Chapter 108: The New Drunken Eight Immortals (Part Seven)

Just as she turned her head, suddenly multiple female voices arose. Following the sound, she saw a large group of young women dressed in white blouses and skirts passing by the many admiring visitors gathered for the event.

Among them was a mature woman in pink, standing out like a single red blossom amidst a cluster of flowers, capturing the bustling, noisy scene with her radiance. She drew the hopeful gazes of scholarly elites and the jealous envy of other beauties.

This woman was stunningly beautiful, her determined eyes shining with the sharpness of a sword cultivator. Arriving before the He Gong Pavilion, she was the first to draw her sword and begin to dance.

“Draw your sword, begin the dance!”

The pink-clad, dark-browed woman’s sword rose and fell with precision and discipline, without any extravagant flair, and the other sword-dancing women followed suit in the same restrained manner.

“Who is this beauty?” Wu Yueling, noticing the astonished expressions of Elder He and Li Bai, grew curious. To calm a madman like Li Bai, this woman must be truly formidable.

Elder He’s white beard trembled fiercely as he spoke with a voice tinged with emotion, “This is Madam Gongsun, the sword-dancing grandmaster of Pingkang Lane! A rare sight indeed! Princess, you are truly blessed! To witness Madam Gongsun’s sword dance in this lifetime is a great honor!”

“Why say that? Is she not usually seen?” Hearing Elder He’s praise, Wu Yueling found it hard to believe. She thought, isn’t she just a beautiful woman? There are plenty of those on the streets.

“Not at all,” Elder He replied. “She only appears when summoned by a saint! Ordinary invitations from common folk would never be accepted by these sword-dancing women! Princess, Madam Gongsun holds you in great esteem; otherwise, she wouldn’t come here to join the Eight Immortals gathering!” Li Bai, holding his wine cup, had forgotten to drink, his gaze fixed intently on the lady in pink—not for her beauty, but for the simplicity and grace of her swordsmanship.

“I see now,” Wu Yueling understood. Madam Gongsun’s presence here aligned perfectly with her own mission. But was it simply sword dancing? She noticed that over fifty famous figures were also sword dancing, repeating simple movements without any extravagant performance. She was puzzled—what was the meaning behind this?

Reflecting carefully, she thought, shouldn’t a dance be accompanied by music? She immediately summoned Wan’er and Qin Muyu to sit beneath the pavilion and play the zither. At the same time, she carefully brought a half bowl of strong wine to Madam Gongsun, who exuded a gentle feminine fragrance.

With a graceful flick of her hand, the beautiful woman turned and danced. Her delicate head tilted slightly, the wine finished and the bowl balanced on the tip of her sword, moving not a whit as she danced. Wu Yueling’s eyes brightened—such exquisite swordsmanship! She applauded silently, committing each move to memory.

The zither’s notes sliced sharply like blades. Over fifty beautiful sword dancers rose together, the scene magnificent and splendid. As time passed and the sun blazed overhead, more and more visitors stopped to watch, envy evident in their eyes. Everyone knew this was Madam Gongsun, the famed sword master of Pingkang Lane, renowned throughout Chang’an.

For whom did Madam Gongsun dance? For the Protectorate Princess, and to honor the Drunken Eight Immortals.

The woman in pink drew her sword from her waist and danced with twin blades—one sword sweeping eastward and upward, the other westward and downward, full of heroic spirit!

The fifty sword maidens ceased their movements and formed a circle around their master, creating a floral ring.

The pink-clad beauty danced on tiptoe within the circle, a silk scarf draped over her shoulder fluttering like a winding river. With a twin-sword thrust, a flash of cold light spun around. The two swords split and merged, their icy gleams weaving as the woman twirled, her skirt swirling. The sword moves repeated thrice, then she shifted her weight and stepped awkwardly, slashing the air with her sword, then reversed the blade to strike again. Launching herself off the ground, she hung inverted in midair, stabbing the earth thrice, using the momentum to flip back into the air. She danced left and right with dazzling flashes of steel, performing three or four moves in midair before finally landing firmly and sheathing her swords.

The entire sword dance lasted an hour. Wu Yueling was amazed—truly worthy of a generation’s master of sword dance. She felt the essence of a lifetime’s swordsmanship refined into this performance. Madam Gongsun had not come merely to dance, but to teach her swordplay. The final move, “Returning Wild Goose and Falling Goose,” was especially brilliant!

For some reason, after watching the last dance, a vivid image lingered in her mind. If she could wield a sword now, she believed she might glean some insight from it.

With this thought, she fetched a bucket of cold drink from the pavilion, ladled a bowl, and personally handed it to Madam Gongsun. When the woman showed a grateful smile and nodded as she accepted the bowl, Wu Yueling’s feelings grew complicated—was she truly her master?

“You are quite exceptional! The only woman I have met who does not seem like a woman, but carries a spirit of heroism! I saw you once in the Western Market. Today I come to clear your name! Who dares call our Protectorate Princess a mere village woman? The essence of my lifelong sword cultivation is contained in this dance. I hope you can grasp the profound secrets within it! I sense it was no accident you saved His Majesty. The great fortune of the Tang Dynasty rests upon you! I hope you continue to protect the nation! Guard the empire of Tang!”

Madam Gongsun finished speaking and handed her sword to the princess with a gentle smile. “Try it! The Eight Immortals have all gathered…”

Startled, Wu Yueling quickly embraced the woman’s ample waist, locking eyes with her. Seeing the intoxicated, dreamy look in her eyes, she coughed lightly—somewhat embarrassed. The woman had drunk herself into a stupor.

Carefully lifting Madam Gongsun, Wu Yueling entrusted her to the woman’s disciples. She then attempted the sword moves herself. Glancing toward the end of the Eight Immortals Bridge, she saw someone had successfully crossed without assistance!

That person approached, waving and smiling like a spring breeze. It was none other than her classmate Cui Zongzhi. But just as he was about to speak proudly, his body went limp and collapsed to the ground like a heap of mud, unable to rise.

Several princess guards hurried over to help him up. Wu Yueling’s heart swelled with joy—how long had it been since she felt so happy? So many people, so many stories. Unknowingly, her inner understanding of the sword path began to sharpen. She leapt up, her long black hair flowing, and executed the “Returning Wild Goose and Falling Goose” move!

Wan’er and Qin Muyu quickened their playing. The zither’s sound grew resounding and powerful, like a hundred horses galloping, waves surging! Muyu led the main melody, Wan’er harmonized, creating a grand and heroic atmosphere!

Applause erupted around them. Madam Gongsun nodded with satisfaction before finally collapsing drunk. The strong wine of the Princess’s mansion truly lived up to its reputation!

Only the solitary Li Shisan understood the sadness lingering in the princess’s final gaze at the sword—a sorrow indescribable, felt but not easily articulated. Perhaps the princess and she were kindred spirits. His gaze softened, as if enchanted, before shaking his head to dispel such impractical thoughts and turning away.

As the applause died down, Wu Yueling heard a mad call from outside the pavilion’s sobering tent. It was the drunken call of Zhang Xu, the Sage of Cursive Script, having another bout of drunken madness. Yet every time he went mad, he left behind an astonishing work of cursive calligraphy!

Zhang Xu wasn’t just drunk—he had been deeply moved by Madam Gongsun’s sword dance and the stirring zither music. Overcome with emotion, he scattered ink wildly across the paper. Ink splattered onto the face of Yu Chaon, who was relaxing nearby. His sleeves flailed wildly, and in a frenzy, his elbow struck Yu Chaon’s nose, sending him tumbling onto his back.

Once the intoxication faded, Zhang Xu, panting heavily and supported by a burly man with a bushy mustache, settled firmly into an Eight Immortals chair. A calligraphy scroll, filled with violent beauty in wild cursive script, took shape.

The final line of the calligraphy bore the inscription: “Presented to the Protectorate Princess!”