Chapter Fifty-One: A Sinister Plot

This had always been Han Tanyi’s intention, and before he could say a word, Qiu Wan’er made the suggestion herself. Indeed, it was only this little girl who was suitable at the moment. The old man had always doted on her, even to the point of being somewhat afraid; no matter how displeased he was, he would never get angry with her. Perhaps this was the greatest advantage of being a daughter.

Han Tanyi said nothing and only nodded slightly. The kitchen wasn’t far, and under such circumstances, Lao Lao’er was most likely to be found there. For a cook, the kitchen was his strongest fortress, naturally kept cleaner than anywhere else. Besides, it was indeed the hardest place to tidy up. As they approached, even before reaching the doorway, the faint sounds of washing and scrubbing could be heard, confirming Han Tanyi’s guess. A faint smile touched the young man’s face—probably for this middle-aged man. In Han Tanyi’s eyes, perhaps he was the simplest soul in all of Mount Qilian.

“What’s wrong with Master, Eldest Brother? When he passed by just now, his face didn’t look right.” Without looking up, Lao Lao’er continued with his chores—washing bowls, scrubbing pots—the daily routine. There weren’t many people on these mountain slopes, and each kept to their own ways. Even without looking, the footsteps told their own story. At his question, Han Tanyi sighed softly, a trace of helplessness in his tone, “I’m not sure either. Master returned and shut himself in his room. Now Little Sister is with him. There are things he doesn’t want to tell us, but with her, perhaps he’ll open up. Second Brother, prepare something simple to eat. After the journey, Master must be hungry. And if need be, we’ll have something decent to offer, won’t we?”

Since things had come to this, Lao Lao’er asked no further. Speculation had never been his strong suit. Perhaps it was for the best this way—what he needed to know, he would find out; what he didn’t, would not trouble him. Still, his movements quickened, and in a few deft motions, the stove was spotless and the fire lit, water added, and the preparations for the meal underway. This was his craft, and every action was done with practiced ease. Han Tanyi, with nowhere else to go, simply settled by the fire.

Time passed, not quickly but in a blink, and soon the rice was cooked, steaming hot before them. The dishes would come later, ready in just a moment over a strong flame, so there was no need to rush. As they waited, a figure burst in, anger flickering in her eyes—it was Qiu Wan’er. The anger on her face wasn’t particularly pronounced, but it was clear enough that the little girl hadn’t gotten her way this time.

“Master?” Naturally, Han Tanyi’s concern was foremost. In the past, he might have only been worried, but today he was also a little afraid. As soon as Qiu Wan’er stopped, he wanted to ask, but she didn’t give him the chance. Impatience edged her voice as she complained loudly, “That old man, always so mysterious, making things complicated. I went to ask him out of kindness, but he wouldn’t say a word. Instead, he wants me to call all the disciples back. Tell me, isn’t he losing his mind? What on earth does he want?”

Her words made Han Tanyi and Lao Lao’er smile despite themselves. They hadn’t expected her anger to be for such a reason. Still, though they found it amusing, it was hardly the time to laugh out loud. Han Tanyi paused, turning over the matter in his mind. What could it be that Master had to speak to all the disciples about? Could it be he’d discovered Han Tanyi’s theft and was planning to expel him before everyone? No, if that were the case, Master’s temper would have exploded on the spot. If not that, then why had Master returned from Xingyang in such a state?

Unable to make sense of it, Han Tanyi gave up pondering. What would come, would come, and no amount of worry would change that. He glanced at Lao Lao’er, who looked back at him with the same puzzled expression, as if searching for an answer. As for Qiu Wan’er, anger still colored her face, her unease undissipated. After a brief pause, Han Tanyi decided to speak as the senior brother, “Little Sister, don’t be angry with Master. He isn’t refusing to tell you—he simply wants everyone present. Some things, if you know in advance, won’t they lose their interest? Listen to me, and Second Brother: let’s each go and call back our other brothers scattered around the mountain. Once everyone’s here, Master will explain everything. There’s no need to fret over it now, is there?”

This was undoubtedly the best course of action, and neither Lao Lao’er nor Qiu Wan’er objected. Mount Qilian wasn’t large, and the disciples were all in their usual places; gathering them would take no more than half an hour. Soon, all the disciples of Minshan stood assembled before the main hall, each one wearing an expression of confusion. Life on the Qilian slopes was so peaceful that, though they belonged to one of the four great sects of the martial world, they were little different from country farmers. Such a scene had never occurred before, and the hum of speculation was sharp and restless.

“Hey, old man, everyone’s here! Whatever you have to say, come out and tell us—no need to keep everyone guessing!” Now that the disciples were gathered, Master’s request was fulfilled. Qiu Wan’er’s tone was even more assertive, the earlier anger lending a hint of challenge. Whether it was respectful or not, who could say? They were all used to her ways and didn’t think much of it. In that moment, every gaze was fixed on the main hall doors, awaiting an answer.

With a creak, the doors opened. The Celestial Daoist stepped out slowly from within the hall. Though it was almost noon and the sun blazed at its brightest, the room behind him seemed shadowy. Only when he stood fully in the sunlight could his appearance be clearly seen. For a moment, every eye widened. He was the same man—wrinkled, white-haired, embodying age in every aspect. But today, something was different. In the past, his old age was clear, his demeanor despondent and lazy, as though he had no will left to fight. Of course, that was to be expected of a man his age. Yet now, the aura of decrepitude had faded, replaced by a sharp, unmistakable radiance.

His features were resolute, almost out of place on such an aged face. His long robe, dark and somber, trailed to the ground, stirring in the mountain breeze with an air of ethereal elegance. Most striking of all was the longsword in his hand. The name “Moon Concealed” was etched boldly into the blade. In this moment, the aura unique to heroes of the martial world radiated from him without restraint. In truth, this was the first time in more than a decade that Han Tanyi had seen his master dressed in such fashion.

The old man said nothing, but merely standing there shifted the entire atmosphere. It was clear—not only to Han Tanyi, but to everyone—that something extraordinary was about to unfold. Instinctively, the disciples fell silent, eager to learn what had happened. The Celestial Daoist seemed in no hurry to explain. His hand glided gently along the sword’s length, lingering with deep emotion at the tassel on the hilt, reluctant to let go. After a long pause, as if steeling himself, he gripped the tassel tightly and drew the sword. A crisp ring sounded as cold light flashed from the blade, its chill and razor edge proclaiming the sword’s uniqueness. The old man’s gaze lingered on the blade, a faint smile on his lips, as if he were greeting an old friend after many years. His voice, low and full of affection, murmured, “Old friend, sixteen years have passed so quickly. I thought I’d never fight at your side again in this lifetime. Yet unexpectedly, here we are, ready to join hands once more.”