After Transmigrating as an Immortal Master, I Hold a Group Meeting - Chapter 99

Following Ning Mingmei northward, Lu Mengqing left behind the muddy path. Along the way, there was no trace of spring mud, only an endless expanse of ice and snow.

Ning Mingmei opened with practiced rhetoric, “Senior Brother worried that the disciples of the Smoky Cloud Tower might not be accustomed to our climate, so he especially arranged for a perpetual-spring formation on Eternal Spring Peak by Duo Lake. My Misty Peak, however, is… a bit simpler.”

Lu Mengqing replied warmly, “Peak Lord Ning, you jest. Misty Peak’s scenery is remarkable in its own right. Take this tree, for instance; so strong and upright.”

Although in truth, it looked like no one had tended to it in years, it radiated only a raw, wild beauty.

“And the rivers here on Misty Peak…” she added with effort, “so clear and crystalline.”

All of them were frozen solid, leaving not the faintest trace of scenery.

Lu Mengqing hesitated and then tried again, “The snow on Misty Peak is truly… as delicate as willow fluff rising with the wind.”

However, wasn’t there snow everywhere in the Supreme Clarity Sect?

Ning Mingmei chuckled. “My furnishings are plain. You’ve endured hardship coming here, Tower Master Lu.”

“Not at all,” Lu Mengqing demurred. “Misty Peak embodies the unique charm of the Supreme Clarity Sect. That is its true beauty. Fourteen years ago, when we came for the debate conference, we stayed on one of the Supreme Clarity’s snowy peaks. Yet even then…”

“Oh?” Ning Mingmei prompted.

“That peak’s snow wasn’t as thick as Misty Peak’s. Its pines weren’t as plentiful. And its ice lake… not nearly as solid.”

Her personal disciple walking behind her: …

Master, you really can’t find anything else to praise, can you?

Ning Mingmei told the system, “Lu Mengqing treats me with such courtesy. I must show tenfold sincerity in our cooperation.”

The system: ?

How did this suddenly become about ‘cooperation sincerity’?

Ning Mingmei continued, “From what I see, Lu Mengqing has a good temperament, suitable for collaboration. But goodwill alone is one thing; what matters is not letting her look down on me. Goodwill without respect cannot sustain cooperation. Of course, if respect only comes from awe or even fear, that still works.”

The system: “…So?”

“So, she must glimpse the depth of my strength as a partner in this barren mountain. Only then will she hold me in cautious regard.” Ning Mingmei adjusted his glasses.

Goodwill, when extended to the weak, often comes with a subconscious air of superiority. Even when well-meant, such cooperation is framed as benevolence bestowed.

Thus, fear is the spark that kindles true cooperation.

The system: ?

She’s the master of the Smoky Cloud Tower. She’s seen every treasure under the sun. What do you have here, aside from snow and emptiness, that could possibly intimidate her?

Ning Mingmei’s tone turned solemn. “A sharp sword is forged in the harshest grindstone; plum blossoms gain their fragrance from bitter cold. The cultivation path of sword cultivators differs from that of music cultivators. The harsher the cold and suffering, the more our will is tempered.” He glanced at her. “I hear the Smoky Cloud Tower cultivates by the Azure Sea?”

“Yes.” Lu Mengqing nodded. “For us musicians, the essence lies in ‘emotion’. We enter the Dao through music, stirring the heart with feeling. Birdsong and blossoms, such an environment best awakens our senses.”

“That is precisely where sword and music diverge,” Ning Mingmei replied. “Sword cultivation hinges on the single character ‘one’. Unlike the multitude of notes in music, the sword esteems simplicity; the Great Dao distilled into a single strike. Those who seek the truest sword intent pursue the simplest life. Hence, on Misty Peak, I have stripped away every distraction: there is only mountain, snow, and ice.”

“Is that so?” Lu Mengqing asked, skeptical but polite.

Worthy of her position as Tower Master, she did not believe too readily.

However, Ning Mingmei, master of argumentative rhetoric, knew this was the time: having set forth his thesis, now he must supply vivid examples, two in detail and many in passing.

He smiled faintly. “Tower Master Lu, have you ever heard the tale of the great sword cultivator Hua Shengdun?” |50|

Lu Mengqing, stepping into a realm she didn’t understand, finally looked a little dazed and shook her head.

“The world is vast and in the ancient age, many strange figures roamed it,” Ning Mingmei said. “There was once a sword cultivator named Hua Shengdun. To temper his will, from childhood, he uprooted every flower, every blade of grass, every tree in his courtyard, leaving only a single cherry tree. Each day, he watered it carefully, tending to it with meticulous care.”

…

“And then, on the day his sword intent was about to be perfected, he performed his final act—”

“He personally cut down the very cherry tree he had nurtured with his own hands!”

“In that instant, every last thread of attachment vanished. Before him stretched only emptiness. Nothing remained but the sword intent. Under the vast sky of glittering stars, Hua Shengdun achieved mastery. This is what was known as ‘Slaying the Cherry to Attain the Dao.’”

The cherry ‘ying’, not British ‘ying’, mind you. |51|

…

The system felt once again that it was on the verge of collapse.

After telling the tale of Hua Shengdun’s ‘Slaying the Cherry,’ Ning Mingmei launched into another story, this time about a mighty cultivator named Qi Fenda, who pursued the sword through the art of sketching eggs. (“At that moment, all under heaven, all between heaven and earth, was reduced to this one egg.”) |52|

Then came the account of the swordsman Edison, who wielded the Spotlight Magic Blade. At the end, Ning Mingmei wrapped it all together with a series of general examples, tying it into a grand conclusion and elevating his theme. |53|

As they walked, Lu Mengqing and her disciples grew more and more dizzy, yet more and more convinced. Somehow, the very gaps in knowledge that these three so-called great masters revealed only deepened their humility.

At last, they believed.

“So that’s how it is,” one of her attendants whispered. “Looking at it now, Misty Peak is the only peak that has truly inherited the essence of the sword Dao!”

See how they’ve abandoned everything; everything here is stripped down to its simplest form.

Lu Mengqing nodded as well. The warmth in her eyes faded, replaced gradually by a look of caution.

Snow Ruling Hall loomed just ahead and Ning Mingmei seized the chance for one final flourish, linking the argument back to reality. “…Look around you; the world is nothing but a boundless whiteness. We voluntarily cast aside all distractions precisely for this purpose.”

Lu Mengqing was about to answer—“So that’s wh—”

—but as they turned the corner, they were met with piles of random rocks heaped together.

Yes. Big white rocks, little white rocks. Misty Peak now looked like a construction site.

This was one of Ning Mingmei’s newest cost-saving ideas to prepare for the Administrative Building’s groundbreaking. He ordered his disciples to carry ten white rocks up the mountain every day when returning from the small pine forest, claiming it would temper their physiques.

He called this a ‘daily quest.’ And when the system zapped him for it, he argued back, “Look, even Sect Masters in games issue all sorts of nonsense daily quests.”

I didn’t even make them play hide-and-seek with their junior sister.

Among some disciples, Misty Peak was seen as the vanguard of cultivation trends. So when Misty Peak began hauling up rocks, other peaks imitated them, with mixed results.

For example, Chang Feichang. At last, after Mu Hanshan led a group of disciples to drag a pile of rocks up his mountain, the perpetually drowsy youth opened his eyes for the first time, face utterly blank, and, with a single stroke of his sword, sent them flying back down.

Chang Feichang: “Don’t dump your garbage in my house.”

Mu Hanshan was deeply discouraged. But Ning Mingmei, ever the gracious elder, displayed magnanimity: he permitted Mu Hanshan’s group to conduct their rock-hauling exercises on Misty Peak instead.

Ning Mingmei: “No matter. Just bring them up to my mountain.”

And with those words, everyone felt spiritually enriched.

However, at this moment, the sight was much harder to explain in Lu Mengqing’s eyes.

“Peak Lord Ning,” she finally asked, “what exactly are all these rocks for?”

It looked… strange. And it rather spoiled the lofty, inscrutable air of sword cultivation he had built up just moments before.

“Dry landscape gardens,” Ning Mingmei replied with a perfectly straight face, translating the term for her. “It is the pinnacle of Zen aesthetics.” Once again, he cloaked his poverty of resources beneath the lofty metaphor of a world in a single grain of sand. Even the very stones for building halls had to be hauled up the mountain by disciples, trip after trip.

The disciple: “But isn’t Zen supposed to belong to the Buddhist cultivators?”

Wasn’t sword cultivation supposed to follow the Dao?

Ning Mingmei adjusted his glasses. “That’s called interdisciplinary learning.”

He then led the music cultivators into Misty Peak’s one presentable hall, the Snow Ruling Hall. By now, the musicians had been thoroughly indoctrinated with Ning Mingmei’s talk of dry landscape gardens, sword intent, and Zen purity. They no longer noticed Misty Peak’s lack of resources. Instead, they blamed themselves; thinking their hearts weren’t quiet enough, their souls not rich enough, to perceive the profound symbolism hidden here.

Snow Ruling Hall had plenty of seating, thanks to Qi Miancheng’s generous donation. Ning Mingmei invited the guests to sit. Soon, Misty Peak’s eighteen disciples entered, dressed all in flowing white.

After so much indoctrination, the musicians looked at the disciples’ plain attire and felt it was the very image of simplicity as the highest truth. Profound in meaning.

Especially those furrowed brows they couldn’t quite relax; it was surely a sign of infinite tolerance.

Ning Mingmei lifted his hand, signaling Wen Siheng to speak.

“Tower Master Lu,” Wen Siheng explained, “these past few nights, the disciples of the Smoky Cloud Tower have been returning late because they were learning the peak anthem, a piece to be performed at the upcoming competition. It’s a gift from Mingke and the others, in gratitude for the Yaochuan affair.”

“Peak anthem?” Lu Mengqing’s eyes lit up. “Composed by them? And how do you find the piece?”

Wen Siheng: “…It’s very good.”

The disciples of Misty Peak, watching from the back, seemed all the more magnanimous in the eyes of the Smoky Cloud Tower disciples.

However, Lu Mengqing was genuinely delighted. Clearly, she was both passionate about music and deeply fond of her prized disciple Song Mingke and her distant niece Lu Youyu. She said warmly, “Who was the main composer of this piece?”

Wen Siheng: “Primarily Mingke and Youyu, although other disciples contributed as well.”

“Oh…” Lu Mengqing looked truly pleased. “Youyu and Mingke composed it? Could you perform it for me?”

“……”

Suddenly, the Snow Ruling Hall felt even colder. But the Smoky Cloud Tower disciples, recalling Ning Mingmei’s earlier rhetoric, interpreted this chill as a symbol of the Supreme Clarity Sect’s unshakable resolve to win.

Wen Siheng dared not glance at Ning Mingmei for rescue; he could only stammer, “Unfortunately, we’ve only learned bits and pieces so far…”

Lu Mengqing smiled serenely. “That’s fine. Perform what you have.”

At the last moment, all eyes turned to Ning Mingmei, desperate.

Ning Mingmei: “What’s this? Are you all shy?”

Not shy, just afraid for their lives!

Still smiling, Lu Mengqing watched their little struggle. She was eager to hear how brilliant her disciples’ new composition must be.

Beautiful.

It must be beautiful.

…

The disciples of Smoky Cloud Tower endured the longest five minutes of their lives.

When it was over, they sat twisted in their chairs, contorting their bodies since they could not block their ears. At that precise moment, Ning Mingmei quietly lifted the auditory seal he’d placed on himself. He turned to the expressionless Lu Mengqing, whose features seemed to have dissolved, and said, “Tower Master Lu, truly, what a fine composition.”

…

Ning Mingmei: “Song Mingke and Lu Youyu’s piece is remarkable indeed.”

Lu Mengqing, regaining her wits much later: …

How could Song Mingke and Lu Youyu possibly have composed that kind of music?

Someone who wrote a piece like that wouldn’t even qualify as an outer sect disciple. They’d be kicked straight out of the Smoky Cloud Tower and fed to the fish!

“Peak Lord Ning.” Lu Mengqing’s voice was weak. “Have you… ever listened to this piece yourself?”

Ning Mingmei’s expression was calm, almost indifferent. “I’ve heard it a few times.”

That composure made Lu Mengqing falter in doubt. “And… how did it feel?”

Why was Ning Mingmei so unfazed? Could it be that the music carried some profound meaning?

Something to do with… sound cultivation?

A sudden chill ran through her.

Could it be that the Supreme Clarity Sect was planning to branch into the Dao of sound cultivation?

Ning Mingmei’s next words seemed to confirm her suspicion.

“We followed most of the Smoky Cloud Tower’s score, but we retained a touch of the Supreme Clarity Sect’s own strength. We felt that keeping a trace of the Supreme Clarity Sect’s essence would let outsiders know what they’re hearing is a Supreme Clarity song.”

Her head still throbbed painfully, but Lu Mengqing’s heart only grew heavier.

No one would deliberately humiliate their own disciples in front of another Sect Master. Which meant Ning Mingmei had another purpose entirely.

This strange scene couldn’t just be about singing off-key. Who could possibly be that off-key?

This was a spiritual attack!

‘Sound cultivation…’ Lu Mengqing thought. ‘A Dao the Smoky Cloud Tower has studied for centuries without ever conquering.’

And now the Supreme Clarity Sect was going to bring it to fruition first?

Was this Ning Mingmei’s true intention?

Ning Mingmei felt there were many advantages to speaking with clever people like Lu Mengqing, who had already started filling in the blanks for him all on her own. He remained serenely composed and even had someone bring her a cup of Cola.

Lu Mengqing assumed it was dark tea. After one sip, her face froze into a peculiar expression. “This drink…”

Ning Mingmei asked mildly, “Does Tower Master Lu find it good?”

Lu Mengqing hesitated and then admitted, “Not bad.”

“Write that down,” Ning Mingmei instructed Lin Heting, who had brought the Cola. “Make sure the slogan includes that Tower Master Lu herself said it tastes good.”

Lu Mengqing: ?

There was still so much she wanted to say on this visit, especially while staring at Ning Mingmei’s eternally unchanging face. But then another disciple of Misty Peak came in, holding a letter.

“Master, the Sect Master wrote to you again!”

For the first time, she saw Ning Mingmei’s expression… darken.

“Wrote to you?” Lu Mengqing asked. “You’re both in the same sect. Why would you need to exchange letters?”

If you had something to say, couldn’t you just go to each other’s peaks and speak?

The disciple explained, “Sect Master Qi sends Master a letter every single day…”

Ning Mingmei: “Give me the letter. You may go.”

The disciple hurried off. Ning Mingmei accepted the letter, tore it open with practiced ease, and casually discarded the envelope. He glanced once at the contents, then tucked the sheet into his sleeve as if nothing had happened.

However, Lu Mengqing was stunned.

In that single glance, she had clearly seen the signature at the bottom of the page.

‘The busy and lonely me.’