Tucked away on the western shoulder of the Floating Mountain lay the Scarlet Plum Courtyard. Unlike the bustling culinary staging yards where Tie Shan’s thunderous laughter and the sizzle of fiery woks dominated the air, this secluded garden was draped in deep, meditative silence.
Ancient scarlet plum trees, their twisted branches heavy with clusters of deep crimson blossoms, formed a fragrant canopy overhead. A gentle breeze drifted in from the western cloud sea. It sent showers of delicate red petals spiraling down toward the mossy stone ground like droplets of fragrant rain.
Sitting cross-legged on a frayed, circular hemp mat beneath the largest plum tree was Gu Qingfeng.
The legendary Sword Saint looked remarkably disheveled, as was his lifelong custom. His unkempt gray hair was bound loosely with a strand of dried wild grass, his faded jade-green daoist robes were frayed at the cuffs and stained with faded wine spots. His feet were bare against the cool green moss. Beside his knee rested his weapon of choice. Not a peerless ninth-tier divine ancient object forged from star-iron. But a plain, twenty-inch willow twig plucked from a stream bank that morning.
Surrounding him in a wide, solemn circle were forty-eight men and women.
