The hairpin was found the next day.
Yes.
At a pawnshop in the city.
It all began when the inn's waiter heard about their exploits and was deeply impressed.
With the Mount Song Sword Sect's people driven away, business at the inn had become easier.
When he learned that Zhang Junbao had lost his hairpin, the waiter enlisted the street thugs and the city's Beggar Clan to help find it, as an expression of his gratitude to the two of them.
After investigating, the Beggar Clan disciples learned that someone had been seen taking the hairpin to a pawnshop at daybreak.
The waiter went to the pawnshop of his own accord and redeemed it for him.
He had spent quite a bit of money on the whole affair. Hiring the city's Beggar Clan disciples alone had cost him the promise of a lavish meal, and redeeming the hairpin had cost another thirty taels of silver.
Zhang Junbao was overjoyed to have his hairpin back. He thanked the waiter repeatedly, feeling unworthy of such kindness.
A mere waiter had gone to such expense that Zhang Junbao almost wanted to leave his sword with him.
"My good fellow, look at all you've done. I truly don't know how to thank you."
"There's no need for thanks. It was just a small favor. Besides, you two helped drive off the Mount Song Sword Sect, and business at my inn is back to normal. I should be thanking you."
The waiter's earlier languor was gone, replaced by boundless enthusiasm.
Puzzled, Zhang Qingyuan asked, "Shouldn't the owner and manager be happiest when the inn does well?
"And shouldn't spending money to thank us be their responsibility too?
"But since we checked in yesterday, we haven't seen your manager at all. You're the only one we've seen bustling about.
"Your employer is lucky to have a worker like you."
To their surprise, the waiter smiled. "To tell you the truth, I own this inn."
Zhang Qingyuan and Zhang Junbao regarded him with newfound respect. The world was vast, and nothing was too strange to exist. There were even masters with hobbies like this!
"Forgive our lack of courtesy."
"Oh, it's nothing." The waiter waved it off. "My father left me this inn. Back when the old man was around-you know Emerald Cloud Tower in the south of the city?"
"Yes."
Zhang Qingyuan nodded. Emerald Cloud Tower was Thousand Dragon City's finest restaurant, with prices starting at ten taels of silver per person.
"That restaurant used to belong to our family too."
"I see."
"When the old man was alive, I was a rotten sort. I spent my days chasing flowers and seeking willows, lost in the pleasure houses.
"Then the old man passed away, and I'd squandered nearly all the family property. This inn was all that remained.
"My wife had just given birth then. I had to find a way to provide for her and the baby, so I settled down, hired a cook, and started running this inn.
"Once my wife could get out of bed, she became the manager, and I became the waiter. The two of us kept busy out front. Honestly, life's been pretty comfortable.
"So that's why I was happy to spend money after you drove off the Mount Song Sword Sect."
The two understood at last. So it was his own business.
Zhang Junbao praised him. "You could say that a prodigal's return is worth more than gold."
"Worth what, now? When my father was alive, he always said that once a man has enjoyed himself, he has to bear the karmic consequences when they come.
"So the rich young master who used to spend his days drinking and carousing was me, and the waiter who's happy to run an inn now is also me. I haven't changed!"
There was no denying that the waiter had a remarkably clear grasp of life.
He could enjoy the good times and accept an ordinary life.
They ate another meal at Yuelai Inn that morning, then resumed their journey in the afternoon.
At their pace, it would take at least another ten days or so to reach Pure Yang Palace from Thousand Dragon City-and that was with both of them using lightness skills along the way.
For an ordinary person, it would take a month.
On horseback, it would also take ten days.
In other words, traveling with their lightness skills was about as fast as riding a horse.
After leaving the city, Zhang Junbao was still savoring the waiter's carefree attitude.
Oh, right-the waiter's surname was Qiao, and his full name was Qiao Tianci.
"Senior Brother, believe me or not, Boss Qiao will definitely rise again someday," Zhang Junbao declared confidently.
Zhang Qingyuan nodded. "I believe it. You can tell from his disposition that he's a man of perseverance."
"I could see that he wasn't content. He still wants to build a business of his own."
"I can divine it too. His destiny is so red with good fortune that it's turning purple."
Zhang Qingyuan had not divined this. It came from Profound Comprehension.
The sensation was very mysterious. He was not relying on methods such as the five elements and eight trigrams, the Book of Changes, or Qimen divination.
Rather, after attaining Profound Comprehension, he had developed a very particular sort of premonition.
Predicting what would happen tomorrow was beyond him.
But he could sense whether a person would live a life of wealth or poverty.
It was not as miraculous as one might imagine. It was like looking at someone and inexplicably feeling certain that they would amount to something someday.
Everyone had that feeling.
Zhang Qingyuan simply perceived it more clearly.
The two followed the main road north. Every town and major thoroughfare along the way was guarded by people of the jianghu.
They had no idea who had spread the news, but it had traveled quite quickly.
Word of what had happened in Thousand Dragon City had already spread everywhere.
As a result, Zhang Qingyuan and Zhang Junbao did not encounter a single instance of commoners being oppressed along the way.
In Laurel City, which was guarded by the Mount Tai Sword Sect, they even witnessed the extraordinary sight of its disciples personally helping old ladies across the street and supporting pregnant women on their way to the apothecary.
Moreover, these people paid the two of them no attention, as though they had not recognized them at all.
It had a very stilted air of, "We're pretending not to know you and putting on a show right in front of you, but our acting is very convincing."
The two were happy to enjoy the peace. After all, these people really were behaving cordially toward the commoners.
Farther north, there were fewer people of the jianghu.
This was the Pure Yang Daoist Sect's territory. Taoist temples were plentiful, Buddhist temples were scarce, and the people of the jianghu behaved themselves.
Elsewhere, they dared invent pretexts to stop and search the commoners.
Here, they did not.
At the foot of Flying Crane Mountain, the Taoist influence was strong, and nearly all the locals followed Taoism.
Legend held that Patriarch Lü had two Pure Yang cultivation grounds. One was Flying Crane Mountain in Bingzhou, where Pure Yang Palace stood.
The other was Lake Dongting in Jingzhou, which also housed a lineage left by Patriarch Pure Yang. However, most of the Taoists at the Pure Yang Temple there focused on scholarly pursuits.
Some also said that Patriarch Pure Yang had left his martial arts in Bingzhou and his philosophy in Jingzhou.
From this, one could see that the founding patriarch of every lineage enjoyed roaming about, leaving footprints all over the country before finally choosing a suitable place to establish a sect once they had wandered enough.
Zhang Qingyuan looked up at the sky.
He thought to himself,
So there's nothing wrong with me taking Zhang Junbao traveling everywhere, is there?
This is the process every Taoist patriarch ought to follow!
A steady stream of pilgrims filled the road up the mountain.
Flying Crane Mountain was neither tall nor famous. It was simply that Patriarch Lü had once ridden an immortal crane in search of a cultivation ground, declaring that wherever the crane landed would be his cultivation ground.
In the end, the immortal crane had landed here, giving the mountain its name.
Flying Crane Mountain was not merely short-it was downright low. By eye, the difference in elevation from bottom to top was only a little over a hundred meters. The path up was gently sloped, its steps level and smooth. Even from the foot of the mountain, one could see the red walls of the Daoist palace above.
Fruit trees lined both sides of the mountain path. In spring, a hundred flowers would bloom here, lending it a special charm.
The two had just stepped onto the stairs when two middle-aged Taoists approached them.
"Might you be Martial Uncles Zhang Qingyuan and Zhang Junbao?"
Both Taoists wore bright yellow checked robes, carried swords on their backs, and wore Taoist crowns. They looked strikingly martial.
The one on the left was slightly taller, while the one on the right was slightly plumper. They saluted together.
Zhang Qingyuan and Zhang Junbao returned the salute. "We are."
The one on the left smiled. "I am Shen Qianhua, the sect leader's second disciple. My Taoist name is Wangxiang. This fatty beside me is my junior brother, Fang Ming. His Taoist name is Wangyou.
"We heard of your heroic deeds a few days ago, Martial Uncles. Master guessed you might be coming to visit our sect, so he sent us here every day to respectfully await your arrival."
"Sorry for the trouble."
"Please follow me, Martial Uncles. Junior Brother, hurry and inform Master."
The pudgy Wangyou saluted again, then turned and ran up the mountain.
Despite his fleshy appearance, his internal cultivation was extremely profound.
With one push of his foot, he floated upward, lightly sailing over a dozen steps before landing and taking his next stride.
The Pure Yang Daoist Sect's lightness skills truly lived up to their reputation. No wonder Patriarch Pure Yang could ride a crane.
Shen Qianhua led them uphill, introducing various matters concerning the Daoist palace as they walked.
The Pure Yang Daoist Sect currently had eleven Taoists of the sect leader's generation, five of whom handled its affairs. There were also four grandmasters a generation above the sect leader. Three spent their days chanting scriptures and meditating in the alchemy chamber, uninvolved in worldly affairs.
Only one grandmaster was still striving to keep Pure Yang's incense burning. No one used his original name anymore; his Taoist name was Chenyuan.
As for second-generation disciples like them, there were over a hundred and seventy, but only thirteen were true personal disciples. Five were the sect leader's personal disciples, while the other eight were under several elders.
There were currently fifty third-generation Taoist novices, making a total of roughly two hundred and thirty or forty Taoists on the mountain.
Not all second-generation disciples were personal disciples of the sect leader or his junior brothers. In fact, each sect leader and elder only accepted a portion as personal disciples. The rest received collective instruction in Taoist principles and martial arts.
Whether someone became a personal disciple mainly depended on whether they caught a teacher's eye and on their talent.
Chatting as they walked, they soon made their way up the mountain.
As they neared the summit, Zhang Qingyuan suddenly asked a question he had harbored for a long time.
"Wang..."
"Wangxiang. If it's hard to remember, Martial Uncle, you can call me by my full name, Shen Qianhua. Or Dahua is fine too. That's what my fellow disciples call me."
"Dahua, I wanted to ask whether you know the love story between your master and your master's wife in their younger days."
Zhang Junbao also leaned closer, craning his neck to listen.
Shen Qianhua glanced around. "To tell you the truth, Martial Uncles, I actually do."
"Tell us everything!"
Shen Qianhua was just about to speak when he felt a sudden tightness behind him. A burst of force struck his mute acupoint from a distance.
All three looked up at once. Chen Xugu stood atop a treetop by the entrance, his hands behind his back, staring coldly at them.
"I told you, whoever asks about this dies!"