Chapter Eighteen: Gold Horn and Silver Horn

Kunlun Mountain is not just a single peak, but a vast range stretching for over ten thousand miles, with thousands of great and small summits. The people who dwell within these mountains are all devoted to the pursuit of the Way and the quest for immortality, never involving themselves in the worldly chaos and strife. As a result, many know only the name Kunlun Mountain, but little else.

It was quite some time after Nanluo awoke that he realized he was still alive. Glancing at the simple furnishings of the room, he understood at once he was not in the Peacock Hall.

The Peacock Hall was grand and imposing, a part of the Palace of Undying. Within its opulent walls, there was always an overwhelming aura, as if the place itself looked down upon all beings with a dominion that weighed heavily on the heart. Here, though Nanluo had just awakened and could see only this unadorned room, he felt a profound comfort. Though the place was unfamiliar, his spirit was at ease; every breath was as if a mountain spring flowed gently through his heart.

After closing his eyes for a moment and opening them again, Nanluo realized his wounds had healed. He could feel his body, like a sponge saturated with water, enveloped by a gentle spiritual energy—yet he could not summon even a trace of it. This troubled him somewhat, but the joy of survival eclipsed all else. Besides, he reasoned, if someone could save his life, surely there would be a way for him to resume his cultivation. Perhaps he might even learn better methods.

Once he calmed his heart, Nanluo heard faint voices from other rooms, as if from next door. Perhaps the sound was muffled by a wall, for he could not make out the words clearly. Focusing, he realized the voices were childish—like those of children from seven or eight to twelve years old. Listening more closely, he discerned it was not conversation, but reading—a recitation of texts. Though he could not understand the words, the sound brought him even greater tranquility, his mind gradually merging with the mysterious cadence, drifting into a dreamlike state. Nanluo felt himself float upward, his eyes slowly closing, and soon he slipped into slumber once more.

He awoke intermittently, always at that same hour, always to the sound of reading. It became so dreamlike that he wondered if he had merely dozed for a moment, yet he could clearly feel his body improving each time.

When Nanluo finally awoke again, he saw two youths in blue standing by his bed. Each had a horn upon his head, their faces fresh and childlike, their curious eyes wide and sparkling.

“My name is Goldhorn, and this is my junior, Silverhorn.”

Looking at these two children, each with a singular horn and about seven or eight years old in appearance, Nanluo wondered to himself, “Have I ended up in some demon’s den?”

“It’s because of you that we had to recite the ‘Dao of Alchemy’ for a whole month,” Silverhorn piped up, his voice clear and crisp. Though there was a hint of complaint, Nanluo sensed no real malice in his gaze—only innocence and purity.

“Goldhorn, Silverhorn, come at once to the alchemy chamber and tend the furnace fire.”

Before Nanluo could decide what to say to these two otherworldly children, a gentle yet commanding voice echoed from the void. The two boys, still gazing at Nanluo with bright, curious eyes, immediately turned and dashed out the door.

“Time to tend the alchemy again…” came a faint, reluctant voice from outside—Nanluo could not tell if it was Goldhorn or Silverhorn.

Nanluo couldn’t help but laugh, reminded of his own childhood.

After that, the two horned children never appeared again, though Nanluo occasionally heard an old man scolding them. From the reprimands, Nanluo guessed the boys must have been shirking their duties or working carelessly.

Nanluo had no idea how long he had lain there, nor how much time had passed since he’d been struck down by the Golden Roc prince.

At first, he would only be awake for brief periods before slipping back into a muddled sleep, but as time passed, his waking moments grew longer. Finally, one day, he awoke to find that he could move. Examining himself, he realized he was completely healed.

He rose from the bed and walked toward the door. The moment he stepped outside, a chill enveloped him; before his eyes stretched a world of white. Winter had come, and snow had already fallen thick upon the ground.

He hadn’t felt a trace of cold in his room, yet outside, snow lay everywhere. Nanluo turned to look back at the room, then followed the sound of laughter he heard in the air. He recognized the voices of Goldhorn and Silverhorn.

He felt a twinge of disappointment that the two boys had not visited him again, but now that he had recovered, he was in high spirits and walked briskly toward the sound.

He arrived before a great gate and beheld a wide, open courtyard blanketed in snow as soft as cotton. Goldhorn and Silverhorn were sweeping the snow with large brooms.

To the left, a stone path wound up into the mountains. Other than this path, which led up and down the slopes, there was no other route—only the undulating white expanse of mountains shrouded in snow. Yet Nanluo could see several places where auspicious clouds lingered, untouched by the winter’s chill.

“Immortal children,” Nanluo called from the doorway. He was not dressed in the thick winter robes of his tribe, yet felt no discomfort from the cold.

Goldhorn and Silverhorn wore simple blue robes, unadorned by any insignia.

“Oh, you really are better,” Silverhorn said, pausing in his sweeping to look at Nanluo, but neither boy came closer.

“Our master said you’d be well today, so of course you are. What’s so surprising about that?” Goldhorn replied, leaning on his broom.

Hearing them mention their master, Nanluo guessed it must have been he who saved him.

“Immortal children, where is your master? I wish to thank him for saving my life,” Nanluo said politely. Though he appeared older and taller than the boys, he had no idea of their true ages. His manners, however, were impeccable—he had been instructed in court etiquette when he first arrived at the Peacock Hall, even though he had skipped the usual rites of entry into the Palace of Undying, having been brought directly there by Kong Xuan. He had spent over ten days learning these codes of conduct.

“There’s no need—our master is refining pills and must not be disturbed,” Goldhorn said as he resumed sweeping.

Nanluo quickly asked, “Then when will your master finish his alchemy?”

“Well, I think master said the pills would be ready in three months… I’m not sure,” Goldhorn said, squinting at the sky as he pondered.

Silverhorn cut in before Goldhorn could continue, “Nonsense! Master clearly said it would take three years, and told us to work hard and not be lazy.”

“Oh, maybe you’re right… No, it was three months,” Goldhorn said, rubbing the golden horn on his forehead as he tried to recall.

Nanluo watched them, lost for words, unable to join the conversation. All he could say was, “Well, in that case, I’ll wait here. Whether it’s three years or three months… Here, let me help you sweep. You two take a rest.” As he spoke, he stepped closer and reached for Silverhorn’s broom.

“You’re just trying to get us in trouble again!” Silverhorn dodged nimbly, yanking the broom from Nanluo’s grasp.

Nanluo was startled by the child’s strength—clearly, he was no ordinary boy.

“Last time, we had to recite the ‘Dao of Alchemy’ for a whole month because of you. Then we had to tend the furnace for two months straight,” Silverhorn said, his eyes bright and clear. Though he accused Nanluo, there was no anger or resentment—only childlike innocence. The silver horn on his brow made him even more endearing.

Nanluo was puzzled but did not argue. It was true that whenever he awoke, he’d heard the boys reciting, and later their master calling them to the alchemy chamber, but he didn’t understand what that had to do with him.

“If you help us sweep, master will say we’re shirking our duties,” Goldhorn explained.

“But isn’t your master busy refining pills? How would he know?” Nanluo asked with a smile.

Before Goldhorn could answer, Silverhorn blurted out, “Our master is supremely powerful—the greatest in all Kunlun!” His face shone with pride.

Nanluo smiled, thinking of his little sister. She wore the same expression when speaking of him to others, always saying, “My brother is Nanluo, the future priest of our tribe—the strongest of all.”

Nanluo looked around for another broom, but found none, so he simply stood by and chatted with the boys. He learned that he had been brought here by Kong Xuan, but the red-robed woman who had come along was unfamiliar to him.

From Goldhorn and Silverhorn, he gathered that the red-robed woman had a fiery temper and had performed magic in the temple, only to have it easily dispelled by their master, the Profound Celestial Master.

Of course, Nanluo could sense the boys were exaggerating their master’s prowess while belittling the woman, but when he heard that Prince Kong Xuan would return in three days to take him away, he was reluctant to accept it.

He had not yet learned any methods of cultivation—how could he be leaving so soon?