Volume One: The Celestial Palace of Mist and Clouds Chapter Four: The Disciple of the Lower Immortals

Chapter Four: The Junior Immortal Disciple

Verdant mountains stretched for miles, shrouded in immortal clouds, with pavilions and terraces where immortals gathered to play chess. Among these peaks, one stood tallest, veiled in purple mist, exuding an aura of sanctity. Exotic flowers and rare herbs flourished across the slopes, and a silver waterfall cascaded like a dragon suspended in midair. The entire mountain radiated peace and serenity. At its summit rose a magnificent palace, bathed in immortal light—truly the residence of immortals.

At this moment, Yun Fang and Zhou Hao were ascending the stone steps, feet firm upon each slab. They had to cross three mountains to reach the highest peak—Cloud Mists Immortal Mountain—a rule set by the master of Cloud Mists Hall: every new disciple, upon entering the sect, must walk from the immortal gate to the mountain hall, step by step, to show their resolve. Of course, for Zhou Hao, now possessing an immortal’s body, this was nothing; he did not feel tired in the least.

“Master, how many immortals are there in Cloud Mists Hall? And what rules must disciples follow?” Once an emperor among men, now a newly ascended immortal, Zhou Hao was as curious as a child. He looked around in wonder at the immortal aura swirling among the mountains, the orderly pavilions dotting the slopes—all a scene of infinite beauty.

“My disciple, you’ll come to know all the rules in good time. As for the scale of Cloud Mists, including disciples and elders at all levels, there are three hundred in total. All elders are at the Golden Immortal rank. If a disciple advances to this level, they are granted the privilege of leaving the hall to further their studies—perhaps with a great immortal master, or in the palace of a true Immortal King to learn supreme divine arts. They may also remain as elders themselves, teaching newcomers, enjoying privileges equal to any elder. In short, the strong are respected everywhere.” Yun Fang led Zhou Hao forward, patiently answering his every question.

“Three hundred—three hundred immortals! I’ve joined a camp of immortals. Golden Immortals, the mighty... In this boundless immortal realm, only the strong are respected. I must train diligently to earn such respect. A junior immortal is just the lowest starting point,” Zhou Hao said to himself in silent determination.

“Well, if it isn’t Elder Yun Fang! What a coincidence—I heard from my master you were out recruiting disciples. Is this young man your new student? It’s been over a hundred years since you last took a disciple. Truly, this is a blessing for Cloud Mists!” At that moment, a tall, striking youth in white stepped out of a pavilion, followed by a young man and two women.

The four wore robes of white, red, yellow, and green, their expressions varied, but there was no mistaking their confrontational air.

As Zhou Hao listened, he sensed a hidden barb in the youth’s words. But as a newcomer of humble standing, he said nothing, only fixing his gaze on the speaker.

“Is this how Nangong Xun teaches you to greet your elders? What business do you four have, blocking our way?” Yun Fang was unfazed by the youth, not even sparing him a glance. His tone became stern as he addressed them, his earlier casualness gone.

Although the four did not block Yun Fang and Zhou Hao entirely, their presence occupied the path. Yun Fang’s reproach was not unwarranted.

The white-robed youth was momentarily stunned—he hadn’t expected the old man to put on such airs, nor to insult both him and his master.

“What are you waiting for? Didn’t you hear me? Move aside!” Yun Fang’s white beard fluttered though there was no wind, his authority unquestionable.

“Yun Fang, don’t think you can escape justice. You killed my brother—I will never forgive you! Now you dare take a new disciple? It seems you have no regard for the Yu family. My brother is dead; you ought to mourn at his tomb for eternity!” A red-robed maiden’s eyes blazed with fury as she pointed accusingly at Yun Fang.

Yun Fang was not angered by her outburst; instead, his gaze softened. “You must be Yu Nan, Yu Yang’s sister. A hundred years have passed, and you’ve grown. That is good.”

At first, Yu Nan was taken aback, but she quickly became even more irate. “Don’t try to change the subject! I’ve trained day and night for a century. I know I can’t defeat you, but I won’t let you have it easy. You’ve taken a new disciple? If I can’t get to you, then I’ll make sure he suffers!”

Zhou Hao’s pupils contracted as the girl pointed at him, a powerful force pressing upon his brow, as if his skull might crack. Yun Fang merely waved his hand, and the pressure vanished, leaving Zhou Hao unharmed.

“Child, no matter how I explain, you’ll never believe me. People believe what they want to believe. But let me say this: if you want to challenge my student, do it with real skill, not tricks. There will be plenty of opportunities ahead. I, too, am curious to see what kind of disciples Nangong Xun has taught.”

With that, Yun Fang took Zhou Hao and vanished in an instant, their figures fading from view as the four looked on in anger.

“He infuriates me! I’ll kill Yun Fang one day and avenge my brother!” Yu Nan’s chest heaved, unable to vent her rage.

“Don’t be upset, sister. There will be plenty of chances to settle the score. Let Yun Fang’s disciple pay part of his debt first,” said the yellow-robed youth, Nangong Ying, son of Nangong Xun.

“That’s right! I, Cheng Yan, swear to heaven: one day, I’ll bring Yun Fang down. Who does he think he is, ignoring me?” The handsome youth’s face twisted with fury—clearly, Yun Fang’s indifference had deeply wounded his pride.

Meanwhile, Yun Fang and Zhou Hao continued their journey over mountain and ridge. Along the way, many disciples looked upon Yun Fang with similar disdain, leaving Zhou Hao ever more puzzled. What had this master of his done? Was it true, as the others claimed, that he had caused his disciple’s death?

“Master, I wanted to ask—” Zhou Hao began, but two immortals approached from the opposite direction.

“Brother Yun Fang, you’ve returned with your new disciple, I see. So, this is the youth you’ve chosen? I heard that elders of the other fifteen halls also sought to take in this lower immortal from the impoverished mortal realm, yet you returned unscathed. I suppose your Ethereal Immortal Steps proved their worth again?” A middle-aged man in a blue Daoist robe greeted them, twirling a horsetail whisk with ease. He smiled, but to Zhou Hao the smile seemed anything but friendly.

“Nangong Xun, now I understand why your disciples dared block my path. Like master, like student,” Yun Fang replied, his tone light but mocking.

“Brother Yun Fang, what are you saying? Brother Nangong was merely greeting you, nothing more. Who blocked your way?” The other immortal, also middle-aged and dressed in white, spoke with a look of disdain.

“So, these stone steps are only for you, not for us?” Nangong Xun’s smile grew cold, though it remained on his face.

“I never said that. But I must take my student to meet the master of the hall. Forgive me, I have no time for further pleasantries.” Yun Fang once more used his Ethereal Immortal Steps, and he and Zhou Hao glided past the two, continuing upward.

“Damn Yun Fang! If it weren’t for Cloud Mists backing him, I’d have killed him long ago,” the white-robed man muttered, staring after them.

“No need for anger, Brother Cheng Bing. After that incident, Yun Fang’s name is already reviled. Everyone knows he abandoned his disciple to die. His downfall is only a matter of time. Our true opponent is not Yun Fang, but Cloud Mists itself. In time, even if Cloud Mists doesn’t perish, I’ll ascend to the rank of Superior Immortal and claim the position of hall master. Then, Cloud Mists Hall will be ours,” Nangong Xun replied, his voice low as he sealed the space around them for five miles, ensuring no one could overhear.

“Brother Nangong, have you already—” Cheng Bing’s face brightened with joy. The two had once been fellow disciples, joining Cloud Mists Hall a thousand years ago, but both had long coveted the position of master.

Towering peaks, purple mists, and fragrant flowers lined their path. Even for immortals, the air here was invigorating. Deer dashed along the slopes, sometimes leaping into the air, and spirit monkeys gnawed giant peaches in the trees. Yet Zhou Hao took little notice—his mind was troubled. Why did so many treat this old man with such hostility? What had he experienced in the past?

“My disciple, I know you have many questions. Since you have taken me as your master, I will not hide anything from you. But let us speak after we’ve met the master of the hall. I promise—I will not deceive you,” Yun Fang said gently, as if reading Zhou Hao’s thoughts.

“Yes, Master. I trust you.” Zhou Hao looked at the old man and saw a trace of sorrow and exhaustion in his eyes—not the fatigue of the body, but of the spirit.

The two continued onwards, their hearts filled with anticipation. They had reached Cloud Mists Immortal Mountain, standing halfway up the slope. The mountain towered ten thousand feet high. While other mountains were connected by bridges of divine wood, this one was joined to its neighbor by a rainbow. From afar, the rainbow arched between the peaks, with immortals walking along it—a bizarre and wondrous sight.

At last, Yun Fang and Zhou Hao reached the summit and saw the golden palace. Above its doors, four characters gleamed resplendently—a true masterpiece of immortal calligraphy:

Cloud Mists Immortal Hall!

Before the hall lay a great plaza, paved with blue bricks. Dozens of white-robed youths practiced swordplay, every move revealing the profound essence of swordsmanship. They did not seek mere form or flourish, but moved naturally, each according to their own style. If a mortal swordsman saw this, he would scoff—mortals learned by imitating the master’s every move, not by practicing at whim.

Since joining the army at seventeen, Zhou Hao had learned all eighteen martial arts, especially sword, saber, spear, and halberd, for in the army, mastery meant survival. His swordsmanship was thus of considerable skill.

“Master, what sword art are these immortal disciples practicing? I’m itching to join them,” Zhou Hao said as they crossed the plaza. Some disciples greeted Yun Fang, others ignored him, even avoiding him altogether.

“This is a required art for you as well: the Cloud Mists Sword Technique, created by the master of the hall. It harmonizes the individual with nature, following the Way of Unity between Heaven and Man. See how their moves differ? Each follows his own style, moving in accord with nature. That is the essence of the Cloud Mists Sword Technique,” Yun Fang explained.

“Cloud Mists Sword Technique, unity of Heaven and Man. No wonder this is the Immortal Realm—so far above mortal swordsmanship! Even the intent alone would place them at the pinnacle of the sword path,” Zhou Hao marveled, his heart soaring at the wonders of the immortal world.

Beyond the hall gates, they entered a grand, yet elegant, main hall, supported by four golden pillars. The space was vast, able to hold over a thousand people. Upon the dais sat three figures. In the center, a man in robes of gold and silver, with a jade hairpin and snow-white hair cascading down his back—none other than the master of Cloud Mists Immortal Hall, the Immortal Lord Cloud Mists.

“Yun Fang and disciple Zhou Hao pay respects to the Master and Vice Master of the Hall,” they called, bowing with clasped fists. According to the rules, only a standing salute was required—no kneeling.

“Very well, rise. Yun Fang, was your journey to recruit a disciple smooth this time?” the Immortal Lord asked.

“It went well enough, though it was unexpected that even the Color Plumage Hall sent someone,” Yun Fang replied.

“That is strange. The master of Color Plumage Hall is unpredictable—descended from the sacred Peacock lineage. By recruiting here, he pits himself against us. Who knows how he will view Cloud Mists Hall in the future,” said the short, rotund man to the Immortal Lord’s left, his features reminiscent of the Laughing Buddha, eyes narrowed in worry.

“Let him think what he likes! Are we afraid of him? If he came here to set up his own hall, it means his Peacock Clan has cast him out. I’d like to see what this conniving immortal spirit is truly capable of!” the burly man on the right retorted.

“The matter at hand is the Grand Disciples’ Tournament in thirty years. The three top juniors will be sent to the Cave of Mortal Immortals to seize their fortune. Who do you think has the best chance of victory for Cloud Mists Hall?” asked the Immortal Lord.

“Master, our hall has three likely candidates: Nangong Ying, son and disciple of Elder Nangong Xun; Su Qing, disciple of Elder Li Qionghua; and Yu Nan, daughter of Elder Yu Pan,” the burly man replied.

“Yu Nan? The sister of that prodigy Yu Yang? The Yu family is truly fortunate! Oh, Yun Fang, after a hundred years of seclusion, you ought to visit the Yu family and pay respects at Yu Yang’s grave,” the Immortal Lord said, looking down at Yun Fang.

“I understand, Master. If there is nothing else, I’ll take my leave—my new disciple is not yet familiar with Cloud Mists Hall,” Yun Fang replied calmly, hiding his true feelings.

“Go, then,” the Immortal Lord nodded.

Yun Fang and Zhou Hao then rode a cloud away from Cloud Mists Immortal Mountain. Yun Fang’s residence was on another peak; only the Master, Vice Masters, and their disciples were permitted to dwell on Cloud Mists Immortal Mountain year-round.

The Immortal Realm had day and night, but each day comprised eighteen hours. Only in the morning could Cloud Mists disciples gather in the mountaintop plaza to practice swordplay, usually for three hours.

Upon a white cloud, Yun Fang guided it down towards a green mountain, its summit flattened by immortal arts. There were no grand palaces, only winding streams, a few bamboo cottages built from bamboo cut from a lush grove planted by Yun Fang a thousand years ago.

Zhou Hao followed Yun Fang over a small bridge spanning an immortal lake. The water was blue as sapphire, dotted with sleeping lotuses and red fish swimming among them.

“These are Heart-Nourishing Lotuses, which heal the soul. Meditating beside them calms the mind and leads quickly to enlightenment. The fish are called Vermilion Fish; their medicinal value is high, useful for replenishing blood and healing wounds,” Yun Fang explained.

“Master, look—there’s someone by the bamboo house. Are they waiting for you?” Zhou Hao asked, his attention suddenly caught by a figure ahead.

Both looked towards the bamboo cottage. There stood a graceful female immortal, a long sword on her back. She too saw the pair approaching.

For a moment, none of the three spoke. Even Zhou Hao, once a king who had seen countless beauties, was struck by her presence.

The immortal maiden wore simple robes, her black hair cascading to her waist. She was tall and poised, her eyes limpid, nose elegant, lips rosy—her beauty flawless as immortal jade, far surpassing Yu Nan, the red-robed girl from earlier. She stood under the eaves of the bamboo house, serene and unperturbed. The scene was itself a perfect tableau.

For a long moment, master and disciple stood transfixed, captivated by the vision before them.