Hua Bucheng released all the white cranes, and by piecing together the information they brought back, he gradually understood the truth of the matter.
Mo Qingbei had done something incredibly audacious upon his return to the mountain.
He had requested that the Sect Leader unseal his foundation, which had been bound for a century—not because he had finally come to his senses and intended to focus on his cultivation, but for the exact opposite reason.
He intended to join the war.
Hua Bucheng had heard rumors: the Yellow Sea had fallen, and Liaodong was in peril. Once the Shanhaiguan Pass was breached, the nation would effectively cease to exist.
Mo Qingbei was undoubtedly committing a folly. The Seven Houses had a strict rule: if an immortal entered the secular world, they must remain hidden behind the scenes. If he descended the mountain with his full cultivation, a single strike of his sword could indeed quell the chaos, but it would also expose the existence of the Seven Houses to the world.
That would disrupt a far greater cycle of karma, leading to unimaginable consequences.
Yet, Hua Bucheng understood why his friend was knowingly breaking the rules. Given the current state of the world, if Mo Qingbei still wished to preserve the fate of the dynasty, this was his final recourse.
Hua Bucheng considered the situation. After all, Mo Qingbei was currently languishing on the mountain with a broken leg; to stand by and do nothing felt like a betrayal of all the osmanthus-scented donkey-hide rolls he had eaten over the years. Thus, he took up his sword and traced the current strategic situation of the war in the snow.
As noon turned to dusk, Hua Bucheng threw down his sword. The ground was covered in deep furrows where the blade had swept through.
He sighed, deciding it was better for Mo Qingbei to stay at the Cliff of Reflection with his broken leg. At the very least, he shouldn't leave the mountain for another forty or fifty years.
The sun had already sunk below the horizon.
Mo Qingbei was facing the wall.
Above him, a torrential waterfall cascaded from the peak, splashing heavily against his shoulders. He hadn't tasted this sensation in a long time. Back in his youth at Penglai, he was sent to the Cliff of Reflection so often that he eventually started treating the punishment as a convenient shower.
He sneezed, feeling that he had played the part of an old man for too long; his constitution was no longer what it once was.
Time flowed differently in Penglai than in the mortal realm. He had been on the mountain for a day and a night, which meant the world outside had likely changed drastically. He had calculated the situation before his return; he had to leave before nightfall today, before things became irreversible.
In the Golden Peak Hall, a game of Go was underway. The Sect Leader of Penglai, Master Changsheng, placed a stone. "I should have known. For a boy like Qingbei to act so recklessly, there had to be someone pushing him from behind."
He looked at the person across from him. "The only one capable of playing Penglai in the palm of his hand is you, Heavenly Calculator."
The young novice monk pressed his palms together. "Amitabha."
"Your presence in Penglai today is surely for more than just a game of chess." Changshengzi’s face was sour, his tone unfriendly. "A monk does not tell lies. Why have you gone to such lengths to lead my best disciple astray?"
The young novice picked up his teacup and took a sip. "Do not be anxious, Daoist. It is a long story."
"If you speak in riddles one more time, I will throw you, you bald donkey, right off the Golden Peak."
"You 'Ox-noses' always have such terrible tempers," the novice monk replied calmly, trading insults. "Striking a child goes against your Daoist heart."
"You bald donkey are older than I am! How dare you call yourself a child?"
"Not at all. It is simply that you, Ox-nose, have too much fire in your blood, which makes you look much older."
With a loud *clatter*, Changshengzi flipped the chessboard.
As the stones scattered across the floor, the novice monk pursed his lips. "I was just about to win. You are bullying a child."
"If you do not know how to respect your elders, why should I care for the young?" Changshengzi sneered. "Enough. What is it you really want?"
"I truly came to play chess. It has been many years, and I thought I would drop by for a free meal."
"P联网 does not host beggars," Changshengzi said. "If you want to eat, speak the truth first. What kind of honeyed poison did you feed my disciple?"
"I did nothing," the novice monk sighed. "I simply told him the truth."
Years ago, in the Library of Scriptures, the Heavenly Calculator had told Mo Qingbei that Penglai had once rejected a mandate of Heaven, which was the root cause of the current chaos in the mortal world.
Over two hundred years ago, the previous Heavenly Calculator had cast a divination, requesting that Penglai send a disciple down the mountain to serve as an official in the imperial court.
Mo Qingbei immediately understood the implication.
Penglai disciples usually descended for worldly experience upon reaching adulthood. Looking back two hundred years, the disciple who should have gone down the mountain at that specific moment was Hua Bucheng.
Yet Hua Bucheng had remained in the Sword Pavilion for a century.
Mo Qingbei recalled their first meeting, when Hua Bucheng explained why he never left: *"I follow my late master's dying command to cultivate here. Until I understand the realm, I cannot leave."*
What command was he following? And what "realm" was he meant to realize?
"It has been far too long since Penglai produced one who attained the Dao. In the last century, the one most likely to achieve ascension is Hua Bucheng." Back then, the novice monk had toyed with the flower-patterned coins in his hand, speaking softly. "I saw him once when he was a youth. His talent was breathtaking, not a whit inferior to yours."
"Penglai placed great expectations on him, but with his foundation, it was not suitable for him to become too deeply involved in the world. Otherwise, his worldly ties would become too heavy, making transcendence impossible."
"Then isn't this perfect?" Mo Qingbei had spread his hands. "He stays quietly in the Sword Pavilion, untainted by the world. The rumors in Penglai practically call him a monster; surely his ascension is only a matter of time."
"When the elders of Penglai ordered him to stay in the Sword Pavilion, they were protecting him, but they also severed his path," the novice monk shook his head. "He was destined for this karmic cycle. If the karma is not answered, the wheel of fate will not turn. Even if he stays on that peak for a thousand years, it will be a futile waste of time."
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
"Since the Seven Houses were established a thousand years ago, entering the world to save the masses has been the inevitable destiny of their members," the Heavenly Calculator said. "Penglai's refusal to send him down was an act of defiance against fate. No matter how transcendent his talent, if he does not cross this tribulation, he can never progress another inch."
He looked at Mo Qingbei. "Lord Mo should understand my meaning by now."
It was a dilemma—Hua Bucheng’s foundation made him ill-suited for the world, yet without entering the world, he could never break through.
In other words, the divination of the mountain-ghost coins had decreed that a Penglai disciple must descend. Someone had to pay the price.
Fate had chosen Hua Bucheng.
In the dim light of the Wenyuan Pavilion, Mo Qingbei had stood in silence for a long time.
Finally, he spoke, his voice devoid of emotion. "Since the Heavenly Calculator has told me so much ancient history, I assume you aren't just bored and looking to ruin my day."
The novice monk bowed slightly. "Lord Mo is sharp-witted. You surely understand the intent behind my words."
"You just said his talent is not inferior to mine," Mo Qingbei said flatly. "Thinking of it the other way—I am not inferior to him."
"Add to that the grand titles you've just bestowed upon me, calling me the one at the helm... your meaning is clear." Mo Qingbei sighed. "You are saying that I can answer this karmic debt in his place?"
"Precisely," the novice monk said. "In hundreds of years, you are the only one besides Hua Bucheng who possesses the immortal affinity required to bear the mandate of Heaven."
"Years ago, my master told me that of all the talented people who entered the Library of Scriptures without knowing what they sought, I was the second," Mo Qingbei said. "Back then, I wondered if the first was him."
The novice monk chanted a Buddhist name. "All things are karma."
"I could never beat him in a fight anyway. If he breaks through again, I can't imagine what realm he'll reach." Mo Qingbei’s mind wandered for a moment. *"Soaring ninety thousand miles on the wind, cutting the clouds to make a white robe."*
He shook his head and then laughed, sighing softly. "He deserves it."
"No wonder that boy has been obsessed all these years, insisting on meddling in the messy affairs of the imperial family," Changshengzi huffed. "And his return this time, demanding I unseal his foundation—was that your doing too, you bald donkey?"
"He has already entered the game; he is guided by fate now. I cannot interfere too much." The novice monk began picking up the fallen stones from the floor. "This was his own decision."
"I suppose even you aren't that stupid," Changshengzi said. "I will not agree to it. He is too deeply mired in the world; his Daoist heart is already half-ruined. If he continues this entanglement, his foundation will be utterly destroyed."
The novice monk hummed in agreement. "Lord Mo surely understands this logic."
He reset the board and placed a stone. "Another round?"
Mo Qingbei brushed a stray hair from his forehead and squinted toward the mountain peak. Dusk had arrived; he had to leave.
Though he knew the chances were slim, the situation was dire, and he had to try even the most foolish methods. Unfortunately, as expected, his master remained unmoved.
Mo Qingbei felt a mix of helplessness and amusement. Hua Bucheng was right—the Bodhisattvas feel no joy or sorrow, and the immortals do not save the world.
It was his own obsession that was too deep.
He had a way to forcibly break through his meridians, but that was no different from seeking death—the worst of all options. He sighed, walked out of the Cliff of Reflection, and facing the direction of the capital, he bowed deeply with his sleeves folded.
*This subject is incompetent; I have failed the late Emperor's kindness.*
*Once this battle is over, it will truly be time to ride the crane back to the west.*
He realized he hadn't held a sword in a long time. Penglai was far beyond the borders; he wondered if, from the Sword Pavilion, one could see the flash of a blade at Shanhaiguan.
A moment on the mountain is a day below.
The flow of time in Penglai was much slower than in the mortal realm. The chess game was only halfway through when the fires of war had already spread across the land.
The novice monk opened the messages brought by the white cranes one by one. "Master Lingchu sends word: the river defense line has collapsed; the gateway to the Bohai Sea is wide open."
"The Mohist Master sends word: the naval losses are too great; the destroyed ironclads cannot be repaired in time."
"Master Wuchang sends word: the enemy is massacring cities; the dead number over ten thousand in a few days. Fengdu is overwhelmed; the Bridge of Helplessness is impassable."
He placed a stone. "Changshengzi, it is your turn."
The other man looked down at the board. "Heavenly Calculator, the tide has turned. With your skill, you must see it—if this battle is lost, the fortune of this dynasty is spent. Why bother trying to turn back the waves?"
"It is too early to say," the novice monk replied. "A centipede dies but never falls prostrate; the mandate of this dynasty has at least ten years left."
"What is ten years? Is the building not still collapsing?"
"A building that is collapsing but has not yet fallen cannot be abandoned," the novice monk said. "Otherwise, when the tower finally crumbles, even more will die."
"What do you mean?"
"When the True Dragon is about to die, its pulse must be severed," the novice monk said calmly. "Lord Mo's desire to unseal his foundation was not merely to win this battle."
"If this battle cannot be won, his sword strike is meant to sever the Dragon Veins of the mountains and rivers."
Before his voice could fade, a surge of sword intent soared into the sky in the distance, a brilliant clear light erupting.
Changshengzi slammed his hand on the table and stood up, rushing out of the hall. He saw the sword intent coming from the far distance, patrolling the four seas—it was a world-shaking strike, swift and cold, its edge crossing thousands of mountains and rivers to reach even Penglai.
"When did that boy escape?!" Changshengzi shouted in a mix of shock and fury, turning to a disciple nearby. "Go to the Cliff of Reflection!"
The disciple trembled. "Reporting to the Sect Leader... Master Mo broke through the mountain gate before nightfall. We could not stop him. Because you and the Heavenly Calculator were playing chess... we did not dare enter to disturb you. And..."
Changshengzi threw down his fly-whisk and whipped around to glare at the Heavenly Calculator.
The novice monk pressed his palms together. "For the sake of a peaceful world, Lord Mo has exhausted his heart and soul for over thirty years. He held up the collapsing tower and severed the roots of calamity for the nation's fate. After years in the world, his original intention remains unchanged, and his decisiveness in slaughter is something we cannot match."
Changshengzi’s face was livid. He struck the table. "With this sword strike, he may have severed the Dragon Vein, but he has also destroyed his own cultivation. His life is ruined!"
"Since Penglai joined the Seven Houses, our duty has been to bring peace to the world, not merely to hide away in search of the Dao," the novice monk said softly. "Changshengzi, you have forgotten your original heart."
Changshengzi laughed out of pure anger. "You tricked my disciple into going to his death in the secular world, and you have the nerve to stand there and preach to me?"
"Of course not," the novice monk looked up. "Since I led him into the game, I must ensure his life."
"Penglai hides a medicine called the White Jade Choke, which can cure ten thousand ailments. Only the Sect Leader of Penglai is authorized to use it. Whether to save him or not is your choice."
Changshengzi’s face turned from green to white. In this world, only the Heavenly Calculator could push him to such a state—tricking his student into a death trap and then swindling his secret medicine to save him.
But he knew very well that Mo Qingbei had staked his entire life's cultivation on that single strike to sever the Dragon Vein. Even if the White Jade Choke saved his life, it would only extend it by a few years at most, and he would likely be left with chronic infirmities.
As for ascending to the celestial ranks, it was no longer possible.
He hadn't been this angry in a hundred years. His expression darkened. "And if I refuse to save him?"
The novice monk pointed outside the hall. "It seems your other disciple has something to say."
The disciple at the door had never seen the Sect Leader so enraged; he was terrified out of his wits, stammering out the rest of his report: "And... and... a moment ago, just as the sword intent appeared, the Cliff of Reflection collapsed."
Changshengzi frowned. "The Cliff of Reflection collapsed?"
"Yes," the disciple bowed low. "The flow of the waterfall suddenly increased, and the cliff could not support the weight, so it crumbled. As for why the flow increased, the elders say..."
"Get to the point!"
"Yes, yes!" The disciple wiped his sweat. "The elders say it is because the snow on the Sword Pavilion has melted."
Changshengzi froze.
"Someone flew out from the Sword Pavilion on a sword. He had already left Penglai, but he returned almost immediately." The disciple stepped aside, pointing toward the base of the Great Hall. "It... it is him."
At the bottom of the hundred steps of the Golden Peak knelt a man. His hair crown was disheveled, and his white robes were soaked in blood.
It was Hua Bucheng.
He was cradling someone in his arms, blood spreading beneath his knees. He kowtowed heavily into the crimson-stained ground, his voice hoarse. "I beg my Uncle to save him."
From the Sword Pavilion, he had seen the sword light erupt in the east, the roar of the dragon majestic and vast. In that instant, he understood everything that had happened.
By the time he arrived in a frantic rush, he saw only a figure in green being swept into the deep sea by a monstrous wave amidst a torrential downpour.
An immortal travels on a sword, covering ten thousand miles in a heartbeat.
Yet, in the end, he was almost too late.
"Now, the two students you value most have arrived," the novice monk said. "They rise and fall together. You have no choice but to save him."
He placed a final stone. "You have lost this game."
Changshengzi stood before the hall for a long time, then sighed. "As expected of the Heavenly Calculator. Pressing at every step, calculating every move."
"You flatter me, Changshengzi."
"But you miscalculated one thing."
The novice monk blinked, startled.
Changshengzi turned back, and the two met each other's gaze.
"The real loser of this game is you."
***
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