Mr. Three Mountains

“The rest of one’s life stretches long and slow—without seeking a little pleasure, wouldn’t it be dreadfully dull?”
A deep yet clear voice echoed through the grand hall, resonant and full.
Upon the high seat among mountains and rivers, a figure gradually took form: a broad forehead like a tiger’s, eyes sharp as a phoenix’s, ears rounded like an ox’s, antlers of a stag, a nose bold and prominent, a mouth wide as a lion’s, with a square, bristling beard, standing eight feet tall in robes of indigo clouds, black hair coiled and hidden beneath a ceremonial crown.
With a feather fan gently brushing his chest, he smiled, and his monstrous features faded, leaving only the dignified visage of a refined and handsome middle-aged man.
He gestured with his fan, saying, “You may go.”
The flying squirrel guards withdrew in order; the wolf-banner transformed into a page at his side, while the tiger captain melted into one of the hall’s deep-carved statues.
The master of the high seat descended with a light step, approaching White Deer Master and the Purple-Bearded Lord.
Zhu Xianzhen folded his hands in salute. “Zhu Xianzhen, Prefect of the Southeast Circuit, pays his respects to Master Three Mountains.”
“Between gentlemen, there’s no need for such ceremony,” Master Three Mountains replied with a genial smile. “The martial world has long spoken of the famed Purple-Bearded Lord Zhu Xianzhen. Such a fortuitous meeting! I summoned you here by a little magic, hoping you’d join my feast. Meeting you in person surpasses your reputation—what a delight!”
White Deer Master gave a faint smile. “Since we are gathered here, shall we not be seated and converse together?”
“Indeed,” Master Three Mountains agreed, taking Zhu Xianzhen’s arm and leading him forward with laughter.
White Deer Master signaled with his eyes to Wu Tong Lu Xun and the two young scholars.
Cheng Yan and Lü He, understanding the cue, returned to their seats.
They realized now that they had not stumbled into a den of monsters, but by fate had arrived at a banquet. The truth of it only now dawned on them.
Master Three Mountains guided the Purple-Bearded Lord to a seat, then turned to White Deer Master, who seemed quite accustomed to such proceedings.
Master Three Mountains smiled, waving his feather fan.
Immediately, frog servants, no taller than three feet and clad in short jackets, scurried in with instruments—some carrying, some supporting, some arranging.
Twenty-four graceful musicians took their places under the conductor’s command: some sat at ancient zithers, some cross-legged with lutes, others knelt before bronze bells, with jinghu fiddles, waist drums, hammered dulcimers, temple drums, trumpets—all manner of instruments, each in the hands of a beautiful musician, composing a grand orchestra.
“Begin the music!”
Three drumbeats sounded, and elegant melodies filled the air.
On both sides of the deep hall, wide doors opened; performers breathing fire and swallowing blades appeared, as did acrobats and strongwomen, their feats dazzling the eyes. Lion dancers, dragon dancers, clouds of colored smoke and flowing ribbons—a parade of wonders moved from within the hall outward, followed by celestial dancers floating through the air, their every glance and gesture a display of exquisite grace.
Delicacies from mountain and sea were presented by short-coated squirrel servants to the tables.
Master Three Mountains raised his bronze goblet.
Lu Xun, having resumed his seat, did likewise.
All present lifted their cups; the Purple-Bearded Lord and White Deer Master nodded slightly, while Sun Shen glanced at the ape spirit, who happened to be looking back; Cheng Yan and Lü He exchanged a smile. At last, everyone’s eyes settled on Master Three Mountains as he raised his cup.
“To victory!”
And so they drank together.
A moment ago, Lu Xun had been too preoccupied to enjoy the wine; now, he savored the nectar and understood its true flavor. Perhaps the earlier cup had been ordinary, while this one was truly fine.

All that mattered was that everything was well.
Lu Xun smiled slightly, tilting his head back to drink.
As soon as his cup was emptied, a lovely attendant at his side refilled it with a ladle.
Lu Xun studied his companion.
Her face was oval, her nose delicate, lips small and tinged with red, slender brows shading almond-shaped eyes, her skin smooth as jade, hair black as night cascading beneath a robe of blue and purple.
Noticing the glance of Wu Tong Mountain Lord, the beauty smiled sweetly and lowered her voice like a songbird: “My name is Xiaomei.”
Her voice curled gentle as a ribbon around his ear, threatening to slip into his heart.
Lu Xun crushed the rising temptation within himself with focused breath and magical power.
Xiaomei, the wine-maiden, was surprised; most apes who attain the Way are notoriously lustful.
She had meant to tease him into embarrassment, a small payback for his earlier rudeness.
Yet this one was oddly composed.
Lu Xun, unaware of her thoughts, only blamed himself for letting an unseemly notion flicker in his mind.
He berated himself for lacking self-control.
Ah, to be a cat again—no need to restrain such impulses.
This body of the Wu Tong God was naturally wild, fiercer even than Chen Sheng’s.
Of course, he had smashed the bandit chief’s skull to ashes upon entering this place, further strengthening the Wu Tong God’s form.
Lu Xun stared straight ahead, barely touching his wine.
“Let me offer you another cup,” Xiaomei urged, her breath fragrant as orchids, but Lu Xun gently refused.
“My tolerance is poor.”
The words slipped from between his fangs, and he bowed his head. “I was rude before, in my haste to save a friend. Forgive me.”
Xiaomei set the cup aside, pressing no further, and quietly admired him: “A true hero, indeed!”

Throughout the hall, the guests toasted and talked with great cheer.
As the music reached its height, singing filled the air, from ancient odes to poems and lyrics.
Master Three Mountains himself took up the temple drum, sitting cross-legged on the floor, setting challenges with each beat.
Though Cheng Yan and Lü He were but new scholars at the academy, they had grown up in the county and knew these games well enough to participate, for better or worse.
Lu Xun, however, could barely follow along; he was still learning. As for poetry and song, he had only memorized Tang and Song verses for examinations—reciting them here would be jarring, and composing was beyond him. He kept quiet, waiting for the banquet’s end.
He sat quietly, content to let the evening pass.
As night deepened, Lü He sprawled beneath the table, and Cheng Yan was not far from drunk; Dong Ping and the other guards drank sparingly.
The Master sat cross-legged with a zither across his knees, playing music as ethereal as mountains and flowing water, unlike any earthly tune. Even Lu Xun, who understood nothing of music, was swept away as if transported to Mount Lu, gazing up at waterfalls plunging from three thousand feet above.
Ah! Marvelous, indeed—a magical experience.

“Splendid!”
Master Three Mountains exclaimed, “Who would have thought, old Deer, that after all your years of teaching, your skill on the zither is undiminished?”
“Enough,” he replied.
With a turn of his hand, Master Three Mountains produced a small seal that spun in his palm.
It was carved from black jade, a horned dragon raising its head, claws clutching a smoky cloud, ghostly faces seeming to writhe from the mist.
“This seal was a gift from a friend. It can summon ghostly soldiers to your aid, but wielding it comes with a condition.”
“I know what it is!” the Purple-Bearded Lord declared.
“Since you do, there’s no need to repeat it.” Master Three Mountains gently tossed the seal.
It floated into Zhu Xianzhen’s hand.
“With this seal, the journey was not in vain,” Zhu Xianzhen said, gripping it tight.
Master Three Mountains showed no sentiment—this was as agreed beforehand. Whatever came of it was for Zhu Xianzhen to consider. He then turned to Cheng Yan and Lü He, saying merrily, “You two stumbled in here by accident, and I hadn’t time to prepare gifts.”
“We need no gifts,” they replied.
“Just being at the feast is joy enough.”
“That won’t do—your Master would say I have no respect for age.”
Master Three Mountains took two green fruits from his sleeve and handed them over. “Nothing grand, just a pair of mountain fruits for you.”
“Thank you, Master Three Mountains.”
They rose to bow in thanks.
Master Three Mountains nodded, his gaze shifting to Wu Tong Lu Xun. “Those fruits are no use to one with spiritual power.”
He pondered a moment, then brightened. “I have it.”
He reached into his sleeve again and withdrew a black hexagonal scale.
“Here.”
The scale flew over and adhered to Lu Xun’s dark armor.
It merged and sank into his skin, becoming an invisible suit of armor.
At a thought, the armor appeared, then vanished again.
Lu Xun was thoroughly pleased.
No longer did he need to worry about changing heads and being left exposed.
With this treasure, he needn’t expend energy maintaining his mountain-crushing armor.
He folded his hands and bowed deeply.