Chapter Eighty-Four: The Story of Xu Fu in Former Times

When Jiang An and his family arrived at the residence where Song Chengzong lived, Song himself was waiting at the door with his own family to receive them.

Though Song Chengzong had already reached his forties, he looked no more than thirty, tall, handsome, and graceful. Standing beside him were his dignified and beautiful wife and a son of about ten years old.

“Mr. Jiang, or perhaps I may call you brother-in-law—welcome to my home,” Song greeted as soon as Jiang An arrived, a slight smile on his face.

His attention was fixed solely on Jiang An, while Song Wanshuang and Xixi were received by his wife.

This is a man destined for great things—Jiang An’s first impression of Song Chengzong.

“Thank you for your invitation,” Jiang An responded with a subtle bow.

“Please,” Song replied succinctly, and the group filed into the dining room.

There, a rustic Eight Immortals table was laid with eight exquisite, fragrant dishes, and an old, slightly dusty wine jar sat on the table as well.

Song Chengzong took the seat of honor, with Jiang An seated opposite; their wives and children sat around them.

“A few simple dishes. If you prefer Western cuisine, Mr. Jiang, I can have it changed at once,” Song said with a smile.

“This is perfect,” Jiang An replied.

The two heads of family conversed, but it left the others feeling somewhat ill at ease, especially the son, who sat up straight with a stern expression—a sign of strict upbringing. Only little Xixi, too small for the chair, could barely poke her head above the table. Her wide eyes remained fixed on the artfully arranged dishes, wondering not just at their beauty but how they might taste.

“Come, let us begin,” Song Chengzong urged, and the six of them picked up their chopsticks. The Song family each helped themselves, while Jiang An first served Xixi and Song Wanshuang before taking any food for himself.

After taking a bite, Song Chengzong resumed speaking. “Others may not know your abilities, but I am well aware. Here I have a fifty-year-old wine, brewed with the Song family’s secret method. You won’t find its like elsewhere. Please, have a few more cups.”

As he spoke, he brushed the sealing clay from the jar. Instantly, a fragrant aroma wafted through the air, delightful to the senses. Without so much as lifting the vessel, a stream of amber liquid rose by itself, arching in the air like a bridge, and poured smoothly into two nearby cups. With a gesture, one cup floated up, as if drawn by invisible threads, and landed gently before Jiang An.

This display alone revealed his mastery of internal energy, controlled to perfection.

Fortunately, little Xixi was too absorbed in her meal to notice; otherwise, she would surely have exclaimed about magic once again.

“Please, sir,” Song invited.

Seeing Jiang An take up his cup, Song Chengzong raised his own, toasting from a distance.

This eldest Song son clearly harbored a competitive spirit, using the pretext of drinking to showcase his skill—a far more elegant move than issuing a direct challenge.

Jiang An understood his intent perfectly but declined to compete, simply draining his cup. The wine was mellow and full-bodied, with an aftertaste that lingered on the tongue, and a gentle warmth spreading through him—no doubt due to the rare medicinal herbs it contained.

“Excellent wine! You are most considerate,” Jiang An remarked politely. “With your skills, you are but half a step from the Third Realm. It’s a shame your name is little known on the Heavenly Roll.”

Song Chengzong downed his own cup and laughed heartily. “To be praised by you, the great Magus Jiang, is an honor indeed. Your abilities surely surpass mine. As for the twin rankings, they are a reference for the world’s experts, but they cannot be taken as absolute. Many true masters and prodigies remain unknown. One can say that those on the rolls are all experts, but those not listed are not necessarily inferior.”

Jiang An of course understood this principle. After all, with a world population of seven billion, even if only one in a million were a master, there would be seven thousand experts; if one in ten million were a grandmaster, there would still be seven hundred, many hidden dragons among them, not all eager to reveal their true power.

However, from Song Chengzong’s words, Jiang An detected a trace of resentment, so he asked, “You are quite right. By the way, I often hear people speak of Xingzi of the Xing family, famed as a peerless prodigy—the dragon among men. Yet I have never met him. Have you?”

Song Chengzong’s eyes flashed, and after a pause, he replied slowly, “I am not his equal.”

For a proud man to admit inferiority face-to-face, Jiang An’s interest in this Xingzi only deepened.

“If you wish, I can introduce you to Xingzi someday. He has likely heard of your renown as well. As for the title of ‘peerless prodigy,’” Song added with a wry smile, “once upon a time, Xu Fu was called the greatest of all ages.”

Most would not have understood this cryptic remark, but Jiang An grasped his meaning immediately, recalling tales of Xu Fu from conversations with Wang Bixuan.

Xu Fu, a figure from over two thousand years past, was well known in the Hua Nation. To the common folk, he was the man who sailed forth to seek the elixir of immortality for the First Emperor—but in truth, he was a cultivator of extraordinary abilities, able to move mountains and fly through the air. Gifted beyond compare, he achieved heights surpassing his predecessors while still young, but his ambitions led him to commit a grievous act against his homeland.

The number of prodigies in a nation or people depends on two things: population base—naturally, the larger, the more talent can emerge—and fortune. Though fortune sounds mystical, it is real: a “great momentum” formed by the conjunction of time, place, and human will, or what one might call the Dao.

Xu Fu, at the height of his cultivation, dominated his world but could not find the path to transcendence, to eternal life. So he conceived a plan: to seize fortune, shatter the void.

At that time, nowhere in the world possessed greater fortune than Hua Nation. Sadly, this fortune was divided among too many—numerous cultivators, and above all, the First Emperor himself. Only by concentrating a nation’s entire fortune in one person could the bottleneck be broken. Thus, Xu Fu deceived the emperor into gathering three thousand of the nation’s most gifted youths, whom he then sacrificed in a blood ritual—invoking the wrath of heaven. Seizing this opportunity, he tore away a third of Hua Nation’s fortune, transferring it to a wild island nation to the east, where he crowned himself king and established a dynasty with the fortune of a nation vested in a single line.

But in the end, he still failed, forced to settle and propagate his bloodline there. That island nation was none other than Wa Country—Japan! This is why such a small island has always produced so many geniuses and masters of world renown.

Worse yet, in the late Yuan and early Ming dynasties, Hua Nation’s fortune had recovered, only for the state preceptor Liu Wen to discover the Japanese man Xu Tairang, claiming descent from Xu Fu, had infiltrated Hua Nation to steal its dragon vein fortune, seeking to repeat Xu Fu’s ancient crime. By the time Liu Wen found him, most of Xu Tairang’s body had merged with the dragon vein. With no other choice, Liu Wen expended his entire life’s cultivation to sever the dragon vein. Though Xu Tairang perished, Hua Nation’s fortune once again declined, and in modern times, Japan rose to prominence over it.

Of course, with the founding of the New Hua Nation, fortune swiftly revived, now even surpassing its ancient peak.

This was Song Chengzong’s unspoken meaning: Xingzi was indeed a prodigy among prodigies, but who could say who would have the last laugh? Even a genius like Xu Fu, after all, fell into ruin for his misdeeds and never attained transcendence.

To this, Jiang An secretly shook his head. Song Chengzong’s vision was, in the end, still limited—though not entirely his fault, for he was bound by the confines of this world, knowing nothing of the endless stars beyond.

Thereafter, the two men ceased speaking of Xingzi and instead exchanged anecdotes and tales, lightening the mood and dispelling any awkwardness.

After a while—

“Father, I’m finished,” the boy said quietly, having eaten in silence. He set down his chopsticks and addressed Song Chengzong.

Song nodded, then glanced at his wife, who immediately understood.

“Sister, are you and Xixi finished? Let’s go have some tea—I have a little gift for Xixi as well,” Song’s wife said with a smile to Song Wanshuang.

Wanshuang, quick of wit, nodded. “Very well, let us leave these two men to their meal.”

She scooped Xixi into her arms to leave, but Xixi’s first instinct was to grab Jiang An’s sleeve with her greasy little hand. “I want to stay with Daddy.”

Such a clingy little foodie! In a strange place, nothing felt so safe as her father’s side.

“Daddy has business to discuss. Why don’t you go with Mommy to see the present?” Jiang An teased her plump cheeks.

“All right—but Daddy, you must come soon!” Only then did Xixi let go, following Song Wanshuang out.

“You truly are a devoted family man,” Song Chengzong remarked with a slight smile—it was hard to say whether it was genuine praise.

Jiang An took it as assent and said, “If you have business, please speak plainly.”

Such was the tradition of Hua Nation’s etiquette: rarely did one discuss serious matters at once, especially on a first meeting. It was only after some conversation and rapport that the real issues were broached. Now, with only the two of them left, the moment was right.