Xu Fengnian knew that a battle with Tuoba Pusa was inevitable, though he had not expected it to come so soon.
He assisted in the funeral rites for the elderly Chan monk who had gifted him the begging bowl, piling the grave mound and erecting a stone tablet. Using his finger like a blade, he carved the words “Grave of Master Chicken Soup Monk.” He had intended to add an epitaph, but since he could not recall the lyrics of the song “Lotus Falls,” he gave up. After completing these tasks, he needed to find two suitable weapons, but hesitated for quite some time, realizing that even such a seemingly trivial matter was unexpectedly difficult. Xu Fengnian even found himself sighing beside the grave, indulging in a rare moment of leisure. In the past, each life-or-death battle—against the demon Xie Ling of the Youtoulu Inn, the aristocrat Tuoba Chunsun with his two powerful retainers, the formidable Wudi Mo, Yang Tai sui, and even the recent clash with Huang Qing, the Sword Qi Prodigy, and a true Northern Liang dragon—had come so suddenly that there had been no time to think deeply. It was like skirmishes between cavalry scouts, where life and death were decided in an instant. Only when facing Han Shengxuan, the Human Cat, and Wang Xianzhi had he had time to plan, but even those strategies had been tight and nerve-wracking, leaving no room for distraction.
Yet, when it came to fighting Tuoba Pusa, the moment seemed to stretch out, granting him a rare window of a few hours or even half a day. Xu Fengnian felt no complicated emotions, only a strange sense of ease, as if he were waiting for a long-awaited friend. He imagined that upon seeing Tuoba Pusa for the first time, he might smile and say, “You’re here at last.” Then again, he thought, that greeting lacked the dignity of a martial expert. As two of the Four Great Masters of the world, one of them would likely die in the fight. Shouldn’t their first meeting be marked by a more heroic salutation? Something like, “Tuoba Pusa, you’ve held the title of Second Under Heaven for decades—now die with that ridiculous name!” Or perhaps he could bring two jars of wine and share a drink before the fight. But he had no intelligence on whether Tuoba Pusa drank alcohol—what if the man abstained? Would he then have to say, “Wait, wait, let me drink first”? But even then, he wasn’t sure he could down two jars in one go…
As Xu Fengnian sat by the grave, lost in thought, a sudden idea struck him: bringing wine to the duel might actually work. Even if Tuoba Pusa refused to drink, he could simply say, “Whoever survives will pour a jar for the fallen,” as a farewell gesture. That would sound like the words of a true martial master, carrying the air of one who treated life and death like a traveler’s journey.
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva from Lantuo Mountain, who had rushed upon hearing the news, watched Xu Fengnian crouched there, smiling to himself. She was nearly stunned. What was this performance? Did he even realize how chaotic the entire Lantuo Mountain had become? She steadied herself and said coldly, “The first wave of two thousand monks from Lantuo Mountain can be assembled in two days and dispatched to Liuzhou.”
Xu Fengnian went into the hut, fetched two wooden stools, and tossed one to her. They sat together beneath the eaves, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. He smiled and said, “You people really have no sincerity. Even though the prayer wheels have already turned, you still insist on waiting for me to defeat Tuoba Pusa before sending your troops?”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva did not mince words. “A dynasty lasts no more than three or four hundred years, but do you know how long Lantuo Mountain has stood?”
Xu Fengnian gazed at her ageless face. “The ten great clans of the Spring and Autumn era thought the same way—believing that though a nation might fall, their family’s incense would never be extinguished. I used to think the monks of Lantuo Mountain would be more detached.”
She scoffed. “If we were truly detached, why would we bother with you, the Prince of Beiliang? Why enter this murky water? Don’t push your luck.”
He shook his head. “Who says being detached means locking yourself away in some remote paradise, ignoring the world? Lantuo Mountain’s self-liberation is admirable, and I respect it. But I admire even more the Daoists of Wudang descending the mountain to cultivate, or the monks of Liangchan Temple who work the fields each day. Whether it’s attaining immortality or enlightenment, they are like travelers on the far shore of a river, each having found their own boat. Some boats carry a few more people, some a few fewer, and none charge a fare or fear drowning, only hoping to carry one more soul. No wonder Master Wuyong left Lantuo Mountain—he could only ever be Liu Songtao if he stayed.”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva remained expressionless. “A thousand years of Buddhist teachings at Lantuo Mountain cannot be undone by a few clever words from you, Xu Fengnian. In the end, you’re still after those thousands of monks. Stop pretending.”
Xu Fengnian sighed. “When paths differ, even chickens and ducks can’t understand each other.”
She frowned. “Tuoba Pusa is already on his way. You won’t run? You’ve only absorbed the lingering Qi of the Spring and Autumn era. Do you really think you’ve returned to your peak?”
Xu Fengnian rolled his eyes. “Right now, I’m the only one holding a lantern in a pitch-black night. Do you think Tuoba Pusa is blind? I can’t outrun him to the east, my own territory. What about heading north to Gusai Prefecture? I’m sure the Northern Liang Empress and the Grand Peace Edict would welcome me with feasts. Or west to the Western Regions? What’s the point? As for heading south, Chen Zhibao and Xie Guanying must already have caught wind of this.”
His expression was calm. “Why run? Let’s fight first. It’s not like I’m doomed to die. Besides, I’ve always longed for the freedom of the martial world. The first time I traveled the jianghu felt like the real thing, but it wasn’t free at all—just struggling like a dog, often choking on water. Later, I grew stronger, but I stopped seeing myself as part of the jianghu. This time, I want to walk it for myself. No more dog-paddling across rivers or taking boats across lakes—just a graceful leap, light as a breeze.”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva glanced at the humble grave of the Chicken Soup Monk. “If you die in the Western Regions at Tuoba Pusa’s hands, even retrieving your body might be difficult.”
Xu Fengnian muttered solemnly, “Children’s words, children’s words…”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva looked eastward at the invisible aura only experts could sense. “Tuoba Pusa is eager to kill you.”
Xu Fengnian did not look at the scene, which any connoisseur would find magnificent. There would be plenty of time to see it—perhaps even too much time, until he grew sick of it. He murmured, “After Li Chungan reappeared in the jianghu, before he finally left, he once traveled part of the way back to Beiliang with me. Before we parted, he described martial experts in two-character phrases. Wang Mingyin, the Eleventh Under Heaven, was ‘calm,’ like a great river blocking the path. Xuan Jingcheng of the Great Snow Terrace was ‘reserved,’ saying nothing yet capturing the charm. Qi Xuanzhen of the Demon-Slaying Altar was ‘elegant,’ like the moon rising over the eastern stars, with a breeze in its wake. Zhao Xibo of Longhu Mountain was ‘unrestrained,’ as if living a hundred years meant little. Deng Tai’a was ‘vigorous,’ his energy like a rainbow, his movement like clouds and wind. Cao Changqing was ‘melancholy,’ as if a hundred years were but a fleeting stream, his thoughts reduced to cold ashes. Wang Xianzhi, in old age, was ‘resilient,’ reaching the pinnacle, unmatched in his ‘majesty’—winds howling across the sky, mountains rising in the sea, his spirit filling all things…”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva listened patiently to his recollection, though in truth, she found it quite fascinating. These words might have remained buried in his heart forever had she not been here today.
Suddenly, Xu Fengnian asked, “Does Lantuo Mountain have any decent weapons? Preferably swords or blades. If there are any divine weapons, perhaps you could lend me one.”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva looked eastward and shook her head. “There is an ancient sword named ‘Let It Ring’ and a blade called ‘Spiritual Rhythm,’ forged in the Great Feng Dynasty. But by the time I retrieve them, Tuoba Pusa will have already found you.”
Xu Fengnian smiled. “Then I’ll ask him to wait until you return. If he refuses, I’ll run toward Lantuo Mountain until you arrive with the weapons. Oh, and during my fight with Tuoba Pusa, keep an eye on Wang Weixue, who’s currently in the Dong family compound. Don’t interfere unless he leaves the Western Regions.”
She slowly rose, her gaze complex. “Why not scatter your Qi? Tuoba Pusa would lose his target. You wouldn’t have to fight.”
Xu Fengnian sighed. “The old monk has barely been buried—don’t you fear he’ll rise again and smash a bowl in your face? I do. Besides, my instinct tells me that fighting cleanly today might be more advantageous than dragging it out later. If I retreat now, even if I regain my strength, my mindset will already be weaker.”
She sneered. “In the end, you just want to fight Tuoba Pusa in the vast sands of the Western Regions, no matter the cost. Don’t talk to me about instincts and mindset!”
Xu Fengnian grinned awkwardly, then feigned indignation. “Hit a man, but not his face! Scold a man, but not his shame!”
The Six-Bead Bodhisattva vanished in a flash.
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