Awakening, Ou struggled to recall the eight painting images—and none of their verses remained in his mind. Hunger gnawed his stomach as evening shadows lengthened. He waited for dinner's summons.
After some time—about the flicker of incense—a soft knock came. "Senior Sister requests Brother Ou," came Qin Xiaoshuang's gentle voice.
Ou smoothed his robe and stepped outside into the moonlit corridor. "Did Abbot Qingxuan call for me?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," Qin smiled, "but I've been told to lead you there."
They wove through side halls until they reached the Woyun Pavilion. Qin knocked lightly and announced, "Master, Brother Ou has arrived."
"Please enter, Young Master Ou," Abbot Qingxuan's serene voice replied.
Within, dim lamplight fell across her seated, cross‐legged on a woven couch. She motioned to a small stool. "Sit, please."
Her tone grew gentle: "Did your master ever know the Hidden Sect's members?"
Ou shook his head. "I don't believe so."
Qingxuan's brow furrowed. "Strange… I was told this afternoon he spent two or three hours in Lord Lan's quarters. Near four o'clock, the four of them descended the mountain in haste."
"My master left?" Ou's voice trembled. Then realization dawned. "They must have found a way to save his wife. That's why they went together."
"You say his wife?" Qingxuan whispered.
"Yes," Ou answered. "I only know rumors: years ago, Master Cui did something he regrets—something that harmed his wife. He and Master Ma have searched ever since for a cure. They believed the Hidden Sect alone might hold the key."
Qingxuan nodded. "I misjudged them. But tell me—have you mastered Purple Lightning and Azure Thunder?"
Ou nodded eagerly. "A bit of theory, yet never the lightning itself."
"Show me," said Qingxuan, pointing to the wooden sword hanging on the wall.
Ou retrieved the sword and saluted. "Please correct my mistakes, Master."
He assumed the stance, formed the hand seals, and thrust forward. With a sharp snap, a thread of violet‐white lightning snaked around the blade, scorching the wooden panel and leaving a blackened hole.
Both Qingxuan and Ou stared in astonishment.
"Have you studied magic before?" Qingxuan asked, voice hushed.
Ou shook his head. "Never. Otherwise, I wouldn't have fared so poorly in the contest."
"Then why has your power leaped so suddenly in just hours?" Qingxuan pressed, tapping her forehead in wonder. "Did you consume some immortal elixir?"
"No, nothing," Ou exclaimed, "except… I drank that tea in my dream."
Qingxuan fell silent, lost in thought. After a long moment, she waved him away. "Rest now. Dinner will soon be served."
Ou bowed. "Since Master has gone down the mountain, I will return tomorrow to tell Master Ma everything."
"Do so—and practice diligently," she smiled. "I won't see you out."
He turned to leave—and froze. On the left wall hung a painting of emerald hills, misty peaks, and a lone pine beside which stood the white-bearded hermit he had just dreamed of.
Ou's heart thundered: this was the very landscape—and the very sage—from his vision.
Qingxuan, observing his stunned expression, rose and crossed the room. "What troubles you?"
He pointed, voice trembling, "I… I have seen this immortal!"
"This painting was done by a predecessor nearly three centuries ago," Qingxuan said in surprise. "How could you have met him?"
"In my dream," Ou stammered.
She smiled kindly yet said firmly, "You must be overtired, letting your mind conjure phantoms. Best to rest and refresh your spirit."
"Senior Sister," Qin Xiaoshuang gently guided Ou away. "Let's return to your room."
Qingxuan remained alone, gazing at the painting—her face inscrutable.
Late that night, lamplight and faint flickers of flame kept the Woyun Pavilion alive, though black clouds drifted to hide the new moon.
At dawn, Ou Zhengqing bid farewell to Abbot Qingxuan and Zhang the Celestial Master, then descended the mountain. Modern transport bore him home in half a day.
Master Ma sat fanning himself before the radio, humming as he listened to a ballad broadcast.
"Master Ma, has my master returned?" Ou set down his pack.
Ma waved the fan. "No, isn't he with you?"
Ou shrugged. "We met the Hidden Sect trio—my master left with them. I don't know where."
"The Hidden Sect? They actually appeared?" Ma's eyes gleamed.
"Yes!" Ou nodded. "Three came down, and their leader younger than me—yet he bested Zhang the Celestial Master!"
Ma's face turned wistful. "The Miao Hidden Sect… once led by the formidable Lan Yuntian. Such power—and such tragedy…"
He lowered his head, the radio's music drifting into silence.