As evening approached, Cai Zhao awoke. Fan Xingjia came personally to invite them to dinner.
After his nap, Chang Ning was unusually pleasant. He even poured a cup of water for Fan Xingjia, who was so surprised he almost snorted it up his nose. Since arriving at Wanshui Qianshan Cliff, this bitter orphan of the Chang family had shown kindness to no one but his master, acting as if everyone owed him a fortune in property deeds.
“Brother Fan, you’ve worked so hard. We’ve been resting while you’ve been bustling about like an ant on a hot pan, without a moment’s rest…” In just one afternoon, Chang Ning seemed to have transformed, his words full of warmth and concern, though his simile was a bit off.
“Brother Chang, it’s not an ant, but a cricket on a hot pan,” little Cai Han interjected, rubbing his eyes.
Chang Ning lovingly patted the child’s head. “Sweet Han, how can you compare Brother Fan to an ant? You could easily crush dozens of ants with one step, but could you crush Brother Fan? So he’s not an ant.”
Cai Han stopped rubbing his eyes. “But, Brother Fan isn’t a cricket either, because… because…”
“You couldn’t crush a cricket with one step. They’d jump away.”
The young Cai looked bewildered. The logic seemed sound.
“Both of you, stop it. Brother Fan is neither an ant nor a cricket. He’s a person!” Cai Zhao, still groggy from sleep, slammed the table, concluding the matter.
Fan Xingjia held his cup, speechless, silently begging them to stop.
The three followed Fan Xingjia into the newly arranged main hall of the rear palace of Muwei Palace.
…or rather, its side hall.
The entire Muwei Palace was symmetrically designed along a central axis, with each main hall flanked by eastern and western side halls.
This time, Fan Xingjia had thoughtfully arranged for Cai Zhao and her companions to sit at an extended table near the window in the western side hall. To their left, at the head table, sat two young monks from Changchun Temple, who were disciples of Cai Zhao’s uncle, Master Juexing. To their right, at the lower end, sat a quiet, frail young girl named Yang Xiaolan, daughter of the Siqimen sect leader. She was so shy she couldn’t even raise her head when greeting others.
The monks were amiable, and the girl seemed harmless. As for Qi Lingbo, Dai Fengchi, and the others, they were seated in the eastern side hall, separated by the bustling main hall. Even if they shouted at the top of their lungs, they wouldn’t be heard across the divide.
“Praise Buddha, now we should have peace,” thought Fan Xingjia, breathing a sigh of relief as he pulled up a stool to join the conversation.
Cai Zhao quickly spotted her parents among the crowd. The Cai Pingchun couple sat below Song Shijun, the leader of Guangtian Gate. Both wore expressionless faces, mechanically engaging with the other martial artists.
Cai Zhao couldn’t help but ask, “Brother Fan, tomorrow is the grand ceremony. Has everyone arrived?”
Fan Xingjia thought for a moment before answering, “Everyone except Abbot Fakong from Changchun Temple and the Taichu Temple group has arrived.”
“I understand about Abbot Fakong. His senior brother, Abbot Fahai, just passed away, so he needs to stay for the rituals. But why is Taichu Temple also arriving late tomorrow morning?” Cai Zhao asked, puzzled.
“Naturally, it’s to make a grand entrance,” Chang Ning lowered his voice. “Three years ago, when your aunt passed away, the martial world’s elites came to pay respects. My father said Taichu Temple arrived last, making quite a spectacle.”
“I was sick then and missed it all,” Cai Zhao also spoke softly. “If arriving last makes the grandest impression, wouldn’t not coming at all be even grander?”
Fan Xingjia leaned in, “For the Ancestor’s death anniversary if Taichu Temple truly didn’t come, they’d be leaving themselves open to criticism. In recent years, Taichu Temple’s leader, Qiu Yuanfeng, has been quite prominent, involving himself in every matter of the martial world. Quite remarkable!”
“Does no one comment on Taichu Temple’s behavior?” Cai Zhao asked quietly.
“Of course they do,” Fan Xingjia chuckled softly. “It’s just…”
“Brother Yunke,” Song Shijun, sitting in the second most prominent seat, wearing his usual golden crown and gold-embroidered robes, spoke with obvious displeasure. “Tomorrow morning is the Ancestor’s death anniversary ceremony. Isn’t it inappropriate for Taichu Temple to still be absent?”
He deliberately projected his voice, ensuring everyone in the hall heard him. All eyes turned to the head seat.
Qi Yunke, seated at the head, replied calmly, “Leader Qiu’s letter mentioned some temple business. They’ll be slightly delayed but will arrive before tomorrow morning’s ceremony.”
Song Shijun grinned, “Brother Yunke, I know you’re good-natured, but some matters require you to show authority. Abbot Fakong is a guest; his presence is appreciated but not mandatory. But we six sects are the Ancestor’s descendants. They might put on airs for other events, but to be so negligent about the Ancestor’s 200th death anniversary… Shouldn’t Qingque Sect say something?”
With these words, the hall fell silent, all waiting to see how Qi Yunke would respond.
Although the six Northern sects claimed to be united in glory, internally they managed their affairs separately, only uniting under the Qingque Sect’s leadership when facing the Demonic Sect. However, times had changed, and sometimes the Qingque Sect leader could assert authority over other sects’ disciples.
Song Shijun’s sudden focus on Taichu Temple was meant to put Qi Yunke in a difficult position.
Cai Zhao whispered, “Isn’t Leader Song deliberately causing trouble? How should Uncle Qi respond? If he says ‘It’s fine, a slight delay doesn’t matter,’ Song will accuse him of disrespecting the Ancestor’s anniversary. If Uncle Qi gets angry, should he immediately gather people to confront Taichu Temple? I don’t know if other sects would laugh, but the Demonic Sect would certainly find it hilarious.”
Chang Ning replied, “Obviously, the point of creating difficulty is to put the Sect Leader in a dilemma. Otherwise, why bother saying anything? But why is Song trying to trouble Sect Leader Qi when there’s no grudge between them?”
Both turned their gaze to Fan Xingjia, who sighed and said, “In recent years, Guangtian Gate has been recruiting talented individuals, nearly rivaling our sect. Earlier, Leader Song suggested holding this 200th-anniversary ceremony at Guangtian Gate. Even Master, kind as he is, couldn’t agree to that. Fortunately, with Peiqiong Manor and Luoying Valley’s support, the matter was settled. Leader Song, unable to achieve his wish, must be… must be displeased.”
“Bah!” Cai Zhao spat softly. “Jiuli Mountain’s Muwei Palace is where the Ancestor secluded himself. How could the anniversary ceremony be moved elsewhere? He’s just taking advantage of Uncle Qi’s good nature!”
Chang Ning remarked with interest, “Third Senior Brother Song Yuzhi is Leader Song’s son. By causing trouble so openly, isn’t he worried his son might face difficulties in the sect?”
Fan Xingjia sighed, “Master is a kind person who doesn’t hold grudges. No matter what Leader Song does, he won’t take it out on Third Senior Brother. Besides, besides…”
“Besides, there’s Lady Sulian. Her sister, Lady Qinglian, was Leader Song’s late wife. No matter how much trouble there is, who in the sect would dare mistreat the Lady’s nephew?” Cai Zhao frowned. “In the end, they’re just bullying Uncle because he’s too nice.”
“Mother is speaking, everyone looks!” Little Cai Han suddenly called out. The three turned to look.
They heard Ning Xiaofeng raising her voice, though her cultivation wasn’t strong enough to make her words resound like Song Shijun’s. Everyone fell silent to hear her.
“…Even brothers live separately after dividing the family. Though the Qingque Sect leads the six sects, it can’t micromanage the other five. As long as Taichu Temple doesn’t delay tomorrow’s memorial ceremony, it’s not a fault,” Ning Xiaofeng, who had disliked Song Shijun for years, spoke bluntly.
“I’ve always said, ‘To be a good in-law, be neither deaf nor mute.’ Being the Qingque Sect leader is truly difficult. Thankfully, Brother Qi is honest and doesn’t fuss over trivial matters. Otherwise, if he threw his weight around, demanding obedience even in minor issues, wouldn’t we five sects cry out in misery?”
Though her analogy was a bit coarse, it made sense. If they had an overbearing leader nitpicking every detail, the other sects would suffer. The audience nodded in agreement, their whispered discussions not escaping Song Shijun’s keen ears, causing his face to tighten further.
A middle-aged man sitting opposite Song Shijun noticed his displeasure and smiled, speaking loudly, “Xiaofeng speaks well. Everyone says the Qingque Sect is the world’s premier sect, but few realize how challenging it is to lead. We’re fortunate that Brother Yunke is generous and rarely takes offense. This allows the six Northern sects to remain harmonious. Brother Song means well today, but he’s known for speaking his mind. We’re all family here, so let’s not take offense.”
Since Song Shijun spoke, Yin Sulian had been torn between her husband and brother-in-law. Hearing this refined man mediate, she quickly said, “Brother Zhizhen… ahem… Manor Lord Zhou is right. We’re all family, so let’s not argue. Servants, bring wine and food, quickly!”
The mediator was Zhou Zhizhen, lord of Peiqiong Manor, known for his cultured demeanor and mastery of both literature and martial arts. Everyone laughed and joked, trying to smooth over the incident.
Song Shijun, still displeased, signaled to Yang Heying, the Siqimen sect leader. The two were close, and Song’s look meant “It’s your turn.”
Yang Heying thought, “If you, Song Shijun, failed to trouble Qi Yunke directly, how could I succeed? Why embarrass myself?” His eyes darted to the Cai Pingchun couple, and he hatched a plan. He called out, “Valley Master Cai, it’s been years. How have you been?”
Cai Pingchun, slightly startled, replied, “Fine, fine.”