WJ Chapter 118

No Clothes (2)

That year, spring came to Mount Shenlie a little later than usual.

In past years, by this time of month, the ice and snow along the Red River at the foot of the mountain would have already begun to melt, and the peach blossoms should have been in bloom. But this year the cold lingered stubbornly — standing atop the city wall, the north wind that swept against one’s face seemed bent on freezing a person down to the marrow of their bones.

Yun Changliu braced himself against the wall and looked down, his five fingers curling tight against the pitch-black city bricks, the slender knuckles pressing up beneath the skin in lines that were pleasing to the eye.

Compared to five years ago, the contours of his brows and features had grown more deep-set and commanding, carrying the faint suggestion of an icy menace that warned strangers to keep their distance. The Candle Dragon robes — the mark of a Sect Leader’s dignity — were draped across his shoulders, billowing and snapping in the wind.

Every past Sect Leader of the Zhuyin Sect had favored black; Yun Guyan was no exception. Dark, shadowed black brocade wound through with sweeping, elaborate patterns of crimson-gold dragon markings — it had always been the symbol of unfathomable power and authority in the eyes of the sect’s followers.

But Yun Changliu, contrary to all precedent, had chosen an unblemished white as the base color, and somehow managed to wear the Candle Dragon robes with an air that bordered on the ethereal — which left this band of rough men feeling thoroughly unsettled no matter how they looked at it.

Xue Duxing walked up behind him, eyes fixed the whole way on that snow-white figure, and pressed both hands down onto Yun Changliu’s shoulders. He said in a low, heavy voice. “Sect Leader need not be alarmed. This rabble may look imposing, but they are nothing more than a disorganized mob. Rushed into action, there will inevitably be little coordination and much mutual suspicion among the various sects. Please give the order to open the gates and engage them — leave all other matters entirely in the hands of your subordinates.”

Yun Changliu’s breath faltered. The fingers resting against the city brick gave a faint, almost imperceptible tremble.

— He had always despised being touched by others, let alone in a posture as laden with coercion and provocation as this one. The moment Xue Duxing’s hands had come down, a razor-sharp killing intent had surged up in Yun Changliu — only to be drawn back in, thread by thread, by himself.

He merely let his expression cool slightly. He endured it.

Xue Duxing, however, was quietly seething. He could feel the shoulders beneath his hands pulled taut as a bowstring, and taking it for fear rather than fury, his contempt for this Sect Leader deepened by another layer. “This subordinate ventures to speak boldly — please grant this subordinate command authority over Ghost Gate, and give the order to open the gates and engage!”

The jeers and curses from below the city walls drifted up at just the right moment. The force that had come to attack fancied themselves righteous avengers, and they had a whole repertoire of filth to hurl at the walls. The Zhuhuo Guards on patrol above were all seething with indignation, itching to charge down and tear apart every last foul mouth down below.

That was bad enough — but these people had also taken the Zhuyin Sect’s design and fashioned a shoddy imitation of a Candle Dragon banner. The great dragon that should have been soaring high, glaring fiercely, claws lashing in fury, had instead been embroidered in a lumpen, lopsided shape that looked more like a fat mudloach, now being trampled into the dust with a thoroughly pitiful air.

And then someone stood right at the city gate, boldly undid his trousers, and pissed directly onto the Candle Dragon banner. The crowd below erupted in roaring laughter, wolf-whistles and mocking jeers rising on all sides.

Every last follower inside Xifeng City was blazing with fury, curses pouring from their lips. Everyone knew the Candle Dragon was the Zhuyin Sect’s most sacred and supreme totem — to have it subjected to such wanton desecration today was intolerable. They wanted nothing more than to devour these people raw, to drink their blood warm… and yet the Sect Leader had issued a prohibition: no engaging in battle.

Regardless of how little the upper echelons of the sect respected Yun Changliu, he was still the current Sect Leader, and in the end no one dared defy his order and ride out to fight. The great gates of Xifeng City stayed firmly shut, and no matter how the enemies howled and cursed outside, they refused to open.

For this, Yun Changliu had offered the following reasoning: the enemy forces were being so brazen in their attempts to goad the Zhuyin Sect into opening the gates because even if Ghost Gate went all out, the troops assembled below would not be sufficient to withstand them — which meant there were likely ambushes lying in wait nearby.

Information Hall Master Zhao Cuo said, “Sect Leader, the Information Hall investigated this several days ago.”

Yun Changliu frowned inwardly, thinking: several days ago, you were all busy kneeling at the gates of Yanyun Palace and knocking your foreheads against the ground until you bled — whatever investigation you managed to conduct in that state could hardly be considered reliable.

Punishment Hall Master Liu Wanjun crossed his arms, emitting a contemptuous huff through his nose. “Even if there are ambushes, Xifeng City fears nothing! Sect Leader, my Punishment Hall still has over a hundred highly skilled Enforcers — if need be, they are ready to ride out and fight as well.”

By an unwritten convention of the Zhuyin Sect, the positions of the two Hall Masters of the Punishment Hall and Information Hall were held by the Left and Right Envoys respectively. The current Left Envoy, Liu Wanjun, and Right Envoy, Zhao Cuo, were both men who had followed Yun Guyan in bullying the jianghu for the past twenty-odd years.

Yun Guyan had ruled with an iron and thunderous fist. In all these nearly twenty years, it had always been the Zhuyin Sect doing the oppressing — never had there been a time like this, with enemies camped at their very door, hurling abuse, while they hid inside and refused to fight. Naturally, this band of proud and hot-blooded subordinates could not endure it.

Yun Changliu remained unmoved. He pointed to the dark, pressing mass of mountains beyond the city walls. “The terrain of Mount Shenlie is treacherous and unpredictable. Should we encounter an ambush outside the city, casualties will only multiply needlessly.”

Liu Wanjun roared. “Sect Leader! There are no cowardly wretches who fear death in the Zhuyin Sect!”

Yun Changliu suddenly gave a cold, contemptuous laugh. “Are there fools who seek it, then?”

“You—!?” Liu Wanjun’s eyes went wide with fury. He hadn’t expected this habitually tight-lipped young Sect Leader to produce words with such a sharp edge to them. Rage clenching his fists, he lunged a step forward.

Zhao Cuo, sensing that things were going badly, grabbed him by the arm and hissed, “Brother, what are you doing — Yun Changliu is still our Sect Leader, you must not act rashly.”

Attendant Wen Feng had been standing at a slight remove behind, but at this point could no longer hold himself back and stepped forward, placing himself in front of Yun Changliu with a cold laugh. “My Sect Leader has endured such contempt and humiliation from the various daren without ever losing his temper — can Left Envoy Liu truly not manage even a few days?”

“Attendant Wen speaks out of turn.”

Liu Wanjun bared a vicious look in his eyes. Wen Feng had just felt a foreboding in his heart when he suddenly saw the man take two steps forward, raise his large hand, and with neither particular force nor particular lightness, dragged it across Yun Changliu’s face — a gesture that, with its unpleasant grin, could have been a slap, could have been something far more obscene. He sneered, “When they’ve already hit you right in the face — who could keep their patience!?”

“Right Envoy!”

“Hall Master Liu—”

The act had genuinely caught everyone off guard, even Xue Duxing and Zhao Cuo staggering back in shock.

Because Liu Wanjun was known to be a lecherous man who kept eighteen concubines in his household — everyone in the sect knew this. And Yun Changliu’s features leaned somewhat toward the softer beauty of his mother, so this hand dragged across the side of the Sect Leader’s face read equally as a slap and as something deeply inappropriate.

Yun Changliu himself had not expected anything like this was still possible. Under the eyes of everyone present, Liu Wanjun’s palm turned his face slightly to the side, a few strands of dark hair ruffled loose and falling down.

Faint sounds of laughter and whispering drifted up from below the walls. Wen Feng’s mind went instantly red — eyes already flooding, he was just about to throw himself forward to fight to the death when he felt a weight settle on his shoulder.

…It was Yun Changliu’s hand, pressing the attendant steadily back into place. The Sect Leader’s gaze swept to Liu Wanjun, and in a tone of complete detachment, he said, “And what if one cannot keep it?”

“You—” Liu Wanjun choked. He stared furiously at this young Sect Leader before him, seemingly unable to believe that any person could endure such a humiliation with such perfect composure.

Liu Wanjun’s temper being what it was, Xue Duxing feared he might do something even more outrageous and hastily stepped between him and Yun Changliu. “The Sect Leader’s reasoning does have some merit. Let us wait another day.”

Zhao Cuo also urged caution, over and over. Liu Wanjun scowled in brooding silence for a long moment, then finally spat on the ground. “Fine! This old man will wait one day — one day!”

****

Xifeng City. Jiaoyang Hall.

“What in all the hells is Yun Changliu thinking? Why hasn’t he opened the gates yet!?”

A fist slammed down on the redwood writing desk with a heavy thud, rattling the tea in the cups.

Yun Danjing paced the room in agitation, face dark, muttering and cursing without pause. “If he doesn’t dare fight, I’ll fight in his place! Since Father came to power, has Xifeng City ever cowered from an enemy? Keep on turtling like this and he’ll have dragged the Zhuyin Sect’s reputation through the mud entirely!”

“Brother, there are so many people outside cursing Big Brother Changliu these days.” Yun Chanjuan lay sprawled across the table, gnawing on a green date with a look of deep distress. “How did it come to this… isn’t being Sect Leader supposed to be very impressive?”

This young lady truly had an unerring instinct for opening old wounds. The mention of the Sect Leader’s position sent another wave of bitter frustration surging through Yun Danjing’s chest. He dropped into the chair opposite her, crossed his legs, and gave a cold laugh. “Hmph. No merit, no prestige, and yet Father pushed him into the Sect Leader’s seat just like that — and he expects to hold it steady? There’s no such luck in this world!”

Yun Danjing felt genuinely stifled. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he could not comprehend how the thing he had craved and begged for since childhood had, in the end, been tossed so carelessly to his eldest brother — and how Yun Changliu had accepted it with an equal carelessness.

Casually enough, even, that the full investiture ceremony had been dispensed with entirely!

No burning of incense to Heaven, no unfurling of the banner to worship the Candle Dragon, no ten-thousand-strong kneeling, no shouts of obeisance. Yun Danjing had not even been granted the small satisfaction of standing below watching his elder brother receive the Candle Dragon robes, to feel that stab of envy — however brief — for himself.

The gulf between expectation and reality was simply too vast. To offer an imperfect analogy: it was rather like a beauty one had pined after for years, to the point of illness, who had always looked through you with disdain — only to one day, on a whim, climb into bed with the cowherd from next door; and while your heart was being carved apart with grief, you heard that the cowherd had laughed it off and decided to keep her on as his foot-washing maid.

Yun Chanjuan spat out the date pit and reached for another from the plate. “But what’s to become of Big Brother Changliu, then?”

“Heaven knows what he intends to do! Infuriating — stop eating those dates, you foolish girl!” The crisp sound of gnawing was enough to make Yun Danjing feel like spitting blood. He snatched the green date from Chanjuan’s hand and bit savagely into it himself, finding some outlet for his feelings.

Yun Chanjuan was displeased. “…Ah, Danjing, you took my date.”

****

Setting aside the pair of siblings in Jiaoyang Hall, crunching dates and sitting across from each other, Yun Changliu’s situation was genuinely dire.

His judgment had not been wrong — within two days, the ambushing forces emerged from the mountains exactly as he had predicted and joined the troops besieging the city.

The problem was that even then, Yun Changliu showed no intention of engaging.

Xue Duxing and the others had intended to petition him once more at Yangxin Hall, but when they arrived at the hall’s entrance, the Zhuhuo Guards on duty told them, “The Sect Leader has not been in the hall these past several days. He has left a message for the various daren — he says when the weather grows warmer, he will engage. He asks the various daren to be patient.”

Xue Duxing and the others could barely trust their own ears. They stood before Yangxin Hall staring at one another, and Liu Wanjun, beside himself with outrage, demanded: “Then where is the Sect Leader!?”

The answer: he had gone up to Wolong Platform.

When he felt warm enough, he would come down of his own accord.

This set Xifeng City into an uproar. Everyone cursed in private that the new Sect Leader was a coward and a shirker. The restlessness inside the city grew worse by the day, the mood threatening at any moment to boil over into open mutiny.

Yet at the same time, the people camped outside the walls were also having a miserable time of it.

This new Sect Leader of the Zhuyin Sect had defied their expectations entirely. They had assumed that such a young new Sect Leader — if his temper ran hot and reckless — would open the gates the moment they laid siege and hurled abuse; and if he was of a soft and slow disposition, then the pressure from within the sect would at least force him to allow his subordinates to ride out.

But the city had gone utterly quiet. Not the slightest acknowledgment of anything happening outside.

Mount Shenlie’s climate was harsh and the conditions brutal; they had come from far away, and their misery was beyond description. The forces set in ambush in the mountains had endured a mere two days before they could no longer hold on and retreated out in dejection. The initial fervor of “carrying out Heaven’s justice” had been half-frozen to death; morale sank lower with each passing day.

And yet they could not leave. They had come with such grand fanfare and thunderous momentum — they had cursed at the gates of Xifeng City to their hearts’ content — but with not a single follower of the Zhuyin Sect killed or wounded, how could they simply go home? Would they not be the laughingstock of the entire jianghu?

Perhaps they ought to assault the city. But Xifeng City’s walls were high and solid, and it was packed with powerful fighters. To storm it head-on would be to hand over the initiative to the enemy, and devastating casualties would be inevitable.

Everyone loves comfort and ease. As things stood, they could curse as freely as they liked, and the Zhuyin Sect’s followers dared not retaliate. They could even lie down to do their cursing, as comfortable as one could wish… under such circumstances, how many of them would willingly charge those walls and walk into a beating?

They could neither advance nor retreat.

The combined forces of the Five Sects Alliance had not yet drawn blood, and already found themselves mired in difficulty.

Only atop Wolong Platform, perpetually mantled in snow, was there peace — a vast, cold, forbidden place where nothing reached but the fine whisper of wind.

Newly hung white curtains swayed in the breeze, the silhouette of the white-robed figure within appearing and vanishing between the layers.

Wen Feng’s face was a mask of anxiety. He knelt outside several layers of curtaining and pleaded with earnest and persistent tongue:

“Sect Leader, hiding away like this simply will not do — it will only make the followers lose even more respect for you! Even if you truly do not wish to fight this battle, that is your prerogative — but at the very least, you could harden your heart and bring down a severe punishment, let them see some blood, so they know where things stand. Otherwise, if this drags on for a few more days, the city is going to erupt…”

After a long pause, Yun Changliu’s clear, cool voice drifted out unhurriedly from deep within the white curtains. “It won’t. Once they have won a fight, they will settle down. Right now the anger and resentment inside the city is at a peak — that is a good thing. If we conduct mass executions, fear will spread; fear breeds a desire to retreat. That will not do.”

Wen Feng listened, his mind a bewildered fog. He felt the Sect Leader was speaking in complete contradictions, with no logic he could make out. He asked anxiously, “Then do you intend to fight, or do you not?”

Yun Changliu said, “Fight.”

Wen Feng pressed, “And when do you intend to fight?”

Yun Changliu: “When the weather warms, we fight.”

Wen Feng: “But why!?”

Yun Changliu: “Mm.”

Wen Feng: “…”

Having served as Yun Changliu’s attendant for so many years, Wen Feng had the good sense to read from this single syllable a remarkably complex array of sentiments — “you are very noisy,” “not only noisy but foolish,” “I am annoyed,” “I do not wish to explain, I cannot be bothered to speak,” “go away quickly and let this lord have some quiet”… and much else besides.

“…”

Attendant Wen retreated, on the verge of tears.

Before the Young Sect Leader had lost his memory and entered the Wuze Realm, he had never been quite like this!

****

Xifeng City. The outer district of Ghost Gate.

Guan Wujue sat alone with his back against the cold stone wall, the black face-mask that usually covered his features lying to one side of him, alongside his two longswords.

He was so pale and gaunt — eyes closed, head bowed, he looked like a frail invalid collapsed in sickly sleep. Yin Ghosts and Zhuhuo Guards passed by him in a steady stream, yet not one dared come near or disturb him; more than a few cast glances of wariness or awe as they went by.

Everyone knew that this cohort had produced a remarkable Yin Ghost — one who wielded twin longswords, who had clawed his way to Ghost Head with only a broken and crippled body, and who by all accounts fought as though he would gladly trade his own life for a wound inflicted.

And moreover, this fellow’s moods were erratic, and he had a habit of cutting down his own comrades. A few days prior, some follower had apparently been particularly vicious in his cursing of the Sect Leader — saying something to the effect that “it seems the Fengchun Sheng poison was not potent enough, given that it failed to kill the Young Sect Leader in his time” — and this maimed Ghost had hurled himself upon the man like a wild thing and wrenched his neck apart with his bare hands. Probably not just his body that was broken, but his mind as well.

Suddenly, a figure in black moved toward this irascible and volatile Yin Ghost, drawing the glances of those nearby.

The figure wore black clothes and black armor, and was also a Yin Ghost — but at his waist hung an elegant longsword of obviously fine make, clearly no item of Ghost Gate manufacture.

He came to a stop before Guan Wujue, reached up and unlatched his own face-mask to reveal a face of hard, angular lines, then raised one foot and gave Guan Wujue’s leg a light nudge. In a low, flat voice as expressionless as his face, he said:

“I have a name now. I came back to tell you — Yang Yue.”

The Yin Ghosts were trained killers; sentiment ran thin and flat in them. Any curiosity at a moment like this tended to come from the Zhuhuo Guards. Several were seen murmuring quietly among themselves. “Who is that? Bold enough to go near that broken Ghost.”

Another replied. “That’s the second-ranked of the new cohort. The broken Ghost is unfit for use — this one is the Ghost Head in all but name, and the sole privilege of choosing a master belongs to him.”

The first was taken aback. “These two seem to be on surprisingly good terms?”

Someone else shook their head. “Hard to say. But Yin Ghosts are not quite human — how deep can any bond between them run?”

At the wall, Guan Wujue remained motionless, eyes still shut. His lips parted. “Which master did you choose?”

“Young Master Danjing.” At the mention of his newly pledged master, Yang Yue’s face remained ice-cold, yet something quietly feverish flickered to life in his eyes. “He thinks highly of me — he is willing to have me as his shadow… When he granted me my name, he said: Danjing means light, Yang; Yue is a sacred weapon of royal rites and ceremony. From this day on, I am the blade that makes him invincible in all directions.”

A man of worth will die for one who truly sees him. For most Yin Ghosts, a master who genuinely recognized one’s worth was worth far more than any material reward. And beyond that… judging from the sword at Yang Yue’s hip, Yun Danjing had not been stingy with his gifts either.

“You are easily taken in,” said Guan Wujue, the corner of his lips curling up, cold. “Yun Danjing is just at the age when he needs to choose a shadow. You are the Ghost Head — he wants to contest for you against the Sect Leader, so of course he needs to say some pretty words to draw your loyalty over to his side.”

“You are the Ghost Head yourself; I fall far short of you,” said Yang Yue, frowning, as he settled down beside Guan Wujue against the wall and said in his characteristic blunt manner. “If I had not known that you intended to follow Young Sect Leader Changliu with all your heart, I would have recommended you to my master.”

“—Sect Leader,” Guan Wujue corrected first, then continued, “Recommending me would be pointless. Your master would not take a broken Ghost… No one would take a broken Ghost.”

The two Yin Ghosts sat side by side against the wall for a while, exchanging idle words in a desultory fashion. Before long, Guan Wujue fell silent and unwilling to speak further, just as before — eyes shut, leaning against the cold stone.

A patrol of Zhuhuo Guards passed by, apparently just rotated down from watch on the city walls, and the voices kept low between them still carried the same grievances against the new Sect Leader.

Yang Yue was quiet for a long time. Then, abruptly, he said, “Is this the person you would give your life to follow?”

At those words, Guan Wujue’s lashes stirred.

After a long pause, he finally let his eyelids open. Those deep black eyes turned, without a sound, toward the retreating figures of that passing patrol.

The Zhuhuo Guards had already dwindled to distant silhouettes, but their complaints still carried — laced through with fury.

Guan Wujue remembered how different things had been only a handful of days ago.

At that time, the Five Sects Alliance had only just thrown their encirclement around Xifeng City, sealing it from all sides. Even within the ordinarily iron-disciplined Ghost Gate, one could feel the unease spreading through the ranks. The followers had all worn hollow, darkened expressions, and the murmured conversations among them had run mostly along these lines: Can this battle still be won? What are our chances? What becomes of us if we lose…

But now it was different. Everyone was in a blazing, frantic fury — why haven’t we opened the gates? How can the new Sect Leader be such a coward! When are we finally going to fight a proper battle!?

The hearts of men are, in the end, such easily nudged things. Once a particular voice swells into a tide, it sweeps up more and more of those around it, carrying them along without their notice toward the same direction.

His Sect Leader seemed to have done nothing more than endure the curses willingly — letting the Five Sects Alliance curse the Zhuyin Sect, then letting the Zhuyin Sect curse him. He had appeared to do nothing beyond this, and yet the unease that had pervaded the city in those early days had, in the span of only a few short days, been transformed — by some miracle — into burning, seething fury.

And that fury was now being pressed down to its very limit. Once it was ignited, there was no telling how devastating the explosion would be.

Guan Wujue let out a slow, silent breath. He cast his eyes downward — yet the corners of his lips curved upward into an arc of blazing warmth, the voice that was always so composed now shaking despite itself. “…Yes. This is the person I wish to follow.”