Chapter 63: Shao Changchun

These visiting cards are truly effective things. Though they seem nothing more than a small slip of paper, they can make a person’s identity abundantly clear. At first, the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets had seemed rather indifferent, but the moment his gaze swept across the words on the card, his expression underwent a marked change, as if he had discovered something extraordinary. Of course, this odd reaction appeared and vanished swiftly, disappearing from his face in a blink, replaced by a broad smile. He slowly rose from his seat, his posture just a little languid, perhaps still not entirely awake. “It’s time to meet him. After all, we old fellows owe his father a favor. It’s about time we repaid it, wouldn’t you say, Old Monster Shen?”

Shen Wansan didn’t respond directly, nor did he object. He simply nodded, acknowledging the Daoist’s words. Favors, after all, are always like this—reluctantly given, especially for someone like Shen Wansan. But once owed, they’re hard to repay. Besides, at this critical moment, he wasn’t inclined to discuss such matters. The two figures walked side by side, striding forward, and only then did Han Tanyi breathe a sigh of relief. It was at this moment he truly felt his own heartbeat quicken, thumping more rapidly in his chest.

“Who could it be? Judging from my master’s expression, he seems to regard the visitor with great seriousness. The old man has lived reclusively in these Qilian Mountains for years and rarely interacts with people from the martial world. Given his reputation and status, who could possibly warrant such a personal welcome?” Watching the two somewhat aged silhouettes recede into the distance, Han Tanyi was genuinely puzzled, muttering softly to himself. Of course, under the circumstances, he had no desire to get any closer to Shen Wansan. Though he was sure the latter didn’t know he was the “Golden Leaf,” a guilty conscience is not so easily set aside. Yet his curiosity was overwhelming; he very much wanted to know who the visitor was. Torn between fear and curiosity, he could only stand there, uncertain and at a loss. In contrast, Xia Wuyai, with no such mental burden, followed straight after.

People bustled to and fro, and the hall’s exterior was lively beyond measure. Bright Moon Manor was no ordinary place. Even the plaza outside the main hall was far larger than the courtyards of most wealthy households. Yet, even so, with such a gathering of martial heroes, there was no way it could accommodate everyone. The scene was a sea of people, lively and noisy, each group forming its own circle, voices overlapping so chaotically that nothing could be heard clearly. This was only to be expected—nothing odd about it. In such an environment, finding specific individuals was hardly an easy task.

Yet today, something unusual stood out. As Han Tanyi emerged, his eyes immediately landed on a young man. Dressed in white, he was strikingly conspicuous among the martial crowd. Handsome—yes, that was the perfect word for him, fitting him to a tee. He was a little shorter than those around him—even Shen Wansan, whose figure had grown somewhat thin and stooped with age, stood taller than he. The youth held an old-fashioned yet elegant folding fan, which was open to reveal poems and paintings. From a distance, the details were unclear, but the scholarly air about him was unmistakable. His face, however, was pale, drained of color, and perhaps it was this aspect that lent him an aloof, almost cold aura.

“Who is this boy? Why does he seem so familiar?” That was Han Tanyi’s first impression, puzzling though it was. He could not quite place where he had seen him before, yet the feeling nagged at him. Drawn by this sense of familiarity, he walked over. He was not the only one compelled to do so; many of the martial artists had fallen silent, their eyes all turning toward the youth. After all, Shen Wansan and the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets were figures of such stature that even glimpsing them at this grand gathering was difficult. For them to greet someone personally was exceptionally rare—especially when their guest was a mere youth. The question of who he was was not Han Tanyi’s alone.

Of course, this was not something that could be guessed at a glance. Han Tanyi, still driven by curiosity, decided to walk over. His steps were unhurried, but with every pace, that sense of familiarity grew stronger, even though he could not recall ever meeting the young man before.

“Uncle Shen, Uncle Daoist, your junior Shao Changchun pays his respects to you both!” The timing was impeccable. Just as Han Tanyi entered earshot, he heard the youth speak these words. Changchun—such a name was somewhat unremarkable, and Shao was hardly an uncommon surname. Yet in that instant, Han Tanyi understood who he was. To address them as “uncle,” and to bear the surname Shao—there was only one possibility: the newly appointed Master of Donghua Sect, son of the man once hailed as the greatest hero of the martial world, Shao Donghua. No wonder Shen Wansan had said he was the son of an old friend. With this, Han Tanyi’s confusion vanished, and he found his earlier curiosity almost laughable. A mocking thought sprang unbidden to his mind: “What was I worrying about? Donghua Sect, together with the Qilian Mountains and Bright Moon Manor, are counted among the four great sects. Shao Changchun is the new master of Donghua Sect. Though he addresses them as elders, his status is by no means lower than theirs. Naturally, there is no reason for any slight. Besides, the old man once said he owed Donghua Sect a favor—though he never explained why, it must have something to do with that battle sixteen years ago against the Three Wolves!”

“Virtuous nephew Changchun, the last time I saw you, you were only four or five years old. I never expected that, sixteen years later, you would have become such a refined young man. Recently, you even passed the examination of the three generations of elders and became the youngest Master of Donghua Sect in history. That is truly an achievement. If your father could see you now, he would surely be gratified!” Shen Wansan was the first to speak, though it was only a polite opening—whether it was sincere, only he knew. The Daoist of Heavenly Secrets gave the youth a pat on the shoulder as well. The old man was never much for words, and this greeting suited his style. As an elder, such a gesture was only natural.

Yet at that moment, a subtle unease flickered across Shao Changchun’s face. The pat should have been nothing, but he showed a trace of displeasure, even shrinking away slightly. Of course, the look and the movement were fleeting, vanishing almost instantly, replaced by a broad smile. It might have fooled the others, but Han Tanyi caught it clearly. Still, it meant nothing—everyone has their quirks and taboos. Perhaps Shao Changchun simply disliked being patted on the shoulder.

“Please forgive me for making you laugh, uncles. I am but a brash youth, with little real ability. Passing the elders’ test was nothing more than a stroke of luck, and assuming leadership of Donghua Sect was a matter of circumstance. Donghua Sect was built from nothing by my father, but I am painfully aware of my own shortcomings. I fear I may not be able to uphold the family legacy. Whenever I think on this, I am filled with anxiety and unease. Now, with Uncle Shen and Prince Qi hosting this martial gathering and heroes from across the land assembled, I have come not to restore Donghua Sect’s former glory, but simply to make a few friends in the martial world. I hope, for my father’s sake, that you two uncles will help and advise me.” His words were subtle and courteous. He neither mentioned the Blue Lotus Sect nor spoke of vying for leadership of the martial world; he simply expressed his wish to make friends. The meaning was clear: he had no intention to compete. This was sensible—though Donghua Sect was counted among the four great sects, its strength and prestige were far diminished. Rivals would be difficult to overcome, so better to lay his cards on the table and win goodwill, rather than risk destruction in futile competition.

“Well said, well said. For one so young to be so humble and prudent, neither arrogant nor impatient—this is rare indeed. I am sure that under your leadership, Donghua Sect will flourish. If Brother Donghua had a son like you, we old fellows have nothing to regret. Sixteen years ago, I, Old Monster Shen, and even Bei Qiuming, all owed your father a debt. Rest assured, if you ever have need, just ask. I, the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets, and the Qilian branch will do all we can!” At this, the Daoist of Heavenly Secrets spoke as well. Judging by his manner, he did seem sincere, though the gap between words and deeds is another matter altogether. Even if it was mere empty talk, Shao Changchun was in no position to expose it, nor was there any need. In his heart, a voice sneered: “What fine words—Bright Moon Manor, Qilian Mountains, even Donghua Sect and Bei Qiuming—all a pack of hypocrites. Why put on such a grand show of righteousness? It’s sickening!”