Chapter Two: The Hidden Passage in the Mansion

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In the deep of night, the city of Chang’an was cloaked in silence. The old Duke stood motionless within the Pavilion of Divine Offerings, not a soul in sight. After a series of muted clicks from hidden mechanisms, a shadowy staircase suddenly appeared in the floor of the pavilion. Yang Pu looked at Yang Nan, waving his hand gently. “Go now. Do not come back.”

Yang Nan fell to his knees, weeping bitterly. “Your grandson bids you farewell, Grandfather. Please take care of yourself. May we meet again someday.”

Tears streamed down Yang Pu’s aged face. Though he was a man of deep cunning and sophisticated schemes, facing what was surely a final parting from his sole bloodline, how could his heart not break? He stood in sorrow for a long time, then quietly waved his hand again. “Go…”

Chiyang hoisted Yang Nan onto his back and strode into the secret passage. In the Central Plains, the dynasties shifted, power struggles were fought to the death, and every noble and minister built a secret path within their estate—not for their own escape, but to ensure the survival of their lineage. Should a noble house be condemned, the family head could send a few descendants away, hiding their names and identities to weather the storm, waiting for a chance to rise again. The secret passage was a matter of life and death for a family, the utmost priority. It was by such means that many great families survived the tribulations of centuries.

Yang Nan wiped away his tears, his heart lost and uncertain, lying on Chiyang’s back as he studied the ancestral secret passage of the Yang family. It was a most peculiar passage, winding like a goat trail. When disaster befell the family, the renowned family head could not hope to escape—even with a secret path, the law would catch up—but sending a few children or grandchildren through was not difficult.

As long as descendants survived, the family endured.

The secret tunnel of the Duke’s Manor was passed down through generations. Only at this moment did Yang Nan realize that in the residence where he had lived for more than ten years, there lay a passage more than ten meters deep underground. And it was built beneath the Pavilion of Divine Offerings, which housed treasures bestowed by emperors of ages past!

To enter the secret passage, one had to move the sacred objects, pry open the tribute table in the pavilion, and activate the mechanism. Yet even if the Yang family were being purged, who would dare show disrespect to the imperial gifts of former sovereigns? Thus, the entrance was truly hidden.

“Anan, do you know how the Duke explained your disappearance to the outside world?” Chiyang, holding Yang Nan securely, suddenly asked in a mild tone.

Lying on Chiyang’s back, Yang Nan watched the stone door slowly close, his heart aching so much that tears threatened to fall. Yet he bit his lip and fought them back. The old duke’s face faded with the closing door—Yang Nan understood entirely that this was farewell forever.

“Did Grandfather arrange a body double for me?” Yang Nan realized Chiyang meant to distract him, but did not wish to refuse his kindness.

Chiyang sighed and nodded. “Such is the way of noble families vying for power. You need not grieve. The Duke knows his days are numbered. You may be clever, but you are still young and without support. Against your uncles, you stand no chance.”

Yang Nan nodded silently. He understood well enough. Over the years, he had met those so-called uncles—each a shrewd and ruthless power in his own domain. Even if he were grown, what could he do? No father, no mother, so young and without kin—how could he possibly contend with those wolf-like uncles? While the old duke lived, they played the roles of dutiful sons and nephews, but once he was gone, their fangs would surely bare, ready to tear him apart.

In influence and connections, they were far beyond what a child like him could muster. What could he rely on—mere legitimacy of birth?

A joke. If a name sufficed, there would be no such thing as power struggles throughout history. In every age, only strength could guarantee one’s safety.

“In truth, I care nothing for the title of Duke. I only wish to serve Grandfather well, hoping that in his old age, he might find happiness.” As Yang Nan remembered the old man’s apparent sternness yet hidden affection since his rebirth, sorrow overwhelmed him and tears spilled from his eyes.

Chiyang carried Yang Nan swiftly through the tunnel, speaking gently: “Anan, struggles for power are always a matter of life and death. With your status as eldest legitimate grandson, they will never let you go. Rather than wait to be harmed, it is better to escape early. I believe the old Duke thought the same.” Over thirty years old and having seen much of the world, Chiyang offered comfort to the grieving youth.

Yang Nan shook his head with a sigh. “Even the Three Sages of Confucianism could not protect their descendants, let alone common folk across the land. Human hearts are indeed treacherous.” Having suffered terribly in a past life, he did not expect to face such a fate again. The darkness of the human heart left him weary of the world.

Wherever there are people, there is conflict—such is the way of the world, past and present.

Yang Nan’s reputation as a prodigy echoed through Chang’an. Chiyang, long aware of this in the Duke’s Manor, did not speak to him as a mere child, but responded calmly: “Anan, rivalry for fame and fortune is the way of the mortal world—even among sects of immortals, it is no different. If you aspire to the path of cultivation, you must understand that in the river of humanity, only the strong rise above.”

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Since Yang Nan was to enter Kunlun and become a cultivator, Chiyang spoke frankly to enlighten him. Yang Nan was stirred and asked, “Brother, what exactly does this path of cultivation entail?”

To forsake wealth and seek immortality in the mountains—all knew to revere immortals, but few understood their origins. Yang Nan, too, was deeply curious about the immortals of this world.

Chiyang smiled faintly. “Do you think there are real immortals in this world?”

Yang Nan was astonished. “If not, then where do the tales of immortals come from?”

Without slowing his pace, Chiyang replied, “Regardless of the changes among the four great sects—military, legalist, Confucian, and Buddhist—the so-called immortals, sages, and Buddhas were all once human. In ancient times, Daoist techniques, Buddhist dharma, and Confucian teachings flourished. Those with talent and ambition seized opportunities to ascend as immortals and sages, becoming the divine beings of legend. But those with great powers long since departed this mortal realm, leaving behind their cultivation methods, which evolved into the four great sects.”

Yang Nan pondered, “There are said to be three thousand paths, and for a thousand years, Buddhism, Daoism, and Confucianism have flourished. Does this mean immortals are ranked by their methods and levels of attainment?”

Chiyang nodded. “Of course. Confucianism is the teaching for the world, upholding righteousness, saving the people, educating all under heaven, and driving out evil. It is the most orthodox path. Buddhism, passed down from the West, emphasizes the six realms of reincarnation. Its teachings are firm yet compassionate, and many of the hopeless turn to it for faith.”

Yang Nan mused for a moment before asking, “Then how did Daoism split into two separate sects?”

Chiyang chuckled softly. “That is an ancient secret. It is said the Daoist founder ascended and left behind the military and legalist paths. Later disciples followed these teachings but diverged further over time, eventually becoming two distinct schools.”

Yang Nan found this strange but accepted it. This world was not Earth; though there were three teachings, their founders were quite different. After twelve years of study, he knew something of these cultural traditions, and with a grandfather who was one of the Three Sages of Confucianism, he was familiar with the differences in Daoist cultivation and teachings here. Yet he remained curious about the so-called military and legalist sects.

Chiyang strode on, faster than a galloping horse, and though he did not look back, he seemed to know what Yang Nan was thinking. He explained, “The Military Sect focuses on forging one's body through martial practice, nurturing energy with weapons. The stronger the divine weapon, the greater the power. The Legalist Sect cultivates energy directly, using the spiritual force of heaven and earth, rare treasures, and herbs to advance. The stronger the magic, the greater the power. The two may seem similar, but are fundamentally different.”

Yang Nan scratched his head, puzzled. “What’s the difference? Which is stronger?”

Chiyang smiled inwardly at Yang Nan’s childlike curiosity. “The Military Sect first trains with swords, then with oneself. With a divine weapon in hand, one is unmatched—monsters and demons alike fall to the blade. Yet forging a divine weapon is exceedingly difficult. Ordinary iron cannot withstand the sect’s techniques. The Military Sect’s power is too dependent on weapons. The Legalist Sect first cultivates energy, then the body; with enough power, one can summon wind and rain, fly through the skies or burrow through the earth. Yet the path requires tireless practice, alchemy, and searching for spiritual roots for medicine. Spiritual herbs are rare, so few achieve greatness.”

Yang Nan was stunned. “So, in the end, neither the Military nor Legalist Sect can easily achieve immortality?”

Chiyang laughed, shaking his head. “Since ancient times, the immortal path has been elusive. In the age of abundant spiritual energy, a few achieved immortality or sainthood. Now, how many can? The old Duke wrote books and taught countless students, achieving only the rank of sage. To become a Confucian Saint is harder than reaching the heavens. Do you think immortality is easily attained?”

Yang Nan fell silent. His grandfather was born with an unusual destiny, brilliant and righteous, yet could not escape the cycle of life and death. The path of immortality was truly arduous.

“Brother, are you of the Military or Legalist Sect? And what is your current rank?” After a pause, Yang Nan’s curiosity was piqued by Chiyang’s obvious strength—the aura about him was fierce and bright, even the chill of the secret passage seemed to shrink from him.

Chiyang sighed. “At twelve, the Duke helped me and I became a disciple of the Xuantian Sect in the Eastern Continent—a Military Sect. I first trained in martial arts and swordplay, reaching the rank of master in five years. Then I cultivated both weapon and energy, entering the realm of Daoist techniques. I eventually mastered the Flaming Hao Sword Technique. It has been over twenty years, yet I am still at the third rank of Swordmaster. In both Military and Legalist Sects, talent is first; divine weapons and techniques are second. My talent is merely average. With a lifetime of effort, I may only reach Swordmaster. The old Duke recently gifted me the precious fire-elemental Huai Sword, hoping it would aid my cultivation. If I can fully refine it, perhaps I’ll advance a rank or two. But reaching the ninth rank and becoming a Grandmaster is extremely difficult. In this life, I can only hope.”

Yang Nan, seeing Chiyang’s disappointment, offered comfort. “Brother, do not lose heart. Talent is only part of it; opportunity is another. Perhaps one day you’ll find a natural spirit mine and attain sainthood with immortal iron and celestial energy.”

Chiyang smiled. “You’re right, Anan. Since ancient times, those of mediocre talent who rose to sainthood by chance are countless. I need not belittle myself. With you joining the orthodox Military Sect of Kunlun, you will surely go farther than I have.”

The secret passage cut through the deep underground of the city. As Yang Nan chatted with Chiyang about the curiosities of the cultivation world, he also kept a close eye on the passage’s direction. The construction of this tunnel, exhausting the efforts of his ancestors, was clearly the result of countless careful plans. It passed only through the most secluded parts of Chang’an. The Duke’s Manor lay to the east of the city, no more than a mile from the outer walls, but this short mile must have cost the Yang family vast sums of gold and labor.

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In ancient times, the selection of a residence was a matter of utmost importance, especially for noble families. The secret passage had to be deeply hidden underground, yet well-ventilated, or escape would be impossible even across a single mile. Every part of its construction was handled only by the closest of kin—never outsiders. One can only imagine how hard it was to keep such a mile-long passage from the emperor’s notice.

Perhaps the emperor was not entirely ignorant of the nobles’ secret tunnels. Yet throughout history, when ministers fell from grace, most chose to await punishment at home rather than flee—very few attempted to escape. So the emperor turned a blind eye. To wipe out an entire family’s lineage was considered inhumane. As the moral example to the world, even the angriest emperor would not truly exterminate every descendant, lest he lose the people’s hearts.

Chiyang, carrying Yang Nan, hurried through the passage until they reached the end. Pushing open a hidden stone door, they emerged from the tunnel to find themselves, as expected, outside the city of Chang’an. The entrance of the passage was the Pavilion of Divine Offerings, but the exit was at the infamous mass grave outside the city—within a ruined ancient tomb.

Ascending the tomb’s steps, pushing open the gravestone, Yang Nan looked up to see a dense forest, the air chilling, tombs scattered everywhere, will-o’-the-wisps flickering among the graves. The exit from the secret passage was just one among countless unmarked graves.

The foresight of his ancestors left Yang Nan awestruck. To have such vision—clearly, the founder who earned the first duke’s title was indeed a hero among men.

Flowers cannot bloom for a hundred days, nor can a family prosper for a hundred generations. For the ancestor to foresee decline at the height of glory showed wisdom worthy of admiration.

Chiyang, too, was deeply impressed. Who could have imagined that beneath the mass graves and ancient tombs lay such a secret passage? If anyone outside the family discovered it, this secret would not last. Though Chiyang was loyal, he could not guarantee silence. If not for the old Duke’s willingness to pay any price for his grandson, how could he have been entrusted with this secret?

In the chilling mass grave, Chiyang drew the Huai Sword and, with a solemn expression, lightly traced it across his palm. “I, Chiyang, swear: if ever I utter a word of this secret passage in my lifetime, let heaven and earth punish me, and may all gods and men condemn me!” He touched his bleeding palm to his forehead, and a clear mark flashed and vanished.

Yang Nan watched coldly as Chiyang swore his oath, unsurprised. Though Chiyang was not a servant of the Duke’s household, he owed the old man great kindness since childhood. As a child of a noble house, Yang Nan had seen such things often in Chang’an. Every great family had its loyal deathsworn. Even had Chiyang taken his own life on the spot, it would not be remarkable—let alone making a heart-demon oath.

Cultivators most feared heart demons; once afflicted, their power would regress, and their very lives could be at risk. Chiyang’s oath was his way of paying his respects to the old Duke.

“Brother, you need not do this. As a cultivator, you’re not bound by such worldly rules.” Yang Nan sighed, stepping forward to bandage Chiyang’s wound.

Chiyang’s face was solemn. “Anan, you do not understand. Once a cultivator enters the mortal world, he must abide by its rules. In ancient times, the great gods established the Heavenly Laws: those with supernatural powers may not display divine transformations before mortals and deceive them, or all of heaven and man will punish them. Since I walk among mortals, I am as any mortal and must be no exception.”

Chiyang’s wound was shallow and soon bandaged. Yang Nan, curious, asked, “What are the Heavenly Laws? If you see demons harming people, are you forbidden to intervene?”

Chiyang smiled and shook his head. “The Heavenly Laws are the rules for cultivators, only three in number. First, one must not use magical powers to harm mortals. Second, one must not reveal divine transformations or claim godhood in the mortal realm. Third, demons, mortals, and immortals must each walk their own path—no mixing to disturb the world. These laws were set by all the world’s sages and immortals; violators will be executed. Cultivators may not use magical powers on mortals, but if demons cause trouble, it does not mean we cannot exorcise them.”

Only now did Yang Nan understand why, in this world, tales of immortal miracles were so rare. Even the highest Buddhist masters appeared no different from ordinary monks. His own grandfather, one of the Three Sages of Confucianism, seemed just an ordinary elder in daily life.

These three Heavenly Laws were necessary indeed. If magical powers could be abused and demons did as they wished, the world would fall into chaos. Yang Nan’s eyes shone with sudden understanding, but it seemed these laws did not prohibit cultivators and demons from fighting each other.

“Nonsense! Ignorant children, how dare you prattle about the Heavenly Laws? Those rules are nothing but shackles imposed by the old farts on others. Who are you to discuss them here?” As Yang Nan pondered, a chilling voice echoed through the mass grave—cold and sinister, it sent a shiver through the air thick with gloom.