Chapter Twenty-Five: The White Robe and the Long Wind

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With a twisted expression, Liu Nian flung off his outer robe and strode down the hall. Liu Tong dared neither to stop him nor to inquire further, and so could only follow anxiously at his heels. Exiting the Liu residence, Liu Nian walked to the end of the alley where the house stood, pausing before a quiet little courtyard. After a moment of silent contemplation, he reached out and pushed open the wooden gate with a creak, then entered with his hands clasped behind his back, his demeanor proud and arrogant.

The courtyard was simply furnished but kept in impeccable order. Apart from a stone table, two rustic stools, and an ancient well, there was nothing else within. The side room’s door was tightly closed, but as the curtain of the main house was lifted, a tall, imposing young man in coarse linen clothes stepped out.

He looked up and swept his gaze over Liu Nian, then bowed deeply. “I pay my respects, Young Master Liu!”

Liu Nian’s lips curled in a half-smile. Suddenly, he waved his hand. “Liu Tong, you may leave us. I want a private word with him.”

“Yes, sir.” Liu Tong hurriedly cupped his fists in salute, quickly withdrew, and closed the courtyard door behind him. In truth, he wished he could be far away from this ill-omened master of his, lest disaster befall him.

“Changfeng, you’ve been living in seclusion here in Jianing for nearly a year now, haven’t you?” Liu Nian gestured, sizing up the young man called Changfeng from head to toe.

Standing tall and unmoving as a mountain, Changfeng replied evenly, “It’s been more than eleven months since I arrived in Jianing.”

Liu Nian sneered, “In the past, I lent you a helping hand, and you swore you’d repay me, even claiming you’d go through fire and water at my command. Does that still hold true?”

The corners of Changfeng’s mouth lifted in a determined arc. “Young Master Liu, you generously paid for my mother’s burial and gave me this house to mourn her. I can never forget your kindness. If you have any commands, I shall obey without hesitation.”

Liu Nian laughed heartily. “Excellent! Changfeng, I know you possess great martial skill, a hero of the underworld who comes and goes like a shadow. Just help me get rid of an enemy, and our debts are settled. Now that your mourning period is ending, I’ll give you another ten thousand coins—then you may leave Jianing forever.”

Changfeng fell silent for a moment, then cupped his fists and asked, “I have no need for money. May I ask, who is your enemy?”

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“The young servant of the Kong family, Kong Sheng!” Liu Nian gritted his teeth and lowered his voice, pronouncing each word with venom. “There is no reconciliation between us! Changfeng, with your skills, you can take care of Kong Sheng quietly and efficiently. I don’t care how you do it, as long as I see results. When it’s done, you must leave Jianing at once!”

With a flick of his sleeve, Liu Nian departed.

Changfeng’s expression shifted, but he still bowed deeply as Liu Nian left. Only after the sound of footsteps faded did Changfeng slowly straighten and stand facing the wind. His face, chiseled and stern, was shadowed by tightly knit brows as he let out a soft sigh. He knew all too well that this prodigal son of the Liu family was no good man, and to kill for Liu Nian would be to aid evil—but he owed a great debt, one he could not ignore.

Changfeng’s surname was Mu. Once, he had been a chivalrous wanderer, known for his clear sense of right and wrong, roaming the lands of Yan and Zhao, dispensing justice as he pleased. Those were days of freedom and righteousness. As chaos loomed in the world, his mother fell gravely ill. Wishing to fulfill her desire to return home and be buried in the south, he journeyed with her to Jiangnan.

Enduring hardship and displacement along the way, he finally reached Jianing, where his mother passed away. By chance, Liu Nian encountered him while out hunting and, impressed by his stature and bearing, generously purchased land for his mother’s burial and gave him a house to mourn in. This was the only good deed Liu Nian had ever performed, and even then, it was with ulterior motives—hoping to bind Changfeng to his service as a bodyguard or servant. Yet Changfeng, proud and independent, though grateful, would not allow himself to be thus constrained, politely declining all offers. Eventually, Liu Nian had given up.

Changfeng stood in silent contemplation for a long while before turning suddenly and entering the house. A short time later, he emerged, having changed from his mourning clothes into a white robe and girding himself with an antique sword. Carrying a simple leather satchel, he looked back at the little courtyard where he had lived for a year. With a clear, piercing cry, he vaulted over the high wall and, after a brief pause, vanished as swiftly as a shooting star.

Shunsheng Inn.

Kong Sheng saw off the talkative and disgruntled maid, Hongmian, closed the door with a complicated look, and seated himself cross-legged on the bed. He tried to cultivate his inner energy with the breathing techniques handed down by Sima Chengzhen, but his mind was unsettled, unable to attain the calm and continuity the practice required.

The repeated confessions of affection from Yang Xueruo, daughter of the Yang household, had left a ripple in his heart. If not for his great ambitions, if his mind were not set far beyond this corner of Jiangnan, he might have accepted her feelings and, with the Yang family’s influence, easily risen again.

Yang Qi planned to use him, but could he not also use Yang Qi and the Yang family?

Kong Sheng’s clear gaze fell upon the blue robe, hand-stitched by Yang Xueruo, lying on his table. A gentle smile touched his lips. Yet with the world in turmoil and his own future just beginning to take shape, he had neither the time nor the leisure for romance.

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Kong Sheng slowly closed his eyes, letting his mind settle into stillness as he immersed himself in the Daoist practice of harmonizing breath and spirit. His breaths alternated in length, and within his meridians, two faint streams of energy circulated rhythmically, passing from his mouth to his lower abdomen and back again in an endless cycle. This mysterious Daoist breathing technique was still new to him; its true power had yet to be revealed.

He found himself in a state of profound and wondrous meditation. It was as if in a dream, and yet it felt vividly real. At times, his spirit soared like a bird through the azure sky; at others, it raced like a steed across mountains and rivers at dawn; and sometimes, he loomed like the towering peaks, viewing the world’s transformations with the eyes of a god.

Outside the room, Changfeng, clad in white, stood silently in the shadowy corner of the inn’s second-floor corridor, his heart both astonished and grave. This man was practicing a most orthodox and profound Daoist art—the Shangqing inner discipline. Only one with a pure and upright heart could cultivate such a tradition; even if others obtained the method, they would fail at the outset.

Changfeng recalled all the rumors he had gathered about Kong Sheng along the way. Since the Kong family’s fall, this supposedly dissolute wastrel had, for reasons unknown, undergone a phoenix-like transformation, his poetry now renowned throughout Jiangnan. No matter his former reputation, such a gifted youth—how could Changfeng bring himself to strike him down?

What surprised Changfeng even more was that Kong Sheng was no frail scholar incapable of self-defense. If they were to face each other directly, whether he could succeed in killing Kong Sheng was far from certain.

A thousand tangled thoughts rushed through him, leaving him caught in an impossible dilemma. To repay the debt meant committing violence against his conscience and violating everything he stood for as a knight-errant; to let the matter go and flee would brand him as ungrateful, leaving Liu Nian’s kindness forever unresolved and a knot in his heart that would never loosen.

Just then, with a faint creak, the door opened. Kong Sheng, draped in his long robe, stepped out, looking refreshed as he gazed down at the bustling street below, filled with carriages and throngs of people.

Sensing something amiss, Kong Sheng suddenly turned toward the other end of the corridor, but saw nothing—only the fleeting glimpse of a white shadow vanishing from sight.