye.

In the painting, a Daoist with white hair and beard sat facing a layman, both engaged in a game of weiqi, speaking softly, their gazes deep.

The Daoist holding the stone piece had an ethereal bearing, his face marked by time and hardship; the layman opposite was handsome and imposing, radiating awe.

Jia Cong, drawn by the painting’s aura, glanced at the inscription and saw two short lines: “Holding the stone, debating state and nation; rising on the wind, righting the rivers and mountains.”

He recalled hearing of the imperial family’s ties to the Zhengyi Sect and guessed the painting’s allusion—perhaps he had guessed correctly…

…

Zhang Yuzhen had the acolytes serve fine clear tea, chatted casually, asked after Jia Cong’s recent affairs—topics light, domestic, utterly relaxed.

Qingluan, however, was full of interest, still as witty and lively as in her youth; she asked about the imperial examinations and poetry, about military campaigns, and about his teachers, her tone clearly eager to test him.

Jia Cong remembered clearly: whether at the Nanxi Literary Gathering or when she visited Rongguo Mansion, she had always carried her sword—she was certainly skilled in martial arts.

The Zhang family of Longhu Mountain had deep ancestral roots, decades of accumulated learning—its family traditions were formidable; Dao and martial arts cultivated together were not uncommon.

After tea, a banquet was served; after a few cups of vegetarian wine, Zhang Yuzhen said, “Originally, this journey to the capital was to hold the Luotian Da Jiao, praying for prosperity and fortune.

But now, news has come from the north—war has erupted. The remnants of the Mongols have launched an attack; unrest will surely last some time.”

Jia Cong said, “Your reverence’s Dao is profound, discerning yin and yang, understanding fate. What do you foresee regarding this Mongol incursion?”

Zhang Yuzhen looked at Jia Cong, his gaze deep, his presence radiant, almost blinding.

He said, “When the founding emperor drove out the Tartars and restored Han lands, the Mongols fled to the northern deserts—their fate had already declined, beyond redemption.

Even if a mighty warlord arose, gathering a hundred thousand cavalry, to revive the old dream and return to the Central Plains—that would be the delusion of a fool.

Yet war will reignite, bringing turmoil to the world; this is inevitable. Misfortune turning to fortune is also expected.

All things under heaven are bound by limits; birth and death, fortune and misfortune, new and old, all arise together. In chaos, change must emerge.

The Mongols raise arms again, stirring new signs in the world; yet heroes will always arise. This world will not fall into chaos.

Andat Han boasts himself the finest among men, thinking himself a thousand-li steed.

But fate is unpredictable—he may think himself the steed, yet end up merely the fodder for the steed… who can say?”

…

Zhang Yuzhen conversed casually with Jia Cong, unbound by formality, his words concise yet profoundly insightful.

He was a great Confucian scholar and the foremost of Daoism; his study of the classics and sages, of Daoist principles and the transformations of the five elements, reached depths where all paths converged.

As he spoke with Jia Cong, he would use the words of sages to illustrate yin-yang cycles, or Daoist truths to expound the laws of the world—vast, unrestrained, boundless.