Chapter Sixty-Nine: Mount Afang

Zhou Qian was taken aback, surprised to find Zhou Xun and his companions waiting for him outside the military camp. Their meeting was naturally filled with greetings, but fortunately, everyone was already acquainted. People of the martial world rarely bothered with formalities, especially after spending over ten days cooped up on a boat without so much as a single bath; everyone felt uncomfortable and restless. Seeing that the camp had arranged for bathing facilities and a banquet, they whistled cheerfully and, under the guidance of the soldiers, scattered to their respective quarters.

Zhou Xun led Zhou Qian into a spacious tent, scrutinizing him from head to toe before finally allowing a hint of a smile to appear. "Your performance on the boat was commendable," he said.

"Master, you already know?" Zhou Qian replied sheepishly.

"Don’t think the only imperial guard aboard was the one you noticed," Zhou Xun shook his head. "The moment you set foot ashore, reports of all that transpired reached me. Even your travel route was watched—though you didn't notice."

"What?!" Zhou Qian’s eyes narrowed in astonishment. "None of us detected anything amiss. Master, you mean—those secret Tiance Guards?"

Zhou Xun nodded. "You’ll meet them soon enough. These men are not easily trifled with; the whole imperial court’s might is behind their training, yet only two hundred have been produced. In my opinion, it would take three martial artists to contend with a single Tiance Guard."

Zhou Qian drew a sharp breath. He trusted Zhou Xun’s judgment, but still, he asked with some confusion, "Master, how are such monsters as the Tiance Guards, the fiends from the Valley of Evil, and the 'Heavenly Soldiers' of the Red Lotus Sect trained?"

"I’m not clear on the precise methods, but it likely involves Daoist arts," Zhou Xun replied.

"Immortal techniques?"

"Hmph!" Zhou Xun scoffed. "Those are hardly immortal techniques—mere scraps at best. Take your flying sword, for instance; to me, it’s little more than a concealed weapon that can turn corners. True immortals can set rivers ablaze, overturn seas, soar to the heavens and delve into the earth—nothing ordinary people could hope to match."

"But Master, I’ve traveled most of the martial world these past years, so why have I never seen any sign of immortals?"

Zhou Xun fell silent for a moment. "I too have wondered about this and investigated thoroughly. Decades ago, or even a century back, traces of immortals appeared, though only in scattered chronicles and idle tales. But sixty years ago, those who achieved immortality seemed to vanish from the world entirely. No official or private records, no stories, no word of sword-wielding heroes entering the world. I searched for twenty years and found nothing—except the First Emperor’s tomb!"

"Master, you mean…?" Zhou Qian’s eyes widened.

"Exactly. The renown of the First Emperor is not just for his earthly achievements, but because he was said to be a reincarnated immortal, possessing unfathomable powers. It’s rumored that deep within his tomb lies the immortal cultivation method he practiced. Why else do you think I’ve gone to such lengths—just for the court, or for the people’s welfare?" Zhou Xun retorted.

Zhou Qian didn’t wish to speak ill of his master, but he knew Zhou Xun’s character all too well; to put it kindly, he was obsessed with martial arts, to put it bluntly, he cared little for good or evil, life or death. As for saving the masses, that was more fitting for their never-met Senior Master Linghu Ye.

"Besides, I don’t want to delay you," Zhou Xun’s stern face softened with affection. "Your talent, insight, and diligence are top-notch. You’ve also eaten immortal fruit by accident, so the three stages of physical cultivation pose no problem for you."

"Perhaps in twenty, ten, or even five years, you’ll reach my level," Zhou Xun’s eyes were bright. "What will you do then?"

"Martial cultivation is like climbing a mountain. Reaching my realm is like standing atop the peak, but beyond is only a precipice, an endless void. The human body’s potential is limited; forceful cultivation leads only to a fall. You’re still young—when you face that, what will you do? Waste your years waiting for death?"

"So I must find a path for you. Even if I, Zhou Xun, am too old to achieve immortality, I believe my disciple Zhou Qian’s extraordinary talent will shine even among immortals. The name Little Sword Immortal will echo across the skies!"

"Master!" Zhou Qian choked out, never having seen his master so moved before. All his hopes were pinned on Zhou Qian, and Zhou Qian felt a deep sense of foreboding. "With your talent, Master, what’s so difficult about immortality? When the time comes, we’ll ascend together—it’ll be a tale for the ages."

—

Zhou Xun seemed to anticipate something or made up his mind, shedding his usual strict demeanor for a more open attitude. Seeing his disciple downcast, he chuckled, "Such words are just between us. If I could achieve immortality, I wouldn’t seek death, would I?"

"You’ve come at the right time. The tributary of the Tongtian River, the Qi River, is beginning to recede. In at most half a month, Epang Mountain will be exposed."

"Epang Mountain? The ancient mountain?" Zhou Qian asked.

"Yes. Two thousand years ago, the earth quaked, mountains shifted, rivers reversed. Of the four great rivers, two were formed then. Tongtian River splits at the Lishan range; one branch, Li River, skirts the mountains, the other, Qi River, floods Epang Mountain, burying the First Emperor’s tomb beneath. Four years ago, I surveyed fourteen watercourses at the source, and the Astronomical Bureau labored to fix the timing. I meant to take you to see the Qi River today, but it’s late and your injuries matter more—go rest," Zhou Xun said gently.

Zhou Qian nodded and was led by a soldier to his tent. The entire camp spanned two or three miles, arranged in a pattern, built from felled timber. Five rows of wooden palisades, bristling with deer horns, horse traps, suspended ropes, and all manner of snares. Four arrow towers rose from the earth, and the woods three miles out were cleared. Watch posts, both obvious and hidden, abounded—Zhou Qian couldn’t be sure he could spot them all. Apart from the clamor from the martial artists, the camp was silent; the fierce soldiers held their breath, as if ever ready for battle, and a murderous aura filled the air.

‘This is the true bulwark of the Han against the barbarian cavalry,’ Zhou Qian thought.

"May I ask who commands the army this time?" Zhou Qian probed.

"Li Guangzhi," the soldier replied impassively.

Zhou Qian inhaled sharply. ‘So it’s this god of slaughter!’

Grand General of Cavalry, Champion Marquis, the first king of non-imperial blood in this dynasty, King Wu—Li Guangzhi!

"We’ve arrived," the soldier nodded and withdrew.

Zhou Qian felt the immortal energy in his dantian surge, frowning as he gazed toward the southeast corner where a distinctly different ‘main camp’ stood.

Unlike the others, there was no sound in or around the main camp. The soldiers’ attire was unique: clad head-to-toe in black heavy armor, which even elite troops wore only in battle; shield on the left arm, crossbow on the right, a broadsword on the waist weighing at least twenty pounds, and a billowing cloak on their backs…

‘Tiance Guards…’ Zhou Qian mused.

After resting a day or two, Zhou Xun took Zhou Qian to the main command tent, passing through layers of guards. Zhou Qian finally saw Li Guangzhi in person—the very same old general who had greeted them before, taciturn and unremarkable in appearance.

"Brother Zhou, what brings you here today?" Li Guangzhi nodded to both, his tone bland.

"My disciple’s group arrived on time, but when will the other groups arrive?" Zhou Xun asked, taking a seat directly before him.

"Aside from the group led by the Daoist of Tianmen, who are rushing and will arrive in two days, there’s no news from the other two groups," Li Guangzhi shook his head.

"It seems the underworld is determined to fight this time," Zhou Xun remarked.

—

"The Emperor is still too merciful. If I were in command, the Red Lotus Sect and other evil factions would not have plagued us for so long!"

"Oh?" Zhou Xun smiled faintly, apparently used to Li Guangzhi’s blunt criticism of the current emperor.

"If you were the general, what would you do?"

"Any commoner found practicing the faith—kill them, confiscate their property. Those who know and don’t report—punish them more severely, execute them. Officials whose jurisdiction includes cultists and do not act—demote them, their descendants barred from office for three generations. Soldiers who kill a cultist—credited for two lives; those who slay their leaders—promoted one rank; those who kill their chief—granted a marquisate!" Li Guangzhi replied casually, as if oblivious to the carnage.

"Li the Butcher, still the same as ever!" Zhou Xun sighed.

"If I don’t kill, how can I serve as an official?" Li Guangzhi retorted.

Zhou Xun shook his head. "I didn’t come to quarrel today. I want to inspect the Qi River’s waters—will you send anyone?"

"Let someone from the Ministry of Works accompany you. There’s an official skilled in water management here," Li Guangzhi nodded.

Zhou Xun made no further ceremony, gathering Zhou Qian, Wang Hu, and an official surnamed Zhao, and departed.

They crossed mountains for two days, at last beholding the mighty Qi River, which had flowed across the Lishan range for millennia.

The four of them stood atop a cliff, the Qi River sweeping before them, ten fathoms wide and countless lengths long. Its waves roared, spray like snow, resembling a silver ribbon. Several sharp peaks dotted the waters, lush and verdant—a testament to the power of nature.

In the river’s center, the loftiest peak was Epang Mountain, with remnants of buildings barely visible, battered by years of flood.

"In a few days, this grand sight will be gone," the Zhao official sighed.

"The First Emperor’s tomb has endured centuries and floods. Surely it must be rotten inside by now?" Zhou Qian asked.

"Not so," the official shook his head. "The tomb was carved into the mountain itself. The true burial chamber lies within, its entrance sealed by thousands of tons of bronze and iron—without the key, it cannot be opened."

The official used precise instruments to measure the depth and current, laboring for most of the day. The group explored several other spots where the water was high, then returned.

Upon arriving back at camp, bad news awaited—

Master Pudu and twenty-seven martial artists had all been slain.