The next morning, at five thirty.
The thrum of three civilian helicopters drew closer, and they landed one after another in a clearing temporarily prepared outside the village.
Close behind them came four black vans bearing special license plates.
Mount Mao, Mount Lao, Mount Qingcheng, and Mount Sanqing.
The sect leaders and core elders of the four great ancestral seats of Taoism gathered at the reservoir by the village entrance, surrounded by their respective disciples.
He Daoran and Li Guangfu were already waiting there.
No explanation was needed. The instant the four newly arrived sect leaders crossed into the village, their expressions shifted from reserve to utter shock.
Looking at the ashen face of Mount Mao's sect leader, Li Guangfu said evenly, "Miss Su will explain the rules to you."
Half an hour later.
Outside the Farmhouse Courtyard.
Four men whose word was law in Taoist circles stood in a neat row, their backs ramrod straight, their breathing barely audible.
Xu Yuanqing, the sect leader of Mount Mao, held a dark red peachwood sword in both hands, faint streaks of lightning roaming across it.
Meng Ruhai, the sect leader of Mount Sanqing, cradled an ancient hide-bound book against his chest.
Zhao Dean, the sect leader of Mount Lao, held a treasured Eight Trigrams mirror mottled with verdigris.
The white-browed old Taoist who led Mount Qingcheng held an antique brocade box.
The courtyard gate opened without a breath of wind.
The four filed inside.
In the courtyard, beneath the peach tree, beside the stone table.
Dressed in a white T-shirt, Chen Lin was pouring tea into four empty cups, a purple clay teapot at hand.
As he tilted the spout, a thread-thin stream of water landed precisely in each cup without a single splash.
At the sight of the spiritual glow