Chapter 20

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The sun cast a hazy light over Nanzheng City. Wang Chuanyun stood before a mirror, carefully shaping her eyebrows. Her face was already clean, yet she wore only a thin undergarment.

Her family once owned three mirrors—a remarkable possession. The first was a large, gleaming bronze mirror adorned with a peacock pattern, big enough to immerse her entire head. It sat in her grandmother’s bedroom, where each morning the old lady would gaze into it, inspecting her graying hair before dipping her comb into peach wood shavings soaked in water to meticulously tidy her coiffure.

As a child, on sleepless summer nights, Wang Chuanyun would quietly slip from her grandmother’s embrace, wandering in the dim room until curiosity led her to touch that cold, smooth mirror. The weight and intricate patterns of the bronze were etched deeply into her memory.

That mirror was her grandmother’s dowry, a source of pride for many years. The old lady had promised to pass it down to her cherished granddaughter. But now, both grandmother and the mirror were gone.

The second mirror belonged to her mother’s bedroom—an embossed bronze mirror with a cuju (ancient football) motif, smaller than her grandmother’s but still roughly the size of her father’s palm. It was also a dowry piece, yet for some reason, a chip marred its circular edge. A coppersmith tried to repair it but failed. Wang Chuanyun refused to call it a round mirror, insisting it was a broken one, far inferior to her grandmother’s. When her mother heard this, she grew angry and slapped her twice, silencing the girl’s complaints thereafter.

Still, the carving on the back depicting children playing cuju fascinated her, and she longed to study it closely. But the mirror bore the mark of past misfortune and childish mockery, so her mother adamantly refused to let her have it, locking it away immediately after grooming.

Now that her mother was gone, Wang Chuanyun had no chance to glimpse that mirror again.

The mirror she held now was not hers but one secretly taken from her grandfather. It was a small hand mirror with a slender handle and a smooth reflective surface. She especially adored the painting on its back.

An immortal stood upon clouds, binding a fierce dragon mid-air. Suddenly, a sword descended, piercing through the mirror’s back with overwhelming force.

That was the true meaning of “splitting stone and piercing clouds,” a formidable might crashing like roaring waves against the shore.

Her finger instinctively traced the sword on the mirror’s back, worn smooth and gleaming like gold.

Then she laid down the charcoal brush and the mirror.

The small hand mirror could not capture her entire figure, only her back.

One by one, she donned robes of mingled blue and gray. After a while, having buttoned her Taoist robe, she picked up the Orchid Lord Dragon-Slaying Mirror and examined herself carefully.

The reflection revealed only a young Taoist apprentice, clean and neat, nothing more.

She lowered her gaze to the short sword hidden within her sleeve, confirming it was well concealed, then pushed open the door with satisfaction.

Today was a momentous day in Nanzheng City.

Before today, the townsfolk had been mobilized to sweep the streets and even clear the gutters thoroughly. Shopkeepers meticulously polished their doors until not a speck of dust remained.

From top to bottom, it was a grueling day. But those in high positions always found their efforts rewarded—for instance, the petty officials patrolling the streets, who could find any hygiene violations in shops. One non-compliant household meant the whole street was disqualified. Walking down such a street meant extra money in their purse. A good man would spend it buying wine for his parents, a hairpin for his wife, sweets for his children; a scoundrel would waste it on brothels and drinking.

No matter what, these petty officials would surreptitiously sprinkle charcoal ash from their sleeves in corners of inns or before houses while exchanging tips on how to spend their illicit earnings. All the while, they would grumble insincerely:

“Why must the Imperial Princess come here? Why must we suffer this trouble?”

As their complaints faded, innkeepers would mutter under their breath:

“A bunch of birdbrains!”

And indeed, the petty officials were birdbrains. The Imperial Princess dared not curse, but the local officials and Taoist clergy bustling out to greet her were also all birdbrains.

Especially the eunuchs sent from Bianjing—though lacking certain manly attributes, they were the birdbrains among birdbrains.

When a Taoist priest descended the inn’s stairs, the innkeeper immediately changed his expression, smiling cautiously:

“Master Taoist, are you going out of the city to welcome the noble guest? Not going? Oh, what a pity. I heard the Imperial Princess’s procession is coming from the north. When it passed Caoshi Mountain, my brother-in-law was working nearby. He told us the spectacle was truly… magnificent. From afar, it could be called a rainbow without exaggeration…”

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Those unspeakable words were swallowed back, mingling with bitter grievances and gradually sinking into their stomachs.

None of these words would ever reach the White Deer Spiritual Palace—that was beyond doubt.

The Spiritual Palace had gained many young Taoist apprentices—mostly girls, but some boys as well. Most were bought by palace eunuchs during errands; a few came on their own. The palace’s standards were high: ugliness was not tolerated, neither was dullness or ignorance. Illiteracy was absolutely forbidden. But children meeting these criteria rarely came from poor families, which posed a problem.

Fortunately, the eunuchs had their ways. While serving the Imperial Princess, they also resolved this issue.

It was inaccurate to say “Nanzheng City,” and even “Xingyuan Prefecture” was imprecise. More accurately, many families across the entire Lizhou Circuit, near Xingyuan Prefecture, began selling their children. Excluding barefoot, shirtless, gaunt refugees, many pampered, clever boys and girls were included.

Who wouldn’t sell their child? Selling to the White Deer Spiritual Palace was at least a clean place. If the Imperial Princess showed mercy someday, they might even be released back home—an extraordinary blessing.

Their parents trembled as they took the few strings of cash from the eunuchs, weeping as their daughters kowtowed. When the daughters departed, the fathers would try to comfort their wives:

“Thankfully, the Imperial Princess is kind, taking them in.”

Thankfully for the Imperial Princess! How fortunate to have her!

Wang Chuanyun entered this way. She had a Taoist name—though she felt unworthy of a true one. It was just a uniform name given to all these girls for convenience.

But she refused to accept it.

She recognized only the name given by her parents. At birth, her cry was loud and fierce; her grandfather laughed heartily and gave her this somewhat masculine-sounding name as a joke. To her, it was a grand and powerful name, one she cherished deeply.

She would never let it be taken away. She insisted and resisted, but the Taoists’ whips fell upon her.

What’s the use of resistance? A few lashes and it’s over.

After being beaten several times, she seemed to lower her head and act obediently. The Taoist in charge was satisfied.

Yet in her heart, she still refused to acknowledge it.

Trapped in the Spiritual Palace, she could not reclaim her name. She had to find a way.

Besides her name, what else had she lost?

The apprentices had undergone strict training daily. Today, however, they had but one task:

Line up and await the Imperial Princess’s arrival.

The Three Purities Hall was thick with incense, heavy and dizzying, almost suffocating. But as the sun rose, the ritual instruments in the hall reflected blinding light, ruthlessly stabbing into their eyes.

They had secretly discussed these instruments; each was said to have a history and be worth a fortune.

Yet piled recklessly in the hall, they were nothing more than flashy decorations.

Of course, the apprentices were decorations too, even cheaper than those instruments.

Thus, when they first entered the Spiritual Palace, the most thorough inspections focused on their faces, hands, and teeth. Who would carefully search each girl for hidden blades? Such scrutiny was reserved for the boys.

Suddenly, lively sounds erupted in front of the Spiritual Palace.

It was the musicians, responsible for palace music, exerting themselves—all of which Wang Chuanyun recognized. She had heard it several times in infancy, held in her mother’s arms. Then, when an elder in her family passed, they could barely afford a ritual to show neighbors their filial devotion and family prosperity.

Now, so many in her family had died, yet all was silent, no sound at all.

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Their family’s fields were gone. Overnight, the once fertile land became “wasteland.” The honest old parents who should have enforced the law refused even to accept their petitions, allowing her grandfather to die of anger in bed. How dared her family be so audacious as to petition the officials? To petition the West City Office? Did they not know that managing public lands was Song Dynasty law? Without complete land deeds, could they claim ancestral ownership? What? The county office must have retained original records?

That was a joke. With eunuchs from the West City Office standing guard, which county office dared to produce original documents? The eunuchs would see who had the nerve to seize even the Imperial Princess’s wasteland. Was there any law left in the world?

Her family was like a chicken caught to warn the monkeys—lifted and beheaded before it could utter a cry. Her father, uncle, mother, aunt, and their seventy acres of land were all cut down in one stroke.

Of course, her brothers survived, but they had lost all courage.

Not a sound was made.

The clamor gradually drowned out the music. Someone clapped.

The noble guests had arrived.

More than one—a pair.

One was carried into the Spiritual Palace by over twenty strong men and set in the open space before the front hall, drawing continuous admiration.

They said this Imperial Princess was transported thousands of miles at great expense—tens of thousands of strings of cash surely spent!

They also said the whole realm belonged to the government, and since the government favored the Imperial Princess, spending lavishly was no fault.

Yet some murmured the government’s rewards had limits.

Immediately, others retorted: What does money matter? Do you know how much land the government has granted?

With land, in a year or two, the Imperial Princess would have everything!

And so would we!

The guards remained at the steps. Only a group of palace maids and eunuchs disguised as Taoist apprentices surrounded a figure entering the main hall.

All the hall’s ornaments bowed their heads, yet secretly glanced sideways, so Wang Chuanyun remained inconspicuous.

That figure was a young girl, barely twelve or thirteen, even younger than Wang Chuanyun, but her presence was strikingly different.

She wore a jeweled crown with white jade hairpins, a purple Taoist robe embroidered with multicolored cloud patterns, a skirt dyed in six brilliant hues, white jade pendants, vermilion shoes, and held a white jade tablet, moving as if walking among clouds.

So beautiful, so noble and ethereal in her bearing, clad in the highest ceremonial attire of the Shenxiao Sect. Who could help but admire her? No wonder the government doted on this daughter!

Yet Wang Chuanyun paid no attention to the princess’s beauty or ugliness. She focused solely on that dazzling ceremonial robe and set her target.

The target drew closer—thirty steps, twenty, ten! Within ten steps!

Her heart pounded fiercely, as if splendid music burst forth again, as if her ancestors and mother came alive anew, as if she walked her family’s fields, feeling the cold wind descending from the Qinling Mountains on her face.

She drew the short sword from her sleeve, leapt like ascending clouds, and struck fiercely at the fierce dragon!