Chapter Thirteen: Luliao’s Ambition

Drops of water gathered into beads, sliding down the rock face and falling gently onto the surface below, sending ripples across the water and producing a monotonous yet pleasing sound. The longer one listened, the less it grated on the nerves; instead, it evoked a profound and elusive sense of tranquility.

Li Bai stood within the cavern, gazing at the natural curtain of water before him, and sighed deeply.

“A mere water curtain, yet it divides the cave into two worlds. Thus, within these walls, there is only Dongyanzi, living in leisure, while the world loses the scholarly Mr. Taibin.”

“To live so serenely at my age is indeed a blessing. When I am angered, the lords tremble; when I dwell in peace, the world rests. I only wish these days could last forever.” The white-haired elder, smiling, set aside his brush, rose from his desk, and sat at a stone tea table.

Li Bai shook his head helplessly, a knot of frustration in his heart yet unable to find release.

“What do you think of this young man?” The elder’s delight was unconcealed.

“He is quick-witted and exceptionally intelligent, and his rare decisiveness surpasses mine.” Li Bai was generous in his praise of Lu Liao.

The elder stroked his beard contentedly, evidently gratified. “Who would have thought that Heaven, in my twilight years, would send me such a remarkable youth to inherit my legacy? Truly, it has not been unkind to me.”

“My congratulations to you, sir,” Li Bai said, bowing respectfully.

“After taking my wife’s ‘Azure Spirit Pill,’ all poisons should be purged, and all ailments cured. Would you accompany me to check on him?” The elder eagerly got to his feet.

Fainting and waking, fainting and waking—after so many cycles, Lu Liao had grown numb to the sensation. Yet this time, upon awakening, he found himself sticky and uncomfortable. He sniffed, and a pungent stench emanated from his body.

He quickly rose from the wooden bed and found himself in a bright and tidy wooden house. Sunlight streamed in through the window, and outside, the birds sang in the forest.

Stepping outside, he saw no one around. A clear brook flowed gently past the front of the house, and all was unusually still.

Seeking a secluded spot, he washed himself in the brook, changed into clean clothes placed on a small table inside, washed his filthy garments, and hung them to dry. Then he sat quietly in the house, waiting for its master.

The elder and Li Bai appeared at the door. Lu Liao hurriedly knelt and bowed. “I, Lu Liao, thank you both, esteemed teachers, for saving my life.”

The elder laughed heartily. “I am Dongyanzi, and my wife and I have retired to Dongchang Rock to live in seclusion. We are no immortals. This gentleman, the Recluse of the Lotus, is visiting an old friend, though he does possess a touch of otherworldliness.”

Lu Liao rose, bowed again. “Though you are not immortals, in my eyes, you are no lesser than those immortals themselves.”

The elder and Li Bai exchanged a smile; the boy’s flattery was remarkable.

“Is this place too remote for you, young friend?” The elder longed to take him as a disciple, but could not bring himself to ask directly, so he posed the question casually.

“It is tranquil and ethereal, as if blessed by the gods. I fear only to sully this place, and have no complaints whatsoever,” Lu Liao replied, immediately flattering him.

The elder chuckled dryly, casting a glance at Li Bai.

“Yesterday, after our game, Mr. Taibin praised you highly. He wishes to keep you here, teach you his arts, and pass on his legacy. Would you accept?” Li Bai spoke straightforwardly.

Lu Liao was taken aback, asking, “I am dull-witted, and deeply grateful for the elder’s favor. But may I ask, what does the elder intend to teach me?”

“The five elements and yin-yang shape the universe; stratagems and diplomacy command the world. Unfolding grand designs stirs the winds and clouds; ambitions shake the earth for a thousand years. The philosophers of all schools are celebrated through the ages; the arts of Qimen and Ghost Valley are true classics.” The elder recited the “Ode to the Ten Thousand Saints of Ghost Valley” with pride.

Lu Liao was stunned. The Ghost Valley lineage, since its founder Ghost Valley Master, had produced figures who shook their era and left their names to posterity. But since the late Han, after the Water Mirror Master, the world had seen no trace of such strategists for countless years. Who would have thought he would stumble upon one?

Seeing Lu Liao dumbstruck, Li Bai shouted, “Foolish boy, kneel and greet your master!”

Lu Liao snapped to attention, about to kneel.

But the elder waved him off calmly. “Wait! I will not ask your origins or past, but there is one thing you must not deceive me about. If you speak falsely, you need not take me as your master.”

“Whatever you ask, I, Lu Liao, will not dare to lie,” Lu Liao replied candidly.

“When you were unconscious, I observed your breathing—it was the Qi cultivation technique unique to Ghost Valley, never taught to outsiders. This method is found in the first three chapters of the ‘Seven Techniques of the Yin Talisman,’ and has never leaked out. I examined your body; you have already mastered the basics. Tell me honestly—where did you learn it?”

Lu Liao was bewildered; he had never studied the “Seven Techniques of the Yin Talisman.” All he had learned since childhood was the health-preserving “Pure Wind Formula.” He dared not hide anything and told the elder the truth.

“And where did you get this ‘Pure Wind Formula’?” the elder pressed.

“My father, Lu Xiuyuan, was once an apprentice in the Golden Elixir Chamber of the Imperial Medical Institute. Gifted in alchemy, he befriended the renowned Hanlin scholar, the poet immortal Li Bai. Mr. Li often requested elixirs from my father, who felt obliged and gave him the ‘Pure Wind Formula,’ saying that regular practice would strengthen the body and prolong life. My father was devoted to alchemy and had no time to practice it, so he passed it to me when I was young. I have practiced it ever since, but found nothing remarkable about it.”

Lu Liao recounted the story in one breath. Li Bai, beside the elder, blushed deeply.

The elder looked at Li Bai with a strange expression; Li Bai coughed awkwardly.

“You see, this is fate. The boy was born to be your disciple.”

After paying respects to the ancestral tablet, his master and mistress, and listening to his master’s guidance, Lu Liao became a disciple of Ghost Valley, destined to be a strategist of legendary renown.

The wooden house became Lu Liao’s residence, but he tossed and turned, unable to sleep. The names of past sages haunted his mind—could he one day stand beside them, his name preserved in history? He could, he surely could! Lu Liao vowed silently.

In the afternoon, with nothing to do, Lu Liao was still excited, pacing restlessly in his room. Li Bai entered, carrying a chess set.

“I refuse!” Lu Liao had no mood for chess.

“You rascal! Acting so proud now. If you can beat me, I’ll teach you a thing or two myself,” Li Bai challenged, eager for such a worthy opponent.

Lu Liao pouted, unconvinced by Li Bai’s supposed abilities.

Li Bai felt stifled, glaring at him, and declared with pride, “My arts may not match Mr. Taibin’s, but I have four exceptional talents unmatched in the world.”

Lu Liao was skeptical, but did not wish to embarrass him, so asked casually, “What four talents are those?”

“Wine, sword, chess, and poetry! I drink a thousand cups without getting drunk; my sword can kill a man in ten paces; my chess transcends the heavens; and my poetry is at least passable.”

Lu Liao burst out laughing. “Wine, sword, chess aside, you call your poetry merely passable, yet claim it’s unmatched?”

Li Bai’s face fell, and he retorted indignantly, “I am Li Taibai, also known as the Dripping Immortal. If my poetry is merely passable, who else in the world can claim the same?”

Lu Liao blinked, realizing Li Bai was not lying. Suddenly, Li Bai’s stature seemed immense, inspiring awe.

His posture unconsciously grew humbler; he glanced up at Li Bai, who was still standing proud and angry. Lu Liao quickly put on a smile. “I failed to recognize greatness, not knowing you were the poet immortal. Uncle Li, I have some of my father’s secret elixirs, better than before. I wish to offer you some as a token of respect for my elder—please accept!”

At the mention of elixirs, Li Bai was embarrassed and snapped, “Who wants your elixirs? Are you going to play chess or not?”

Li Bai lost, and lost badly.

A great dragon soared across the board, but it was a dead dragon. Li Bai stared at it for a long time, refusing to concede.

This was the poet immortal himself! With a single verse, men bowed and women swooned. Just imagining it was wondrous. Lu Liao was elated, ignoring Li Bai’s embarrassment.

“I’ve decided—I want to learn poetry and prose from you!”

Li Bai turned away. “That cannot be taught. Even if you imitate, you may gain the form but not the spirit.”

“How can I acquire the spirit then?” Lu Liao was unwilling to give up.

“If you travel the famous mountains and rivers, wander the lakes and seas, experience the rises and falls of life, taste all its joys and sorrows, then perhaps you may achieve something,” Li Bai replied, dashing Lu Liao’s hopes.

To enter a treasure mountain and leave empty-handed—the youth’s face was filled with profound disappointment. At his age, he did not appreciate the wonders of wine; to him, it was like a thorn in his heart. Chess—was it worth learning from Li Bai?

“To learn the sword from you?” Lu Liao was doubtful; Li Bai hardly looked like a master swordsman.

“What! You’re reluctant?” Li Bai stood up, adopting the pose of a peerless master.

Lu Liao remained silent.

Li Bai, never in his life so slighted, felt his pride surge, despite his recent humiliating defeat at chess.

“I left home at eighteen, and wandered for ten years with sword in hand—climbing sacred mountains, visiting vast seas, meeting countless masters. Wherever I went, the path was clear, and I met no equal.”