Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Even Mount Hua Welcomes Spring (1)
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1
Prologue: Daoists and the Boy
The endless chain of mountains resembled rippling waves. Along a narrow mountain path threading through the mountain waves, twenty Daoists were making their way forward.
Early spring had arrived prematurely, and a chill wind swept over their bodies. Shivering, the Daoists pulled their Daoist robes tighter and hunched their shoulders.
Suddenly, the middle-aged Daoist at the lead lifted his head. Appearing to be in his late forties, he clenched his teeth hard.
His eyes were bloodshot red, and his shoulders trembled endlessly with spasms.
“Mount Hua paid a heavy price in the war against the Demonic Cult, only to return to the cold shoulder of the martial world? The hearts of men are truly fleeting.”
“Senior Brother.”
“We will grow stronger. So that the world can never mock Mount Hua again.”
The middle-aged Daoist’s murmur carried a powerful resonance. The Daoists following him bowed their heads, clenching their fists until their knuckles whitened.
They shared the same sentiments as he did.
But only one—a middle-aged Daoist with a clear, refined appearance—closed his eyes gently and shook his head.
*Infinite Mercy! Senior Brother harbors poison in his heart.*
The middle-aged Daoist at the front of the group, emanating a chilling aura, was Perfected Hyeoncheon, the exalted sect leader of the Great Mount Hua Sect, one of the Nine Great Sects.
And Perfected Hyeoncheon was enraged. Mount Hua would move wherever his rage directed.
*Where will Mount Hua go now?*
It was then that Perfected Hyeonso, the refined-looking Daoist, let out a quiet sigh.
“Smoke is rising over there.”
The sudden voice snapped Perfected Hyeoncheon and Perfected Hyeonso from their thoughts.
Smoke was billowing from beyond the hill right in front of them. The fishy smell carried on the wind wrinkled the Daoists’ brows instinctively.
*The scent of blood?*
“Let us go and see.”
Shaking off his anger with effort amid the blood scent assaulting his senses, Perfected Hyeoncheon spoke.
The Daoists hurried over the hill. What unfolded before them was a horrific sight beyond words.
“Ugh!”
They were struck speechless by the tragedy before their eyes.
A small village was engulfed in flames. Around thirty houses were burning or had already collapsed into ashes, and corpses littered the streets.
“Infinite Mercy! What in the world…?”
“It looks like they were raided by bandits. I’ve heard tales lately of bandits running rampant everywhere.”
“This can’t be!”
Perfected Hyeonso’s face twisted in anguish.
*Infinite Mercy! With the Demonic Cult fallen, now bandits wreak havoc. How shall we handle this chaos?*
The Daoists scattered to search the village thoroughly, but there were no survivors. Over a hundred people from thirty-odd households, from young to old, had been massacred without exception.
“Such ruthless fiends. How could they slaughter innocent villagers like this?”
“O Primordial Heavenly Venerable, look upon these souls with mercy.”
As the Daoists prayed for the souls of the dead, Perfected Hyeonso caught a faint groan. It was so soft that he first thought it a hallucination.
“Ugh!”
But hearing it again confirmed it was no illusion.
“Where is it?”
Perfected Hyeonso scanned around for the source of the groan.
From what was once a family’s cherished home but was now a burned-out ruin of debris, a faint groan emanated.
Perfected Hyeonso hurriedly dug through the rubble. He shoved aside a half-charred pillar and sifted through the ashes with his hands.
“Junior Brother, what are you doing?”
“Martial Uncle! What in the…”
“There’s a survivor inside.”
At Perfected Hyeonso’s words, the young Daoists joined in clearing the debris.
After removing about half of it, the corpse of a half-burned man appeared from the ashes.
Perfected Hyeonso frowned at the sight of the corpse—a man wearing a sword at his waist and an upper garment made of beast hide.
“A… bandit?”
His attire and build didn’t match the village at all. The thick calluses embedded in his fists proved it.
Perfected Hyeonso placed a hand on the bandit’s corpse. There was no warmth of the living.
“It seems Junior Brother mistook, after all. This man has been dead for quite some time.”
“But why is a bandit dead? Was there someone in the village who knew martial arts?”
Perfected Hyeoncheon and the other martial brothers chimed in one by one. Yet no one could resolve their doubts.
It was then.
“Ugh!”
Another faint groan sounded. This time, everyone present heard it.
“No way?”
Perfected Hyeonso hurriedly flipped over the bandit’s corpse.
Unlike the back exposed to the ashes and scorched by fire, the front was relatively intact. The Daoists’ eyes wavered as they stared at the bandit’s body.
The bandit’s throat was torn as if savaged by a wild beast, exposing his vocal cords. It seemed the throat wound was the cause of death. But the Daoists weren’t shocked by the bandit’s injury.
Beneath where the bandit had been lying facedown was a scrawny boy pinned under him, hidden by the bandit’s heavy frame.
Whether from birth or from the bandits’ assault, the boy’s arms and legs were grotesquely twisted. The horrific wounds evoked the unimaginable ordeal he had endured.
“Hah!”
“Infinite Mercy!”
The Daoists coughed in shock or turned away from the pitiable sight without realizing it.
The boy, who had lain still as if dead with eyes closed, suddenly snapped his eyes open.
“……”
Even Perfected Hyeonso flinched at the hollow gaze of one who had lost everything and the desperate killing intent within it.
“Child!”
As Perfected Hyeonso reached out in pity, the boy arduously turned his head and spat out something clenched in his mouth.
Thud!
Something the size of a fist rolled across the ground. The red, mangled mass was unmistakably a chunk of flesh.
“Th-that?”
A heavy silence descended on the Mount Hua Sect Daoists.
Chapter 1 Section 1. Even Mount Hua Welcomes Spring (1)
A boy who appeared barely sixteen or seventeen was arduously climbing the mountain. Thick brows bound beneath a cloth tied tightly around his forehead, cold and sharp eyes beneath them, and firmly pursed lips suggested an exceedingly stubborn personality.
The boy suddenly looked up at the summit.
Jagged peaks thrust toward the sky like inverted swords. The peaks, arranged like a fully bloomed lotus flower, had earned the name Lotus Peak for their shape.
Lotus Peak—one of the Nine Great Sects, the seat of the Mount Hua Sect. More precisely, it housed only the sect’s symbolic jade grounds and upper palace, but people equated Lotus Peak with the Mount Hua Sect itself.
Unlike the Wudang Sect concentrated at Wudang Mountain’s summit, the Mount Hua Sect was scattered evenly across the entire mountain.
The True Warrior Palace, symbol of the sect’s military might, stood at Cloudhead Peak’s summit, while the Golden Heaven Palace, Treasure Mystery Palace, Spirit Treasure Palace, and other key halls nested in hidden spots invisible from outside.
The most widely known sites were Jade Spring Monastery at the mountain’s base and Peace Palace midway up—places ordinary folk could access only up to Jade Spring Monastery. Thus, the world knew little of the Mount Hua Sect’s true face.
“Huff!”
Harsh breaths escaped the boy’s lips.
The stairs he climbed now were the narrow stone steps carved into Hundred-Foot Gorge. Barely wide enough for one adult, the near-vertical gorge was perilously treacherous, extending nearly a hundred feet—hence its name.
To reach Hundred-Foot Gorge, one first had to ascend three hundred seventy stone steps. Known as Thousand-Foot Banner, this near-vertical path was infamous across the land for its rugged peril.
Even peak martial artists struggled on it, yet the boy gritted his teeth and pressed on. His legs felt heavy as iron weights.
Sweat poured like rain over his body, his face long since pale. His heart pounded madly, as if about to burst from his chest.
Each step felt more agonizing than death. Yet the boy neither complained of hardship nor rested.
As he stubbornly climbed, his left leg suddenly spasmed.
The boy paused and looked down at his left leg. Thinner than the right and slightly bent, it crooked below the knee, preventing proper strength or normal gait.
Thus, he limped slightly with each step—the so-called lame leg.
No issue for daily life, but fatal for a martial artist.
Bearing this flaw, the boy daily trekked from Jade Spring Monastery at the base to the summit.
The path even experts dreaded.
*It’s fine! I can do this.*
Gritting his teeth, the boy resumed climbing.
His body was exhausted, legs endlessly quivering, but his gaze fixed on Mount Hua’s summit.
Step by step toward the peak, he eventually passed Hundred-Foot Gorge.
Escaping it didn’t mean reaching the summit—only halfway there.
Catching his breath, the boy looked around. Far beyond Flying Dragon Ridge lay Lotus Peak, symbol of the Mount Hua Sect with its jade grounds and upper palace. But not his destination.
He turned toward Cloudhead Peak on the opposite side. While West Peak called Lotus, East Peak Sunrise Platform, and South Peak Falling Peace gathered together, Cloudhead Peak stood solitary, evoking loneliness.
Coarse sweat beads streamed endlessly down the boy’s forehead. His legs weighed a thousand catties each. Especially the malformed left leg ached.
Muscles in waist and legs swelled as if to burst; joints ground like mortars in pain. Lungs expanded to gulp more air; heart raced to pump oxygenated blood.
How far had he gone? The boy entered brush near Cloudhead Peak. Beyond lay a tiny path, so concealed it was undetectable from outside.
Following it awhile, a small hall appeared at a dizzying cliff’s edge. Before the weathered hall sat a tiny platform, where a middle-aged Daoist perched.
The Daoist wore Daoist robes ragged to tatters, patched countless times.
Having gazed long at Mount Hua’s scenery, the Daoist sensed presence and looked toward the boy.
Deep furrows creased his brow.
“You went down to the base again?”
“Master.”
“Even so, your leg won’t heal perfectly, so why be so stubborn? No, you wouldn’t listen to such words. If you did, you’d have quit long ago.”
For five years, the boy had climbed and descended Mount Hua without fail, day after day. Even a healthy person needed half a day.
With his leg handicap, it took far longer.
Everyone called him mad. Yet he climbed.
Initially, it took three days. His mind reached the summit, but his legs couldn’t follow.
Especially the twisted, atrophied left leg tormented him. Yet he never voiced hardship or rested.
One step, one step, slowly without pause, until he collapsed near death upon reaching the top.
Had the Daoist not aided him in time, he’d have died.
An ordinary person would have quit. But upon recovery, the boy climbed again. His resolve so firm, the Daoist could only watch.
Through ascents and descents, the boy regained vitality. His scrawny frame gained muscle. After five years, he possessed the strength and lung capacity to climb swiftly.
“Phew! Come here.”
“Master, I’m fine now.”
“I’m not fine, so come.”
At the Daoist’s words, the boy sat on the platform with a resigned look. The Daoist extended his bony hands and began massaging the boy’s legs.
“Ugh!”
A groan escaped the boy’s lips unbidden.
The Daoist’s hands were merciless. His rough touch made the legs throb.
But the pain passed swiftly, replaced by cool relief.
“How can you be so reckless? Do you crave the sect’s advanced martial arts that badly?”
“I’m sorry, Master.”
“Infinite Mercy! What do you have to be sorry for? This incompetent master is the one who feels sorry for you.”
“No.”
The boy waved his hands hastily at the Daoist’s self-reproach.
To the boy, his master was his lifesaver. He’d rescued and healed him on the brink of death, then taken him as disciple. Without the master, he wouldn’t exist now.
“Ho-ya!”
“Yes!”
“You… never mind.”
The Daoist trailed off.
The Daoist’s Daoist name was Hyeonso, an elder of the Mount Hua Sect. The boy whose legs he massaged was named Damho—the sole survivor rescued five years ago from a village raided by bandits.
All had given up on Damho’s injuries. But Perfected Hyeonso alone persisted.
He never abandoned Damho, despite shattered limbs and faltering breath. No physician, yet he did his utmost to treat him.
With heaven’s grace, Damho survived. But sequelae left him limping on the left foot—beyond even Perfected Hyeonso’s efforts.
*Our poor Ho, what to do?*
An aching light passed through Perfected Hyeonso’s eyes as he massaged Damho’s leg.
Damho’s talent was exceptional. But surpassing it was his will.
Perhaps from childhood trauma, Damho’s resolve far exceeded peers’.
With a normal body, he’d surely become a fine warrior.
But his left leg was flawed. No issue daily, but fatal for martial artists.
Like any sect, Mount Hua’s arts emphasized footwork above all. Sect disciples learning the Lesser Purity Heart Formula had to master Nine Palaces Step.
The exquisitely variable Nine Palaces Step daunted even prodigies—an ultimate advanced footwork too flashy for leg-impaired Damho. Reasonable to abandon, yet he climbed daily to build leg strength.
Uncertain if it’d enable Nine Palaces Step, but Damho trained relentlessly. Before such a disciple’s effort, Perfected Hyeonso’s eyes reddened.
“Master, I’m good now. You can stop.”
“A bit longer.”
“But…”
“I want to. Just a bit more.”
“Master.”
Damho lowered his gaze.
For five years, Perfected Hyeonso remained steadfast, doting on Damho with utmost care, as if desperate to give more.
Without that care, today’s Damho wouldn’t exist. Meticulously massaging Damho’s foot, Perfected Hyeonso said,
“A man needs only one steadfast core. If yours remains unshaken, heaven will clear the path. So don’t be impatient, Ho-ya.”
Words befitting a Daoist to his marrow, Perfected Hyeonso.
*Master, I don’t believe in heaven.*
Damho’s reply echoed only in his mouth.