Chapter Six: The Emerald Mountain Symposium
Emerald Mountain was not particularly tall. As Liang Yan and the old monk ascended the mountain path, they began to encounter other travelers halfway up—mostly youths of seventeen or eighteen, though there were also a few middle-aged men. Liang Yan glanced around, and immediately recognized them all as cultivators. Yet an odd sensation crept over him: though he himself was only at the first level of Qi Refinement, the cultivation level of each passerby appeared in his mind with uncanny clarity. For example, the black-clad youth to the left was at the second level, while the burly man in yellow ahead was clearly at the third level.
Puzzled, Liang Yan looked again at the old monk, but saw only a withered, unremarkable elder, utterly devoid of spiritual energy—an ordinary mortal, or so he appeared. Of course, Liang Yan did not believe the old monk was truly mundane. After some thought, he surmised it must be a subtle effect of the cultivation method the monk had imparted to him. Ever since practicing it, his senses and intuition had become tens of times sharper than before.
Just as he was pondering this, the travelers ahead suddenly halted. Liang Yan looked up and saw a dense white mist swirling before them, stretching endlessly forward. The others seemed prepared for this; each produced a talisman, flicked it into the air, and as the wind caught it, the talisman ignited and spun to the front of its owner, burrowing into the mist as if clearing a path. The cultivators hurried after their talismans, vanishing one by one into the white haze.
“What are those?” Liang Yan asked curiously.
“Guiding talismans,” the monk replied without turning.
“Why don’t we have any?”
“No need. Just stay close behind me.” With that, the old monk strode confidently into the fog, and Liang Yan followed. The chill within the mist was biting, but with the monk leading, he felt no fear.
They wandered through the fog for an indeterminate time before a sudden brightness broke the monotony. They had finally emerged. Looking up along the mountain path, Liang Yan saw an ancient little town nestled on the mountainside, its red-brick, blue-tiled houses scattered in charming disorder. The streets bustled with people, lively and animated.
Entering the town, Liang Yan quickly realized everyone here was a cultivator. On either side of the street, many were seated on the ground, having set up makeshift stalls. Some stalls were deserted, while others drew such crowds that not a drop of water could have squeezed through.
Still youthful and fond of excitement, Liang Yan could not help but join the throng at one such crowded stall. There, a horse-faced man sat cross-legged, engrossed in a book, seemingly oblivious to those gathered before him. Spread on the ground were various items: several thread-bound books, a bowl of green powder, a small blue dagger, and a long, ancient sword.
The sword in particular shimmered faintly with spiritual light—clearly no ordinary weapon. Most eyes lingered on it, but apparently everyone knew it would be costly, for none dared inquire.
Liang Yan thought to himself, “I’ve been cultivating with the old monk for days, but in a fight I have only my fists. It’s time I found myself a decent weapon.” Having earned some silver through their adventures—helping the poor at the expense of the rich—he opened his mouth and asked, “How much silver for this sword?”
At once, the crowd stared at him as if he were a curiosity, and even the horse-faced stall owner looked up, bemused. Laughter erupted; some doubled over, while others called out, “Where’s this country bumpkin from? Out with his master for the first time, are you?”
A green-clad woman couldn’t help but laugh. “Little brother, which family’s junior are you? Don’t you know this Emerald Mountain fair is a gathering of cultivators? Mortal silver is useless here; only spirit stones are accepted.”
Liang Yan flushed crimson. He had always been clever, but never before had he lost face like this. “That old monk is too unreliable,” he thought, “Cultivating so long, and never told me about spirit stones!” He turned, intent on finding the monk—but the old man was already nowhere to be seen.
A jolt of anxiety struck him. “Could it be the old monk was embarrassed at having no money and slipped away, leaving me here?” Considering the monk’s only possession was a ragged robe, it seemed all too likely.
Just then, a voice sounded in his ear: “I have business to attend. Explore as you please. Come find me at the Heavenly Room of the Floating Cloud Inn at dusk.” It was the old monk’s secret transmission, calming Liang Yan’s heart.
He spent the day wandering the town, stopping at every stall out of curiosity, knowing he had not a single spirit stone and could only window-shop. Time flew by, and as evening fell, he was just rising from a stall when a hand clapped his shoulder.
Turning, he saw two young men and a girl: a red-clad maiden, a short, chubby youth, and a refined young man, all about seventeen or eighteen. The refined one was at the second level of Qi Refinement; the other two, like himself, were at the first.
The refined youth smiled warmly. “Greetings, fellow cultivator. I am Chen Chong. May I ask your name?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Liang Yan cupped his fists. “Liang Yan.”
Chen Chong grinned. “Ah, so this is Brother Liang. Let me introduce my friends—this is Tang Yan, and this is Xu Kun.”
Liang Yan nodded in turn. Chen Chong continued, “You’ve been browsing all day but haven’t bought anything. I suppose nothing here is good enough for you?”
Liang Yan forced a smile. “Not interested” was one thing, “can’t afford it” was the truth. But he simply nodded. “Indeed, nothing of quality.”
Chen Chong’s eyes lit up. “So you’re like us—here for the auction atop the mountain tomorrow?”
Liang Yan was taken aback. “What auction?”
The three exchanged glances. “You don’t know about the mountain-top auction at Emerald Mountain? What sect or cultivation family are you from?” Chen Chong asked.
Liang Yan thought bitterly, “What sect? I follow a lazy monk who won’t even let me be his disciple. I don’t know a thing about the ways of the cultivation world—what a disgrace!” Outwardly, he smiled. “My master is but a wandering cultivator. I’ve trained with him in the mountains since childhood and only came out this time to see the world at his command.”
Chen Chong nodded understandingly. “So you’re an itinerant cultivator as well. So are we. Sects are fine, but we value our freedom. Still, as itinerants, we must support each other when out in the world.”
Liang Yan agreed.
“Since you don’t know about the auction, let me explain. The Emerald Mountain Gathering is run by the outer court of the Yi Xing Pavilion—the foremost sect in Zhao Kingdom. They regularly hold exchanges around the country, in large, medium, and small scales, where cultivators can trade experience, magical artifacts, pills, and materials.”
“This Emerald Mountain Gathering is a small-scale event for newly-initiated cultivators in the Qi Refinement stage.”
“I see,” Liang Yan replied. “But what about the auction?”
“Most of the items in the outer stalls are just odds and ends. No one brings anything truly valuable to sell here. If you didn’t find anything you liked, it’s no surprise. The real treasures are all at the mountain-top auction tomorrow night.”
Liang Yan feigned sudden understanding. “Is there any requirement to attend?”
Chen Chong smiled. “No, but most of the attendees are from local families or sects, so the gatekeepers might challenge unfamiliar faces like yours.”
Liang Yan sighed, “So it seems the auction is not for me.”
“Not necessarily. My cousin is a disciple of the nearby Tanshan Sect and happens to be on patrol duty for the auction. With his help, we can get in and enjoy the excitement.”
Liang Yan replied, “I’d hate to trouble you, Brother Chen.”
“Think nothing of it. We itinerant cultivators must look out for each other. Besides, it’s a chance to broaden our horizons,” Chen Chong replied earnestly.
Since he had nothing else to do, and the invitation was so warm, Liang Yan agreed. “Then let me thank you in advance.”
“Good. Let’s meet here tomorrow night at the appointed hour and head up together,” Chen Chong said with a smile.
After some more conversation, Liang Yan took his leave. By the time he reached the Floating Cloud Inn, night had fallen. Upon inquiring with the innkeeper, he found the Heavenly Room—a guest suite far grander than he had expected.
“When did that old bald fellow get so rich?” he wondered as he pushed open the door.
Inside, the old monk sat at a tea table, hands clasped, as if meditating. Seeing Liang Yan’s sullen mood, he asked, “Did you find anything you liked today?”
That question only irked Liang Yan further. Rolling his eyes, he grumbled, “Plenty I liked, but my silver is worthless.”
The old monk, undisturbed by the sarcasm, smiled and produced a small cloth pouch seemingly from thin air, handing it to Liang Yan.
Liang Yan took it and, glancing inside, was stunned—it was a storage pouch, and within it lay a neat stack of one hundred spirit stones.
“Did the old monk spend the day gathering these for me?” The thought was incredible—the old man was usually so poor he could barely afford a bun, yet now he had produced such a fortune.
Perhaps he had suffered hardship to let Liang Yan gain something at this gathering. A wave of gratitude rose in his heart. He wanted to thank the old monk, but his pride made the words stick in his throat.
The old monk noticed but paid it no mind. “Remember, wealth is but an external thing. For us cultivators, advancing our own strength is what matters. If you find something that can help you improve, don’t hesitate to spend. That’s why many good things are priceless.”
Liang Yan drew a deep breath. “I’ll remember.”
The old monk nodded in satisfaction. “Go and finish your practice for the day.”
The night passed quietly. Early the next morning, the old monk set out again. After what had happened the day before, Liang Yan was unconcerned and spent the day meditating in his room.
The hours slipped by, and evening arrived. Emerging from his meditation, Liang Yan found himself alone; the old monk was still absent. Glancing out the window, he saw that most stalls had already closed.
“Is the old monk coming back late tonight?”
“Well, it’s about time for the meeting anyway. I might as well go to the auction and see what treasures there are.” With that, Liang Yan tucked the storage pouch into his robe, pushed open the door, and strode out into the night.