The night at Xuxi Mountain was deathly still.
Winter seemed to have arrived earlier than in years past. Though the Beginning of Winter had not yet passed, more than half the leaves on the mountain had already fallen. It seemed the first snow would arrive in just a few days.
The pilgrims had descended the mountain before sunset, and travelers had long since found places to rest. Even the few stragglers were spurring their horses toward the post station at the foot of the mountain.
Halfway up the slope, however, several ox-carts were still lumbering upward.
The carts were inlaid with gold and silver, and the oxen were adorned with fresh flowers and bells. Even the stable boys driving the carts and the accompanying maidservants were of ethereal beauty. Despite the winter chill, they wore light gauze and feathered crowns, scattering incense powder mixed with gold dust as they went. From a distance, they looked like a wedding procession for mountain spirits or forest ghosts.
"Stop scattering it. In this desolate wilderness, who are you showing off to?"
The golden dust finally ceased its flight.
Fu Qiu hooked the carriage curtain with a finger, sneezing as he peered outside.
The world outside was pitch black; not even a ghostly shadow could be seen. He had no idea where on Xuxi Mountain they were, let alone where Yongye Temple might be.
He really shouldn't have made this trip.
He had heard that a few days ago, strange celestial phenomena had occurred near Busu Valley in Wancheng. Dark clouds had pressed down, thunder had rolled, and a strange light had pierced the heavens. No one knew if some spirit was ascending to transcend a tribulation or if it was truly a sign of the apocalypse. But after a night of turmoil, everything had returned to calm, and in the end, no one could say for certain what had happened.
But just because no one knew didn't mean nothing had occurred. When things were abnormal, there was bound to be a mystery. Moreover, in these troubled times, it was better to be cautious in all things.
Dropping the curtain, he took a heavy breath and wiped his sweat with a damp cloth.
It was clearly the onset of winter, yet the beads of sweat on his forehead never stopped.
"What kind of charcoal are you burning? It’s so stifling."
The Daoist acolyte accompanying the carriage dared not delay, hurriedly turning the charcoal in the brazier and quietly urging the stable boy to move faster.
Unfortunately, an ox-cart was always much slower than a horse-drawn carriage, and the mountain road was an incline, making it slower still. By the time the charcoal in the brazier had burned to white ash, the cart finally came to a halt.
Supported by the acolyte, Fu Qiu climbed down from the cart. He thought they had arrived, but when he managed to straighten his stiff neck and look, he realized this was merely the mountain gate. Not only that, but this gate was no different from the wild woods they had just passed; not a single servant or monk was in sight, and they hadn't even hung a single ever-burning lamp.
This wasn't a temple; it was a godforsaken place.
Fu Qiu looked at the endless stone steps of the mountain path and coughed heavily.
The acolytes standing behind him immediately understood. They took a palanquin from the second ox-cart, quickly spreading fur rugs, placing a small hand-warmer, and tidying it up in a few moments.
Before long, the palanquin bore the old Celestial Master upward, surrounded by several disciples.
The night was deep and the mountain path rugged. The palanquin swayed with every step, making the person upon it feel drowsy. Fu Qiu struggled to keep his heavy eyelids open, barely maintaining a sliver of clarity.
After the time it took to burn a stick of incense, the ground finally leveled out. There, nestled between the mountain clefts, stood a temple.
The temple was not small, but the gate meant to welcome guests was quite dilapidated. It clearly hadn't been repaired in a long time; even the plaque was missing a piece. Every corner of the place screamed of a lack of incense money.
Not just a godforsaken place, but a poor one too.
Fu Qiu waved his hand, signaling for the palanquin to be lowered.
The warmer made the seat beneath him cozy, and he reluctantly extended a foot. Just as his toes touched the ground, a voice rang out from beneath the temple gate.
"Who goes there? Why have you not dismounted?"
Having traveled for many years with a grand entourage, Fu Qiu had not encountered such a sharp questioning in a long time.
Hardening his heart, he rolled off the palanquin. Acolytes immediately supported him on both sides as the group walked toward the figure under the gate with an air of imposing authority.
The torches by the gate illuminated the face of the insolent speaker. He appeared to be a young man in black, dressed as a guard. His eyes were narrow and long, his features somewhat feminine, and the light in his eyes was cold.
But the lead acolyte was no pushover either. Though young, he already had a square-faced, bull-nosed appearance. He snorted two plumes of white vapor, his nostrils flaring high.
"We are the Protectors and Daoist friends of the Northern Hongji Sect. This is our Sect Leader, Celestial Master Fu Qiu. Our Master has traveled through the night and is exhausted. Is he someone you can question? Hurry inside and announce us!"
The other man raised an eyebrow, his voice sounding sinister.
"Fu Qiu? Which Fu Qiu?"
As soon as these words were spoken, the surroundings fell silent for a moment.
Fu Qiu had never been asked such a question. He stumbled back half a step, barely caught by his attendants.
The acolytes and female Daoists behind him suddenly turned into street ruffians and hags, as if they had grown three or four extra mouths, swarming the guard with a barrage of words.
"Bold servant! How dare you be so rude?!"
"If it weren't for this broken temple begging and pleading for someone to come, would our Master have set aside his half-finished ritual to condescend to this wretched place?"
"Lest you forget, the Great Sacrifice at the beginning of the year was accomplished solely through our Master's efforts. If this matter is mentioned before the Emperor in the future, even ten heads wouldn't be enough for you to lose..."
"Our Master's merit is vast, benefiting all under heaven. Countless people wait for him to save them from suffering. It’s one thing not to be grateful, but is this how you treat a benefactor who has come from afar?!"
After a flurry of flying spittle, Lu Songping slowly looked toward Fu Qiu in the center.
"Did your Master not mention whose invitation brought him here?"
Fu Qiu had just steadied himself and was about to pull back his colorful, seven-layered robes to reveal his imperially bestowed gold medallion. Hearing this, his hand paused, and he suddenly felt a chill in the air.
Three days ago, he had received a handwritten letter. The signature was the abbot of this temple, but the seal was an official palace seal.
Thinking back now, what he had received wasn't an invitation, but a decree.
It was still unknown which "Great Buddha" was hidden inside this broken temple; he couldn't afford to lose the big picture by offending the person behind the scenes.
At this thought, Fu Qiu’s expression instantly became benevolent.
"These disciples of mine are practitioners who have not heard of worldly affairs for a long time. They are somewhat lacking in social graces; I hope you can forgive them."
The guard didn't hesitate for a moment, immediately following suit and putting on a more agreeable face.
"I was blind just now. I ask the Celestial Master to be magnanimous and not hold it against a crude man like me. That the Celestial Master is willing to travel ten thousand miles at such an age and risk his life to come and help—I must thank the Celestial Master on behalf of those in this temple..."
Wait.
Alarm bells rang in Fu Qiu’s head, and his eyes opened a crack.
"Risk? What risk?"
The guard gave a pure smile and returned to pleasantries.
"Ah, the Celestial Master’s skill in exorcising demons and subduing monsters is already transcendent. Seeing such things day and night, you must be as calm as still water. It is my own shallow experience and poor choice of words that have made the Celestial Master laugh."
The man talked in circles without saying anything. Fu Qiu was filled with uncertainty, but before he could press further, the side door of the temple creaked open, and several people walked out.
He caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, and what he saw made his heart skip a beat. Two monks were carrying out a Daoist in grey robes whose life or death was uncertain.
The guard must have seen it too, for a look of lamentation appeared on his face.
"Sigh, the ninth one in these past few days. I heard he was the Abbot of Mount Songling. He wasn't very old and had great courage, but unfortunately..." He paused perfectly at that point, then looked at Fu Qiu. "But fortunately, the Celestial Master has arrived in time. Such tragedies surely won't happen again."
Fu Qiu was greatly alarmed, his legs turning to jelly, but he still had some skill in keeping a straight face. He merely pretended to wipe his sweat.
"Oh dear, I just remembered that the—the dharma tool for exorcism was left on the palanquin. I shall go and retrieve it."
With that, he prepared to retreat quickly. Before his leg could step back outside the temple gate, a voice called out to him.
"May I ask if you are Celestial Master Fu Qiu? That the Master has graced our humble temple with his presence and I have failed to welcome you properly—I am truly ashamed!"
Fu Qiu turned his head halfway to see a fair-skinned, clean-looking monk smiling at him.
"I arrived a few steps late and happened to pass the Master's palanquin. There was nothing on it. Could the Master have remembered incorrectly?"
Where did this demon monk come from? They had never met, yet he insisted on making things difficult for him!
Fu Qiu’s temple twitched as he barely steadied his mind.
"And you are...?"
The young monk gave a gentle smile.
"I am Yi Kong, the one who wrote the letter. Does the Master not remember?"
He remembered; of course he remembered.
Seeing that the person before him was not very old, Fu Qiu immediately adopted the air of an elder. He moved a few steps to the side, signaling the other to come closer.
"Your late master and I had some friendship back in the day. I will ask you a few questions, and you must answer truthfully."
Yi Kong nodded. "Please ask, Master."
"What is the evil entity within the temple?"
"I do not know."
"Where did the evil entity come from?"
"That, I also do not know."
Fu Qiu was furious, his voice rising.
"Then who is in charge here, and who was harmed by the evil entity? You must at least know that!"
Yi Kong looked troubled, making the veins on Fu Qiu’s forehead throb. After a moment, the young monk finally hesitated and crooked a finger. Fu Qiu hurriedly leaned in an ear.
After a bout of indistinguishable whispering, the acolytes watching from afar saw their Master’s squinted eyes snap wide open.
Yi Kong stepped back with a meaningful look, finally saying diplomatically, "The Master has come today at a time of great peril. If you stay, there will surely be much karmic reward in the future. But if you change your mind and leave in a hurry, not only will you lose the face of the Northern Hongji Sect, but I fear it will be difficult for you to walk freely in the Chizhou region hereafter."
***
In the end, Fu Qiu followed the young novice into the temple.
It wasn't that he truly believed that slick-tongued monk; he believed the seal on that letter.
Besides, he had seen his share of storms. Most people couldn't take this old bag of bones easily. Moreover, this was a temple at the foot of the Imperial City; surely nothing too outrageous could happen?
Preoccupied with his thoughts, he followed the novice toward the Great Hall. He didn't bother looking left or right, his head buried in calculations, when he suddenly heard the sound of a zither.
The music seemed to come from the direction of the Great Hall. It passed through layers of banners and several corridors, yet it managed to reach his ears with winding complexity, enough to show the profound skill of the player.
The melody was subtle and distant, the tones harmonious, as if only an old monk who had attained the Dao through decades of cultivation could produce such a sound. Yet, for some reason, upon closer listening, it was infused with endless bitterness and sorrow, a desolate chill more heart-wrenching than the pipa of an old courtesan at Wangchen Tower in winter. It was a truly inexplicable contradiction.
"We have arrived."
The novice stopped ahead, and Fu Qiu snapped back to his senses.
Looking up, he found himself in the backyard of the Great Hall. The courtyard wasn't large, but it was already crowded with about a dozen people.
They say when peers meet, they see red. "Seeing red" wasn't quite it, but it was easy to distinguish one another in a crowd. Fu Qiu only had to glance once to recognize three or four of them; the rest weren't worth a second look, as they were likely all of the same caliber.
Just how many letters had that Yi Kong written? And why gather so many Daoists, monks, and Celestial Masters together? Could this be some devil's scheme to wipe out all these righteous sects in one go?
He suddenly felt a sense of trepidation and kept peering toward the Great Hall.
Under a solitary lamp not far away stood a guard in green with a long saber. He stood with arms crossed at the back door of the hall, looking over when he heard the noise.
Fu Qiu was poking his head around, trying to ascend the steps, but was stopped by the man.
"Please wait here, Master."
He wanted to wait obediently, but he was truly restless.
Fu Qiu choked for a moment, then lowered his voice. "May I ask, brave warrior, what exactly are we to do tonight?"
The "brave warrior" glanced at him and pointed politely behind him. "What the Master needs to do is simply wait over there."
Fu Qiu was skeptical. "Just like that? Nothing more?"
"If there is no abnormality, nothing more."
Abnormality? What kind of abnormality could there be?
Fu Qiu shook his head and had no choice but to return to the courtyard.
He looked up at the sky. The stars were as scattered as sesame seeds; he truly couldn't discern anything from them. He decided to strike up a conversation with his peers; it was better than just waiting.
Inside the dim Great Hall, the zither music continued.
As the piece neared its end, with only the final set of Sanskrit tones remaining, the player could no longer hold on. A mouthful of fresh blood sprayed onto the strings.
"Your Majesty!"
The shadow that had been standing by the door could no longer stay still. He rushed forward, his usually gentle face filled with grief.
"Your Majesty, please play no more. I cannot bear it!"
The light from a thousand flickering oil lamps cast shadows through the banners deep into the hall. One could faintly see blood soaking the front of the young Emperor's robes. The bright red bloomed as enchantingly as a flower in midsummer, torturing the flesh and blood where it took root.
But the man seemed to have lost his sense of pain. He merely raised a hand to wipe the corner of his mouth, then brushed the blood from the strings, preparing to play again.
Shan Jiangfei leaned over the zither table, his voice mournful. "Your Majesty has injured your heart meridians and only returned from the gates of hell seven days ago. How can you mistreat yourself like this?"
There was no anger on the man's pale face, only endless desolation. Those eyes, once as calm as an ancient well, were now like a deep abyss; a single look was enough to make one breathless.
"The Puan Mantra is lofty in intent, the best for clearing the heart and steadying the spirit. If I stop, I fear I will never be able to turn back."
The eunuch's voice carried a hint of a sob. Recalling something, he waited a long time before slowly saying, "For the past twenty-odd years, Your Majesty has endured like this. This time, Your Majesty can surely do it too. Middle Commander Ding is waiting outside with his men. Your Majesty, just wait a little longer, just a little longer..."
Wait? He had already waited too long in this Avici Hell.
He hadn't known that time was such a torturous thing.
Before, he had never felt that the dripping water from the clepsydra was agonizing, nor did he know the value of time. During his years in the pagoda, the thing he was best at was contending with the endless, void-like years.
But now, watching the beads of blood slowly roll across the strings was like his heart being slowly sliced by a blade.
"Is there any progress on Qu Mo's side?"
"The third furnace was refined today. The Abbot of Mount Songling also couldn't hold on just now; now only he remains. If Your Majesty wishes to know the details, I will send someone to ask."
"No need." The man refused almost instantly. If he didn't ask, he wouldn't hear the terrible result. "Go out."
Shan Jiangfei took away the medicine bowl that had gone completely cold and replaced it with a fresh, hot decoction. He hesitated several times but ultimately said nothing. Before leaving, he draped a clean outer garment he had prepared earlier over the man's shoulders.
"The clothes Your Majesty asked for—I have found them."
The moon-white fabric was light and soft, no longer suitable for the current season. But now, even just one more thin layer to cover the striking bloodstains on his chest was good.
Shan Jiangfei dared not stay longer and withdrew with his head bowed.
The zither music rose again.
Only this time, the tune had changed.
The player himself did not know why, but as his fingertips fell, the melody that emerged was one he had never played before. It wasn't even a named zither piece.
The tune was very familiar, seemingly a folk ditty. But this ditty was missing several lines, only repeating the first few phrases of the melody.
The hand on the strings paused. He finally remembered why the tune had only a few lines—because he didn't know the rest of it. On that silent night in the marsh accompanied only by fireflies, she had hummed that little tune in front of him, and there were only those few lines.
He smiled. But the smile immediately froze there, finally turning into an unmaskable desolation.
He repeated that melody over and over. The exhaustion of not having closed his eyes for three days and the numbness alternately eroded his will. In a daze, he slumped beside the zither table, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, unable to distinguish day from night.
After an unknown amount of time, the sound of light footsteps echoed outside the hall.
The sound was sometimes heavy, sometimes light, sometimes hurried, sometimes slow, finally stopping not far in front of him.
A finger on the strings moved, plucking a single note. The man opened his eyes, propped himself up, and looked forward.
Beneath the swaying banners, a pair of bare feet appeared. Those feet paced, hesitated, and finally drew a bit closer.
In the next instant, the ancient silk banners were gently parted, and she poked her head in quite unexpectedly.
Her eyes still had that familiar radiance; the moment she saw him, they almost lit up.
"I heard someone playing the zither. The tune sounded familiar, so I felt my way over in the dark to see. I didn't expect it to really be you."
He didn't speak. He couldn't speak.
Seeing him silent, she became instantly flustered. Standing beneath the swaying banner, her left hand toyed with the gold thread on the silk while her right hand scratched her messy hair.
She wore only an inner garment, and her hair was loose, but she was clean all over, her plain face vibrant with color.
She was awake? Was she already well? How was Shan Jiangfei doing his job? Why had no one reported this? Why had she come running here alone...?
But he suddenly understood something. He almost stumbled as he stood up, walking toward her step by step.
But at the final step, he stopped.
His extended hand stayed right there. He didn't dare go further, let alone touch her.
Because he knew that everything before him was nothing more than an illusion.
But she clearly didn't notice, staring at him intently.
"What's wrong? Are you unhappy?"
He finally spoke, his voice raspy as if mixed with sand. "How... can you be here?"
She seemed to remember something, her face flushing. "How would I know..."
She seemed eager to change the subject, circling around him, looking up at the patterns on the ceiling of the hall, then turning to look at the sky outside.
"What time is it now? What are you doing here?"
He pursed his dry lips and said softly, "Midnight has just passed. I was playing the zither."
"Didn't you say before that your hand was injured and you could never play again? Was that just to brush me off?" She drew closer, a look of unhidden amusement and triumph on her face. "I've caught you this time; you can't hide anymore. Why don't you play a song for me? Let's see if what's written in those *Nanting Records* is just nonsense."
He stared at her blankly, unwilling to look away for even a second.
"Alright. What do you want to hear?"
She hadn't expected him to agree so readily. Her expression faltered, and she guiltily looked away, trying to hide her look of deep thought. After a long while, she finally recalled the name of a piece.
"Play *Presenting Shoes at Yi Bridge*."
"Alright."
He almost dragged his feet back to the zither table. He had turned, sat, and prepared the instrument countless times, yet he did it now with more difficulty than if it were his first time.
Staring at the dried bloodstains on the strings, he was unable to strike the first note for a long time.
He didn't know why he was sitting here playing *Presenting Shoes at Yi Bridge*. Their meeting was so difficult; they should have had many, many other things to do. But she wanted to hear him play, so he sat here.
The blade at his heart began to pull and grind again. He could no longer tell if it was the pain from the wound or the agony from the depths of his soul.
Then, she reached across the void and caught his trembling fingertips.
"Alright, I was teasing you. I don't really understand it anyway. Don't force yourself."
This time, he kept his head bowed.
He didn't dare look up, but he knew what kind of sincere and careful expression she was using to look at him. He didn't dare look at that face, because he knew that with just one glance, he would instantly collapse, unable to restrain himself, shattered into pieces.
The woman sensed the despair and pain in his expression. Her ethereal fingertips lightly touched his brow.
"You must have something troubling you. Don't worry. No matter what happens, I will be with you. If you are in danger, I will not sit by and watch. Set your heart at ease; everything will get better."
As long as she was there, everything would get better.
But what if she wasn't there?
He looked up, only in time to catch her last hurried glance back.
"It seems someone is calling me. I might have to leave this place. Don't be unhappy anymore."
Her figure was lost among the fluttering banners, gradually blurring and fading into the light and shadow.
"No..." He suddenly pushed the zither table aside, lunging toward her like a madman. "No, you can't go..."
The head of the zither hit the floor, the bridge shattered, and the strings snapped, the sound dying instantly.
He looked around in panic, but he was the only one left in the hall.
There had only ever been him in the hall.
A wind suddenly rose at the previously silent doors, and the thousand oil lamps were extinguished in an instant.
The white-clad physician stood alone at the entrance of the hall, his white clothes covered in marks of smoke and fire. It was unknown how long he had been standing there.
"Your Majesty. This subject has done his best..."
A raspy voice came from the depths of the hall. Only the voice was heard, not the person, which gave rise to much unease.
"Is she alive or dead?"
The figure at the door remained silent. Perhaps he didn't know how to answer.
"I am asking you, is she alive or dead?"
"A breath remains, but..." The words stopped abruptly. Hao Bai felt that the next few sentences were more agonizing to speak than swallowing needles. "Every person has a tribulation of life and death; it is only a matter of sooner or later. Your Majesty has been devoted to the Buddha for so many years; these principles must be even clearer to you. Why not go and see her one last time while her face and voice remain?"
The unseen person in the darkness let out a light laugh.
What tribulation? It was nothing more than an excuse for miserable people to comfort themselves. Because it was unavoidable, they could only endure. Then they comforted their suffering selves by saying that once they passed this time, they could ascend. But once the old tribulation was gone, a new one would come, and then they would say life and death were the greatest things, the most fair to everyone.
But to him, death was not a tribulation at all. The Secret Seal, the Bai clan, the *All Living Beings*, the prophecies of gods and demons... those decaying matters of the past were not his tribulation.
His tribulation was losing her.
The previously swaying banners in the hall suddenly went still. It seemed something terrifying was brewing and gathering behind them.
"Do you not pride yourself on your high medical skills, refusing to save anyone who isn't dying? Do you not claim your medicine cures all and that you can communicate with ghosts and gods? Did you not even save that scoundrel Zou Sifang? Why can't you save her? Why?!"
The white-clad physician stammered, not daring to speak. This time, it was because he truly had no answer.
The surroundings were deathly silent, making it difficult even to breathe.
Then, he heard a crisp sound from the darkness.
A faint sound, like something snapping. It was followed by a series of pitter-patter sounds, the crisp noise of mani beads hitting the floor.
He stared blankly at his feet, seeing a single bead roll out from the floor behind the banners, slowly stopping by his foot.
He recognized that bead. Back then, he had used one of them as a medicinal catalyst to save Zou Sifang.
"Your Majesty..."
He spoke again, his voice raspy and trembling. "Your Majesty, this subject is terrified..."
His voice echoed in the hall, suddenly seeming to be swallowed by the darkness deep within the banners. The silence was so absolute it almost created the illusion of tinnitus.
After a moment of stagnation, a fine, rustling sound like insects gnawing approached. First it was the banners, then the wooden beams and the caisson ceiling, and then the Buddha statue in the center of the hall. He saw everything begin to turn to dust from the outlines, swallowed into the darkness by an invisible force.
He turned around to shout, but a massive force struck him from behind, eroding the fabric of the clothes on his back. He only had time to stumble a few steps before falling out of the hall doors.
In the night, invisible wind blades like night-prowling ghouls emerged from the Great Hall of Yongye Temple, constantly spinning, expanding, and devouring everything around them.
A moon-white figure slowly walked out of the hall. The bloodlines growing wildly on his chest surrounded him like the veins of tree leaves, making his entire person appear even more deathly pale.
He clutched his heart, standing in the center of the vortex. His lowered eyes slowly opened, two pupils as black as holes sweeping over the plants, stones, tiles in the courtyard and the stunned crowd. His voice was hollow and ethereal.
"I want to see her. Why must she go...?"
With every step he took forward, the sound of the wind grew louder.
After three steps, the ancient cypress in the courtyard that took three people to encircle, along with the golden camellias planted before the hall, were instantly gnawed away by the wind blades, turning to dust and scattering in the air.
Pity those demon-slayers and defenders of the Dao in the courtyard; most of them had never seen a real demon or ghost in their lives. Seeing one today with their own eyes, four or five fainted on the spot. The rest stood frozen like terrified roe deer until Ding Weixiang drew his blade and let out a roar.
"What are you all standing there for? Attack!"
The Daoists and masters hurriedly pulled out their respective dharma tools, some chanting sutras, some writing talismans, some reciting incantations.
After a chaotic and frantic response, everyone had been forced to the base of the courtyard wall, with no further path of retreat.
Yi Kong alone held his sutras, stubbornly reciting the *Cangguan Sutra*.
Those around him retreated repeatedly, their wails unending.
"Master Yi Kong, we—we really can't hold on anymore!"
The rampaging wind blades cut the young monk's robes to tatters, yet he stepped forward with his limping leg, blocking everyone.
"Even if I must pass on today and Yongye ceases to exist, I cannot let him leave this place!"
"Bullshit!" Fu Qiu clutched the gold crown on his head, retreating while scattering rice and cursing loudly. "If you want to pass on, don't drag others to reincarnate with you! Open the temple gates! Open the—"
He was halfway through his sentence when he suddenly caught a flash of cold light on the surrounding temple walls. It turned out that at some unknown time, hundreds of bows and arrows had been set up there.
the black-clad guard he had seen at the mountain gate sat atop the roof of the side hall, his gaze sweeping coldly over the people in the courtyard.
"You were invited here today with heavy gold. No one can leave until the karmic obstacles are cleared. In extraordinary times, everyone must advance and retreat together."
The situation was decided in an instant. Fu Qiu’s heart went cold, and he had no choice but to lower his head and shrink back.
A group of seventy- and eighty-year-old Celestial Masters and old Daoists gathered behind the young monk, each bringing out their best skills to make a final stand for their own lives.
No one noticed a small figure flipping over the courtyard wall.
His legs were short, and he couldn't reach the ground. When he landed, he fell on his backside with a cry of "Ouch!"
Yi Kong’s gaze swept over, seeing Zhu Yu rushing over at some point, holding something in his hand.
The young novice, filled with a sense of justice, braved the scattered wind blades and turbulence, throwing the object in his hand with all his might toward the man in the center of the vortex.
A flash of gold and green light passed through the air—it was a copper bowl that had seen much oil and rice, and weathered many storms.
"Evil spirits and monsters! Begone at once!"
The battered copper bowl flew in a long arc through the air, actually breaking through the airtight wind screen and heading straight for the figure of the man in the center.
*Clang.*
***
**Glossary**
Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation
---|---|---
枢夕山 | Xuxi Mountain | The location of Yongye Temple.
北弘济门 | Northern Hongji Sect | A Daoist sect led by Fu Qiu.
扶丘 | Fu Qiu | A "Celestial Master" and leader of the Northern Hongji Sect.
天师 | Celestial Master | A high-ranking title for a Daoist priest.
普安咒 | Puan Mantra | A Buddhist incantation used for calming the mind.
南亭手记 | Nanting Records | A fictional text mentioned in the story.
圯桥进履 | Presenting Shoes at Yi Bridge | A classic zither piece based on the story of Zhang Liang.
藏棺经卷 | Cangguan Sutra | Literally "Hidden Coffin Sutra," a scripture recited by Yi Kong.
烛鱼 | Zhu Yu | A young novice monk at Yongye Temple.
