Chapter 039: The Third-Generation Leader

Disregarding the turbulence of the martial arts world, the Quanzhen Sect had its own set of troubles.

On the fifteenth day of the eighth month in the sixteenth year of the Jiading era, a duel had ultimately reduced the Drunken Immortal Restaurant to ashes. Whether it was a genuine fear of being held liable for damages or some other reason, Qiu Chuji and his companions had fled overnight.

The group of nine failed to locate Zhou Botong and were forced to return to the Quanzhen Sect. Having been away for quite some time, they had left the sect's affairs in the hands of Zhao Zhijing, and they had no idea how things had been managed in their absence.

Following a grueling journey and with the support of enthusiastic pilgrims, they finally returned to the Chongyang Palace on Mount Zhongnan within half a month by boat and horseback.

Having been away for over three years, Qiu Zhiqing felt that the Chongyang Palace had changed drastically. While the location of the main gate remained the same, the original complex, which had occupied only a small portion of the valley, now spanned more than a third of it. The once tranquil Chongyang Palace had grown somewhat noisy. Even the Scripture Pavilion, which he had frequented, had been relocated to a massive cavern, and several new training grounds had been constructed.

Observing the third-generation disciples gathered at the gate to welcome them, Qiu Zhiqing noted quietly that he did not recognize nearly half of them, and some familiar faces were missing. It seemed that three years had indeed brought many changes.

The ninth day of the ninth month of the sixteenth year of the Jiading era was the Chongyang Immortal Sect's Day of Ascent, a time to leap over the Heavenly Gate, shed one's mortal coil, and attain a true spiritual form. As the saying goes: "Had the east wind not favored Zhou Lang, one would be missing when planting dogwood."

The morning service for the Chongyang Festival was remarkably grand. With nearly everyone in attendance, the synchronized chanting of Daoist scriptures imbued the once serene and transcendental Daoist sanctuary with a sense of sacred solemnity.

On this day, the Quanzhen Sect leader, Ma Yu, issued a decree that stunned everyone: from that day forward, the Seven Masters of Quanzhen would go into seclusion to refine their internal alchemy, and all affairs of the sect would be handled entirely by the chief of the third generation—Qiu Zhiqing.

When this decree was announced, not only did Zhao Zhijing leap up on the spot, but even Qiu Zhiqing himself was bewildered. He had barely ever instructed disciples; how was he suddenly expected to oversee the entire sect? Seeing Zhao Zhijing’s incredulous reaction, Qiu Zhiqing frowned. How could a man who had cultivated the Dao for so many years remain so uncomposed over such superficial vanity? He quietly tagged Zhao Zhijing in his mind as "obsessed with power and blinded by desire."

Although he did not know why, within just a few days of their return, the Seven Masters of Quanzhen had decided to replace Zhao Zhijing, who had long served as the senior of the third generation, with him—the master’s own personal disciple who had been away for three years.

Indeed, Zhao Zhijing had always been the senior of the third generation, not only because he was among the first to be taken on as a disciple, but also because he was the eldest among them and possessed some of the best martial arts skills in the group.

Yes, merely "some of." He was by no means invincible among his peers. Before Qiu Zhiqing had descended the mountain over three years ago, Zhao Zhijing’s martial arts were inferior to those of Fang Zhiqi and Liu Zhiyuan, and were on par with Yin Zhiping and Li Zhichang. Moreover, Fang Zhiqi and Liu Zhiyuan had received personal guidance from Qiu Zhiqing himself. Thus, although Qiu Zhiqing had never participated in the internal sect tournaments, no one questioned that his martial prowess was the greatest among the third generation.

Observing the reactions of others, among the dozens of personal disciples present, most looked slightly surprised, yet few appeared displeased. On the contrary, there was more of an air of anticipation. Yes, he was certain he hadn't misread it; it was indeed anticipation. This left Qiu Zhiqing quite puzzled.

Soon, the grand morning service concluded. It was a holiday, free from martial arts training or the copying of scriptures. He had intended to seek out his master to ask what was happening, but he was intercepted by Fang Zhiqi and Liu Zhiyuan, one on each side.

"Zhiqing, it has been years since we last met, and now it is autumn. You’ve traveled over mountains and rivers; let’s catch up!" The two laughed as they hauled him toward the back mountain. Thinking he might as well enjoy the treatment of a high official, he allowed them to carry him off.

"It seems I’m the one who traveled over mountains and rivers, isn't it? What does that have to do with you?" That was a fair point.

Fang Zhiqi laughed. "True, but since you traveled so far to see us, look—we are now carrying you over mountains and rivers. Let’s call it even!"

Could one really calculate it that way?

Liu Zhiyuan added, "Indeed. We heard from the master that you went to Lin'an, the capital of the Great Song. How was it? Tell us, what kind of prosperity and splendor did you see?"

The three chatted and joked until they reached the back mountain, where they used to catch small animals. As autumn deepened, the grass withered and the pheasants and rabbits grew plump. Over the years, they had learned that the rabbits in autumn and the fish in the mountain streams were the fattest.

Moments later, they set their traps and bait, then settled in to wait. Qiu Zhiqing fashioned a float and began fishing in the pool formed by the mountain waterfall, hoping for a hearty wild meal at noon. Incidentally, this stream did not lead to the Ancient Tomb. If one asked how he knew, it was because they had played there since childhood.

Fang Zhiqi asked curiously, "Junior Brother, the poet Lu You wrote: 'The taste of the world is thin as gauze these years; who bade me ride a horse to visit the capital? Listening to spring rain in a small tower overnight, selling apricot blossoms in the deep alleys tomorrow morning.' Is Lin'an really that prosperous? With no nighttime curfew and shops that never close?"

Liu Zhiyuan chimed in, "The Senior Brother is right. I am curious too. But even a great poet like Lu You didn't fare well there. If he lamented that human relations were as thin as gauze, yet still wanted to ride a horse to stay in the capital to enjoy that prosperity, the expenses must be huge, right?"

Both were from Guanzhong and, having reached adulthood, had likely never left Mount Zhongnan since arriving; how could they know anything of worldly prosperity?

Qiu Zhiqing joked, "Lin'an is indeed prosperous. As the saying goes: 'Beyond the green hills, more towers rise; when will the singing and dancing on the West Lake cease? The warm breeze intoxicates the travelers, treating Hangzhou as if it were Bianzhou.'"

The two were stunned. Liu Zhiyuan whispered, "Junior Brother, you actually dared to go to a place like that?"

Qiu Zhiqing was taken aback. "What kind of place?"

Fang Zhiqi said languidly, "The kind where the singing and dancing never cease..."

"Go on! That refers to the state of the official residences of the current court. What does that have to do with your virtuous Junior Brother Zhiqing?"

The three spent the afternoon in the back mountain. When it was time to descend, Qiu Zhiqing noticed that Liu Zhiyuan seemed somewhat dejected. He was curious, as this senior brother was not one to be sentimental.

"What is wrong, Senior Brother? It couldn't be that after a few years away, my cooking has improved so much that you’re reluctant to part with me?"

Fang Zhiqi teased, "What else could it be? A few days ago, when the masters were discussing the sect's expansion, he, as the master's second personal disciple, was fortunate enough to be sent to the Luoyang region to hold down the fort. From now on, he will be the chief of the Quanzhen Nanwu Sect!"

Qiu Zhiqing suddenly understood. He had heard of this! On the way back to Mount Zhongnan, they received news that the Jin Dynasty had moved its capital to Kaifeng, and their central capital had fallen. The Mongol army was advancing with full force, threatening to sweep across Hebei.

The Quanzhen Sect faced a new choice: stay and defend Mount Zhongnan, or branch out to occupy various famous mountains and rivers, transforming the Quanzhen Sect into a model consisting of multiple Daoist lineages, much like the Celestial Masters Sect.

By then, anyone could see that the Jin Dynasty would likely not last many more years. Thus, the Seven Masters decided that each would lead a lineage, generally not using the name "Quanzhen" externally, but naming themselves after their specific schools, such as the "Nanwu Sect" founded by Liu Zhiyuan's master, Tan Chuduan.

Externally, it was the "Nanwu Sect," but internally it was the "Quanzhen Dao Nanwu Sect." Fang Zhiqi, also a disciple of Tan Chuduan, remained at Mount Zhongnan as a branch representative at the Chongyang Palace ancestral site.

The current seclusion of the Seven Masters was intended to thoroughly perfect the theories and spiritual states of the Quanzhen Dao.

After the evening service, Qiu Zhiqing knocked on the door of Ma Yu’s residence. Ma Yu briefed him on the sect's situation in recent years, focusing on income, expenditures, and the affiliated temples in various regions.

Indeed, many temples in the north were now affiliated with the Quanzhen Sect. Most had their own traditions, but they sought shelter under a big tree.

"How is it? Do you have the confidence to carry forward the Quanzhen Sect in your hands?" Ma Yu asked with a smile, though his eyes were serious.

"Time is tight. If I were to claim ten-tenths of certainty, I would be lying to you, Master. But I have heard that all the uncles have decided to branch out?" Qiu Zhiqing could not help but ask.

Ma Yu walked to the window, reached out to catch a falling apricot leaf, and sighed, "One leaf falls, and one knows autumn has come to the world... The Jin Dynasty has suffered a crushing defeat, and the Mongols are killing wantonly. As the storm approaches, I am filled with worry, powerless to turn the tide. Whether as people outside the secular world or as members of the martial arts community, we can barely protect ourselves; we are truly powerless to save the world..."