Chapter 4: We Urge You to Drink This Cup of Wine

This day was the twenty-seventh of March. On the official road outside Datong City, the Jianghu people streamed in endlessly, showing that today was an unusual day.

Jianxian Manor sat thirty li east of the city. Distant mountains looked like a painting, and willow branches hung drooping everywhere. Its left side leaned against a pond, while its right side was planted with tall bamboos. Underfoot, the green grass spread like velvet. Reflected by the red walls and blue tiles, it truly resembled a heavenly paradise.

That early morning, the rising sun shone on the gates decorated with red hangings and new ornaments, filled with a joyful atmosphere. The wooden plaque inscribed with “Hall of Meeting the Virtuous” had been wiped clean, spotless. Its four golden characters sparkled brightly, appearing even more vigorous and ancient.

Before the gates, several servants still fetched water to splash on the ground, afraid that later, with many people and horses, dust might fly up.

Zhuge Ren, the eldest son of Jianxian Manor’s owner Zhuge Xianyun, stood on the doorstep at that moment. About thirty-five or thirty-six years old, he wore a bright red celebratory robe that shone dazzlingly in the sunlight.

Zhuge Xianyun had five sons: Ren, Yi, Li, Zhi, and Xin. He also had a young daughter, Zhuge Zhen. All possessed extraordinary martial arts skills and broad knowledge. Among them, the eldest son Zhuge Ren acted steadily and thoughtfully, quite resembling his father in style, and had quietly become a leader of the younger generation in the martial world.

Zhuge Xianyun was humble in character. He personally stood at the entrance to the inner hall to greet guests. He had a ruddy face and silvery-white hair like snow. Over his body, he wore a knitted robe patterned with pine trees, cranes, and the hundred longevity symbols. Indeed, he looked vigorous and spirited, no less than a young man.

Before noon, over two hundred guests had arrived, filling two-thirds of the hall. Though Zhuge Xianyun beamed with joy, a trace of doubt arose in his heart: Why had friends arrived only from the east, south, and north routes, yet not a single figure from the western route? It was truly strange and baffling.

Right at that moment, Zhuge Ren personally escorted four people in. At the sight, everyone involuntarily stood up. The leftmost was a stout old man with a high crown on his head and a purplish-red face. On a late March or early April day, he still wore a fur coat. From his ears to both shoulders, two pure white fox tails hung, a rare sight at a glance. Though dressed thickly, not a drop of sweat appeared on him.

Beside him was a woman. Though she had aged several years, the world’s harshness seemed like fire to water with her, utterly refusing to cling to her. Thus, she looked only in her thirties.

These two were precisely the Twin Dragons of Twin Dragon Fort in Liaodong — Du Qianlong and Long Xielan.

To Zhuge Ren’s right, two others stood. One was a young gentleman, with a face as pale as jade and a nose straight as if carved. His mouth corners and brow edges always held a trace of gentle smile, extremely refined and polite. The other, a middle-aged man, had a face frozen like ice. Even his eyes held a chill; upon entering the hall, he did not glance sideways at all, treating the assembled heroes as if mere clay figures.

Everyone instantly recognized the young gentleman as Nangong Yue, eldest son of the Nangong Family. The man whose refined temperament stood worlds apart was Wan Chongshan, head of the Golden Eagle Gate from Longxi.

As the Four Great Clans shared deep ties, Zhuge Xianyun celebrating his birthday meant they absolutely must attend.

As these people arrived, the crowd grew excited. Wan Chongshan and Du Qianlong’s couple bowed to Zhuge Xianyun, while Nangong Yue knelt in greeting. Wan Chongshan held great haughtiness; he just clasped his fists to greet a few martial world elders briefly before sitting. Du Qianlong and his wife moved here and there warmly, shoulder-patting and hand-shaking with others. Nangong Yue still wore a good-humored smile, constantly smiling at people.

At that moment, Duan Wenbo also arrived. Since he alone had come from the western route, Zhuge Xianyun couldn’t help asking him a few questions. Duan Wenbo admitted honestly, summarizing what happened on his journey. Zhuge Xianyun secretly frowned, thinking that the Yang Guan Thief indeed had audacity to provoke his celebratory guests, but today being a happy day wasn’t suitable for much talk. He settled to rid the Jianghu of this menace later. Duan Wenbo’s mention of seven strange people at the inn made Zhuge Xianyun inwardly puzzled, unsure if they were friends or foes.

As he secretly pondered this, suddenly a shout outside rang out: “Master Guangdu from Shaolin Temple, and Master Songyun from Wudang Mountain have arrived!”

Zhuge Xianyun and members of the other three great clans stood up together and went to the doorway. They saw Guangdu and Songyun glide over. Master Songyun had the bone structure of a pine tree and a crane, appearing elegant and unconventional. Though said to be sixty, he looked no more than forty.

The heroes all came to salute, inevitably causing another round of commotion.

By then, it was noon. At Jianxian Manor, the birthday feast unfolded. Fine wine and delicacies flowed continuously to the table. Guangdu and Songyun sat with several disciples at a separate vegetarian table. Zhuge Ren had invited the most famous chefs from Datong City’s eight top restaurants. Every dish served was the finest delicacy, delighting everyone.

Zhuge Xianyun raised his wine cup and said loudly: “Fellow martial comrades, at fifty years, life cannot be called short-lived. Today, this old man nears sixty and still gets to gather you all. It truly is a joyful event. Especially with Master Guangdu and Master Songyun honoring us, my humble abode shines brighter. I, Zhuge, thank you for your affection. Please drink this cup dry!”

They all drank it down in one go, chanting: “We wish Master Zhuge a longevity like the southern pine evergreen and blessings like the eastern sea flowing endlessly…” Zhuge Xianyun refilled his cup and added: “We martial folk, lacking much formality, should feel at home and drink heartily. If any hospitality falls short, I beg your forgiveness.” They all replied: “Not at all, not at all. It’s best each attends to themselves…”

After the voices quieted, Zhuge Xianyun spoke again: “Originally, this old man, lacking virtue and ability, dared not trouble you to come afar. But there’s a great matter to discuss with all of you. That is why I cast aside my pride and spread invitations widely.”

Many people now realized Zhuge Xianyun had summoned them to discuss something. They all held their breath and waited for the next words.

Zhuge Xianyun continued: “The Jianghu flows like a tide; the world affairs are like waves, never peaceful for even a moment. But ever since the Red Lotus Cult fled far away fourteen years ago, the Jianghu had peaceful times, and we enjoyed quiet blessings. Lately, news reached me: the Red Lotus Cult has returned to the Jianghu. This time, its harm surely exceeds before. Thus, seizing this chance, I seek your counsel on how to uproot the Red Lotus Cult once and for all, and forever end this threat…”

As he spoke, a servant approached him and whispered: “Master, a guest comes!” Zhuge Xianyun smiled: “Then bring him in!” The servant added: “That person arrived driving a carriage, with a large banner on top…” Here, his voice dropped so only Zhuge Xianyun could hear.

Zhuge Xianyun frowned and said: “Such a thing! Let him bring both man and carriage inside.”

The servant nodded and left. Not long after, two whip cracks sounded. A black-lacquered carriage came straight through the second gate. The iron-clad wheels rolled over the bluestone-paved ground, creaking loudly. Suddenly, both horses let out a neigh together and halted in the courtyard’s center. The carriage was overall decorated with gold and inlaid with jade, extremely opulent. Soft curtains hung down, hiding its interior. A large white banner fluttered noisily in the wind from the carriage body.

They focused to look at the banner. Painted on it was a fiery red lotus. Beneath the lotus flowed wisps of red clouds. The banner pole, painted in gold paint, glittered brightly and was awfully striking.

The carriage driver’s age was indistinct. He just wore a white robe, with a large red lotus embroidered on it too. Looking at his face, this person had two snow-white eyebrows. Between his eyes flickered an utterly arrogant air.

Guangdu, Songyun, and Zhuge Xianyun exchanged glances several times. Their faces all slightly changed color.

Zhuge Xianyun walked to the front of the hall and stood with his hands behind his back. “So it is Master Xue Wuhen who honors us with his presence. I failed to welcome you properly. It has been over a decade. How have you been?” he remarked with a smile.

The man named Xue Wuhen leaped down from the carriage shafts. “I have stayed far from the Central Plains for over ten years,” he declared proudly. “Hearing of Master Zhuge’s birthday celebration, such a grand occasion, I rushed here myself to join the festivities. You need not be so courteous.”

“It honors this old man immeasurably that Master Xue has come,” replied Zhuge Xianyun. “But tell me, is the Leader of the Red Lotus Sect in good health?”

The mention of “Red Lotus Sect” sent a visible stir through the assembled heroes. Those sharing drinks paused mid-sip; men playing finger-guessing games ceased; countless eyes fixed upon Xue Wuhen. An abrupt silence fell over the hall, so profound one could almost hear the thumping of hearts. Many senior masters recognized the large banner and felt a chill of recognition – this was the unmistakable emblem of the Red Lotus Sect. Though the man bearing it was unfamiliar, Zhuge Xianyun’s calling his name confirmed any lingering doubt.

A single thought flashed simultaneously through many minds: The reason for today’s Heroes’ Feast was to discuss how to eradicate the Red Lotus Sect. Yet here stands a crucial member of the enemy faction, walking boldly alone into the lion’s den. His courage is extraordinary.

Who was this visitor? He was a figure of immense repute in the Jianghu, one of the “Eight Steeds of the Crimson Lotus”. His fame and martial prowess were comparable to Wan Chongshan’s, and his name had resonated in the martial world for nearly twenty years. However, his movements were notoriously elusive; very few had ever laid eyes on him. Fourteen years prior, when the Four Great Clans allied with the five major sects to purge the Red Lotus Sect, the then Cult Leader, Ling Yufeng, died after a fierce battle. The leaders of the Three Talents and Eight Steeds, along with the surviving members, vanished without a trace. Rumors varied wildly – some claimed they sailed overseas; others insisted they hid within the Tian Shan Mountains. Regardless, the Four Great Clans and the Red Lotus Sect had since become bitter enemies. Xue Wuhen’s appearance today was profoundly significant.

Zhuge Ren subtly signaled with a tilt of his chin to the steward standing behind him. Understanding, the steward discreetly led men to investigate the periphery of the manor.

As the host, and given the auspicious nature of the day, Zhuge Xianyun couldn’t afford gloomy words. He spoke mildly, “Master Xue has traveled far. Please, take a seat and have a drink to refresh yourself.” Xue Wuhen waved a dismissive hand. “Drinking can wait. Business before pleasure.” He drew an envelope from his robe and raised his voice. “Heroes of the world! Our sect has dwelt in seclusion along the frontiers for many years, yearning to return to our ancestral lands. Therefore, on the Double Ninth Festival this year, amid the scarlet maples and golden chrysanthemums, we will hold the Cult Leader’s Ascension Ceremony upon the peak of Lotus Blossom Peak on Mount Huang. We extend a broad invitation to all heroes of the realm to ascend the mountain and witness this rite.” With a flick of his wrist, the envelope sailed smoothly towards Zhuge Xianyun, its flight deliberately sedate.

Zhuge Xianyun maintained a smile, though inside he was wary. He employed seventy percent of his own strength, using his index and middle finger to pluck the envelope from the air. He felt a tremor pass through both fingers; the paper seemed to quiver and rustle of its own accord, with no wind stirring.

Long Xielan suddenly spoke from the side. “Your sect wishes to hold a ceremonial ascension? Exactly which hero is being named Cult Leader?” Xue Wuhen glanced at her. “Naturally, a most remarkable youth of unparalleled talent, Mrs. Long. Should you be curious, a seat awaits you on Lotus Peak for the occasion.” Long Xielan gave a cold laugh. “We must indeed trouble you then.”

In Zhuge Xianyun’s mind, another calculation was forming. Simultaneously, both Guangdu and Songyun privately thought: This sealed letter is nothing less than a challenge to the Four Great Clans and the five major sects. After fourteen years of regrouping and reflection, the Red Lotus Sect is surely ambitious once more. It seems the Jianghu will inevitably be plunged into bloodshed again.

Their worry was well-founded. Fourteen years earlier, when the forces swept through the Red Lotus Sect, Zhuge Xianyun had led the charge; Shaolin and Wudang had not participated. The large force advanced upon Lotus Blossom Peak to find, surprisingly, no resistance at all. Within the sect’s main hall sat only the Cult Leader, Ling Yufeng, alone. None of the Three Talents or Eight Steeds were present. The heroes, prepared for a glorious battle, were sorely deflated. Ling Yufeng, resigned to death, challenged each of the nine top masters one by one with a single white wax spear. He successively broke the wrists of the sect masters of Jiuhua and Lushan. Du Qianlong struggled desperately through a hundred exchanges before being swept off his feet by a blow to the right leg. Wan Chongshan fought valiantly for a hundred and twenty moves, only to have his golden crown knocked off, and his prestige shattered, by Ling Yufeng’s signature move, “Lonely Valley Crimson Lotus”. Finally, Nangong Bai faced him palm-to-palm. Both suffered grievous injury; Nangong Bai’s meridians were severely damaged, his martial prowess reduced by seventy or eighty percent. Ling Yufeng, with Internal Energy nearly matching Nangong Bai’s, coughed up blood and, refusing captivity or disgrace, severed his own heart-meridian, ending his life.

The story of this fierce battle spread widely in the wulin, and soon all knew that the Red Lotus Sect possessed a supremely powerful spear art. Exactly how formidable it was remained a mystery to everyone except the nine who were present that day. Nor was any spear manual found on Mount Huang that day; most likely, Ling Yufeng had entrusted it to a subordinate who escaped secretly.

For all these years, the Four Great Clans had feared the Red Lotus Sect’s eventual resurgence. They had sent countless agents scouring the land for traces. Yet here was the enemy, on this very day of celebration, personally delivering a challenge.

Just then, the steward silently returned to Zhuge Ren’s side and gave a slight shake of his head, indicating no unusual circumstances had been observed and no enemies lay hidden.

Zhuge Xianyun gave a faint smile. “Your notice has been received. Please, step inside and have a drink.” Xue Wuhen waved his hand again. “I came solely to deliver this message. As for wine, I must decline. On this Double Ninth Festival, I will await all masters upon Lotus Blossom Peak.” With that, he turned to board the carriage.

Suddenly, a cold snort pierced the silence. “This is a gathering of heroes! Who do you think you are, Xue, to come and go as you please?” Xue Wuhen turned back to see it was Wan Chongshan who had spoken. He merely shrugged and returned a cold laugh. “And what would you have me do?” Wan Chongshan’s face was stern. “The host invites you! To drink!” He turned, filled a cup to the brim, and placed it upon a wine table beside him. His fingers subtly extended, gripping the edge of the table. Without any apparent exertion, he sent the entire table hurtling straight out of the hall into the courtyard.

A table flying was strange enough. What astounded everyone was that this wasn’t even a solid table; its surface and four legs were separate pieces assembled on the spot. Moreover, the table was laden with numerous dishes and wine vessels. Yet Wan Chongshan had sent this laden, segmented table sailing perfectly level towards Xue Wuhen! Not even a single drop spilled from the wine cup upon it.

A roar of applause erupted from the crowd.

Zhuge Xianyun and the others watched, smiling faintly, saying nothing. Clearly, they too wished to humble this audacious visitor. Xue Wuhen, facing hundreds of righteous martial artists alone, had cut a heroic figure. Allowing him to leave in such high spirits would hand victory and moral authority to the Red Lotus Sect, inflating their arrogance hereafter. Yet, this being an auspicious occasion, shedding blood was inappropriate. Wan Chongshan’s maneuver was a masterful expression of restraint.

The seasoned masters present knew Xue Wuhen’s famed martial skill wasn’t Internal Energy, but lightness skill. His “Vanish Like a Spring Dream, Leave No Trace” footwork was truly ghostly, elusive as a shadow or a dream; in the Jianghu, no one ranked above his qinggong. The Red Lotus Sect had surely chosen him as envoy for this very reason – if the righteous side turned hostile, they could never catch him.

Seeing the table bearing down, Xue Wuhen knew dodging would spell defeat, while intercepting it hands-on would expose his deficiency compared to Wan Chongshan’s specialized skill. A brief hesitation, and the table was upon him.

In moments of crisis, martial artists react instinctively. Without seeming to bend knees or raise his legs, Xue Wuhen merely lifted his chin slightly. His entire body shot straight upward, feet leaving the ground by nearly five feet. Then, hovering like a dragon cavorting through clouds, he twisted through several spiraling loops. When his feet touched down again, he had the wine cup clutched firmly in his hand. He drained it.

Barely a moment later, the wine table crashed to the ground with a bang, dishes and cups clattering. The discerning saw clearly: four clear indentations were pounded into the bluestone paving by the table legs.

In this exchange, Wan Chongshan displayed supreme hand cultivation; Xue Wuhen, unparalleled agility. Both leveraged their strengths. It was a tie. But for the righteous faction, faced by a foe who dared attend alone, a tie signified a loss of face.

Guangdu and Songyun, as men of the cloth, held no personal desire for victory. Yet they could not simply watch Xue Wuhen dictate terms. However, as he had come specifically for the Four Great Clans, they felt it inappropriate to step in directly. Their glances fell upon Long Xielan.

Though Long Xielan’s martial skills weren’t the highest, she was renowned for her clever mind and cunning stratagems. For years, the Four Great Clans relied on her schemes for major matters. She consistently devised ingenious solutions to urgent problems. Faced now with the Red Lotus Sect forcing a confrontation, her response was inevitable.

As anticipated, Long Xielan stepped forward with a smile, parting the crowd. First, she cupped her hands in salute. “Master Xue honors the Four Great Clans deeply with his presence. Yet, the person within that carriage must surely be even more extraordinary. Why not ask them to grace us with their company?” Long Xielan possessed an exceptional skill: supernaturally sharp hearing. Moments earlier, she’d heard a soft, muffled groan emanate from the carriage – clearly human, yet she couldn’t discern the identity definitively. It might be another Red Lotus master, but her instinct screamed hostage.

In the world, the only one who could command Xue Wuhen to drive their carriage was the Cult Leader of the Red Lotus Sect. Yet, the Cult Leader would never expose themselves so casually. Therefore, Long Xielan was certain: the carriage held a hostage. No wonder Xue Wuhen acted with such fearless confidence – he held leverage from the outset.

Xue Wuhen offered a cold smile. “Bastion Master Long guesses correctly. The person within is extraordinary. However, I must confess I am inadequate to invite them out. Only Bastion Master Long possesses the stature necessary to persuade such a one.” He sidestepped away from the carriage and made an inviting gesture with one hand. “Please, proceed.”

Long Xielan knew this was Xue’s gambit – a test of her courage. The carriage curtain hung thick and impenetrable, revealing nothing. Rashly approaching risked a sudden lethal attack from within if the occupant proved hostile. But refusing to approach would concede psychological victory to the Red Lotus Sect from this moment onward.

Silence, thick as fog, fell once more upon the gathering. Every gaze fixed on Long Xielan. All understood: Wan Chongshan had forced Xue Wuhen to acknowledge his arrival with a drink; now Xue had thrown the gauntlet back to the Four Great Clans. Could they respond?

Long Xielan walked forward, her smile serene, as if utterly alone. She reached the front of the carriage. An elegantly formed hand, graceful as an orchid, reached out and gently touched the carriage shaft. Her voice, however, was conversational. “These horses appear to be Mongolian stock,” she observed. “Not tall, but possessing immense endurance. For both horses and carriage, might I inquire the cost, Master Xue?” Xue Wuhen studied her intently, baffled by the question. He answered instinctively, “Fifty taels.”

Long Xielan nodded. She then stepped sideways, away from the carriage, and spoke calmly. “I lack the capacity to invite this person. Master Xue is free to continue his journey.”

Disappointment washed over the assembly. No one comprehended Long Xielan’s motive. She hadn’t lifted the curtain, nor spoken a word to the occupant. She seemed to have surrendered unconditionally.

Xue Wuhen frowned. He sensed deep cunning in this woman, yet saw nothing manifestly wrong. Dismissing it with a slight sneer, he said, “Very well, I bid you farewell.” With effortless grace, like drifting smoke, he settled himself upon the driver’s shafts and reached for the reins.

The moment Xue Wuhen touched the shafts, he knew he’d been duped. He felt the wood beneath him disintegrate. A sharp crack! echoed as the entire shaft structure, along with its joints connecting to the wheels and the carriage body, instantly shattered.

Witnesses marveled at the terrifying speed. In the space between breaths, the entire carriage imploded into debris.

With peerless lightness skill, Xue Wuhen naturally didn’t fall. He landed firmly. However, the carriage compartment behind him creaked and groaned as it tilted precariously towards the ground. Xue Wuhen grasped instantly what had happened: Long Xielan, moments ago, had released an insidiously potent force – an imperceptible tremor of Internal Energy. It had specifically targeted and liquefying the grain structure at every critical, load-bearing juncture of the carriage. Such devastatingly subtle power could only be one thing – the supremely Yin, supremely fluid Night Rain Orchid Hand.

And Long Xielan was the sole inheritor of this ancient martial art.

Seeing the carriage collapse, the crowd erupted in laughter, deeply admiring Long Xielan’s cunning and lethal touch. With the carriage destroyed, whomever was inside would be forced to reveal themselves. This round decisively belonged to the Four Great Clans.

Xue Wuhen recognized the defeat instantly. Before his feet settled firmly, his hand shot backward. He seized a fractured section of the frame and, with immense physical effort, heaved it upward to stabilize the tilting compartment. So long as the compartment doesn’t topple… the match remained undecided!

Yet Xue Wuhen overlooked a critical factor. The instant he steadied the compartment, a faint, pained moan escaped from within. Alarmed beyond measure, Xue Wuhen ripped aside the curtain at last, revealing the occupant.

Curiously, most faces in the crowd reflected confusion. They didn’t recognize the man. Only one among the hundreds reacted: Guangdu erupted with a shocked cry – “Fengchen!”

Seated within the ruins was Gu Fengchen. He wore the distinctive red lotus robe, motionless. Xue Wuhen looked clear and saw the reason for his immobility now: three gleaming black points embedded deep in Fengchen’s chest.

Three Poisoned Needles.

Unfamiliarity bred suspicion among the crowd. Over half thought instantly: Then this man must be the Red Lotus Sect’s new Cult Leader!…

Only Guangdu understood the truth: Fengchen was Xue Wuhen’s prisoner. A hostage. Acting purely on instinct, caring nothing for appearances, Guangdu became a whirlwind of motion. His crimson kasaya flared like a cloud ablaze as he lunged forward. His fist struck out with hurricane force against the carriage compartment.

BOOM! The massive banner pole shot skyward. Simultaneously, the carriage cabin detonated into a hail of wooden shrapnel. Crucially, every splinter, every fragment hurtled like a guided arrow towards Xue Wuhen himself! This was Guangdu’s most celebrated technique: Shaolin’s Palm of Serpentine Intention.

This was the essence of Shaolin palm work: not raw speed, nor brute force, but the ultimate control. Sending the wooden shards all to one spot was a feat of extraordinary difficulty. It embodied the Shaolin martial philosophy – profound complexity veiled supreme simplicity.

Against an ordinary foe facing impossible incoming projectiles, panic would be certain. Yet Xue Wuhen justified his place among the Eight Steeds. Without shifting his feet, one hand gripping Gu Fengchen, his entire body seemed pulled backward by an invisible current. He drifted over the flagstones smooth as flowing mercury. The deadly wood splinters pursued him ferociously but fell steadily farther behind his retreat.

Guangdu fired his opening volley – Fengchen remained beyond reach. Guangdu charged without hesitation, his five fingers stiffening into claws – Shaolin’s Silk Reeling Seizing Hand. A mere brush of any finger on an opponent transformed it into an unshakeable serpentine constriction.

Xue Wuhen didn’t even bother turning. Upon the paving stones, his heels glided like blades upon ice. Backward he accelerated towards the manor steps still two zhang away. His shoulders tilted infinitesimally just before contact. Effortlessly, he maintained the retreating glide ascending directly onto the raised stonework – Gu Fengchen still clutched firmly in his grasp.

Thus, the disparity in lightness work proved starkly absolute. Xue Wuhen, carrying a man’s weight, retreated backward gracefully. Guangdu, unburdened by weight, sprinting forward at full speed, utterly failed to close the distance less than three feet.

Every spectator sucked in a chilled breath as though witnessing something supernatural. Xue Wuhen seemed less like man and more like a phantom capable of walking through solid matter.

Songyun, sharing deep ties with Guangdu, followed barely an instant behind, mirroring his comrade closely as his shadow.

An eye-blink elapsed. Xue Wuhen vanished beyond the gates. Only the immense banner plunged downward, striking earth, its fabric still audibly snapping against the pole.