"This is the side pavilion on our mountain, also known as Qing'an Residence," Xue Qing explained gently. "I heard the head of the sect used to live here, but now it's been vacated and turned into a retreat house." He glanced at Cheng Qian and asked casually, "Third Uncle, do you know what a Zhaitang is?"
Cheng Qian had no idea, but he acted indifferent and nodded anyway, following Xue Qing into the courtyard.
In the middle of the courtyard was a small pond. The black elm tray beneath it was carved with talismans—it clearly had some kind of magical effect. The water didn't ripple, didn't flow, didn't even shimmer. It was completely still.
But when Cheng Qian stepped closer, he realized it wasn't water at all—it was a giant, rare gemstone.
It wasn't jade, nor emerald. It was cool to the touch, a deep green with hints of blue, and radiated a cold, serene stillness.
Cheng Qian had never seen anything like it. Even though he didn't want to look like a country bumpkin, he couldn't stop staring.
Xue Qing said, "No one knows exactly what it is. We all just call it the 'Qingxin Stone.' The sect leader found it. He used to sit here and copy scriptures when fasting. It keeps the courtyard nice and cool in the summer."
Cheng Qian pointed at the rune on the elm tray and asked, "Brother Xue Qing, what's that talisman for?"
Xue Qing looked a little surprised that Cheng Qian was being so polite. After a pause, he replied, "Uncle Third, don't tease me—I'm no expert. That's not a spell."
Cheng Qian gave him a curious glance. Xue Qing saw something in his eyes—a kind of quiet, skeptical thoughtfulness. For such a young boy, his gaze was unnervingly sharp.
Though he could tell Cheng Qian came from a modest background and probably hadn't read many books, the kid was clearly trying hard to act dignified. He looked like someone who didn't quite know how to blend in, but was doing his best to carry himself like a proper gentleman.
It was a little pretentious, really—a kind of posture without a clear reference. Usually that sort of attitude was annoying, even in a kid. But for some reason, Xue Qing didn't dislike Cheng Qian. He actually felt a little sorry for him.
So he softened his tone. "Third Uncle, I'm just a low-ranking servant with poor aptitude. I look after the master and the junior uncles. As for spells… that's way beyond me. I only repeat what the master says. If you want to know more, it's better to ask the sect leader—or your senior brother."
Cheng Qian caught the phrase "my family" in how Xue Qing referred to the senior brother, and thought about how everyone treated the sect leader with such exaggerated reverence. The whole thing made him more and more confused.
Xue Qing soon helped him get familiar with the layout of Qing'an Residence. He gave him a dust-cleansing ritual, changed him into clean clothes, tidied him up from head to toe, and then led him out again.
Keeping up his timid and respectful act, Cheng Qian asked about the senior brother. Xue Qing told him his name was Yan Zhengming, and that he came from a wealthy family.
How wealthy? Well, Cheng Qian had no real concept of "wealth." To him, the richest person he'd ever seen was probably the village chief, who had three wives. That already seemed extravagant enough.
Apparently, Yan Zhengming had run away from home when he was seven for reasons unknown, and got picked up by their slick, smooth-talking master. The old man, clearly good at spotting opportunities, managed to coax the young master into staying.
Of course, the Yan family panicked when their precious son disappeared. They searched everywhere and eventually found out he had joined some small-time sect on a mountain. But by then, Young Master Yan had no interest in returning home—whether due to being brainwashed or just rebellious, he was determined to cultivate with Mu Chun.
Spoiled since birth, his family couldn't bear the idea of him suffering under some shabby mountain sect. But after several failed attempts to bring him back, they finally gave up and started funding the sect instead—treating it like a kind of elaborate school play starring their son.
There are many sects in the world, but very few are truly famous. Most are scattered wild sects, barely holding on. A place like Fuyao Sect, with a wealthy family backing it and a sliver of credibility, was probably what you'd call a pet sect—not quite wild, not quite legitimate.
So Cheng Qian understood. This senior brother of theirs wasn't just a disciple—he was also the sect's sponsor, mascot, and golden ticket. Even the sect leader had to flatter him.
As for the sect leader himself, Cheng Qian could tell at a glance—he was a complete and utter fraud.
The only thing that saved him from being called a degenerate was that Yan Zhengming was still only fifteen and hadn't yet dabbled in debauchery. But the other traits—arrogance, extravagance, vanity—he had in spades.
The first time Mu Chun brought his newly washed and dressed disciples to meet the senior brother, the guy was… combing his hair.
It wasn't that Master Mu Chun had no sense of propriety—it was just that Yan Zhengming insisted on combing his hair several times a day. Luckily, he was still young. Any older and he'd be at risk of balding.
Who was allowed to comb his hair? Only women. Not too old, not too young, and certainly not ugly. They had to smell nice, have soft white hands without calluses, and look pretty while combing and applying incense.
The Dao boys like Xue Qing were originally servants from the Yan household, carefully picked and sent up the mountain to serve in the sect.
The young master didn't like men serving him—he thought they were clumsy. So all the attendants in his courtyard were girls, which made the place feel more like a flower garden than a Daoist dwelling.
Before they entered, Cheng Qian had stared at his master's little goatee for a long time and concluded: Master definitely used a comb on it.
Earlier, Xue Qing had told him that Mu Chun arranged for him to stay in Qing'an Residence to "clear his mind." When he saw the sign above the senior brother's door that read "Renou Township," he finally understood: it wasn't that he was unstable—it was the master who was out of his mind.
Next to him, Han Yuan tilted his head and asked cutely, "Master, what do the words on big brother's door mean?"
Mu Chun stroked his beard and answered. Han Yuan frowned and said, "Does it mean we hope big brother becomes gentler?"
Mu Chun almost choked. "You must never let him hear you say that!"
Cheng Qian and Han Yuan both stared at the sect leader clutching his beard like a frightened puppy. They shared a rare moment of clarity: This is totally outrageous. Completely unprincipled!
They exchanged a look, and saw the same expression of disbelief on each other's face. That was the day they learned their very first skill in the Fuyao Sect—how to tuck their tails between their legs.
The first time Cheng Qian saw his senior brother, he was stunned.
Yan Zhengming still had the face of a youth, but carried himself with ridiculous arrogance. He was dressed in a snow-white satin robe with dark embroidery only visible in certain light, slouching in a carved chair like he had no bones. His half-lidded eyes were resting, chin in hand, loose hair cascading like black ink.
When he heard them enter, he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze, long-lashed and cool, swept across them like ink-water, soft but full of condescension. Even when he saw the sect leader, he didn't bother to stand. He just sat there and lazily asked, "Master, you went out and picked up two more strays?"
His voice still had the sweet tone of adolescence—unmistakably youthful, slightly coquettish, yet oddly authoritative.
Mu Chun beamed and rubbed his hands together. "This is your Third Junior Brother, Cheng Qian, and this is your Fourth Junior Brother, Han Yuan. They're still young and learning, so you should help guide them."
When Yan Zhengming heard Han Yuan's name, his eyebrow twitched. He glanced at the boy briefly, then looked away like the sight had offended him.
"Han Yuan?" he drawled. "The name suits him. He already looks like he's about to cry."
Han Yuan's face turned pale.
Then Yan Zhengming turned to Cheng Qian.
"You," he said. "Come closer. Let me get a look at you."