Chapter Nine: The River of Forgetfulness Claims Its Due

Seeing this, Qu Beiyuan immediately tapped several acupoints on his chest and shoulders, then placed his palm over Li Chongyuan’s heart. Li Chongyuan felt a surge of warmth enter his body, and the previously uncontrollable flow of blood suddenly quieted. Soon, his mind cleared, and the nausea and restlessness vanished.

Qu Beiyuan smiled and said, “What you just experienced is the onset of the Wangchuan Death Mark. Now that you are my apprentice, I must teach you how to break its hold. With the cultivation of the Asura Divine Art, this curse will heal on its own. First, remember the incantation of our sect’s inner teachings. This was something Ye Changqing once sought in vain. Listen closely: ‘Observe the way of heaven, act according to the will of heaven, and it is complete. Heaven has five thieves; those who see them will prosper. The five thieves reside in the heart and act in accordance with heaven. The universe is within the palm, all things are born from the body. Human nature is heaven. The human heart is the mechanism. Establishing the way of heaven is to set the order for man. When heaven sends forth a killing intent, stars shift and constellations change. When the earth sends forth a killing intent, dragons and serpents rise from the land. When man sends forth a killing intent, heaven and earth are upended. When heaven and man unite in intent, ten thousand transformations find their foundation. Nature has cunning and clumsiness, which can be concealed or revealed. The evils of the nine orifices are governed by the three essentials, which determine movement and stillness. Fire is born of wood; disaster will inevitably be overcome. Treachery arises in the state; when the time comes, collapse is certain. Knowing and cultivating this is the mark of the sage. Heaven gives life and takes it away; such is the principle of the Way…’”

This incantation was convoluted and hard to memorize, but fortunately, Li Chongyuan was well-versed in reciting the classics and teachings of the philosophers, so memorizing it was not too difficult. Once he had recited it flawlessly, Qu Beiyuan began to teach him the breathing technique, which quickly left Li Chongyuan perplexed. Previously, Zi Wuzhu had ordered Li Jiu to teach him the Primordial Fusion Art, whose breathing method involved expanding the dantian on inhalation, spreading and relaxing the internal organs, so that inner energy flowed through the meridians; then contracting the dantian on exhalation, drawing in the organs, and making the energy pause in the channels. But Qu Beiyuan’s method was entirely the opposite: inhaling contracted the dantian and organs, making the energy pause, while exhaling expanded them, sending energy through the meridians.

How could two arts, with such contrary breathing patterns, be practiced simultaneously?

Qu Beiyuan had been intent only on forcing him to become his disciple through the Asura Art and had not considered this issue. He was struck dumb on the spot.

Now Li Chongyuan was caught in a dilemma. If he didn’t practice the Asura Art, he would surely die. But if he did, the Asura Art, while suppressing the injury, would also suppress his Primordial Fusion Art, likely halting its progress forever. If he practiced only the Asura Art, the inner energy accumulated from the Primordial Fusion Art might counteract the Asura Art, so it too would be stuck at merely restraining his injury. In other words, Li Chongyuan had become someone who possessed the secret techniques of both the Southern and Northern Sects but could use neither—a wasted shell.

Understanding this, Li Chongyuan turned ashen, sitting in silence, unable to utter a word. Qu Beiyuan was also deeply frustrated, but saving his life was most urgent. So, Li Chongyuan forced himself to focus, following the prescribed method to circulate his inner energy. Because the breathing was so different, it felt terribly awkward, but with Qu Beiyuan’s constant reminders, he managed to continue. After about an hour, wisps of white vapor rose from Li Chongyuan’s crown. Qu Beiyuan let out a breath. “That’s enough for today. If you stay too long, your master may become suspicious. Remember, come to me every night at the Hour of the Pig, and leave at the Hour of the Ox. Tell no one of this. Never reveal the incantation I’ve taught you, or it will bring certain death. Remember this well.”

Li Chongyuan left the cave and crept back to his room. He was utterly exhausted but could not sleep. Giving up on rest, he tried practicing the Primordial Fusion Art, but his once-full dantian now felt empty, like a boundless void. He slumped to the floor in despair. He had hoped to gain martial strength, to seek out his enemies and avenge his parents, but now he was little more than a cripple. The more he thought, the more grief overwhelmed him, and he wept bitterly.

When dawn came, he washed his face and, keeping to his usual routine, went down the mountain to carry ice. Using the Thunderclap Palm to break the ice, he found himself weak and barely able to shatter the blocks. When he tried to haul the ice up the mountain with the Primordial Fusion Art, he could no longer bear the usual weight and had to lighten the load. After ten trips, he was utterly spent. Seeing his body so depleted, he could only sigh helplessly.

That evening, as agreed, he went to Qu Beiyuan’s cave at the appointed hour to study the Northern Sect’s art, returning to his quarters at the prescribed time. Three months passed in this way. While the curse of Wangchuan never flared again, his Primordial Fusion Art had regressed to the level he’d had when he first arrived on the mountain. Naturally, this could not be hidden from Zi Wuzhu, Li Jiu, and the other disciples. Zi Wuzhu checked his pulse time and again but found nothing amiss, concluding that Li Chongyuan’s progress was blocked by lingering resentment from his previous beating. Li Jiu and Zi Lan took turns counseling him, but nothing helped. Thus, it was decided throughout the Mingxin Hall that Li Chongyuan had given himself up to despair. Zi Wuzhu sighed deeply and said no more, and the disciples, after a few sympathetic words, went their separate ways. Such cases were not unheard of on Tianshan; fortunately, with no lack of food or clothing, those who lost hope were simply kept on as idlers.

Li Chongyuan continued each day to carry ice alone, practice the Primordial Fusion Art, and at night, seek out Qu Beiyuan on the nameless snowy peak to study the Asura Divine Art. His lack of inner strength made every movement more arduous.

One day, while sweeping snow in front of Mingxin Hall, he suddenly heard a commotion below. To his surprise, Miao Wushuang, head of the Pavilion of Inquiry, had come up the peak with her disciples, including Hong Mochou and Huang Shan. Hot on their heels were Yang Wuji, head of Thunder Hall, and his disciples Du Xin and Ma Beifang. Suddenly he remembered—it was his master Zi Wuzhu’s birthday, and these guests had come to pay their respects. Ashamed of his own state and having no gift for his master, he felt increasingly embarrassed. Unable to face anyone, he abandoned his broom and slipped indoors to hide.

Soon, the entrance to Mingxin Hall grew lively as Zi Wuzhu greeted his guests. After much exchange of pleasantries, things quieted down and the visitors filed into the main hall. Li Chongyuan peeked out, saw no one about, and resumed sweeping.

As he swept, he heard voices behind the rockery in the courtyard. Listening closely, he realized it was Hong Mochou and Du Xin whispering. After a while, they seemed to argue, and soon came the patter of footsteps—Hong Mochou ran out from behind the rocks. She started at the sight of Li Chongyuan, then broke into a bright smile, walked over, and pulled him into her arms. “Well now, this boy is quite handsome. When you first came up the mountain, I didn’t notice,” she teased, shooting a provocative look at Du Xin, who was hurrying after her. Poor Li Chongyuan, powerless as he was, could not break free from her grasp. To Du Xin, it looked as though he was yielding willingly, which made her eyes blaze with jealousy as she glared daggers at him.

Flustered and ashamed, Li Chongyuan stammered, “Sister Hong, if you do this, people will laugh at us!” Hong Mochou’s face darkened. “You brat! I was only teasing, and you take it seriously?” With that, she shoved him hard, sending him sprawling. Du Xin breathed a sigh of relief, a triumphant glint in her eyes. At that moment, Huang Shan came skipping over, calling from a distance, “Brother Du Xin, Master and Teacher are calling for you!” Du Xin hurried into the main hall.

Seeing Li Chongyuan struggling in the snow, Huang Shan rushed to help him up, dusting off the snow and asking with concern, “Brother Chongyuan, are you alright?” She glanced at Hong Mochou in confusion, who waved her off indifferently. “Don’t bother with him, little sister. He’s a useless weakling. If he died, we’d save on food.”

Huang Shan bristled. “Sister! He’s my friend; we escaped death together to come to Tianshan. You can’t speak of him that way!” Hong Mochou, eldest disciple of the Pavilion of Inquiry, was rarely contradicted by anyone but her master. Hearing Huang Shan, she grew angry. “So what if I talk about him like that? Not only will I say it, I’ll do this!” She strode over and kicked Li Chongyuan in the back. Helpless, he tumbled into the snow again.

Though young, Huang Shan had a fierce temper. Crying out, “Senior sister, you’ve gone too far!” she struck out with her palm. Hong Mochou was taken aback; she hadn’t expected the little girl to fight back. Instinctively, she dodged, then countered with a backhand blow that landed squarely on Huang Shan’s back. Huang Shan cried out in pain as she was sent flying.

Hong Mochou was about to scold her further when she suddenly sensed a gust of wind and dodged just in time for Ma Beifang’s fist to graze past. Missing his target, Ma Beifang didn’t bother to turn around but launched a reverse kick at her. Hong Mochou stepped back just in time. She was wearing a water-red dress for the birthday celebration, the skirt trailing on the ground. Ma Beifang’s heel caught the hem, flipping the skirt up. Though she wore pale blue cotton trousers beneath and need not fear exposure, a maiden’s instinct made her hastily cover her skirt with her hands. But as fists and feet flew as swiftly as shooting stars, there was no time for distraction. In that instant, Ma Beifang struck again, landing a heavy blow on her back. Unsteady, Hong Mochou staggered and fell into the snow.

By martial skill alone, Ma Beifang was no match for Hong Mochou, but as he had attacked first, he gained the advantage. Accidentally flipping her skirt had thrown her into confusion, and so he managed a lucky win.

Standing with arms folded, Ma Beifang declared proudly, “Senior Sister Hong, as long as I am here, no one will bully Huang Shan. You hit her just now—now I have hit you.”

Hong Mochou, smarting from pain and anger, pointed at the three of them and stammered, “You… you… very well…” Unable to catch her breath, she fainted.

Huang Shan, seeing her stop breathing, burst into tears. “Sister! Sister! Don’t die!”

The heads of the halls, who had been drinking tea inside, hurried outside at the sound of crying. They were astonished at the scene. Miao Wushuang stepped forward and revived Hong Mochou with a healing technique. Before long, Hong Mochou slowly regained consciousness, and finding herself in her master’s arms, was overcome by grievance and began to sob uncontrollably.