During the Spring and Autumn Period, the capital of the Yue Kingdom at the foot of Mount Kuaiji was shrouded in an atmosphere of grim solemnity. Ever since King Helü of Wu had died of his wounds following the Battle of Zuili, his son Fuchai had ascended the throne and devoted himself day and night to military drills, swearing vengeance for his father. Three years earlier, Fuchai had led the full might of the Wu army into Yue territory, trapping Goujian on Mount Kuaiji. Left with no choice, the King of Yue had stripped to the waist, tethered himself with a rope, and led a sheep in surrender, entering Wu as a slave and suffering every conceivable humiliation. It was only thanks to the interventions and stratagems of Grand Masters Wen Zhong and Fan Li, and the lavish bribes of gold and beautiful women offered to the Wu Grand Steward Bo Pi, that he was finally pardoned and allowed to return to his homeland.
From the day of his return, Goujian moved out of the royal chambers. He slept each night upon a pile of firewood, and from the rafters hung a single bitter gall bladder. Every morning upon rising, he would first taste its bitterness, murmuring to himself, "Goujian, have you forgotten the shame of Kuaiji?"
One early morning, the King of Yue was in council with Wen Zhong and Fan Li. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten; inside the hall, candle flames flickered, casting light upon Goujian's gaunt face, worn by years of relentless toil and worry. Though barely past thirty, his temples were already streaked with grey.
"Great King," Wen Zhong said with a cupped-hand salute, "King Fuchai of Wu grows more arrogant and dissolute by the day. He favors Bo Pi and distances himself from Wu Zixu. Wu Yuan repeatedly remonstrates with him, but Fuchai will not listen." He paused. "This is a heaven-sent opportunity."
Goujian nodded slightly, his gaze deep and penetrating. "Ten years for procreation and accumulation; ten years for education and training. I have waited precisely for this day. However, Wu's troops are elite and its generals valiant. Our Yue armor is not yet complete, and our soldiers have not been tested in major battle. If we are to seek revenge, more time is needed."
Fan Li pondered for a moment, then stepped forward. "Great King, I have a matter to report. In recent days, an extraordinary young woman has appeared in the Southern Forest. She appears to be around sixteen, with a delicate, comely countenance, yet she wields a peerless sword technique. Woodcutters have witnessed her practicing with her sword among the trees—the blade's gleam was like driven snow, so swift that not a drop of water could penetrate its defense. Even more astonishing: a fierce tiger emerged from the forest to attack her, and she dispatched it with a single thrust between its brows. The beast died on the spot, without a second wound anywhere on its body."
Goujian leaned forward. "Can this be true?"
"Absolutely true," Fan Li confirmed. "I have dispatched men to investigate. The young woman claims she was born deep within the forest and studied swordsmanship from childhood under a mysterious master. Now that her training is complete, she has descended from the mountain, wishing to use her skill to benefit the world."
Wen Zhong stroked his beard. "The timing of this woman's arrival is remarkable. Great King, do you recall the ancient tale? When the Yellow Emperor battled Chiyou in the wilds of Zhuolu, the Mysterious Maiden of the Nine Heavens descended and bestowed upon him the talismans of military strategy, enabling him to achieve victory. Now, just as our Yue Kingdom prepares for its righteous vengeance, Heaven sends down this remarkable maiden. Could it be that the Mysterious Maiden has once again descended to the mortal realm?"
Goujian rose abruptly to his feet. "Issue my royal decree: respectfully invite that maiden to the palace at once!"
Three days later, the young woman was escorted into the Yue royal court. Goujian, accompanied by his full array of civil and military officials, welcomed her personally before the main hall. She was dressed in plain, unadorned robes, a bamboo sword hanging at her waist. Her steps were light, as if treading upon clouds. Her face was exquisitely beautiful, with an otherworldly grace, but it was her eyes that truly astounded—they gleamed with a startling brightness, as though they could pierce straight through a person's very soul.
"This common maiden pays her respects to the Great King." She inclined her head slightly; her voice was cool and clear, like spring water striking stone.
Goujian hastily returned the gesture. "I have heard that your sword skill is divinely inspired, young lady. I would entreat you to remain with my army and instruct my officers and soldiers in the art of the sword, in preparation for future necessities. Once our purpose is achieved, I shall certainly reward you handsomely."
A faint smile touched the maiden's lips, a smile tinged with an aura of transcendent detachment. "Great King, you need not stand on ceremony. This maiden's arrival is precisely at Heaven's command, to aid Yue in vanquishing Wu. Swordsmanship may be but a minor art, yet used rightly it is righteous, and used wrongly it is malevolent. If the Great King can wield this sword to avenge the humiliation and suffering of the Yue people, this maiden shall naturally impart all that she knows without reservation."
A murmur ran through the hall at these words. Wen Zhong and Fan Li exchanged a glance, both inwardly shaken. This maiden spoke openly of "vanquishing Wu" and even declared she came "at Heaven's command." Her origins were indeed extraordinary.
And so the young woman remained within the Yue military encampment. Each day, she taught swordsmanship upon the parade ground. Her teaching methods were uniquely unconventional: she forbade the soldiers from using real swords, insisting instead upon branches of bamboo as practice weapons. At first, the troops were dismissive, thinking how could such a flimsy bamboo twig possibly slay an enemy? But when she personally demonstrated, they finally understood what true swordsmanship entailed.
That day on the parade ground, she ordered thirty-six straw dummies set up, each marked with a vermilion dot indicating a vital acupoint. Taking up her bamboo sword, her form flickered, and the soldiers saw only a white blur weaving amongst the dummies. The air hissed with the sound of the bamboo blade cleaving the air. In mere moments, the vermilion dots on all thirty-six dummies had been pierced clean through, yet not a single straw stalk on the dummies themselves was broken.
A profound silence fell over the field, followed by a thunderous roar of acclaim.
"The Way of the Sword," she declared, sheathing her practice blade, her breathing perfectly even, "lies not in brute strength, but in precision. A man has only a handful of vital points. A single accurate strike surpasses a dozen wild slashes. You must first train your eyes, then your wrists, and finally your mind. When the eye, the hand, and the heart act as one, only then have you truly mastered the sword."
For the next three years, under her tutelage, the elite soldiers of Yue made astonishing progress in their swordsmanship. She remained stern and taciturn during instruction, granting only the faintest nod of approval when a soldier demonstrated genuine insight.
On the day the three years concluded, she assembled the troops upon the parade ground and addressed them clearly: "I have imparted all that I know of swordsmanship. You have grasped its essence. Today, I shall depart and return to the mountains."
The soldiers knelt as one, pleading with her to stay, but she merely shook her head, turned, and drifted away. Fan Li, hearing the news, rushed to bid her farewell, only to see her silhouette gradually recede, finally vanishing into the dense forests of the Southern Mountain.
The maiden journeyed southward, traversing forests and fording streams with unhurried ease. After walking for perhaps two hours, she arrived in a secluded valley. A clear stream murmured over stones, birds chirped melodiously, and the surrounding green mountains rose like verdant screens, their waists wreathed in white cloud. As she paused, considering finding a spring to drink from, an ancient, rasping voice suddenly sounded from above.
"Excellent swordsmanship, young lady."
She looked up. There, seated upon a horizontal bough of a thousand-year-old pine beside the path, was an old man with hair as white as snow. He wore a coarse kudzu-fiber robe, his face was lean and angular, but his eyes gleamed with a startlingly keen light. His arms were exceptionally long, hanging well past his knees. Leaning on a bamboo staff, he peered down at her with a genial smile.
"You are too kind, Elder," she replied evenly. "May I ask what guidance you have for me, here in this place?"
The white-haired elder leaped down from the tree, landing without a sound, like a falling leaf settling upon the ground.
"This old one's surname is Yuan. People call me Old Man Yuan. I have dwelt long in these mountains, and in my idle moments, I have fumbled through a few sword techniques myself. Just now, observing your gait through the forest, young lady, I could see your steps subtly aligned with the very principles of the Dao, and I knew you must be an adept of the sword. This old one makes bold to ask: might you deign to exchange a few moves with me?"
She studied Old Man Yuan closely. Though aged, his every gesture and motion subtly radiated concentrated vitality. He was clearly a fellow cultivator of the Dao. Her mind stirred, and she responded, "Since Elder Yuan desires it, this junior shall oblige."
Old Man Yuan laughed heartily. Without further ceremony, he leaped up, and with a light flick of his bamboo staff against the trunk of the ancient pine, he snapped off a branch roughly three feet long. He swiftly stripped away the twigs and needles, hefted the pine branch in his hand, and assumed an opening stance.
"Young lady... please begin."
She drew the bamboo sword she always carried at her waist. Though it appeared ordinary, it was carved from the root of thunder-struck bamboo found on the Southern Mountain and tempered for three years by lightning and fire, making it harder than refined steel. The two implements of bamboo caught the sunlight with a faint bluish sheen. A profound stillness fell over the valley; even the stream seemed to slow its murmuring.
Old Man Yuan struck first. His form blurred, and the pine branch transformed into a thousand darting green shadows, enveloping her like a sudden, violent storm. This move, "A Sky Full of Stars," was executed with such density and speed that an ordinary swordsman would have been utterly unable to perceive its trajectory.
Yet she remained utterly composed. With a gentle flick of her bamboo sword—a soft snap echoed—the thousand shadows instantly dissipated. Her blade adhered lightly to Yuan's pine branch, deflecting it just so, and his entire body was pulled off-balance, stumbling half a step sideways.
Yuan's expression shifted. He hastily withdrew his branch and changed his tactic, launching into a sequence called "Flying Gibbon Plucking Fruit." His movements became agile and bounding; now soaring through the air, now crouching low to the ground, he thrust the pine branch from the most unpredictable angles, truly resembling a nimble ape cavorting through the treetops.
Yet she remained rooted to the spot, her feet seemingly nailed to the earth. The bamboo sword in her hand seemed to possess a life of its own. Every sweep precisely sealed off Yuan's attacks. Her moves appeared simple—merely the eight fundamentals of thrusting, flicking, cleaving, wiping, raising, pointing, crushing, and intercepting—but each stroke was flawlessly executed, perfectly calibrated; a fraction more would be excess, a fraction less would be insufficiency.
The longer they fought, the more alarmed Old Man Yuan became. He had cultivated swordsmanship for centuries and considered himself virtually peerless in the contemporary world. Yet facing this mere maiden of sixteen years, he felt completely constrained. Her swordsmanship had transcended the realm of mere technique, entering a state he could scarcely comprehend—a state where the sword was unified with the Dao; the sword was the Dao, and the Dao was the sword.
By the thirty-seventh exchange, sweat beaded on Yuan's brow. Gritting his teeth, he unleashed his ultimate trump card, "White Gibbon Presents Fruit." His entire body somersaulted through the air, the pine branch cleaving downwards from above with the crushing force of a collapsing mountain peak.
Finally, she moved.
Her bamboo sword rose to meet his. The tip landed precisely on a point roughly seven-tenths of the way down his pine branch—its point of greatest structural weakness and minimal force. Yuan felt only a soft, yielding power transmitted up his arm; his hand went numb, and the pine branch flew from his grasp. Startled, he used the recoil force to flip backward, landing unsteadily on a high branch of the ancient pine, breathing heavily.
"Young lady, your swordsmanship is divinely transcendent. This old one concedes defeat wholeheartedly." Yuan stood on the branch and offered a respectful salute.
She looked up at him, her gaze suddenly deep and distant. "Elder Yuan's sword skill has achieved a likeness in form, but not yet the essence of the spirit. The Way of the Sword does not reside in the complexity of its forms, but in the absolute purity of intention. When Elder Yuan launched his attacks just now, his mind was filled with extraneous thoughts—at times contemplating how to win, at times searching for an opening in the opponent, at times fearing defeat. When the mind is not tranquil, the sword cannot be pure."
Yuan felt as if struck by a thunderbolt. He stood frozen upon the branch, speechless for a long, long moment.
Suddenly, he let out a long, piercing cry. His body sprang, leaping from the ancient pine to a neighboring one, then another, and in the blink of an eye, he vanished into the depths of the dense forest. Yet just as he leaped away, his kudzu robe snagged on a branch and was torn away, revealing his true form: a white-haired, long-armed gibbon.
The maiden watched the white gibbon's retreating form and shook her head gently, murmuring to herself, "This white ape does possess some spiritual capacity. It is a pity his mind and nature are not yet settled. Ultimately, he remains a creature of the beastly realm, finding it difficult to ascend to the Great Dao."
What she did not know was that Old Man Yuan had not gone far. The white gibbon had concealed himself within a crevice in the cliff face, his eyes burning as he watched her distant silhouette. Though defeated in their duel, it had granted him a glimpse of a higher realm of swordsmanship. A fierce, intense longing surged within him—a desire to obtain more, to learn greater and deeper arts, to shed this coat of fur, to transcend his bestial nature, and achieve immortal enlightenment.
"She is but a young woman... How can her sword technique be so profoundly exquisite?" The white gibbon crouched in the crevice, scratching his head and ears. "Ah, yes! She must have obtained some celestial scripture or secret manual. If I could only acquire that secret method, what would stand in the way of my achieving the perfected fruit of the Dao?"
With that thought, the white gibbon stealthily began to trail her from a distance.
She remained completely unaware, continuing her journey at an unhurried pace. After another half-hour's walk, she arrived at the base of a sheer mountain peak. Its face was as steep as if sliced by a blade, impossible for an ordinary person to climb. Yet she ascended as if walking on level ground, her toes lightly touching the rock face here and there as she rose several dozen zhang in an instant. Midway up the cliff was a naturally formed crevice in the rock. Beyond it lay a hidden realm—a spacious grotto dwelling.
Carved above the entrance in ancient seal script were four large characters: "Grotto of the Mysterious Maiden." The interior was sparsely furnished: only a stone bed, a stone table, and an ever-burning lamp. Upon the stone table rested a jade casket, from within which a faint, ethereal radiance emanated.
She approached the table, opened the jade casket, and removed a scroll of bamboo slips. The slips possessed a faint, shimmering golden aura, densely inscribed with talismanic symbols and ancient seal characters. This was the celestial manual, the secret text known as the Precious Register of As-You-Wish. She unfurled the scroll, silently recited a passage for a moment, then carefully placed it back into the jade casket and closed the lid.
At the entrance to the grotto, a pair of eyes gleaming with keen intelligence watched all this without blinking.
The white gibbon held his breath, his heart thumping wildly. He recognized the aura emanating from that bamboo scroll—it was the innate resonance of the Dao, present since the very dawn of creation. It was a genuine celestial scripture, a secret manual of Heaven. With this Precious Register in his possession, to say nothing of mere swordsmanship—moving mountains and filling seas, summoning wind and rain—all would be within his grasp.
He kept vigil outside the grotto for the entire night.
The next morning, she emerged from the grotto and followed a path leading toward the summit, likely to gather morning dew for her cultivation. This was the moment the white gibbon had been waiting for. He slipped silently into the grotto and made straight for the stone table. A protective ward sealed the jade casket; anyone else touching it would be violently repelled. But the white gibbon, having cultivated for centuries, possessed some degree of spiritual power. He bit the tip of his tongue and spat out a mouthful of vital blood, temporarily suppressing the ward. He opened the casket and secreted the scroll of the Precious Register of As-You-Wish within his bosom.
Leaving the grotto, the white gibbon dared not linger. Summoning every ounce of skill he had developed over his lifetime, he scrambled up vines and over boulders, traversing ridge after ridge, fleeing westward with all possible speed. He crossed the borders of Yue, forded the Great River, and headed straight for White Cloud Mountain in the territory of Chu.
On White Cloud Mountain was White Cloud Cave, the very grotto where the white gibbon had cultivated for centuries. Nestled among sheer cliffs and precipices, its entrance perpetually shrouded in mist and cloud, it was a place no woodcutter or hunter could ever discover.
Once safely inside his cave, the white gibbon finally allowed himself a slight breath of relief. He withdrew the Precious Register of As-You-Wish from his bosom and placed it upon a stone dais within the cave. By the dim light filtering through the cave mouth, he began to peruse its contents intently. The Register was filled with arts capable of wresting the very creative forces of Heaven and Earth: summoning wind and rain, scattering beans that transformed into soldiers, moving mountains and reversing seas, assuming any shape and soaring through the skies... Each page left the white gibbon dizzy with wonder, wild with exultation.
"With this celestial scripture," he cackled, "I, Yuan Gong, shall surely cast off this animal form and achieve the perfected fruit!" He capered about the cave, turning several jubilant somersaults.
But when he turned to the very last page of the Register, he noticed a small line of characters in the bottom corner—characters delicate and refined, clearly added later. He leaned closer. The line read:
"This Law is the orthodox tradition of the Mysterious Gate. Through its cultivation, one may achieve the Righteous Fruit. Yet if one with a deviant heart acquires it, they may find small initial success, but in the end, it shall surely consume them. The Way of Heaven is clear and inescapable; none may deceive it."
The white gibbon read this, and a faint chill ran through his heart. But this sliver of unease was swiftly drowned by a tide of avarice. He closed the Register, sat cross-legged, and began to cultivate according to the methods recorded within.
Outside the cave, white clouds unfurled and curled; the sun rose and the moon set. The white gibbon became utterly absorbed in those arcane arts, oblivious to the passage of time. He first mastered the art of summoning wind and rain, able to conjure dark clouds and downpours from the cave entrance. Then he learned the art of transformation, capable of assuming human form—though his arms remained conspicuously longer than an ordinary person's. The more he learned, the more he perceived the infinite profundity within, and the more convinced he became of the wisdom of his theft.
One day, after completing his practice, he stood at the cave mouth gazing out over the sea of clouds. The maiden's words suddenly echoed in his mind: "...when Elder Yuan launched his attacks, his mind was filled with extraneous thoughts... When the mind is not tranquil, the sword cannot be pure." A sudden wave of irritation washed over him. Now that I possess the celestial scripture, he thought, why should I concern myself with the mental disciplines of the sword? Once I have mastered every art within this Precious Register, where in all the world cannot I go?
Once this thought took root, it spread like wildfire through parched grass, uncontrollable.
And far away, in the Grotto of the Mysterious Maiden on the Southern Mountain, the maiden returned from gathering dew to find the jade casket empty. She merely sighed softly. She walked to the cave entrance and gazed westward toward the distant horizon, murmuring to herself, "The celestial scripture has been stolen. It was a predestined tribulation, a part of the ordained pattern. Ah, white gibbon, white gibbon... You once possessed a heart that sought the Dao. It is a pity that a single thought led you astray, and now you have fallen into the demonic path. So be it, so be it. The cycle of Heavenly Law is relentless; karma is infallible. In time, the consequences shall manifest of their own accord."
Having spoken, she flicked her sleeve, turned, and her form gradually dissolved into a beam of pure, clear light that shot upwards, fading into the highest heavens.
With this departure, the celestial scripture had fallen into the hands of a creature of the demonic kind. From that time forth, a new lineage of cultivation practices was introduced into the realm of spirits and monsters. And those spirits, goblins, and fiends who gleaned even a superficial understanding from the celestial manual began to either dominate mountains as local tyrants or stir up tempests of chaos, laying the groundwork for the many earth-shattering upheavals that would later convulse the world.
To know what followed, please listen to the tale in the next chapter.