Chapter 1

"I hear the Qing family's daughter-in-law is pregnant."

The woman was hunched over, her trousers rolled up to her knees, her feet planted in the mud alongside the rice seedlings, soaked in water. She paused to wipe the sweat from her brow and casually dropped that remark.

The other farm women kept their faces to the soil. "No wonder she hasn't come out to work."

"Anyone with eyes knows it's not her husband's."

A slightly younger married woman was startled by this, glaring back toward the source of the voice. "Sister Su is a good woman. What nonsense are you talking?"

"Scholar Qing is frail and sickly—your aunt watched him grow up. The doctor came to check on him; that part of him doesn't work. He was never meant to have children."

A faint smile curled across their dark faces. Life was hard, and the hardest lot often fell on women. When suffering drags on long enough, everything seems dull. Now they didn't smile at beautiful mountains or clear waters, nor at good people or good deeds. But when they saw a family thrown into chaos and trouble, it somehow highlighted the small blessings of their own impoverished lives, and so they were happy.

As long as a person had that little bit of good, even the most miserable days seemed less unbearable. They could muddle through.

The gossip at the village entrance flitted from one thatched hut to another, finally coming to a halt before a distinctly more respectable brick house.

Qing Sheng helped his wife to her feet. His gaze lingered on her steadily swelling belly, afraid she might bump against the corner of the table.

Though she was no longer young, her figure remained as slender as a willow branch, gentle and delicate, unlike the burliness of ordinary village women. Lately, with pregnancy, she had grown plumper, softer and fairer, yet her beauty had not diminished.

She was a graceful woman, and her hands were equally deft. With a flutter of her fingers, she could embroider swimming fish and running beasts onto silk, making even their eyes look lifelike. It was this skill that had earned them the silver for their small brick house.

A woman so outstanding among the rest should never have been born on this land. She seemed like a lady from a deep courtyard, the kind of golden flower meant to marry a nobleman.

But she had only married an ordinary scholar. Ordinary family, ordinary poverty, and his scholarship was ordinary too. The only thing out of the ordinary was that he was clean-cut and handsome, with a gentler heart than most men.

Scholar Qing truly was destined to have no children. Ever since he'd been seen bathing naked in the river as a lad, the whole village had known.

The bath was a laughingstock, and hearing he was marrying was even more so, but the next day, when his beautiful new bride showed her face, everyone fell silent.

A few years later, when word spread that his wife was with child, the laughter swept back with a vengeance, riding on the wind of gossip even higher.

Scholar Qing had been mocked all his life; he was used to it. His wife was not that kind of woman, he knew it well. Used to it or not, clear or not, the crows were still cawing with ill omen, so while Su Wan rested, he put aside his work at the schoolhouse and stayed home with her, shutting the door to the outside world.

Su Wan was happy, even though her reputation had already been dragged through the mud by the rumors. But she believed this was heaven's will, and that the child was surely an auspicious star reincarnated.

Scholar Qing had believed so too, at first.

Little did he know, the moment that baby girl wailed into the world, she would take away the only blessing he ever had.

That day, her mother bled for a full day and night, and only breathed her last when she heard the infant's cry. Scholar Qing wrapped the tiny, warm life in white cloth, and wrapped his wife's cooling body in white as well. He sat alone in a daze—new life had come, yet the whole house was draped in mourning white.

That day, he had just read the final poem by Du Fu: Shore wind stirs evening waves; boat snow dapples the cold lamp.

Qing Zhouxue.

The child was born in desolation, and her name carried that same chill. From then on, father and daughter depended on each other within these silent walls. One slowly aged, the other steadily grew. With the paltry coins from the school, life was never rich, but neither was it destitute.

Yet, a few years later, on an ordinary morning, something shattered that peace.

"Bastard!"

The Wang family's boy at the village entrance had always been arrogant. Hearing that this girl's mother had gotten pregnant with another man, he sneered with contempt and felt an urge to bully and tease her.

He climbed up the wall and hurled clumps of mud at the little girl who was reading at home. Qing Zhouxue tilted her head; he missed. Slipping on the loose tiles, she glanced over and heard a clatter—the Wang boy fell straight off the wall, and a shard of tile pierced right into his crown. He twitched once or twice, then was still.

Qing Zhouxue went around to look. Seeing the pool of blood beneath him, she frowned, unsure what to do. As fate would have it, her father was just returning from class. At the sight, he was aghast, his books and scrolls scattering to the ground in shock.

"Wh—what happened?"

"He fell on his own. His foot slipped."

Afterward, the Wang family came knocking, cursing and wailing, making such a fuss that the whole village learned of it. Though the investigation cleared the Qing family of any fault, they still paid a few coins of silver to settle the matter.

Later, the disaster was chalked up to coincidence and gradually faded. But it was from that day onward that Qing Zhouxue began to vaguely sense something was off.

She went with the scholar to the market. The butcher, slicing meat, happened to slip and sent his knife flying straight at Qing Zhouxue. Her pupils shrank, but the white blade didn't strike her young body—instead it dropped and cut someone else's foot.

She went with the scholar to teach at the schoolhouse. Before she'd even learned a handful of characters, the roof beam came crashing down with a rumble. Fortunately, it only struck a few tables and chairs, giving some children a scare. Later it was found to be termites, which seemed to have nothing to do with her either.

She went out to pick wild vegetables, not far from the village entrance by the river. The rain that had rested all night chose the moment she pulled up her first weed to pour down joyfully, and a flash flood submerged half the village. A natural disaster, so certainly nothing to do with her.

But such occurrences piled up. Every coincidence seemed to accompany the little Qing girl's presence, and eventually, folks could no longer ignore it.

Curses, insults—

And finally fear, and keeping their distance.

The schoolhouse couldn't keep running with this little inauspicious star around, and classes broke up in droves. Scholar Qing lost his only source of income, and days grew increasingly hard. He had once been a refined man, but life's grind had worn that refinement down, leaving only ruin and weariness etched into the furrows of his face.

"Daughter," he said, planting his large hand on top of Qing Zhouxue's head, gazing at a face that had become just as thin as his own.

He tried to find his late wife's likeness in her, but his daughter really didn't resemble her much. Su Wan was true to her name—warm and graceful—but this child had only a palm-sized face, already hinting at a distant coldness.

The girl took after neither her mother nor him. Where had she come from? Why descend into a family already so battered, to sever husband and wife in life and death, to leave the rest of his days so lonely and destitute?

Scholar Qing had felt resentment.

Even when he first held her, his hands trembled, nearly yearning to dash this life-stealing murderer to the ground.

But when those dark, round eyes glanced over at him, they were clear as a bottomless pool, brimming with innocence.

The look in those eyes reminded Qing Sheng of Su Wan once more.

Before she died, she held his hand, too weak to speak, but her eyes were earnest and pleading. She knew the end was near; her gaze trembled like deep water, and at death's door, she was begging him for something.

What could a woman who had just given birth still ask for? What regret could she have left?

Though she never said it, Qing Sheng understood.

"There's a saying: A tree that moves dies, but a man who moves lives," Scholar Qing said, his eyes faintly reddening, his hand stirring slightly on her hair. "Staying here is no longer fit for you. Father knows a place called the Taichu Sect—I hear there are immortals there... We'll go find an immortal, have them read your fate, alright?"

"Okay."

She was young, but already sensible. She pressed her lips together and gave a slight nod.

And so Scholar Qing sold everything they had, hired a shabby little cart, and rattled off down the road with a little inauspicious star in tow. Wind and rain beat down on them as they traveled for who knows how long, following only a vague direction, until, at last, one foggy noon, they truly caught sight of the towering immortal mountain.

Father and daughter settled in a small town at the foot of the Taichu Sect.

That town's name was a bit presumptuous: three bold characters, Taichu Town, carved in clerical script on a large stone. But then again, sitting at the foot of an immortal mountain, perhaps it could claim some heritage.

Scholar Qing took his daughter to a local tavern, and with the little silver they had left, bought them a proper meal.

Then he took her to a tailor's shop, measured her, and had several sets of new clothes made. By then, their fortune was spent.

"Father," said the little girl, rubbing the fabric, finding it unusually smooth, "is it New Year today?"

In the past, only at New Year could they add a bit of meat to their table and make new clothes. It was only natural the child associated these things with the festival.

"No, it's a long way off from New Year," the scholar said with a shake of his head and a smile. "I don't know if the immortals judge by appearance, but being presentable can't hurt. Perhaps they'll see our Qing's fine bone structure and take you as a disciple... If so, would you go?"

Qing Zhouxue lowered her gaze, thinking for a moment. "I'd go. If I stay by your side, I'll only doom you sooner or later."

"Then let it doom me," he said, unconcerned, still smiling. "Maybe your mother and I will be reunited. Only, she'll blame me for not taking good care of you."

The next day, the path up the mountain was drenched in sunshine, with no chance for accidents. Qing Sheng looked up at the sky, stamped his feet on solid ground, and only then led his daughter carefully up the mountain.

First step, all was well.

Second step, the sun was bright and the wind gentle.

Steps after that passed without a hitch.

"I kept you at home before, so you've met few people," he said, holding her small hand. "When you meet strangers, mind your manners, be graceful—that way, no one will look down on you lightly."

"I got you plenty of clothes; be sure to wash and change them regularly. A girl should keep herself clean."

"Eat well too... though this is an immortal place, I expect it's no worse than before."

Qing Zhouxue noticed her father had grown chatty, and somewhere in her vague impressions, she sensed he hadn't purely come to have her fate read—there was more than a hint of entrustment about it.

A frail scholar, alone, raising such a singular child—only one who truly tried could understand how hard that was. Perhaps finding a capable master was the best choice for Qing Zhouxue.

The mountain gate of the Taichu Sect had nine hundred and ninety-nine steps. Qing Zhouxue kept her eyes on the path, counting the steps to keep her focus. She clearly remembered the number seven hundred and twenty-three.

Even many years later, she never forgot.

At step seven hundred and twenty-three, a boulder suddenly tumbled down the mountain. It was as large as five people, a veritable small hill, rolling with dust and charging straight at Qing Zhouxue.

The wind screamed, and she instinctively closed her eyes, but her center of gravity was shoved, and being light and small, she tumbled forward a few times.

Dazed and dizzy, her forehead smacked into the rocks, but the rolls had broken her fall somewhat, leaving only a slight scrape.

A smell of blood spread under her nose.

Before the dust could settle, several steps were smashed away. Qing Zhouxue stifled her pain, forced her eyes open, and searched through the haze of flying grit for the familiar figure—small, not imposing.

All that remained was a single broken boot. Lonely, without even a trace of blood.

Qing Zhouxue staggered to her feet. Slowly, she walked to the edge of the steps. Below was a sheer cliff, and as the boulder struck the bottom with a thunderous crash, her scalp went numb.

Between the sky, the earth, and the vast sea of clouds—

Suddenly, she was all alone.