Whether the handwriting was good or bad, Henry Carter couldn’t tell; he only felt that those two characters seemed about to fly off the door, exuding an arrogant air as if soaring to the heavens or plunging into the depths.

This place was not some otherworldly mountain shrouded in clouds and untouched by mortal life, yet there was an indescribable spiritual beauty hidden among the hills. The moment Henry Carter stepped into the mountains, he felt it—just breathing made his whole body feel much lighter.

He glimpsed a patch of sky, no bigger than a palm, through the dense green shade of the trees. A unique sense of vastness and distance, like viewing the sky from the bottom of a well, surged straight to his brow, making him so exhilarated he almost wanted to run around the mountain, laughing and shouting.

But Henry Carter held back—he never dared make much noise at home, for fear his father would beat him. Naturally, he wouldn’t do so here either, lest he lose the gentlemanly composure he’d overheard about in front of Samuel Foster, that petty little man.

His master patted the heads of his two newly acquired disciples and said kindly, “In a moment, follow me to burn incense, bathe, and change clothes. I’ll take you to meet your…”

Henry Carter thought absentmindedly, “The ever-smiling founder?”

Master said, “Senior brother.”

Author’s note: Note: “A gentleman remains steadfast in poverty, while a petty man, when poor, becomes reckless.” — Analects of Confucius, Wei Ling Gong

☆ Chapter 4

Why would a dignified master need to ‘pay respects’ to the senior brother?

Both Henry Carter and Samuel Foster were completely baffled, and the master, as if afraid the world wasn’t chaotic enough, explained further: “Don’t overthink it. Your senior brother is quite carefree himself, so there’s no need to be afraid of him. Just treat him as you do me.”

Wait, what does “treat him as you do me” mean?

In short, Mr. Ethan Clark successfully transformed the thin fog of confusion over his two young disciples’ heads into a thick paste of bewilderment.

After passing through the mountain gate, several young Daoist boys came up, following the sound of trickling water.

The Daoist boys ranged from seventeen or eighteen to thirteen or fourteen, each with delicate features, looking like a group of golden boys serving under an immortal, their flowing robes fluttering even without wind.

Not to mention the dumbfounded Samuel Foster, even Henry Carter, who had always been rather self-assured along the way, couldn’t help but feel a subtle sense of inferiority.

Because of this faint sense of inferiority, Henry Carter instinctively put up his guard. He unconsciously stiffened his face, straightened his back, and carefully hid all his curiosity and inexperience.

The leading Daoist boy spotted Mr. Ethan Clark from afar and, before even arriving, was already smiling, greeting him with a rather casual tone: “Where has the sect leader wandered off to this time? You look like you’ve just escaped a famine—hey, who’s this… where did you pick up this little young master?”

Henry Carter mentally dissected this friendly greeting word by word, but couldn’t find even a trace of respect in it. It was as if the Daoist boy was greeting not the ‘sect leader,’ but ‘Uncle Han from the neighboring village’ or something.

Mr. Ethan Clark didn’t mind at all. In fact, he even showed a slightly silly smile, pointing at Henry Carter and Samuel Foster: “These are my new disciples. They’re still young, so I’ll trouble you to help settle them in.”

The Daoist boy laughed, “Where should I settle them?”

“This one goes to the South Courtyard,” Mr. Ethan Clark casually pointed at Samuel Foster, then, seemingly intentionally or not, lowered his head and met Henry Carter’s upward gaze. In the boy’s clear black-and-white eyes, there was a natural restraint, and also a barely noticeable nervousness toward the unfamiliar environment.

The unserious smile at the corner of Mr. Ethan Clark’s mouth suddenly faded. After a moment, he pointed out Henry Carter’s destination with an almost solemn air: “Let Henry Carter stay at the Edge Pavilion.”

The “Edge Pavilion” was not actually a pavilion, but a small, rather secluded courtyard, somewhat isolated from the rest. On one side of the courtyard wall, a small creek flowed by in silence; on the other side was a large bamboo grove, making the place extremely quiet.

The bamboo forest seemed to have been there for many years, so much so that even the passing breeze was tinged with green. The whole courtyard felt as if it were set in a sea of bamboo, the green so pure it seemed to cleanse the mind of all desires.

At the entrance hung two ever-burning lanterns, also inscribed with talismans, but far more exquisite than the “family heirloom” at the Carter household. Their glow was soft, unmoved by the wind, undisturbed by footsteps, one on each side, quietly flanking a plaque in the center above the door, on which the characters “Qing’an” were written.

It seemed the same person had written both the “Qing’an” here and the “Fuyao” at the mountain pass.

The Daoist boy leading Henry Carter was named Alice Foster, about the same age as Henry Carter’s eldest brother at home. Alice Foster was neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. On closer look, he was rather delicate, but his features were somewhat plain, making him the most inconspicuous among the Daoist boys. He was also quiet by nature and didn’t seem to like standing out.

“This is the Edge Pavilion on our mountain, also called Qing’an Residence. I heard the sect leader used to live here, but later it was vacated and even served as a vegetarian hall for a while.” Alice Foster explained softly, “Does Third Uncle know what a vegetarian hall is?”

Henry Carter actually wasn’t quite sure, but he still pretended not to care and nodded, following Alice Foster into the small courtyard. In the center of the courtyard was a small square pond about a zhang wide. On the black elm tray beneath it were carved talismans, probably for some stabilizing purpose—the water in the pond didn’t flow or ripple, but remained perfectly still.

But upon closer inspection, Henry Carter realized that it wasn’t a pond at all, but a rare, large gemstone.

The stone was neither jade nor emerald. It felt cool to the touch, with a deep green color tinged faintly with blue, exuding a cold and profound tranquility.