In the first year after Gu Yuan descended the mountain, Tao Mian named it Year One of Yigou.
That year brought favorable weather and a bountiful harvest. Wang Ya’tou from the west end of the village brought Tao Mian a bag of rice and two baskets of eggs. She asked why she hadn’t seen young Daoist Gu in so long.
Tao Mian told her that young Daoist Gu had stolen his coffin savings and eloped with some girl. Sooner or later, he’d drag the boy back and make him answer to sect rules.
Gu Yuan wrote frequently. He said he still couldn’t return to Blue Mist Sect-the time wasn’t right. For now, he could only live outside, biding his time and concealing his strength. He practiced both techniques every day without fail. Consort Lu was with him, living quite comfortably, and had even found two little hens for company.
Tao Mian knew, of course, that Gu Yuan hadn’t slacked off in his cultivation. Thanks to his disciple’s diligence, his own progress in those techniques could only be described as leaps and bounds.
“Having a disciple really is nice.”
Tao Mian lounged lazily in the sun, paper in one hand and brush in the other, pondering what to write back.
“Learning is like rowing against the current-if you don’t advance, you fall behind. Gu Yuan, you must redouble your efforts in practicing these techniques.”
Keep the pressure on.
“Also, tell Consort Lu to look after her health.”
In Year Two of Yigou, the village enjoyed another abundant harvest. Under Peach Blossom Mountain’s protection, this little village remained peaceful and serene. Wang Ya’tou came as usual with rice and eggs, asking when young Daoist Gu would return.
Tao Mian said young Daoist Gu had been flirting with too many women and was now wanted by six noble families’ daughters. They wouldn’t let him leave until he married all of them.
Wang Ya’tou laughed and scolded him playfully. “Daoist Tao, you’re teasing me again.”
Gu Yuan’s letters came more slowly now. The courier visited several times with nothing for Tao Mian.
Just before winter, a light snow fell. Tao Mian had fetched a jug of wine from the village and was heading back to warm it. At the village entrance, the courier called out, “Daoist Tao, there’s a letter for you.”
Tao Mian thanked him and carried the wine and letter back to the temple.
Once inside the warm room, he rubbed his hands together, set the wine on the small table, and opened the letter first.
The two chickens were blessed creatures, enjoying the cozy room as they gathered around Tao Mian’s feet.
Tao Mian unfolded the letter.
Gu Yuan had written in haste-his characters nearly flew off the page. The gist was that he had begun building his own forces and made some allies. His first target was Dong Liangjun, one of Li Heshan’s trusted men, who had done much to harm the Gu family.
Dong Liangjun was a Golden Core cultivator with formidable strength. Gu Yuan had fought him once while masked, lost badly, and nearly died.
He hoped his master would leave the mountain and help him uproot Dong’s forces.
The entire letter detailed Dong’s preferred weapons and techniques, and how he had harmed the Gu family-killing Gu Yuan’s aunt and uncle.
Tao Mian read the letter again and again, searching for even half a sentence about whether Gu Yuan himself was well, whether Consort Lu was well.
There was nothing.
He calmly folded the letter back to its original shape and pulled open a small square wooden box. Inside lay a thick stack of paper.
He placed the newest letter on top, smoothed it twice with the back of his hand, then closed the box tightly and set it aside.
Tao Mian sat sideways on the couch, legs crossed. On the small table before him were two small dishes and a cup of clear wine.
He scattered a handful of rice and called the two chickens over.
Time to eat.
The next morning, someone knocked on Peach Blossom Temple’s door. Tao Mian stretched lazily, shuffled into his straw sandals, and went to answer. Outside stood an unfamiliar young man.
“I-“
The young man had come in Gu Yuan’s place to escort his master.
He had expected to find a white-haired old Daoist, stooped with age. He’d been worrying about how to get the old man safely to Blue Mist Peak.
He never expected a handsome young man who looked barely past twenty.
He wondered if he had the wrong place.
“Ah… young Daoist, I’m Cheng Chi. Might I ask where your master, Tao Mian, is?”
Tao Mian glanced at him, bent down, and carried the two chickens outside to let them wander and stretch their legs.
“I am Tao Mian.”
“You’re-huh?”
Cheng Chi’s jaw dropped, his eyes wide as saucers.
No-no way!
“Young Daoist, forgive my bluntness, but you look younger than Gu Yuan.”
“He looks old.”
Tao Mian’s gaze toward Cheng Chi warmed slightly.
“Young man, you certainly know how to talk.”
Cheng Chi was still reeling, but Tao Mian had already gone back inside and retrieved the luggage he’d packed the night before.
And a peach branch he’d prepared long ago.
“Let’s go. I’ll come down the mountain with you.”
The two six-hundred-year-old chickens could look after themselves. The thousand-year-old flying cockroach needed even less of his concern. In Year Two of Yigou, Tao Mian left the place he’d lived for over a thousand years for the first time in his life.
He wouldn’t return until the peach blossoms bloomed the following spring.
Gu Yuan worried that Tao Mian wouldn’t take care of himself while traveling, so before they parted, he repeatedly urged Cheng Chi to look after him.
Cheng Chi, however, found that Daoist Tao wasn’t picky at all. He went along with whatever arrangements Cheng Chi made-where to go, what to eat-and never asked about Blue Mist Sect or Dong Liangjun. The man was remarkably patient.
Cheng Chi felt uneasy. Tao Mian looked so young that he half-suspected his sworn brother had been fooled.
At inns, they usually took two rooms. When rooms were scarce, they shared one-Cheng Chi on the floor, Tao Mian on the bed.
Daoist Tao mentioned he was used to rising early to meditate. Cheng Chi said, “Go ahead, I won’t disturb you.”
The next morning, Cheng Chi woke to find Tao Mian sitting upright with legs crossed, eyes closed.
Not daring to disturb him, Cheng Chi tiptoed to his feet-and promptly stubbed his toe on the table leg. The pain was so fierce he curled up like a twisted pretzel, clutching his foot.
The commotion woke Tao Mian. He wiped nonexistent drool from the corner of his mouth, eyes still bleary.
“Time to eat?”
“…”
That very day, Cheng Chi wrote to Gu Yuan, urging him to find another helper. This young Daoist seemed like a fraud.
But that very night, assassins sent by the Dong family infiltrated their inn.
The assassins wounded several people and fought their way to the bedroom.
Cheng Chi jolted awake, drew his sword, and faced the enemy.
But someone was faster.
Blades flashed in the moonlight streaming through the window. In an instant, killing cold filled the room. Cheng Chi counted three attackers.
He wanted to join the fight but feared he’d only get in the way.
Then came three consecutive screams. The three men, bleeding heavily, dragged their wounded bodies through the shattered window and fled.
The candle flickered to life-lit by the young Daoist. He set the withered peach branch on the table. Blood dripped from its tip onto the floor.
Yet the peach wood itself remained unstained.
“I spared their lives, but they’ll never circulate Qi or cultivate again.”
Tao Mian spoke.
“Are you hurt?”
His robes were spotless, his hair crown undisturbed. He stood like a lotus rising from mud-untouched by the mortal world.
Cheng Chi looked into his eyes and realized how absurd his earlier assumption had been.
A face could remain young forever. But eyes never lied about the years.
From then on, Cheng Chi clung to this powerful ally. He barely needed to lift a finger-Tao Mian repelled wave after wave of pursuers.
Occasionally, Tao Mian would deliberately sleep through an attack and let Cheng Chi handle it. At first, Cheng Chi didn’t understand. Later, he realized Tao Mian was probably training him.
If Cheng Chi couldn’t manage, Tao Mian would pull the peach branch from under his blanket and dispatch the trouble in a few swift moves.
They traveled this way until they finally reached a manor near Blue Mist Peak. Gu Yuan had taken the alias Ruan Su and was its master.
He was building his own power right under Li Heshan’s nose.
Tao Mian was secretly brought into the manor. That night, the lamp in the manor lord’s study burned until dawn as master and disciple talked through the night.
When Cheng Chi knocked the next morning, the door opened from within.
It was Tao Mian, preparing to leave.
Cheng Chi heard Gu Yuan’s voice: “Master, your disciple will surely rise to prominence and repay you a thousandfold.”
Cheng Chi saw Tao Mian’s smile. He looked a little tired.
“Disciple, your master only hopes you stay safe.”
That was all he said.
Gu Yuan had schemed for a long time. His master was the final piece. With Tao Mian’s arrival, all his plans could finally move.
He orchestrated everything from the shadows. And at last-he faced his enemy.
Dong Liangjun brought twenty Golden Core cultivators and thirty at Foundation Establishment. He thought that would be more than enough to crush the old Sect Leader’s remnants.
He never expected a jade-faced Daoist in green robes to appear from nowhere, wielding a three-foot peach branch. The man moved like a dragon through water, his strikes leaving no trace, cutting through the ranks as if they were empty air-scattering dozens of cultivators in moments.
Dong Liangjun was caught completely off guard and beaten into a wretched state. His opponent crippled his cultivation but spared his life.
Clutching his chest, coughing blood, he rasped, “Who are you? Why do you help that little thief?”
The master stood beneath the moon, his voice light as smoke.
“I am his master.”
Word spread through every sect: the orphan of the old Sect Leader, Gu Yuan, was reclaiming his birthright-and he had an impossibly powerful master protecting him.
Spring came warm and gentle. Gu Yuan wanted to keep his master a few more days, but Tao Mian declined.
“The peach blossoms on the mountain have bloomed. Disciple, I must return.”
Gu Yuan knew he couldn’t make him stay. Unwilling as he was, he put on a generous front.
“Master, whenever you want to come out, I’ll send a sedan chair to fetch you.”
Tao Mian smiled.
“Your master’s straw sandals are too humble for a fine sedan. Disciple, when you have time, bring Consort Lu back to the mountain for a visit.”
And so Tao Mian left-bringing nothing with the wind, taking nothing with the clouds. No one could stop him.
After returning to Peach Blossom Mountain, things were unsettled for a while. People kept coming to disturb his peace.
Tao Mian was never lenient with intruders, but unlike before, he didn’t cripple their cultivation.
He usually beat them black and blue, then tossed them out of the courtyard.
Over time, the intruders found it pointless and the conflicts grew less fierce. Sometimes, when Tao Mian wanted a drinking companion, he’d drag one of them out of some corner and push them onto a stone stool.
He’d pour the wine. They’d drink together.
Eventually, these people even helped him chop wood and feed the chickens. Tao Mian enjoyed his leisure.
Gu Yuan’s letters came less frequently each year. The disciple was a busy man-the master understood. But Wang Ya’tou from the village still came to ask every year.
Wang Ya’tou had grown from a little girl with pigtails into a lovely young woman. More and more suitors came calling, but she waited foolishly.
Tao Mian told her, “Wang Ya’tou, don’t wait anymore. Young Daoist Gu has chased the peach blossoms beyond the horizon.”
Wang Ya’tou was clever, but stubborn. Only when Tao Mian told her to stop waiting did she finally weep, her heart letting go at last.
The peach blossoms on Peach Blossom Mountain bloomed and fell. A few more years passed. Wang Ya’tou had long since married and had a daughter. She and her husband were deeply in love.
Tao Mian sat on the doorstep, shaking a rattle drum to amuse the toothless baby. Wang Ya’tou stood nearby. Motherhood had softened her, and she saw many things more clearly now.
“Daoist Tao,” she said, “are you still waiting?”
Tao Mian’s gaze was clear and distant, his face unchanged from years ago.
“The mountain is here,” he said, “and I am here. Neither the mountain nor I will leave. Those who go-I do not keep, do not chase, do not wait for. I only remember.”
Over the years, Tao Mian left the mountain a few times, always to help his disciple.
Whenever he descended, Gu Yuan’s enemies had to muster every ounce of strength to face him.
The Peach Blossom Immortal had never known defeat.
Rumors spread that Tao Mian and Gu Yuan shared a bond as deep as any between master and disciple. Gu Yuan’s enemies tried every scheme to drive them apart, never knowing that Tao Mian cared nothing for such disturbances. He simply cherished those sixteen years.
Master Tao never interfered with his disciple’s decisions. He hardly acted like a master at all. When he wasn’t traveling, he lay in the courtyard, basking in the sun and napping.
Only once did Tao Mian grow angry with Gu Yuan.
Huo Xinglan was Li Heshan’s right hand. Gu Yuan asked his master to deal with him.
Tao Mian charged into the Huo estate alone and crippled only Huo Xinglan and his sworn brother.
He left with the two ringleaders. But an hour later, Gu Yuan sent another group to slaughter the entire Huo family.
When Tao Mian learned of this, he was furious. He shoved open the door to the manor’s study. Gu Yuan and his trusted subordinates were inside, discussing important matters. They were forced to stop.
Gu Yuan dismissed his subordinates and personally brought a chair for Tao Mian, pouring him tea.
Tao Mian refused to sit.
“Gu Yuan,” he said, “when you were a child, your master took you up the mountain. We watched the peach blossoms bud, the grass sprout. I wanted you to calm your heart and nurture your spirit, to absorb the Spiritual Qi of mountains and rivers.
“The Huo family had eighteen members-children among them, and an old woman. When your blade fell, did you think of your master’s intentions?
“Why did I leave the mountain and invite worldly troubles? Why did I only cripple their cultivation and spare their lives? Disciple, I do not stop you from avenging your parents or claiming the Sect Leader’s seat. But your master fears that in fighting demons, you will sink into the mire-and in the end, cast yourself into hell.”
Tao Mian’s earnest words fell on deaf ears. Gu Yuan heard none of it.
“Master, you’re too naive,” he said. “The Huo family’s cruelty runs in their blood. If I’m not ruthless today, tomorrow you’ll be offering incense at my grave.
“Think of how Li Heshan treated my family. I was a baby in swaddling clothes, and he sent eight waves of killers, vowing to wipe us out completely.
“A child grows up. A child learns hatred. A child will throw away his life for revenge.
“I know this well-because that is the path I’ve walked.”
He said, “Master, I am already in a prison.
“Where is hell? I look around, and everywhere is hell.”
Cheng Chi escorted Tao Mian back to his room. In his later years, Cheng Chi would recall that moment as if it were yesterday.
He followed half a step behind. Tao Mian seemed like a crackle-glazed vase-the fissures spreading constantly, eroding what remained whole, like a spider’s web.
Consort Lu finally couldn’t hold on any longer. After leaving Peach Blossom Mountain, her vitality had faded greatly.
As a chicken who had lived an extraordinarily long life, Tao Mian gave her a grand burial. Her ashes were placed in a palm-sized box, and he left Blue Mist Peak carrying it with him.
The cheerful, joking Daoist Tao suddenly grew quiet and withdrawn. Except for Wang Ya’tou, who could still exchange a few words with him, he kept his door closed nearly all day.
No more letters came from Blue Mist Sect.
Another five or six years passed. Then the long-broken correspondence suddenly resumed-from one letter every six months, to every three months, every two months, every month. Wang Ya’tou heard from a traveling peddler that Blue Mist Sect had a new master: a young man surnamed Gu.
The door of Peach Blossom Temple stood open again.
Tao Mian received the latest letter. Gu Yuan was rambling on about sect affairs again. At first, he’d mentioned important matters-replacing hall masters and the like. Now it was all trivialities: the tree at the mountain gate being moved, the chickens in the mountains fighting each other. He went on and on.
The ending was always the same: “Master, I’ll send someone to bring you here so you can enjoy your ease.”
Tao Mian didn’t think it necessary. When his disciple struggled, he helped. When his disciple prospered, he had no need to appear. He’d visited Blue Mist Sect once-surrounded by crowds of people fussing over him.
Tao Mian didn’t like that.
Days passed one by one. Wang Ya’tou’s daughter reached marriageable age. Another letter arrived from Blue Mist Sect.
Still full of trivial matters-but the ending was different.
This time, Gu Yuan wrote: “If only I could see Master.”
Tao Mian sensed something wrong. He panicked. He rushed toward Blue Mist Sect that very night, not stopping to pack anything.
All the way, he thought about the letters over the years.
“The peach tree I planted has died. I don’t know how to grow them. Master, when will you come take a look?”
“A cat took the fish from the pond. It lingered for days, and I couldn’t bear to chase it away. Now it’s killed the whole family of carp. Master, come see this cat-you’ve always gotten along with furry creatures.”
“I’ve been doing good deeds. I did many cruel things in my early years. I don’t blame Master for being angry at my ruthlessness.”
“A silver hair appeared at my temple this morning. Master probably still looks the same as when I was a child. When we meet again, please don’t mistake me for a stranger.”
“The peach blossoms have finally bloomed. If only I could see Master.”
Blue Mist Sect was in mourning. Sect Leader Gu Yuan had been ill for a long time and had ascended to immortality.
Tao Mian rested his hand on the dark, heavy coffin. He remembered that day long ago when he’d lifted a baby from a bath. The sunlight had been warm and soft. Mountain sparrows had sung together.
“Yigou,” he said, “let’s go back to Peach Blossom Mountain.”