Longyuan 1

My name is Ya Jiu, and I am a sword spirit.

My current master is named Sheng Wenxiu, styled Master Jixuan, the renowned Elder of Swords of the Shushan Sect. The title "Elder of Swords" does not mean he is in charge of storing blades; rather, he is responsible for overseeing and instructing the sect's disciples in the immortal arts of sword-flight.

That said, his collection of swords is indeed no small thing.

And as one of his most beloved blades, this divine sword naturally cannot be spoken of in the same breath as those stray cats and dogs of swords he picks up on a whim. To find me in the first place, he ascended to the heavens and plunged into the earth, battling that great Kunpeng bird for three days and three nights before driving it off and retrieving me from its cavern beneath the sea. For some fifty-odd years thereafter, I was the treasured blade that never left his side. So even though I no longer accompany him out as often as I once did, here in the Sword Collection Pavilion of Zhaohua Palace, this divine sword still commands considerable standing and prestige.

My master is a homebody who rarely goes out. He likes to keep to his room—polishing his swords, practising his arts, plucking at his zither for a while, spacing out for a while, muttering to himself for a while. The rest of us simply stay put, obediently, on the sword racks, in the chests, in the wall niches, and up on the walls. Now and then he speaks to us, but a fathomless sword spirit like myself generally ignores him; only a lovesick fool like Pojun answers his every word.

Even so, my shut-in of a master does venture out on occasion. Whenever he suddenly begins to bathe and change his robes, it is one of the telltale signs that he is about to go out. Then he'll crouch before his clothes chest, stroking his chin as he hunts for something to wear. I'll admit his figure is beyond reproach—muscles supple but not exaggerated, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, fair skin, slender in clothes yet solid out of them. Now and then I overhear the little maidservants who come to tidy his room gossiping about him—how he was seen coming and going as a pair with the celestial maiden of such-and-such a household, how he exchanged a charming smile with the senior sister from some mountain or other, how once when they passed him face to face he flashed them a smile—and they usually finish in a swoon, fantasising that our master might just have taken a fancy to little chits like themselves. At times like this I can only shake my head and sigh. For all that our master looks transcendent and otherworldly, untouched by mortal dust, at home he doesn't wash his face or comb his hair, and sometimes wears the same undergarments three days running. If those girls ever found out, I wonder whether it would deal a fatal blow to their springtime fancies.

My master suffers from a certain indecisiveness, plain to see both in how he picks his clothes and how he picks his sword. Every time he plants himself in the great hall of the Sword Collection Pavilion, those spineless young blades all but quiver with eagerness, longing to leap down from the walls into his hand. This divine sword would never stoop so low; I merely glare at him, silently chanting in my heart: 'Don't take me and you're sure to be pummelled by thousands and hacked by ten thousand, don't take me and you're sure to be pummelled by thousands and hacked by ten thousand, don't take me and you're sure to be pummelled by thousands and hacked by ten thousand...' My master strokes his chin and looks this way and that, now rubbing his nose, now loosening his waist, now puffing out his cheeks, now heaving a sigh, and in the end he finally chooses... Pojun...

"I'm heading out. Mind you all behave," he tells us, then strides out of the Sword Collection Pavilion and shuts the great door.

The instant the door closes, the Danzhu Sword slips free of its blade-body, takes human form, spreads a cloth over that stone sword-dais in the centre that always stands empty, sets out three dice and a teacup, and hollers, "Everyone's out, everyone's out! Place your bets—big on the right, small on the left, triple in the middle!"

At his cry, the rest of us all slip free of our blade-bodies and form a ring around the stone table. This divine sword does not normally indulge in such low, vulgar games, but in the spirit of fostering solidarity, this divine sword joined in all the same.

"Big! Big! Big! Big! Big!"

"Small! Small! Small! Small! Small!"

"Aiyo! It's a triple!!!"

"Holy crap, I won!" "Aiyo... rotten luck!" "Damn it, how's it a triple..." "I refuse to believe my luck's this bad!"

We whooped and hollered through the Sword Collection Pavilion, the mood blazing hot. The truth is, none of us sword spirits have any money to gamble with, so we wager by taking clothes off and putting them on. If you were to barge into the pavilion just before a round began, you'd see a heap of sword spirits bundled up like rice dumplings, leaping and shrieking around a table. Generally speaking, the stronger a sword spirit's spiritual power, the more layers of clothing it can conjure; the weaker, the fewer. That's precisely why, sometimes when I go out with my master, he stares at me in astonishment and says, "Ya Jiu, you're not even middle-aged—how have you gone and put on weight?" In truth I haven't at all; I've just gotten into the habit of conjuring up a few extra layers.

Hah... my luck today was especially foul. I'd already been stripped down to a single robe... Danzhu jabbed a finger at me and crowed, "Put your backs into it, everyone! Today we strip Ya Jiu bare!"

That scoundrel of a sword! All because I fleeced him twice the last time I was holding the bank!

At his shout, every last one of them piled onto "big," the very opposite of my bet... I spat on the floor. "Damn it, you think I'm scared of you lot? Bring it on!"

Danzhu's technique for casting the dice was all flash and flourish, dazzling to the eye, and when at last the teacup came down on the table with a clatter, the whole crowd was bellowing fit to burst the eardrums, "Big! Big! Big!"—while I alone shouted myself hoarse, "Small! Small!"

And at that very moment, everyone was so absorbed that no one noticed the door had opened.

Danzhu lifted the teacup's lid, and three sixes... it really was my loss after all!

The sword spirits cheered and capered, roaring, "Strip! Strip! Strip! Strip!"

I swept my arm wide. "Quit your racket! Fine, I'll strip! Let me show you lot what a real chest looks like!" The words barely out of my mouth, I gallantly tore open the last layer of my robe in one hand.

And at that very moment, a heavy throat-clearing rang out across the sword hall. We all turned our heads in unison—and there, in the sunlit doorway, stood an immortal with crane-white hair and a youthful face, the very picture of transcendence, the corner of his mouth twitching as he looked at us.

Er... the Sect Master?

When my master returned that day, we heard the Sect Master murmuring with him outside the Sword Collection Pavilion for a good long while. They were too far off to make out clearly, but I caught the faint words "gambling," "rowdy," and "stripped bare"... I quietly turned my back. This old face of mine had truly lost it big this time...

Sure enough, my master came in with a frosty expression, stood in the centre of the sword hall, and let his clear, cold gaze sweep slowly around the room. I could feel every blade his eyes passed over give a faint shiver.

"Quite the merry time you've all been having, haven't you?"

Mm... the textbook tone of 'This venerable one is angry, and the consequences will be dire.'

"Ya Jiu, come here and explain to me exactly what's going on!"

Oh come on... everyone was gambling, why ask only me... Grudgingly, I emerged from my blade and stood in the corner. "Er... we do open a round now and then, just for everyone to bond a little..." I shot Danzhu a meaningful look, hoping he'd put in a word for me, but the scoundrel pretended not to see and quietly rolled over on his sword rack.

My master's expression just then was rather complicated—the anger lingered, but there was a touch of helplessness to it too. The feeling was a little like a husband facing a roomful of disobedient concubines... only all of it stayed in his eyes; his face remained iced over, with no telling when it might thaw.

"I haven't taken you out lately, and you've only grown more idle. Article twenty-five of the Shushan sect rules: no gathering to gamble. Even if you're sword spirits and aren't bound by the sect rules, you might at least mind appearances!" My master flung back his broad sleeve and said coldly, "Every sword is to reflect on its faults for three days—no taking human form, no going out. Pojun excepted."

Just as the swords were groaning without end, my master shot me a glance. "Ya Jiu, you've cost me no end of face, so off you go and sweep the ash from the alchemy furnace for three days."

I let out a wail. "Master, I was forced into it! It was all Danzhu..."

Danzhu poked his head out from his sword, fixing me with a pair of big, dark, watery, doe eyes, the very picture of innocence—all he lacked was a pair of dog ears on his head. "Ya Jiu, how could you say such a thing? It was you who insisted on showing off your chest, and not one of us could stop you—isn't that right, everyone?"

The swords all nodded in agreement. I nearly vomited blood and dropped dead on the spot.

And so I had no choice but to sling my own true body across my back, take up a broom, and trudge off to the Danyuan Bureau. The Danyuan Bureau is where the cultivators of Shushan refine their elixirs, housing five great furnaces and eighteen small ones. The entire palace is built upon Lingyun Peak, the highest, steepest, and most precipitous of the Shushan peaks, treading upon a rolling sea of clouds and the dust of the mortal world below. The three-tiered round tower is crowned with a single golden orb, its red glazed tiles reflecting a thousand shades of purple cloud—a most imposing sight. Yet inside, apart from medicinal herbs and firewood, there's nothing but a few dull-witted alchemy boys. The place I was to sweep was Master Jixuan's own refining chamber. This master of mine takes little interest in alchemy, so he scarcely comes up here once in ten days or a fortnight, and as a result his alchemy boy spends his days slacking off and dozing. I walked up to the boy—named Hongcai—who was slumped against a furnace, fast asleep with a snot bubble blowing from his nose, and planted a hard kick on his backside.

He sprang up with a yelp, and the moment he saw it was me, his expression shifted within a ten-thousandth of a second from 'who's the brat asking for a beating' to 'ah, so it's Senior Brother Sword Spirit—you should've said you were coming so I could welcome you properly!'

Impatiently, I shoved aside his freckled, tender little face and tossed the broom into his arms. "Master knows you're forever slacking off, so he sent this sword specially to keep an eye on you for three days. Look at this—there's enough ash under the furnace to kick up a sandstorm all the way to the capital."

"This little one knows his wrong! This little one will clean it at once!"

I dragged a reclining chair over from the Disciplinary Elder's refining chamber next door and set it up in the veranda outside the door, then snatched a handful of melon seeds from the small refining chamber of the Sect Master's third disciple, settled comfortably into the chair, and drew out my copy of Golden Plum from the sheath that held my true body, savouring it line by line. Now and then I cracked the whip at Hongcai: "Over there, over there—still plenty of ash." "There's ash on top of the furnace too, hurry up and wipe it clean." And so on. Under my guidance, the once ash-grey furnace was scrubbed gleaming and spotless before nightfall. I lifted my eyes to the rosy clouds stretching unbroken across the horizon beyond the railing, let out a weary yawn, reckoned that the dinner hour had long since come and gone, and gave Hongcai—by now utterly spent and collapsed on the floor—a pat. "Good work today; off you go and eat."

Hongcai's eyes instantly blazed like the morning sun. "Many thanks, Senior Brother Sword Spirit!" And then he went bounding away out the door. By rights a sword spirit like me has no need to eat, but lately I'd been left idle far too long, and couldn't help craving the taste of blood... Hah... think back to the days of roaming the world at my master's side, sword in hand—how dashing and carefree it all was. It was only after that incident ten years ago that my master's temperament changed utterly, and he lost all taste for travelling abroad.

I heaved a long sigh and was just about to pick up Golden Plum and read on when I suddenly sensed a faint wrongness in the air. My body shuddered, and the true body on my back hummed with sword-cries one after another. The next instant the door of the refining chamber was kicked open with a crash, and a black shadow shot straight for my master's furnace. I snatched up my true body and hurled it. The intruder seemed not to have expected anyone to still be at the Danyuan Bureau during the dinner hour that all of Shushan eagerly awaited, and in mid-air my sword struck a fierce bar across his path. With a clang of clashing weapons, I felt a chill run through me—the other's blade seemed to be forged of refined iron. Though the contact lasted but an instant, I saw that it shimmered blue-green from end to end, clear as coloured glass, cold enough to pierce the marrow—no ordinary sword.

The figure landed on the ground, his black robe dark as ink, his face hidden behind a Nuo God Mask that revealed only a tightly pressed mouth. By the quality of his skin he ought to have been a young man, yet his long hair was white as snow.

Though I too wear a mask, mine is a cool one—a raven-feather mask that covers only half the face, far better-looking than that ferocious, demon-faced thing of his. The pitch-black Ya Jiu Sword clanged as it drove down into the ground, while I leapt into the air and came to rest one foot upon its hilt, eyeing with great interest the long sword in his hand, cast and carved with seven bright stars. Even so, my mouth dutifully kept up the act: "How bold! You dare to break into the Danyuan Bureau!"

Ah... that was merely the line I imagined myself shouting. What I actually said was, "Hey there, big brother with the prematurely white hair—did you get the wrong door? There aren't any immortal elixirs in this furnace of ours."