"Look up! Look up, Yang Qing!" Yang Qing inwardly roared, caught between chastising himself and desperately pleading with his cowardly self to let go of the steering rudder of this particular ship for once. In other tis, he trusted it to steer him forward, but not today, and especially not now.
But no matter how hard he tried, it felt like a gigantic, mountain-sized hand was pressing heavily on the back of his head, while the wine below him adopted a "softer" tactic of persuasion by convincing him there was no better view than it, and promising it would grant him his heart’s desires as long as he didn’t look away.
With "coward Yang Qing" having already taken custody of his body, he gave in to the siren whispers of the wine and the heavy hand of the imaginary mountain behind him. In doing so, he rewarded Mao Yunru with a few stifled giggles and a triumphant look when she saw the state her response had left him in.
Dai Chen, on the other hand, like the ungentlemanly friend that he was, took it as the perfect opportunity to poke fun at him. "You trying to drink that wine with your eyes, or have you suddenly discovered so profound truths and mysteries of the Grand Dao in it?"
Yang Qing wanted to retort with so snarkish comnt, but as soon as he raised his head, all power of the caustic reply dao left his lips when he caught sight of Mao Yunru at the corner of his eye. She was leaning on the table, her head cupped in her slender jade hands, smiling at him as she soundlessly mouthed, "I would kidnap for you," before bursting into a soft cackle when she saw him lower his head again.
I can handle teasing comnts from a charr like Gu Xing without batting an eyelid, yet I can’t handle this gossip monger? Inwardly cried Yang Qing.
Fortunately, he didn’t have to endure his tornt for long, as his "friend" Dai Chen finally grew a conscience—or perhaps his finely honed wine-sensing instincts had warned him of what Yang Qing was planning where he and wine were concerned in the near future—because he intervened by changing the topic.
"If there was a mythical race in the Order, a full-blooded one, who do you think it would likely be?" he asked.
"A mythical race mber?" repeated Mao Yunru with a thoughtful expression, her gaze shifting away from Yang Qing. With it, the suffocating, heavy, mountainous hand that had been pressing against him gave him reprieve.
After mulling it over for a bit, Mao Yunru said, "Maybe the mysterious creator of the four purple grade arts the Order has. Don’t you think?" she added, glancing at Dai Chen and Yang Qing, who was finally looking up after managing to usurp control of his body from ’coward Yang Qing’—though he could feel that bastard trying to reclaim it the more he stared deeply at Mao Yunru. Unlucky for that despotic tyrant, the topic at hand was sothing ’normal Yang Qing’ was deeply invested in, and it was important enough to make him temporarily forget his shyness.
"I had forgotten about them," said Yang Qing as his eyes lit up. If there was one figure in the entire Order he most wanted to et, it would be that mysterious person. As a cultivation art creator himself, how could he not? And even if he weren’t, any cultivator, creator or not, would want to et the one who had achieved sothing as unthinkable as creating four purple-grade arts.
Despite his lofty ambitions and deep interest in the subject, Yang Qing felt he only had one purple grade art in him, and that was in evolving the Brilliant Ray Fist Technique to reach that level. Beyond that, he didn’t believe he could create another from the ground up, let alone four like that mysterious figure had done.
That feat was no rarer than sighting dragons, phoenixes, qilins, and other mythical races.
His mind couldn’t help but drift to Sage Mountain and the mysterious figure he had seen in the bamboo hut where he was transported when his cultivation art evolved. At the ti, he had thought it might have been the president, the chancellor, or even the spirit of Sage Mountain itself. Given all the inexplicable things he had seen the mountain do, it would have been strange if it hadn’t roused a spirit, similar to Senior Shanyuru, the artifact spirit of the library on Silver Breath Peak in the Silver Crane Sect.
But now that he thought about it, why couldn’t that figure have been the mysterious creator of the four purple grade arts? In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that figure was more likely to be the mysterious creator than any of the other guesses he’d made.
And if it was... Unbeknownst to him, a wide grin had slowly started forming on his face.
"Yang Qing? Yang Qing?"
Yang Qing was pulled out of his thoughts by Mao Yunru’s voice and her hand waving in front of him.
"Where did your mind drift off to?" she curiously asked.
"I think I may have t him," Yang Qing ghostly said, with a distant look in his eyes.
"Who?" asked Dai Chen. "The creator of the four purple grade arts?"
"Mmmh, him," Yang Qing nodded, holding his chin contemplatively.
"Where? How? What did he look like? Was he an old man? Did he look human?" Mao Yunru excitedly asked in a flurry, rapidly firing several questions at once.
Laughing dryly at her excitent, which he should have expected from her, Yang Qing raised his palm to stop her from firing more as he moved to address the ones she had asked.
"He was human," he said, his response drawing a disappointed sigh from Mao Yunru.
"He wasn’t old. He looked to be between early to mid-thirties, at least where his physical features were concerned. As for his true age, well, that could be anybody’s guess," Yang Qing shrugged.
It wasn’t uncommon for cultivators to maintain the youthful appearance of their pri even after living for thousands of years. Of course, there were those who let their age show, but more often than not, most chose to look young.
Yang Qing imagined he would too. If he were holding so senior post equivalent to that of a sect master—say, president of the Order or Supre Chief of the Spirit Council—then maybe he could adopt an elderly-looking visage, with a long white beard, neatly maintained white hair, and a solemn expression to match the lofty air of such a station.
But if he were so upper managent figure (which was what he was aiming for; as ambitious as he was, he didn’t want to be president at all), like a regular elder of the Spirit Council, Vice Chancellor of the Institute, or maybe Old Lei’s boss (which was his ultimate dream job), then he’d choose a look closer to what he’d appear like in his mid-thirties. He felt it added a bit of mystique.
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