Chapter Fifty-Five: The Daoist Traveler Roaming the World

Crown Prince Li Shao, upon hearing that Li Bi, the youngest Wandering Hero of Mount Myriad Phenomena, had personally arrived in the Western Capital, swept his courtyard himself, sprinkled it with clear water, and awaited the guest’s arrival. Yet, contrary to his expectations, Li Bi was unmoved by these gestures. Not only did he refuse the prince’s invitation, but he also went to the humble courtyard of the Langzi Battalion to drink with the men there.

His strength might not be the greatest under heaven, but for arrogance, he was certainly unmatched. The brothers of the Langzi Battalion usually had little patience for posturing, but before this man’s manner, they could only admire. No matter how vexed the prince might be, even with the strength of the entire city, he could not hope to detain this young master of the Formless Upper Realm; moreover, such a genius’s true cultivation surely exceeded what was recorded on paper.

The world was vast, and he came and went as he pleased, beholden to no one—a freedom envied by all.

In the midst of their revelry, the crown prince appeared, accompanied by several attendants carrying a fine jar of wine, stepping into the small courtyard. The men of the Langzi Battalion all rose respectfully to greet him—save for Li Bi, who seemed deaf to the world, continuing his tale as if the prince did not exist.

Li Shao took no offense, smiling as he bade everyone sit and personally opened the wine to refill their cups. The Langzi Battalion’s men watched the prince pour for them with a mixture of awe and delight, thinking that if Li Shao ever ascended the throne, this would be a tale to boast of for a lifetime.

When the meal was finished, Li Bi finally feigned noticing the prince, rising with mock ceremony to salute him, but Li Shao gently stayed his hand.

“You are a talent of Great Tang; there is no need for such formality.”

Yu Lang inwardly clicked his tongue—Li Shao truly went to great lengths; to win Li Bi over, there was likely no price he would not pay.

“Your Highness, I have hurried day and night to reach the Western Capital. I am rather exhausted. Tomorrow, I shall call upon you as proper.”

Li Shao nodded eagerly. “Good, good. With your word, a great weight is lifted from my heart. Please, all of you, enjoy yourselves. I shall take my leave.”

He bid each man farewell, with none of a royal’s pride, seeming more like an inconspicuous schoolmate.

Once outside, Yuan Qilang burst out angrily, “Why does Your Highness show such courtesy to this arrogant scholar who knows not his place?”

Li Shao sighed. “Do you know, even the Sword Saint Pei Wen, at his age, was far inferior. My father, with Pei Wen’s aid for a decade, brought peace to the realm. If I could gain such a man…”

Yuan Qilang was deeply moved. His resentment faded—if this man might surpass the Sword Saint himself, no arrogance would ever be too much.

Within the courtyard, Yu Lang grinned, “Why are you all staring at me? Not had enough? Come, let’s play Changxing!” (a Tang-era gambling game)

Yu Lang soon slipped out, gazing up at the bright moon, steadying his restless heart, and began his nightly cultivation with measured discipline. He was no prodigy—his rapid progress over three years was the fruit of relentless effort, overcoming many obstacles with painstaking resolve, reaching the pinnacle of Breaking the Void at seventeen. In all of Tang, this was extraordinary, yet compared to Li Bi, it seemed almost a jest.

Qingqing leaned against a tree, quietly watching Yu Lang repeat his breathwork and movements. In her eyes, he was a clumsy yet endearing frog at the bottom of a well, striving for the patch of sky above—again and again he climbed the walls, fell hard, but ever climbed higher, never giving up.

One day, you will have the whole sky, she thought, and as she leaned there, sleep overtook her without her realizing.

Yu Lang gently carried her back to her room and resumed his training, well accustomed to the company of long, quiet nights.

As midnight wore on, the other brothers of the Langzi Battalion retired, unable to last. Li Bi emerged, strolling to the tree where Qingqing had sat, standing quietly as he watched Yu Lang throw punch after punch, wiping sweat from his brow.

Here, for the first time, was someone whose effort Li Bi could not mock. He even felt a hint of envy—he wished Qingqing might have stood here to watch him as she had watched Yu Lang, wished she could have witnessed his journey step by step. People saw only the towering ancient tree; only those who grew with it, day by day, could truly feel affection for it.

And that, after all, is what feeling is.

But, alas—what’s missed is missed. Qingqing was no longer the little girl trailing after him in the streets of Chang’an. The lingering warmth in the bark was all she left him.

As he leaned against the tree with closed eyes, savoring the moment, Li Bi suddenly sensed something amiss. He opened his eyes to find Yu Lang studying him as one would some rare creature.

“When you close your eyes, whom do you think of? When you open them, who is by your side?”

“Pervert! Why are you spying on me?” Li Bi snapped.

“Not sure who’s the real pervert—leaning against a tree a girl had just been resting on.” Yu Lang mimicked Li Bi’s rapturous expression.

“…How much do you want for your silence?”

“Five thousand taels. Just deliver it to Du Fu in Chang’an for me.”

“A deal.”

Yu Lang discovered that Li Bi was not as difficult as he’d imagined. For all his lofty genius, he too felt lonely at night, ached with longing for someone, and liked to gossip about trivial matters.

“What was that song you sang earlier? It wasn’t in any familiar mode, but it was pleasant. Will you teach me?” Li Bi asked.

“Promise me you’ll never tell anyone who taught you.”

Li Bi nodded, “I have never broken my word.”

Yu Lang sang softly:

“Friends have parted,
You, newly promoted, raise your glass till dawn and still it’s not enough,
Pulling me close with all your schemes,
Wrapping your arms around my neck,
Saying your boyfriend is busy—a mere excuse,
Talking until we were drunk,
Lovers always part,
You, fresh from heartbreak, confess with dry eyes,
Loneliness holding my hand,
Once you took off his keepsake,
I had what you no longer did,
But at least, from then on, we became dear friends,
When I close my eyes, whom do I miss most?
When I open them, who is beside me?
Grateful in this station,
That the platform gives us tears of fulfillment,
Whether I have or have not, I will always remember,
Happiness and sorrow linger in the body,
If love could never be lost,
Why, then, do you seek a new companion today?”

And on:

“Everyone must go,
You, newly in love, knew we were never enough,
Finding reasons to let go of my hand,
Hiding the photos behind stickers,
Did you ever notice my efforts?
Even when traveling far to forget, how could I say I didn’t try?
When I close my eyes, whom do I miss most?
When I open them, who is beside me?
Grateful in this station,
That the platform once let us cry with contentment,
Whether I have or have not, I will always remember,
Happiness or sorrow will one day pass,
If love is meant never to be lost,
Who forces joy upon whom?
If love cannot be held in my hands,
Why not hold these hands in my heart?
Time moves on,
Heartbroken, I start to walk with someone new,
But what can I truly possess?
The arms once around my neck,
The most beautiful long hair no longer in my grasp,
But I was happy, once, to drink with you.”

Yu Lang sang Eason Chan’s “Passing Moments” once through, his voice trembling as memories of Ning Xue welled up, tears brimming in his eyes.

Li Bi, with his remarkable memory, absorbed the lyrics and melody after a single hearing. Though he could not grasp their meaning, by the second time he sang along, keeping time as Yu Lang did.

Yu Lang would never forget this scene: on the remote borders of Tang, late at night, the Taoist wanderer Li Bi sang “Passing Moments” with him through the darkness.