64 Melody Pavilion

Judging by his appearance and martial prowess, this must be Kumochi, the National Preceptor of Tibet. Kumochi, wholly devoted to his country, had bravely journeyed alone to the Kingdom of Dali, seeking to acquire the secret manual of Dali’s unrivaled martial art, the Six Pulse Divine Sword. He showcased Shaolin’s peerless skills—“Incorporeal Seizing Finger,” “Flower Plucking Finger,” and “Dorje Leaf Finger”—to overawe the monks.

Relying on his own strength, he wielded the Fire Blade to challenge the combined might of the monks of Heavenly Dragon Monastery as they unleashed the Six Pulse Divine Sword, setting off a duel of invisible blades. The battle was inconclusive, and the sword manual was destroyed. Kumochi then abducted Duan Yu, using threats and promises to extract the sword techniques from him.

Tang Xuan cast a glance at the distinguished, noble young lord—if he guessed correctly, this was Duan Yu, one of the two legendary figures in “Heavenly Dragon.” In the “Great Wuxia” world, the Kingdom of Dali was likewise home to a supreme master, the Southern Emperor, Master Yideng, one of the Five Absolutes.

However, Master Yideng did not reside within Heavenly Dragon Monastery, but lived in seclusion elsewhere, accompanied by his four disciples—Fisherman, Woodcutter, Farmer, and Scholar—who had all once served as Dali’s Grand Chancellor, General-in-Chief, Admiral of the Navy, and Commander of the Imperial Guards: Zhu Ziliu, the Woodcutter, the Recluse Fisherman of Cang Mountain, and Wu Santong.

Fortunately for Kumochi, when he caused trouble in Dali, he failed to encounter Master Yideng. Otherwise, escaping unscathed would have been highly uncertain.

As for Kumochi himself, not yet fifty, his martial arts alone already placed him among the rarest of supreme masters in the world. A level of forty to fifty marked a first-rate master; fifty to sixty, an elite, even super-class; but at sixty to seventy, one could be called a peerless grandmaster. The original Five Absolutes were all of this level during the first and second Huashan Sword Summits.

But those times had passed; after the second Huashan Summit, years had rolled by. Masters like Hong Qigong and Ouyang Feng, who had studied the Nine Yin Manual, as well as Master Yideng and Huang Yaoshi, had advanced even further—now verging on levels above seventy or eighty, becoming superlative beyond compare.

For Kumochi, to reach the level of the old Five Absolutes in his forties was already a feat few could rival in the present age. Tang Xuan had deduced his identity from his earlier display of lightness skill and his overall bearing—with less than a one percent chance of error.

Yet compared to Kumochi, Tang Xuan’s true interest lay in Duan Yu, the “legendary protagonist” of “Heavenly Dragon.” Duan Yu had mastered the Northern Darkness Divine Skill, the Ripple Step, and the Six Pulse Divine Sword—three wondrous arts, each starting at the seventh tier, and the Northern Darkness Divine Skill possibly reaching the eighth.

However, learning these peerless skills from Duan Yu would not be easy. Even under Kumochi’s threats and cajolery, he had refused to reveal the secrets of the Six Pulse Divine Sword, which spoke volumes.

Tang Xuan had no clear plan for this. At that moment, the young girl, gazing at the high-spirited monk, replied, “Outsiders wouldn’t know the name of Canghe Manor. From where did you, Master, hear of it?”

The monk replied, “I am Kumochi, a close friend of the late Mr. Murong. I have come to pay my respects at his grave, fulfilling a promise of old.”

The girl’s expression changed again. She said, “Since Master is a good friend of the late Master Murong, please have a cup of tea while I go and inform them. Is that agreeable?”

Kumochi nodded. “Young lady, may I ask your name and your relation to the household?”

With a sweet smile, she replied, “Oh, I’m just the girl who plays the zither and flute for the young lord. My name is Abi. Please, don’t stand on ceremony—just call me Abi.”

It truly was Abi! Tang Xuan smiled to himself, then heard Abi turn to him, “This gentleman has traveled far as well, so please have a cup of tea too—will that be all right?”

Tang Xuan replied with a smile, “I shall accept your kind invitation.”

Abi continued, “The way to Swallow Dock’s Melody Cottage is all by water. If everyone here wishes to go, I can row you there, all right?”

With each “all right,” she asked with such gentle courtesy, soft and considerate, that it was hard to refuse—fully embodying the delicate grace of a Jiangnan maiden.

“Thank you for your trouble,” Tang Xuan and Kumochi both replied politely.

Only Duan Yu wore a look of misery.

Kumochi had brought him to Murong Senior’s tomb, intending to burn him—the living “sword manual” of the Six Pulse Divine Sword—as an offering before the grave, claiming to honor an old promise. In truth, Kumochi meant only to threaten him into reciting the sword manual, but had he truly resisted, he would likely have been burned alive.

Thus, Tang Xuan, Kumochi, and the others boarded Abi’s small boat. Abi smiled, “Don’t be fooled by how small this boat is—it won’t sink even with a few more people aboard.”

As she spoke, she gently rowed the boat further into the depths of Lake Tai. After more than two hours, the group saw, in the distance, a corner of a flying eave emerging amid the green willows.

“We’re here,” Abi said softly.

She guided the boat into the shade of the willows. As they drew near, they saw a wooden ladder made of pine branches hanging down to the water’s edge. Abi tied the boat to a branch, when suddenly a small bird in the willows gave a clear call. Abi mimicked the bird’s cry a few times, then turned and smiled, “Please come ashore.”

Tang Xuan, Kumochi, and the real Duan Yu—who had already introduced himself on the boat—all stepped onto land together.

Truth be told, all three were straightforward men; despite watching Abi row for over two hours, none of them offered to help. Kumochi, holding himself as the National Preceptor, would never lower himself to row for others. Tang Xuan thought to himself, “Abi, the Murong household maid, has her heart set on Murong Fu—she’s not my woman, so I have no reason to help.” Duan Yu, facing the prospect of being burned alive, was despondent, and as a pampered prince and heir to Dali, was never one to volunteer for menial chores.

Once ashore, they saw four or five scattered houses built on what was either a small island or a peninsula. The dwellings were small and exquisite, quite elegant. On the plaque above one cottage were the words “Melody’s Charm,” written in a free and graceful hand.

Kumochi asked, “Is this Canghe Manor in Swallow Dock?”

Abi shook her head. “No, this is the place the young master built for me. It’s just a small place—not fit to receive honored guests. But as this Master wishes to pay respects at the late Master Murong’s tomb, I cannot decide for myself. Please wait here while I ask Sister Azhu.”

Kumochi was inwardly displeased. As the National Preceptor of Tibet, his status was exalted beyond measure. Even in the royal courts of Song, Ming, Dali, Liao, or Western Xia, he was an honored guest whom kings themselves would receive. Yet, coming to visit the Murong family, he was made to wait in a servant’s quarters?

Tang Xuan, however, gave it no more thought, strolling inside and thinking, “Soon, I’ll meet Azhu—the very one whose lover, Qiao Feng, killed her with a single palm strike!”

To think Qiao Feng dared strike down his own beloved—what a ruthless wolf he must be.