Chapter 24: Zuo Lishan

Qilu region, Jinan Prefecture, Mount Tai Sword Sect.

It was the fifth watch of the night, and the world was shrouded in darkness; even the roosters heralding dawn were still fast asleep in their nests.

Within a small courtyard of the Mount Tai Sword Sect, the sect master, Zuo Lishan, practiced swordsmanship, his upper body bare.

Swish!

Swish!

The sword sliced through the air with a fierce rush of wind. The techniques were rooted in the Mount Tai sword style, but their essence had undergone a profound transformation.

Those who reach the pinnacle of martial prowess are without exception endowed with talent and comprehension enough to found a sect of their own. In such hands, every form and movement ceases to be confined by tradition, evolving instead into a style uniquely suited to its master.

Naturally, under the influence of such experts, the disciples’ skills also begin to diverge from their original forms. This is how the martial arts of the great sects continually renew themselves; over generations of masters, many sects’ techniques have become entirely different from the founder’s original methods.

The Mount Tai sword style, for example, was once a grand and upright art, marked by balance and dignity. But now, in Zuo Lishan’s hands, it bore a hint of ferocity and domineering strength, more reminiscent of a blade than a sword.

Martial technique does not always mirror a person’s character, for not everyone can wield a style suited to their nature, nor does everyone live true to themselves. A man might be born wicked yet, blessed with talent, join a righteous sect; though he may never reach the peak with techniques at odds with his disposition, he can still achieve much by virtue of his gifts. Should he spend his life practicing the arts of virtue and doing righteous deeds, none could discern his true nature from his martial style, and when he dies, all would proclaim him a hero.

But for one like Zuo Lishan, whose swordsmanship reflects his very soul, his art is a mirror of his heart.

In the courtyard, stroke after stroke, Zuo Lishan gave everything to each cut until the cry of roosters finally shattered the dawn’s stillness.

He exhaled deeply, his breath sharp and white in the chill air, like an arrow that lingered three or four feet before fading.

He stood for a moment, then crossed to a large vat in the courtyard to draw water, ladling it over himself. It was late autumn, and the water had frozen overnight—so cold it sent a sharp shock through the body. Steam rose from his skin as the icy water struck him.

Having washed away the sweat, Zuo Lishan entered the room.

On the bed lay his disciple—a woman in her twenties, charming in her beauty and long accustomed to her master’s routines. She lazily opened her eyes, gazing dreamily at him with a sultry gaze.

Zuo Lishan said nothing, slipping directly into bed.

A cry of protest—“Ah... so cold!”—rang out.

Half an hour later, Zuo Lishan rolled out of bed and dressed himself.

He made his way to a quiet chamber to meditate and cultivate his inner strength.

It was near noon before someone knocked, bringing him his meal: a bowl of coarse rice, a plate of boiled beef, a dish of greens—plain and tasteless.

Holding the bowl in his left hand, Zuo Lishan ate mechanically: a bite of meat, a bite of rice; a bite of vegetables, a bite of rice; swallowing each mouthful like a machine.

When he finished, he aligned the chopsticks neatly atop the bowl, placing the plates and bowl in perfect symmetry—one plate on the left, the bowl in the center, another plate on the right.

Only then did Zuo Lishan head to the affairs hall to attend to sect matters.

He worked until afternoon, as the sun dipped westward, when a disciple knocked at his door with a report.

“Sect Master, Zhao Ying, the young chief escort of the Tiger Might Escort Agency in Yanzhou Prefecture, seeks an audience.”

“Tiger Might Escort Agency?” Zuo Lishan mused. “Is that the one whose chief escort died recently? Zhao Dehua, was it?”

“Yes, Sect Master.”

“Did she say what brings her?”

“No, but Zhao Ying looked anything but friendly—her face was full of grief and anger, not like someone here for a cordial visit.”

Zuo Lishan fell silent for a moment, then said, “Invite her to the main hall. I’ll be there shortly.”

The disciple left to carry out his orders. Zuo Lishan methodically finished writing a letter of introduction, put away the writing materials on his desk one by one, and only then made his way to the main hall.

The Tiger Might Escort Agency was a reputable establishment in the Qilu region, but lacked true experts. Though Zuo Lishan maintained the decorum of a prominent sect and would not refuse an audience, he felt little need for deference.

In the hall, Zhao Ying sat in the guest’s seat. Upon seeing Zuo Lishan enter, she stood at once to pay her respects.

“Sect Master Zuo.”

She met his eyes—tall, with arms like an ape’s and a slender waist, her features plain and stern. Her clothes were impeccably neat, without the slightest wrinkle.

Zuo Lishan had become a peerless master before the age of forty, his renown in the martial world of Qilu unsurpassed. In recent years, he seemed poised to unify the Five Mountains Sword Sects and become a pillar of the righteous martial world of the Central Plains.

But his nature was domineering and absolute; he cared little for formalities and focused solely on strengthening the Mount Tai Sword Sect, often acting beyond convention.

To ask him to uphold justice came at a price.

If she had any other recourse, Zhao Ying would not have come to Zuo Lishan.

“Lady Zhao, please sit,” Zuo Lishan said with a nod, taking the seat of honor without returning the courtesy. He dispensed with small talk, cutting straight to the point.

“What brings you here, Lady Zhao?”

Zhao Ying paused before speaking. “Sect Master Zuo, are you aware of my father’s murder?”

“I have heard something of it.”

“The one who killed my father used the Huashan sword style.”

“Oh?” Zuo Lishan replied coolly. “What makes you say that?”

“That day, I and the men from the escort agency pursued the culprit outside the city and fought her. At first she refrained from drawing her sword, likely to conceal her origins. But when pressed, she finally drew and used three moves. One of those, during your sect’s Five Mountains Alliance meeting, I saw a Huashan disciple perform. It was precisely ‘Three Descents of Yuntai’!” Zhao Ying declared indignantly.

“Any witnesses?” Zuo Lishan asked quietly.

“There were more than twenty of us from the Tiger Might Escort Agency present that day. We saw it with our own eyes—there is not a word of falsehood.”

The integration of the Five Mountains Sword Sects had been underway for years, and Huashan’s role in this was no secret within the martial world. Zhao Ying knew the Mount Tai Sect had long had designs on Huashan, but lacked an appropriate pretext for action, constrained by the need to maintain appearances.

Her meridians at the shoulder had been destroyed; most of her martial arts were lost. Revenge was now beyond her reach, so she could only pin her hopes on Mount Tai’s ambitions toward Huashan.

Zuo Lishan pondered for a moment before speaking. “The Huashan Sword Sect has a long history, and it would not be the first time a disciple has gone astray. The true inner teachings would never be allowed to leak into the world, but as for sword techniques alone, that is another matter. Based on a single move, ‘Three Descents of Yuntai,’ I cannot confirm the culprit was from Huashan.”

Zhao Ying caught his implication and immediately replied, “The culprit even gave her own name! Whether she is a disciple of Huashan Sword Sect can be easily verified!”

“Her name is Mei Qinghe!”