Mount Emei in Sichuan was the most sacred and celebrated scenic spot in Shu, the ancient name for Sichuan. An old saying claimed that the mountains and rivers of western Shu were full of wonders, yet none surpassed Emei—and this was no empty praise.

  Shu was a region where divine beliefs ran deep. Hundreds of temples and monasteries dotted the mountains, and every year devout pilgrims traveled thousands of miles to pay their respects. With its lofty peaks, clear waters, and layered ranges, Emei also drew countless visitors who came only to admire its breathtaking scenery. The Back Mountain was especially secluded and extraordinary.

  Yet great mountains and wild valleys were often home to tigers, wolves, and jackals. Those who ventured into the Back Mountain often never returned. Some whispered they had been eaten by wild beasts or demons; others claimed they had been taken away by immortals. In time, most people dared not go, leaving the Back Mountain a quiet refuge for reclusive experts free from worldly disturbance.

  After the chaos caused by Zhang Xianzhong's rebellion at the end of the Ming Dynasty, Sichuan was left in ruins. Nine out of ten households were empty, and hundreds of miles lay desolate. After the Qing Dynasty conquered the Central Plains, officials encouraged people from neighboring provinces—Hunan, Hubei, Jiangxi, and Shaanxi—to resettle in Sichuan. Lured by its vast land and abundant resources, the immigrants gradually restored the region's prosperity.

  In the second year of the Kangxi Emperor's reign, a small boat sailed upstream from Wu Gorge. Besides the boatmen, only a father and daughter were aboard. Their luggage was simple and shabby, except for one heavy sack that clearly held iron weapons.

  The father, Li Ning, was barely fifty, yet his hair and beard were already white as snow. His eyes were sharp, his face deeply wrinkled—marked by a life of hardship and sorrow. The daughter, Li Yingqiong, was only twelve or thirteen, exceedingly beautiful, leaning close to her father, pointing at the misty mountains and asking softly, full of innocence and filial love.

  Dusk fell, and a full moon rose above the peaks, its bright light illuminating every hair. The old man suddenly sighed with grief:

  “To look back at our lost homeland beneath this moon… when shall we recover what was ours?”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “Father, do not grieve,” the girl comforted him. “All things under heaven are fated. Sorrow will not change our fortune. Please take care of yourself.”

  Just then, the boatman called:

  “Elder, it is late. Ahead is the famous Crow's Beak, where there is a village. Let us dock and rest.”

  “I am tired tonight,” Li Ning said. “You may go ashore without me.”

  By the time they reached the village, the boatmen had gone ashore to drink and rest.

  The moon shone as bright as day. Father and daughter laid out their own wine and food on the bow and drank silently. As they sat bored, a figure in white emerged from the distant woods. In the moonlight, he grew clearer, walking closer while singing, his voice clear and stirring.

  Li Ning was suddenly inspired and called out:

  “A fine night, a bright moon, and good wine! Why not join me for a drink, friend?”

  The man in white turned toward the voice.

  “Few northerners live here,” he thought. “This man speaks with a capital accent—he must be a fellow townsman.”

  He walked to the boat. When the two men saw each other clearly, they suddenly embraced and wept bitterly.

  “Since we parted in the capital,” Li Ning sobbed, “I never thought we would meet again! We are still here, but the mountains and rivers are lost. How can it not break my heart?”

  The man in white replied:

  “After the tragic massacre at Yangzhou, I heard you had perished. To meet you in this foreign land… I am no longer alone. Is this young lady your daughter?”

  Li Ning nodded and called:

  “Yingqiong, come greet your Uncle Zhou.”

  The girl bowed deeply. The man in white returned half a bow and praised:

  “Niece has the spirit of a hero's daughter. Your great skills shall have an heir, brother.”

  Li Ning shook his head.

  “You do not understand. My martial arts brought ruin to my family. Her mother died in the war. For ten years, we have fled without rest. She begs me to teach her, but I hold to the saying that a mediocre life brings great blessings. Besides, her eyes hold too much fierceness—if she learns martial arts, she will surely invite trouble. My skills are only ordinary, and the world is full of masters. Half-learned skills would only lead to her death. She is my only daughter; I dare not risk her life. I only hope she marries a scholar and sees me to my grave.”

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  The man in white smiled faintly.

  “Even so, I see great destiny in your niece. She will not remain an ordinary girl.”

  Yingqiong's eyebrows lifted with joy, yet when she glanced at her aged father, a trace of sorrow and quiet dissatisfaction crossed her face.

  The man in white asked:

  “Brother, what brings you to Sichuan?”

  “Country fallen, family ruined,” Li Ning sighed. “I flee only to escape disaster.”

  The man's face lit up.

  “I have lived in Sichuan for three years. I found a quiet stone cave in the Back Mountain of Emei—serene, beautiful, and isolated. I returned only yesterday to pack my things and live there in seclusion. I teach a few children here, and I have already arranged for another scholar to take my place. If you are not afraid of the wilderness, the three of us may go there together and wait for better days.”

  Li Ning was overjoyed.

  “How far is it?”

  “About eighty or ninety li by land,” the man said. “Dismiss the boatmen, stay at my home for a few days, then we shall go on foot. My name is Zhou Chun. Ask for the village tutor, and everyone will know me. I have an appointment tomorrow morning, so I shall not come to meet you. Just come directly to my house.”

  With that, he took his leave.

  After the man left, Yingqiong asked:

  “Father, is this Uncle Zhou Zhou Lang, one of the Three Heroes of QiLu whose name you often mention alongside yours?”

  Li Ning nodded slowly.

  “Once your Uncle Yang Da, your Uncle Zhou, and I were famous across the old lands of Qi, Lu, Yan, and Yu. After the Ming fell, your Uncle Yang remained loyal and was killed by his enemies. Now only Zhou and I remain. Going to Emei with him eases my heart.”

  Later that night, the two boatmen returned, drunk and unsteady.

  Li Ning spoke calmly:

  “I have a relative here and will go ashore tomorrow morning. You have worked hard. Here is your full fare, plus four taels of silver for wine.”

  The boatmen thanked him repeatedly and rested.

  The next morning, Li Ning and Yingqiong packed their things, said goodbye to the still-groggy boatmen, and walked toward the front village.

  After half a li, a young boy of about eleven or twelve stepped out from behind a willow tree. His face was fair as jade, his hair tied into two small braids. He wore simple blue cloth garments, glistening with sweat in the summer heat.

  “Are you here to see my master, Zhou Chun?” the boy asked eagerly.

  Li Ning smiled.

  “We are. How did you know?”

  “Master came home last night, too happy to sleep,” the boy replied politely. “He said he met you at Crow's Beak. He had an appointment this morning and sent me to guide you. My name is Zhao Yan'er.”

  Li Ning grew fond of the boy at once—polite, articulate, and mature beyond his years.

  Yan'er led them to Zhou Chun's simple cottage, clean and neatly kept. He served them wine, preserved pork, blood tofu, vinegar noodle soup, and pickled vegetables.

  As they ate, Yan'er told his story in full:

  “My father was a Hanlin scholar of the Ming Dynasty and was killed during the rebellion. My mother, my uncle, and I fled here, but my uncle soon died of illness. We were so poor that I herded cattle for a wealthy family, and my mother did sewing to survive. Three years ago, Master Zhou took pity on me, took me in, fed and clothed me, and taught me reading, writing, and martial arts.”

  He paused, his voice softening:

  “Master Zhou has no sons, only a daughter named Qingyun. She was my junior sister, as kind as she was beautiful. Last year, an old Taoist nun came to the village. She wanted to take me as her disciple, but I could not leave my mother alone. Then she saw Qingyun and said she had immortal bones. She took her to Yellow Mountain to cultivate the Dao. I cried for days. I want to go find her when I am older, but Master says the time is not yet right.”

  Yan'er glanced at Yingqiong and smiled shyly:

  “My junior sister was as beautiful as you, Senior Sister. But she does not have those two tiny red moles above your eyebrows.”

  Li Ning listened with a gentle smile.

  Just then, Zhou Chun walked in.

  Yingqiong greeted him. Li Ning laughed:

  “Congratulations on such a fine disciple.”

  Zhou Chun smiled.

  “Yan'er talks too much—he has already told you everything. Qingyun was taken by Master Canxia, a famous Sword Immortal. It was a great opportunity I could not refuse.”

  Li Ning nodded. Yingqiong's eyes lit up at the mention of immortals and swords.

  “When shall we leave for Emei?” Li Ning asked. “Will Yan'er come?”

  “I have affairs to finish,” Zhou Chun said. “We shall depart in ten days. Yan'er has a mother to care for—he must stay. But I shall return every month to teach him.”

  Yan'er's eyes filled with tears when he heard he could not go. Zhou Chun comforted him:

  “Loyalty and filial piety come before all else. I shall not abandon you.”

  Zhou Chun had already arranged for a scholar named Ma Xiang to take over his students. All was prepared.

  That night, Yingqiong could not sleep. Around midnight, she heard movement in the courtyard. Peering through the window, she saw Zhou Chun and Yan'er wielding swords, dancing in the moonlight. Their moves were swift, until only flashes of light could be seen.

  With a single strike, Zhou Chun sliced off a thick branch from the osmanthus tree.

  Yan'er watched carefully.

  “That is the move 'Piercing Clouds and Seizing the Moon,'” Zhou Chun said. “Practice it diligently while I am gone.”

  For two nights, Yingqiong secretly watched. She begged her father to teach her swordsmanship.

  At last, Li Ning relented—after persuasion from Zhou Chun.

  “Swordsmanship is the foundation of all martial arts, and it is extremely difficult to master. First, you must have perseverance. Second, you must cultivate your energy and focus your mind. Third, you must learn from a truly skilled master. You have been sheltered since childhood and have not endured hardship. But since you insist, when we reach the mountain, you will first practice foundational breathing and inner energy skills. Only after years of steady training may you learn the sword.”

  Yingqiong was impressed, yet still felt a flicker of dissatisfaction at being made to wait.

  Li Ning saw right through her.

  “You think it looks easy because you spied on us,” he said calmly. “When one truly masters martial arts, they can hear a grain of sand fall ten zhang away and know exactly what it is. That is how I knew you were watching. If an enemy had been hiding there, I would have been in grave danger. Do you still think swordplay is just quick movements?”

  Yingqiong's eyes widened. She finally understood the depth of her father's skill and bowed her head, convinced.

  Days passed quickly. On the day of departure, the villagers, the students, and the new tutor Ma Xiang all came to see them off.

  Yan'er alone accompanied them for more than twenty li.

  Again and again, Li Ning and Zhou Chun urged him to return. At last, the boy tearfully said goodbye and watched them go.