Volume One: When Youths Meet in Humble Times Chapter Sixteen: Of Course, One Must Live Without Regret

If this question were posed to Lu Ming, his answer would be, “Of course, I would live ever forward, upright and unyielding, slaying ghosts if they come, striking down gods if they appear.”

If it were asked of Lie Yankong, he might say, “Is there ever a single answer to the matter of living? Since there is no unique answer, for me, living is a choice that can change at any moment. I can live bearing humiliation and burdens, or live flamboyantly and freely.”

As for Shui Linglong, a woman who was both intolerant of evil and cold by nature, her response would be, “I only wish to devote myself to the Great Dao. However the Dao appears before me, that is how I will live.”

A hundred people have a hundred perspectives; a thousand faces, a thousand lives. There is no single saying that can define how one should live.

The four harbored different thoughts. When Li Yu posed the question, the other three remained silent, when suddenly a voice sounded from outside the door: “Hesitation leads only to cowardice. Since the river straightens itself when the boat reaches the bridge, why not live without regrets?”

All four turned to the doorway and saw a middle-aged Taoist step in.

He wore plain white robes, his features spirited and vibrant, his skin smooth and luminous, with a healthy flush to his complexion. A gentle smile sat upon his face, imparting a sense of spring warmth to those who beheld him. His eyes shone brilliantly, as though holding boundless light and heat. His hair was tied in the traditional Taoist knot and bound with a carefree scarf, his movements elegant and unrestrained, exuding an immortal’s bearing that made the mundane seem trivial. At his waist hung a purple sandalwood gourd, intricately carved with patterns both complex and natural, with no other adornment, yet giving an impression of ancient simplicity and the weight of many years.

Of the four, only Li Yu knew of the Taoist’s existence, so he was not at all surprised. He simply regarded the Taoist with some curiosity, then rose and bowed. “Many thanks for your care before, Immortal.”

Lu Ming and the others found Li Yu’s behavior all the more peculiar. Could it be that the Taoist had met him before?

Since the Taoist’s voice had arrived before his person, his cultivation was surely extraordinary. Lie Yankong stepped forward with due respect and saluted. “I am Lie Yankong, disciple of the Fiery Sun Sect.” He then turned and introduced the others, before asking, “Might we know your name, senior?”

The Taoist replied with a smile, “I am but a wandering priest, without affiliation to any sect.”

Lu Ming asked, “Senior, have you seen us before?”

The Taoist did not hide it. “I have seen you, though you have not seen me. From the moment you entered this village, your actions have fallen under my gaze.”

Shui Linglong pressed urgently, “If that is so, why did you not help us destroy the mountain god?”

The Taoist only smiled. “Had I not intervened, do you think you would have escaped alive?”

Li Yu quickly explained, “Brother Lu, when we were on Red Spring Mountain, it was the Immortal who told me that my jade pendant could break the illusion.”

Only then were the others’ doubts resolved. They had wondered how Li Yu had known to shatter the illusion—so someone had indeed aided them.

Shui Linglong’s face flushed with shame as she apologized, “I was too presumptuous. Thank you, senior, for saving our lives.”

Yet she did not give up and continued to press, “Senior, your cultivation must far surpass ours. Why were you unwilling to resolve the crisis here?”

This time the Taoist chuckled and asked, “Why should I intervene in the fate of this place?”

Shui Linglong replied, “As cultivators, it is our duty to expel evil, uphold the Dao, and protect the world. When we encounter injustice, we should act if we can, and if we cannot, we should at least report it to the Celestial Inspection so that the Inspectors may handle it.”

Though she did not spell it out, her meaning was clear: since the Taoist was a cultivator and capable, it was only right that he should act—otherwise, what right did he have to tread the Dao?

But the Taoist was unbothered and countered, “And what has that to do with me?”

This response made Lu Ming’s expression darken, and even the usually diplomatic Lie Yankong looked displeased.

According to the Taoist’s reasoning, the life and death of this place was of no concern to him; everything depended on his mood. If he was pleased, he might intervene; if not, he would ignore it all.

But if this was what cultivation meant, what was the point? It ran completely contrary to the ideals they were taught from the start—the very ideals Shui Linglong had voiced were their motivations and goals.

Yet to the Taoist, all of this was “none of my business.”

He continued, “Is this my homeland? No. Are there people here connected to me? None. Is there anything here I desire? Even less so.”

“If that is so, what reason have I to interfere with the fate of this place?”

Lu Ming asked gravely, “Is this the Dao you follow, senior?”

The Taoist answered succinctly, “You could say that.”

Hearing such forthright admission, Lu Ming pressed no further. After a bow, he said coldly, “We understand. Our previous words were out of line.”

The Taoist paid it no mind. Lu Ming then turned to Li Yu. “I do not know what future path awaits you, but if you trust me, I can try to help you resolve your inability to cultivate. If even I cannot help, I will arrange your life so that you can live just as you and your grandmother wished.”

Li Yu shook his head and said, “Without Grandmother, living has no other meaning for me. Thank you, Brother Lu, but everyone has their own aspirations and fate. Before I was three, my life was in others’ hands; after three, I finally got to make my own choices. You won’t interfere with that, will you?”

His words were resolute, a plea yet also a declaration of his will.

Shui Linglong and Lie Yankong no longer intended to take Li Yu back to their sects. Hearing Lu Ming’s promise, they too wanted to persuade Li Yu not to be so stubborn—having the Great Sword Azure Mountain to rely on would make for a smooth life.

Just as they were about to speak, the Taoist interjected, “Whatever you wish to do is your business. But as for what this child wants to do, I will see it through with him.”

Lu Ming’s face changed. “What do you mean by that, senior?”

The Taoist replied, “Nothing much—I just don’t want him to die with regrets.”

Lu Ming pressed further, “From your earlier words, it seemed you would not meddle in matters unconnected to you. Yet now, do you intend to prevent me from taking him away?”

There was a clear note of accusation, the air growing tense.

Shui Linglong and Lie Yankong grew anxious, not understanding why Lu Ming insisted on clashing with the Taoist.

What if the Taoist were mercurial and killed them on a whim? Even without considering this mysterious Taoist, the demons of Red Spring Mountain had already left them battered.

But the Taoist was entirely unbothered, teasing with a laugh, “Young man, don’t be so quick to anger. If you lose your composure over such a small matter, have you forgotten the teachings of Sword Nine Skies?”

His words had a calming effect; as the others listened, their hearts settled, their earlier unrest dissipating. They were all astonished—few words from this man could so powerfully affect the mind. He must have truly attained the Dao, perhaps even stood at its very summit.

What stunned them even more was his casual mention of Sword Nine Skies. Could his true identity be that of someone on par with that legendary figure?

Who was Sword Nine Skies?

Shui Linglong and Lie Yankong knew Lu Ming hailed from the Great Sword Azure Mountain, but not who his master was. There, it was an unspoken rule that until one’s sword was honed, one could not reveal their master’s identity. Thus, while others knew them as disciples of Azure Mountain, their master and sword path remained secret unless disclosed.

The sect was known to have seven Sword Immortals—those who had truly entered the Dao, ascended to the eleventh realm of cultivation.

But Shui Linglong and Lie Yankong knew that Sword Nine Skies was not among them. Thus, he must be a Sword Immortal of exceptional and hidden renown.

Such a figure would either have the highest seniority or the greatest strength—either way, the Taoist was clearly not his inferior.

When the Taoist named his master, Lu Ming’s face darkened. “Why mention my master, Taoist?”

The Taoist shook his head and sighed. “Young people these days are much too impetuous. Comparing you all, I still prefer that little fellow.”

He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Very well. If I wish for you to heed my wishes, I might as well grant you some good fortune.”

He turned to Shui Linglong. “The method you cultivate—entering the Dao will not be difficult. I’m sure your sect has ways to guide you, so I won’t comment further. But after entering the Dao, how should you proceed? I’ll give you just this: ‘The waters of the Yellow River come from the heavens above.’”

To others, these words might seem cryptic, but for Shui Linglong, inspiration struck like thunder and clarity dawned.

She suppressed her excitement and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your guidance, senior. If I one day enter the Dao, I shall repay your kindness.”

Indeed, for the three of them, entering the Dao was not the hard part—what came after was the true challenge. Even with stronger members within their sects, each person’s path was unique, and the smallest divergence could lead to vastly different outcomes. Ultimately, the path must be walked alone. Now that someone had offered guidance, it was an immense favor.

The Taoist did not speak in private, so Lie Yankong, seeing Shui Linglong had received such advice, was deeply envious.

As he looked on eagerly, the Taoist turned to Lie Yankong. “Your path is of utmost yang, and entering the Dao is not difficult for you either. As for how to proceed, just remember these four words: ‘Embrace death, and thus be reborn.’”

Lie Yankong was deeply shaken. His path was the Heavenly Fire of the Three-legged Golden Crow. Other than he and his master, no one in his sect knew he could use their fire to manifest a trace of the Golden Crow’s spirit. He had ideas about how to proceed after entering the Dao, but none had ever tried it, for fear that it would lead to their destruction. Now, the Taoist’s words suggested the path was possible—perhaps, if he succeeded, he would be the first in his sect’s history.

He, too, bowed deeply and expressed his sincere gratitude.

Lu Ming knew he was next, so before the Taoist could speak, he cut in, “There’s no need to advise me, Taoist. My path is ever forward, unstoppable and unhindered. I appreciate your kindness.”

He then glanced at Li Yu and continued, “As for him, I must take him away. I will not stand by and watch him walk into death.”

The Taoist was not angered, only smiled. “I never intended to advise you. But are you sure what you want to give him is what he truly wants?”

Lu Ming replied, “He’s still a child. I do this for his own good—only by living does he have a future, and the chance to fulfill his regrets.”

The Taoist sighed. “But you forget that when you make the choice for him, what he wants already becomes a regret.”

Lu Ming fell silent. Indeed, he had forgotten—he always believed that living was necessary to make up for regrets. But if there was a way to leave no regrets, why place one’s hopes in an uncertain future?

He stood there, stunned. Li Yu, not wanting to see him so dejected, took his hand. Lu Ming looked down at him, then slowly crouched, meeting his gaze. “Tell me—do you truly wish to follow your grandmother? You won’t regret it?”

Li Yu hugged Lu Ming. “Brother Lu, thank you. You’re the third person in my life who’s shown me kindness. Your talent is extraordinary—if I followed you, I’d be of no help, only a weakness in your cultivation. If that happened, I might one day harm you, and that’s not what I want. I can’t help you in other ways, so I can only wish you reach ever greater heights in your path. I’m not afraid of death—I’m only afraid of living in this world without hope.”

Lu Ming was deeply saddened, but as Li Yu said, the deeper the ties between mortals and cultivators, the greater the impact on both. Li Yu had considered everything—how could he force him otherwise?

Lu Ming said, “Very well. I respect your wishes.”

The Taoist, seeing this, admired the child all the more and addressed Lu Ming, “Though you do not need my guidance, permit me one more word. You were born with a sword embryo, and your immortal sword can serve as your life-bound true sword. But you should have a second sword—one yin and one yang, that is the Dao, and thus life flows without end.”

To the others, these words were obscure, but for Lu Ming, it was as if a spring thunder had struck, revealing a glimmer of hope.

Heaven is fair; it bestows great talent, but takes something in return—such as lifespan.

That is why the Great Sword Azure Mountain still has reclusive, peerless sword cultivators—because the power of the immortal sword is too great, and when cultivation cannot keep pace, the sword drains away their life. Later, the sword immortals of Azure Mountain realized sword intent could suppress the sword’s aura, so all who could not progress further would enter the Sword Cavern to prolong their lives.

For them, though their lives were spared, it was a life of waiting for death in captivity, little different from the living dead.

The Taoist’s words were simple, but Lu Ming understood—finding a sword to resonate with his immortal sword would be no easy feat.

His master had considered this idea, but never found a solution. The Taoist’s hint—yin and yang in harmony, life unending—might just be the answer.

Lu Ming realized he owed the Taoist a debt of gratitude, and bowed his head. “Thank you, senior, for your guidance. Should you ever require my aid, I will do all in my power to repay this kindness.”