The bandits along the border were as numerous as locusts. Yet once entering the heart of the Northern Desert, they rapidly thinned out. As Wen Hua, the wooden-sword-wielding companion, put it, the young master was now quite melancholy. After all, only in times of war and chaos would the innocent be forced into banditry. Who would willingly risk their life to become a criminal if the world were peaceful? This indicated that the Northern Desert was far from the desolate, miserable place that scholars and literati claimed it to be. Xu Fengnian grew even more anxious after witnessing the bustling prosperity of Feihu City, which rivaled that of the southern lands. Even if the customs of the people left behind by the Spring and Autumn Period had gradually influenced him, how many years would it take to transform a land of fierce and robust warriors into a gentle and delicate place like Nantang? Thirty years? Fifty? A hundred? Could Beiliang afford to wait that long?
Riding northward, Xu Fengnian immersed himself in studying the seventh page of the saber manual—the “Fish Swimming Form.” Because he had yet to grasp its essence, he refrained from turning to the eighth page. Besides nurturing twelve flying swords, he occasionally indulged in a cruel whim, commanding his sword to slay snakes and scorpions. Mostly, he repeatedly practiced the sword technique known as “Rolling Dragon Wall,” which bore a striking resemblance to the ultimate rolling saber technique. Under the cool moonlight of a deserted hundred-mile stretch, he would shout or curse without restraint, cursing emperors, generals, and ministers—Zhang Julu, Gu Jiantang, and countless others—while also thinking of many people and events. Unfortunately, there was no longer the little girl Tao Manwu to gently massage his furrowed brow.
On this day, the sun was as scorching as ever. Without the protection of the Great Huangting technique, even breathing would have felt like drinking boiling tea. Traversing the desert, his water skin was already dry, which could perhaps be considered a form of ascetic practice. Xu Fengnian refused to ride a poor horse ill-suited to the heat, instead walking beside it just as Lao Huang used to do. Suddenly, his ears twitched. He climbed to the top of a sandy dune and gazed into the distance. In the shimmering heat, he spotted two vague figures on horseback. Upon noticing Xu Fengnian, their path abruptly changed as they galloped toward him.
Xu Fengnian chuckled. Finally, he had encountered bandits. This had nothing to do with sharp eyesight; the two young bandits were simply too obvious in their attire. Their upper bodies were bare, wearing coarse hemp pants with clumsy dragon-and-tiger tattoos. They might as well have had the words “bandit” tattooed on their faces. Upon seeing Xu Fengnian, their eyes lit up. However, rather than immediately attacking to rob him, they whispered to each other. Xu Fengnian’s sharp hearing caught their conversation, and he couldn’t help but laugh. They weren’t here to steal money—they were here to kidnap a man. It seemed their bandit leader was a formidable woman with romantic aspirations, ordering her men to abduct a fair-skinned, literate young man to be the “bride” of the bandit camp. The two bandits clearly weren’t too impressed with Xu Fengnian, muttering that he was too thin and frail, unlikely to endure the leader’s “enthusiasm.” While his skin was fair, they worried that such a pale-faced youth beside the leader would make them the “Black and White Fiends.” If the leader took him to drink and wrestle with other bandit chieftains, it would be too embarrassing.
Seeing that Xu Fengnian stood there motionless, seemingly stunned by fear, the bandits grew even more perplexed. Was this pale-faced youth a fool? Usually, even the nomadic herdsmen they occasionally encountered would either panic or show clear signs of caution. Yet this young man simply stood there, holding his horse’s reins without moving. One of the bandits, with a black tiger tattoo, finally couldn’t stand it anymore. He rode up the slope, lashing his whip toward the pale-faced youth while shouting in a rough Northern Desert accent, “Dying to be reborn?”
Xu Fengnian ignored the whip pointing at him and smiled, saying, “I’d like to buy some water from you two brothers.”
The tiger-tattooed bandit hesitated for a moment before lashing his whip. Xu Fengnian caught it, pulled the attacker off his horse, and kicked him. The kick was more about precision than brute force. The bandit flew backward, hitting his horse’s back, and both tumbled through the air off the sandy slope. The dragon-tattooed bandit watched in stunned silence. Xu Fengnian calmly removed his dry water skin, leapt down the slope, and ignored the groaning bandit. The bandit’s horse was a fine steed, shaking off the dust from its mane. Xu Fengnian took the bandit’s full water skin and transferred the water into his own, then casually took a cool bamboo hat. Without further ado, he whistled and slowly walked away with his inferior horse.
Once Xu Fengnian was gone, the tiger-tattooed bandit quickly sat up, rubbing his chest. He was only slightly sore, not seriously injured. With lingering fear, he said to the dragon-tattooed bandit, “We ran into a tough one.”
The other bandit clicked his tongue, saying, “That pale-faced youth was hiding his strength. The leader will definitely like him.”
The tiger-tattooed bandit quickly mounted his horse, “Let’s go, let’s go tell the leader.”
Xu Fengnian walked alone across the desolate plains, leading his horse. According to the geographical records of the Northern Desert kept in the Beiliang Mansion, in a few more days he would reach the grasslands, where he might encounter nomadic herdsmen. He himself wouldn’t mind, but his poor horse was beginning to struggle in the endless sands. Once they reached the grasslands, he hoped the horse could join a wild herd. If so, he would remove the saddle and bridle, letting it go free.
As night fell, Xu Fengnian sat cross-legged by a campfire, gazing at the low-hanging stars. His poor horse also knelt to rest, nuzzling against him. Xu Fengnian patted the horse’s neck and took a handful of soil, chewing it thoughtfully. The moisture content was higher now—it meant they were nearing the grasslands. Tasting soil was a basic skill in geomancy, something Xu Fengnian had learned as a boy while exploring landforms with his old friend Yao Jian. It was said that the ancestral dragon of all lands originated from Kunlun, with one dragon entering the Northern Desert. Previously, few in the Northern Desert spoke of this, but after the influx of exiles from the Spring and Autumn Period, the theory gained popularity. The Northern Desert empress had thus become the divinely ordained true ruler.
Xu Fengnian turned to his poor horse and smiled, “Old brother, do you believe it?”
The horse snorted.
He continued his diligent sword cultivation, like a Jiangnan farmer who must rush to irrigate rice fields at the same time every evening—there was no room for laziness. At dawn, Xu Fengnian accelerated his breathing exercises. According to Daoist scriptures, one should eat the morning rosy clouds in spring and drink the dew in summer. The rosy clouds were best seen in the east, while the dew was strongest in the northern night. Both were particularly beneficial for cultivation. He wondered if the ancient Daoist sect that traveled north had this hidden meaning in mind. That sect eventually became the state religion of the Northern Desert, with the current abbot, the Qilin Sage, becoming a Daoist saint, rivaling the abbot of the Liangchan Temple as the twin sages of north and south.
At sunrise, Xu Fengnian inhaled the rosy clouds. Though his cultivation level wasn’t high, he felt slightly more refreshed than usual. Slowly standing up, he gained some insight. He realized that martial cultivation geniuses came in three types. The first were those born with extraordinary physiques, like Huangman’er, possessing innate King Kong strength, truly blessed by heaven. The second type, though their physical bodies were ordinary, could attune themselves to the heavens, like the ox-riding youth, achieving the grandeur of entering the Tianxiang realm in a single step. The third type, though slightly inferior to the first two, could still reach the realm of a land immortal, such as Li Chungan, who mastered the Dao through the sword, Wang Xianzhi, who proved the Dao through strength, and Deng Ta’ao, who reached divine swordsmanship. The higher one ascended the martial path, the more one swam against the current of heaven. Heaven and earth were both home and prison, yet martial cultivators sought to forge their own systems, like rebellious children building their own houses. Hence came the heavenly tribulations, the inevitable retribution of the heavenly Dao.
Xu Fengnian looked up at the rising sun and muttered to himself, “Good and evil will eventually meet their due. If you don’t believe, just look up. Has the heavens ever spared anyone?”
Then he sneered, “But then again, ‘The good die young, while the wicked live a thousand years.’ The ancients loved to contradict themselves when giving advice.”
Turning around, Xu Fengnian saw a poor old monk in a patched robe and straw sandals. His eyes, charming when smiling and ominous when narrowed, fixed on the Southern Chan monk who had been sitting ten zhang away the previous night. In Buddhism, there were distinctions between Mahayana and Hinayana, and in Tantrism, between yellow and red sects, each with different attire. Because his late wife had been a devout Buddhist, Xu Fengnian always held monks in high regard. In Beiliang, he had even turned countless rogue Daoists into monks for rewards. However, in the Northern Desert, encountering a Southern monk who had traveled thousands of miles to spread the Dharma in this desolate land, despite the monk’s kind appearance, Xu Fengnian dared not let his guard down.
The old monk clasped his palms and said, “Young master believes in Buddhism. Good, good.”
Xu Fengnian suppressed his instinctive killing intent and returned the gesture.
The monk’s robe had been washed countless times, revealing many finely stitched patches, yet it remained clean and neat. His beard and eyebrows were white as snow, and he held a bamboo staff, appearing especially gentle and compassionate. In the Beiliang army, there had once been a monk who wielded a seventy-jin iron staff, one of the infantry commanders. He drank and ate meat, killed mercilessly, and was greatly favored by Xu Xiao. Unfortunately, after the Beiliang cavalry crushed the martial world, the monk retreated into seclusion and eventually passed away in a small mountain temple. Now, the old monk smiled and said, “This old monk comes from the Liangchan Temple in the south, heading north to Qilin Temple to discuss Chan principles with an old Daoist friend. Though it will likely be like a chicken talking to a duck, at least it will settle one matter of the heart. I happened to see the young master swallowing the moon’s essence and dining on the sun’s glow, deeply understanding the subtleties of the Great Huangting cultivation practiced by Wang Chonglou, the former abbot of Wudang. I wanted to chat with the young master, but feared being mistaken for a villain, so I dared not speak first. However, after pondering all night, I felt the young master’s heart was filled with turmoil. I wondered how you cultivated your intent. If you are not careful, you might fall into a dangerous path. Since the young master believes in Buddhism, if you don’t mind this old monk’s chatter, I would like to share some Buddhist teachings with you.”
Xu Fengnian sat down again and smiled, “So you are a high monk from Liangchan Temple. Please, do not hesitate to instruct me.”
The old monk did not approach but sat where he was, facing Xu Fengnian from a distance. After introducing himself, he showed great sincerity.
Placing his bamboo staff across his knees, the old monk began, “Young master, you have sealed the Golden Cabinet with the Great Huangting, practiced the double saber technique, nurtured the flying swords of the Wu family’s desolate tombs, and cultivated the sword intent of Li Chungan, the greatest swordsman in the world. Your talent, aptitude, and perseverance are rare indeed.”
Xu Fengnian, whose secrets were seen through by the old monk, was deeply shocked but kept his expression calm, smiling, “Senior, there is no need to flatter first before speaking. Just say what you mean.”
The old monk smiled and said, “The sages of ancient times controlled floods by guiding them rather than blocking them. Whether it’s swords and knives, the closed-mouth Chan of Buddhism, the Daoist sealing of the Golden Cabinet, or the martial artist’s sheathed cultivation of intent, generally speaking, they all go against the current, accumulating spiritual power. However, the saying ‘going against the tide’ is not derogatory in my view. Young master, please don’t take offense. But when it comes to blocking and guiding the floodwaters, there are exquisite. Do you block it completely, or occasionally let it out a little, like the lotus that withers and blooms again each year? Which is better, young master?”
Xu Fengnian sincerely replied, “I won’t pretend with senior. In my opinion, blocking it completely is better. I understand the principle of relaxation, like a bow, but when it comes to sheathed cultivation of intent, if it’s like a woman walking, stopping and starting, hesitating and shy, I personally think it’s hard to achieve anything.”
The old monk did not argue like those scholars who debated as if their opponents had killed their fathers, wanting to claim all the truths of the world for themselves. Nor did he boast of his status as a monk from Liangchan Temple. Instead, he calmly pondered Xu Fengnian’s words, which seemed to be stuck in a narrow path, and said peacefully, “This old monk is not good at explaining principles outside of Buddhism. May I first ask for a drink of water, so I can think it through and then discuss it with you.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, feeling much better. He stood up, took off his water skin, and threw it casually. The old monk gently caught it, took out a white bowl from his bag, poured a little water, and drank it with great relish. To him, plain water was better than any delicacy. If it were his favorite white porridge, it would be even better.
Xu Fengnian took a step back and asked, “If I am willing to let out a little, how should I do it?”
The old monk looked up and said, “Have relations with a woman. Your Great Huangting has already reached perfection. The reason you lack a little is not because you haven’t opened the remaining major acupoints, but because you lack the balance of yin and yang.”
Xu Fengnian’s lips twitched a few times.
The old monk laughed heartily, “Don’t think this old monk is a lustful monk. After all, relations between men and women are a natural part of life. Though I am an outsider, I do not view it as a fierce tiger or a dangerous beast. Besides, when I was young, I often couldn’t sleep at night and was scolded by my master.”
The old monk’s expression became serious, “Young master, nurturing your intent with the injustices of the world is a good thing. The world is filled with righteous energy, which does not reject killing intent. However, it is mixed with resentment and anger, strong but impure. If you go down this path, every step you take, every bit of effort you make, seems like a long journey, but in reality, you are walking into a fire. Young master, have you ever asked yourself? Moreover, in this old monk’s humble opinion, when people say they have no regrets in their hearts, most of them do have regrets. Even if they feel no regret in their hearts, they may still have great regrets in terms of principles. Allow this old monk to pour another bowl of water.”
The old monk poured a second bowl of water, leveled it, tilted it, shook it, and waited for the water to calm down. “Young master, we are all like this bowl. The righteous energy of heaven and earth is like the water in the bowl, but the depth varies. No matter how the bowl tilts, the water remains as still as a mirror.”
Xu Fengnian frowned, “If that’s the case, why do people say that it’s hard to keep the bowl level? Isn’t that just worrying about nothing?”
The old monk drank some water, shook his head, and smiled, “This old monk dares not make a hasty judgment. Haha, this bowl of water was tricked from you, so I am ashamed.”
Xu Fengnian couldn’t help but smile, his eyes softening, “Senior, you are truly a immortal from Liangchan Temple. With just a few words, you have explained great principles through small matters. Compared to those grand Buddhist teachings that scatter flowers like rain, your words are much easier to accept.”
Holding the bowl in one hand and waving the other, the old monk said, “What immortal? Young master flatters me. I am old, but far from being an immortal. In the temple, besides reading scriptures, I am only good at farming. The principles I know are all learned from farming.”
Xu Fengnian curiously asked, “Many monks from Liangchan Temple have been granted titles by the court. Senior, have you never received any honors?”
The old monk smiled calmly, drank some water, and said, “Clothes that keep me warm, food that fills my stomach, tea that satisfies my taste—this is enough.”
Xu Fengnian smiled, “Then you must have received honors!”
The old monk laughed heartily, “Be modest, be modest. Even if I am not an immortal, I must maintain the demeanor of one. I have a disciple who inherited my robe, and he has a daughter. When she heard I was going down the mountain, she advised me to look like a true immortal on the road. But since I refused to dress properly, she scolded me all the way down the mountain.”
Xu Fengnian’s lips twitched violently, his eyes softening as he asked gently, “Is she a young girl surnamed Li? With a childhood friend, a young monk named Nanbei?”
The old monk, as if he had opened the Buddha’s eyes, suddenly understood, “So you are the young master. I have long heard of your sincere belief in Buddhism. No wonder, no wonder. This old monk is honored.”
Xu Fengnian stood up, bowed respectfully, and said solemnly, “Xu Fengnian greets the abbot.”
The old monk stood up to return the bow, then sat down again, slowly drinking his water and smiling, “Your Highness, there is no need for such formalities.”
After sitting down, Xu Fengnian asked, “Senior, are you going to the Northern Desert to deal with the suppression of Buddhism?”
The old monk nodded, sighing, “Going to the Northern Desert is not to arrogantly try to convert the Northern Desert emperor, who wishes to suppress Buddhism. I only want to speak the Diamond Sutra to the monks. Not knowing the will of heaven, I will do my best. The Confucian sage’s three hundred poems can be summed up in one word: sincerity. Laozi rode a green ox, wrote the Tao Te Ching, seeking tranquility. The Buddha did not establish written words, which has left us confused. The Northern Desert court wants to suppress Buddhism, destroying temples, cutting off incense offerings, removing statues and scriptures. In my view, all of this is acceptable. But if there are hundreds of thousands of monks who lose their Buddhist hearts, that is not acceptable.”
Carefully placing the water bowl back into his bag, the old monk stood up, smiled, and handed the water skin back to Xu Fengnian, “This old monk thanks the young master for two bowls of water. This is a good connection. If you are not in a hurry to leave, young master can go northwest for forty miles. There is a canyon. Staying there for a while may bring another good connection.”
Xu Fengnian took the water skin, smiled, and said, “Senior, there is one thing I would like to ask. Could you take this horse with you? I am going north alone and no longer need to ride. I also dare not give it to anyone easily, for fear of bringing disaster. If I abandon it, I would feel uneasy.”
The old monk, who was undoubtedly the head of the Buddhist world, smiled kindly, “Of course, of course. Having a companion on the road is not troublesome at all.”
Xu Fengnian clasped his palms, “Then I shall take my leave, senior.”
The old monk clasped his palms, lowered his eyes, and said, “This old monk leaves you with these words: may the young master teach the Bodhisattva to grow black hair.”
Xu Fengnian was stunned, watching the old monk walk away with his bamboo staff, until his figure disappeared from sight.
He exhaled deeply, following the immortal’s instructions, Xu Fengnian secured the short saber Chunlei and headed northwest, now truly free of burdens.
Indeed, he saw a deep and endless canyon stretching before him. Xu Fengnian climbed to the top and walked slowly along the cliffside, wondering what this so-called good connection could be.
After half an hour of slow walking, he finished nurturing his sword.
Suddenly, there was a thunderous sound in the sky.
Xu Fengnian turned around and looked. Outside one end of the canyon, thousands upon thousands of wild oxen poured in, crowding like a flood rushing into the valley. His heart stirred, and he quickly moved forward for a moment. His scalp tingled. Damn it, there were over a hundred herdsmen riding horses, leading sheep and carrying all their belongings, walking through the canyon. This wasn’t a path of sunlight—it was the gate of hell and the road of death. How could these people, who had lived on the grasslands and deserts for generations, not know the danger of such a situation? Xu Fengnian looked down from above and saw that some of the herdsmen had already realized that the earthquake meant something. They were in chaos, with old people’s faces ashen and many women and children crying. Xu Fengnian looked further and saw dozens of Northern Desert soldiers far behind the herdsmen, already turning their horses to leave. It was a ruthless plan: driving the herdsmen like sheep into the mouths of tigers without shedding a drop of blood.
If not for the old monk’s compassionate words, the young master would have only watched coldly. After all, stopping tens of thousands of wild oxen with one’s own strength was practically suicide.
Xu Fengnian gritted his teeth and leapt down into the valley.
Over a hundred herdsmen stared in shock. Some of the younger, selfish herdsmen had already started climbing the cliff, but the cliff was steep and they didn’t climb far.
Xu Fengnian stepped forward, drew a half-circle with his foot, and raised both hands.
His feet sank three inches into the ground.
He left the herdsmen with only a stranger’s back.
At the same time the wild oxen poured into the canyon, an old monk single-handedly lifted his horse to the top of the cliff, his eyes full of compassion. Clasping his palms, he said, “This child is truly virtuous.”
Xu Fengnian focused his energy.
He raised his hands and shook the Kunlun Mountains.
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