The white-robed monk stormed over with an imposing aura, leaving Xu Fengnian looking somewhat awkward. It wasn’t fear he felt, but a twinge of guilt. After all, what father wouldn’t be furious at someone who dared swindle his precious daughter? Back when Li Dongxi ran away from home and sneaked out of Liangchan Temple to wander the martial world, she had carried nearly two hundred taels of silver—likely her father’s hard-earned savings from years of preaching scriptures in the temple. Yet, after meeting Xu Fengnian and his two companions, they feasted and squandered it all in no time. Perhaps the young heroine had let slip the truth upon returning home, earning the white-robed monk’s resentment? Knowing he was in the wrong, Xu Fengnian forced a smile, resolved to endure whatever scolding or even blows came his way without retaliation.
The white-robed monk strode forward with large, hurried steps, trailed by a woman who wasn’t particularly beautiful, her face caked with slightly too much powder. It seemed Li Dongxi’s habit of slathering on makeup back in the Wutong Courtyard was a family tradition. The monk stopped right in front of Xu Fengnian, jabbing a finger at his nose as he launched into an angry tirade:
“Where’s my daughter Dongxi and my disciple Nanbei? I heard you couldn’t stand feeding two extra mouths and kicked them off to Western Shu and Southern Zhao! Is this how Qingliang Mountain treats its guests? If I find my daughter has lost even a single pound, I swear I’ll stand at your doorstep and curse you to the heavens!”
The woman beside him first gave Xu Fengnian a warm smile before tugging at the monk’s robe and whispering, “Stop saying ‘I’—you’re supposed to say ‘this humble monk.’ How many times has Dongxi reminded you? A master should carry himself with dignity. Didn’t she always say that back when she was traveling the martial world, she met a swordsman—what was his name again? Old Huang? She could tell at a glance he was a true expert. Li Dangxin, look at yourself—is this any way to behave?”
Still fuming, the monk snorted but adjusted his tone slightly. “Believe it or not, this humble monk will go to Qingliang Mountain and raise hell! If only I’d brought that knife I’ve sharpened a thousand times…”
The woman, clearly more worldly than her husband, coughed and cut him off before turning to Xu Fengnian with an apologetic smile. “Your Highness, don’t listen to this bald fool. There’s no knife—just an old chopper our temple’s former abbot used for firewood. Dongxi’s father only keeps it to remember his master… Oh, no, I mean, he sharpens it now and then to keep it from rusting. The old abbot didn’t leave much behind—just that chopper, a handwritten copy of the *Diamond Sutra*, and the big vat he used to wash his hands after work. The chopper and sutra were easy to take, but the vat was too heavy, so we left it in the temple. Otherwise, it might’ve made a fine dowry for Dongxi…”
The monk sighed. “Who in their right mind would give a vat as a dowry?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Plenty of refined scholars in Jiangnan use the silt from vats to make teapots! They’re worth a fortune!”
Xu Fengnian chimed in with a smile, “Exactly! I once saw Minister Lu of the Ministry of Rites in Jiangnan using a famous teapot made from silt he collected at Liangchan Temple after begging the old abbot for it.”
The woman beamed, now viewing the unpretentious young prince even more favorably. “See? I told you!”
She then shot the monk a glare. “Behave yourself and don’t ruin the mood!”
Li Dangxin rubbed his bald head, resigned. His wife’s words carried more weight than an imperial decree.
Han Gui finally seized the chance to interject, bowing respectfully. “This humble Daoist, Han Gui of Qing Shan Temple on Xiao Zhu Peak, has long admired the renowned Monk Wu Chan.”
Li Dangxin regarded the previously obscure Wudang Daoist with a warmer expression than he’d shown Xu Fengnian, returning the greeting with ease. “Greetings, Master Han. We’re scheduled for the third debate on Lotus Peak’s final day. I hope you’ll go easy on me.”
Han Gui chuckled. “This humble Daoist hardly merits the title ‘Master.’ Monk Wu Chan may simply call me Daoist Han.”
Li Dangxin laughed heartily. “Daoist, Daoist—one who seeks the Dao. Priest, priest—one who proves the Dao. Master, master—one who pursues truth. I’d rather call you Master Han. If Wang Chonglou were here, I might call him Priest Wang. But if Hong Xixiang stood before me, I’d have to address him as Daoist Hong.”
Han Gui smiled without comment.
Noticing the clarity in Han Gui’s gaze, Li Dangxin softened his tone. “Your Wudang is truly different from Longhu Mountain. If those yellow-and-purple-robed nobles heard such words, even the old ‘Xi’-generation Daoists—let alone the ‘Ning’-generation—would be fuming.”
Han Gui replied calmly, “It’s not that Wudang Daoists possess greater serenity than Longhu’s celestial masters. Our paths simply differ, though they lead to the same destination. My master and Sect Leader Wang deeply respected Elder Zhao Xituan of Longhu Mountain, repeatedly inviting him to Wudang for discourse. Whenever he passed through Northern Liang, the elder never refused despite our differences. I’ve twice had the privilege of hearing him speak on the unity of the Three Teachings—it was profoundly enlightening.”
The white-robed monk grinned. “If I recall correctly, wasn’t it your Wudang’s Lü Zu who first proposed the unity of the Three Teachings? So tell me—whose ‘one’ is it?”
Without hesitation, Han Gui answered, “Lü Zu once said, ‘The vessel differs, but the Dao is the same.’ That is the essence of unity. In my humble opinion, I may not know what it is, but I know what it isn’t. This ‘one’ isn’t necessarily in the hands of a monk who’s transcended meditation, nor is it on Wudang Mountain during this era of suppressed Buddhism. It certainly doesn’t reside in the mouths of those scholars who climb our peaks spouting empty rhetoric.”
Li Dangxin rubbed his bald head again, his eyes gleaming with appreciation. “This humble monk tested you three times. Forgive my rudeness.”
Han Gui smiled. “No offense taken.”
As the group ascended the mountain together, the white-robed monk chatted casually with Han Gui about Wudang’s customs, avoiding both Buddhist profundities and Daoist mysteries. Their conversation meandered like a watermelon rind sliding wherever it pleased. The monk deliberately ignored Xu Fengnian, perhaps fearing he’d lose his temper and reach for that knife again. When a man’s wife is stolen, he grabs a blade without hesitation. When his daughter is taken, whether he strikes depends on the scoundrel’s character—and the mother’s opinion.
Li Dongxi’s mother—or rather, Nanbei’s shiniang—treated Xu Fengnian with remarkable kindness. It wasn’t quite the doting gaze of a mother-in-law eyeing a prospective son-in-law, but more like an elder encountering a young man who might fancy her daughter. She wasn’t overly warm, but neither was she cold.
At first, she’d been somewhat reserved, mindful of the young man’s status as the foremost figure of the Northwest’s military stronghold. But soon, she relaxed into easy chatter, complaining about how expensive things were in Northern Liang—especially the cosmetics Li Dongxi had brought home, which had run out long ago. When she visited a shop in Youzhou, the prices were exorbitant.
She thanked Xu Fengnian profusely for the lavish gifts Li Dongxi had accepted upon leaving Qingliang Mountain’s princely manor, then laughed at herself, admitting she couldn’t possibly repay him—nor had she brought any gifts in return, having long since spent the family savings.
Xu Fengnian listened to her self-deprecating ramblings with an unbroken smile. The little Daoist Qingxin, eavesdropping in amazement, found it bizarre enough that his Daoist master got along with the famed “Flesh Bodhisattva” monk—but the mighty Prince of Northern Liang bonding with the woman?
Li Dangxin, as Liangchan Temple’s abbot and a leading figure in Buddhism, was the star of Lotus Peak’s debates. Xu Fengnian, as Wudang’s honored guest, ensured their group headed straight for the summit’s Purple Sun Palace. Wudang had never been one for hierarchy, but visitors cared deeply—hence the unofficial rankings of its nine palaces and thirty-six temples. Staying at a palace signaled prestige; lodging at a top-tier temple was still cause for pride. With the influx of pilgrims—especially Jiangnan’s elite—even the humblest temples overflowed, forcing some to turn guests away.
As Xu Fengnian and the monk’s party entered through the palace’s rear gate, a young Daoist rushed up to Han Gui in distress. “Grandmaster! A new group of esteemed guests has arrived. The Disciplinary Elder himself is guiding them around the main peak. Unlike most visitors, they haven’t demanded lodging—they’ve booked rooms in the foothill town. But the elder insists we must accommodate them with three or four quiet chambers. My master and uncles are beside themselves—we’ve barely scraped together two rooms in Purple Sun Palace. The nearby temples have already offered even their storage rooms! We can’t possibly split the party between mountain and town!”
Xu Fengnian, who’d trained on the mountain and recognized most Daoists, grinned. “Little Daoist Ninghe, who could command such respect?”
The young priest, who’d once greeted Xu Fengnian at the gates with the sect’s riding-ox Grandmaster, hurriedly bowed. “Your Highness, Elder Qingfeng said they’re students of Master Han from Shangyin Academy.”
Xu Fengnian’s eyes lit up. He’d received reports that Han Guzi, after visiting Lanzhou’s Qingcang City, had continued westward to Mount Luotuo. But upon hearing of Wudang’s Buddhist-Daoist debates, the master had sent some disciples back to Liangzhou to rendezvous with the wine-loving Chang Sui, who’d gone north alone. The elder had proceeded with only his granddaughter Han Guoxiu and a few escorts.
Xu Fengnian had dared hope one of Han Guzi’s disciples might stay in Northern Liang—preferably the military strategist Xu Huang, or the free-spirited rhetorician Sima Can. But with Chang Sui’s arrival, it seemed none would remain.
Suppressing a sigh, Xu Fengnian smiled. “Little Daoist Ninghe, tell your master to give my room to these guests. It should fit two or three people.”
The young priest paled. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly—”
Han Gui interjected gently, “Do as His Highness says. And Qingxin and I will vacate our quarters as well…”
Before he could finish, the boy blurted, “Grandmaster, no! Qing Shan Temple is over ten miles from Lotus Peak! Qingxin—I mean, Uncle Qingxin—always complains how tiring the trip is when he comes to borrow books…”
His voice trailed off as Qingxin wished he could vanish. Ten scripture-copying punishments awaited him back home.
The white-robed monk nudged his wife. “See how these mountain juniors dote on their elders? The little baldies who play with our Nanbei just mooch off us.”
The woman laughed. “Wrong! They’re all after our daughter. The scruffy monks I see around the temple suddenly become spotless whenever they visit us.”
The monk’s eyes bulged. “What?!”
“You never noticed?”
“Those little brats need a good whacking! And Nanbei’s an idiot—inviting wolves into the house!”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Whack away. Maybe you’ll knock some enlightenment into them. Save yourself the headache of being an unpaid abbot.”
In the end, Han Gui and Qingxin stayed with a senior disciple of Elder Chen Yao, while Xu Fengnian retreated to the half-mountain washing-pool hut where he’d once trained. Before descending, he escorted the monk to his quarters. Han Gui excused himself first, swamped with responsibilities.
Everyone on Wudang knew Han Gui was destined for greatness. Even former Sect Leader Wang Chonglou had praised his unwavering Dao heart, and Hong Xixiang had half-joked that Xiao Zhu Peak—abundant with osmanthus trees—was perfect for a man named Gui (“osmanthus”). Elders Chen Yao and Yu Xingrui also held him in high esteem.
As Xu Fengnian prepared to leave, the woman suddenly called out, “Your Highness, wait!”
She rummaged through her sleeves and produced a small cloth bundle. “Dongxi made me promise to give you this if we met. It’s nothing fancy—just some pastries she baked herself. She said… well, she said you’d understand.”
Xu Fengnian accepted it with both hands, his smile deepening. “Please thank her for me.”
The woman’s eyes twinkled. “She also said to tell you—‘Don’t forget your promise.’”
Xu Fengnian’s fingers tightened around the bundle. “I won’t.”
As he walked away, the white-robed monk muttered, “What promise?”
His wife elbowed him. “None of your business.”
The monk scowled. “That brat better not be—”
“Oh, hush. If Dongxi likes him, that’s that.”
“But he’s a prince! Our daughter deserves—”
“Deserves happiness. And if she finds it with him, who are we to argue?”
The monk grumbled but fell silent, watching Xu Fengnian’s retreating figure with grudging acceptance.
Meanwhile, the little Daoist Qingxin tugged at his master’s sleeve. “Shifu, why does the prince seem… sad?”
Han Gui patted his head. “Because some promises are heavier than mountains.”
High above, the wind carried the faint scent of osmanthus, sweet and fleeting.
Xu Fengnian escorted the white-robed monk to the threshold. Just as the monk pushed the door open, he suddenly turned and asked, “Have you met my martial uncle?”
Xu Fengnian was momentarily stunned before realizing he was referring to the “Chicken Soup Monk” beneath the Western Regions’ Little Lantuo Mountain. The old monk was indeed the senior brother of the Saintly Monk Longshu. He nodded and said, “I was able to fight Tuoba Pusa and survive…”
Li Dangxin waved his hand dismissively. “The man is already dead. Who is there to hear your kind words?”
Xu Fengnian fell silent, at a loss for words.
The white-robed monk sighed, his voice tinged with sorrow. “But then again, my martial uncle was able to let go of the lotus in his heart, and that was thanks to your appearance. Back then, when I journeyed alone westward for thousands of miles, it was my martial uncle who worried for me. His original intention was to fetch me from the Western Regions and bring me back to Liangchan Temple. Who would have thought that one pause would last over twenty years? My so-called enlightenment was, in truth, deeply influenced by his wisdom. Well, one matter is separate from another. The matter of my daughter isn’t settled yet. But since my martial uncle could lay down his lotus, I must thank you for that.”
Li Dangxin lowered his head and pressed his palms together in reverence.
Xu Fengnian mirrored the gesture, returning the courtesy with a light bow.
After Xu Fengnian left, the white-robed monk closed the door. His wife sat on a chair, massaging her calves, and chuckled, “We only have one daughter. North and South may be a bit slow, but in the end, they’ve long been family. Ah, if only I had two daughters.”
Li Dangxin muttered under his breath, “Even if we had two daughters, I wouldn’t want to be that brat’s father-in-law! Every time I see him, I’d chase him off with a broom!”
For once, his wife didn’t argue back. Instead, she said softly, “Earlier, as I chatted with that child on our way here, I mentioned how our Dongxi is too playful. As we talked, he casually let slip an unintentional remark—quite amusing, really. The gist of it was that when he was little, he was truly unruly. As a youth, he always resented the elders for their endless scolding and restrictions. But now that he’s finally grown up, he suddenly realizes that when he makes a mistake, no one even bothers to scold him anymore. And so, he finds himself missing those childhood days.”
The white-robed monk leaned back in his chair, rubbing his bald head.
For some reason, he too began to reminisce about the days when his own master would nag endlessly in his ear.
Before Xu Fengnian left Ziyang Palace, the head of the Fushui Fang intelligence network and a battalion chief stationed near Wudang Mountain appeared together. Both were dressed in plain clothes indistinguishable from ordinary pilgrims, seizing this rare opportunity to report to the prince. This made Xu Fengnian look every bit the noble young master traveling with his retinue of servants.
Today, Ziyang Palace was devoid of commoners, filled instead with outsiders deeply connected to Huagai County and the entire Northern Liang officialdom—each either wealthy, noble, or like Xu Huang and Sima Can, “wandering martial artists” whose confidence allowed them to look down on kings and lords. Rumor had it that even the eldest son of the Hezhou governor and the daughter of the Jizhou governor had ascended the mountain together, yet they were still denied lodging in Ziyang Palace and had to settle for Shenxiao Temple instead.
After listening to their concise and respectful reports, Xu Fengnian issued no orders. As they neared the Elephant-Washing Pool, he dismissed them to attend to their own affairs. Though the exchange was brief, both men—whether the shrewd spymaster or the steady-handed battalion chief—couldn’t hide their smiles, their faces alight with genuine pride. This heartfelt sense of honor was worlds apart from the usual sycophantic maneuvering of court politics.
Revisiting the Elephant-Washing Pool, Xu Fengnian was surprised to find the once-silent place now bustling with activity, packed shoulder to shoulder. Upon inquiry, he learned that two individuals were about to duel atop the massive rock in the pool—a simple contest where whoever fell into the water first would lose. Unable to squeeze close enough, Xu Fengnian stood fifty paces away, watching as vendors weaved through the crowd, hawking their wares.
“Watching masters duel calls for a toast with our Northern Liang’s Green Ant Wine!” one cried. Another shouted, “Buy two jugs of wine and receive a free collection of the Northern Liang King’s martial arts sayings from Wudang Mountain!”
On the rock, the two warriors clashed fiercely, their blades flashing like fleeting phoenixes. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Xu Fengnian could only catch glimpses of them when they leaped high into the air.
For some reason, Xu Fengnian found himself in high spirits. He bought some melon seeds and red dates from a vendor and, like most spectators, stood on tiptoe, craning his neck to watch. Listening to the excited commentary from those around him, he couldn’t help but mock himself inwardly. *Look at how grand others’ battles are—crowds cheering, the spectacle overwhelming. Compared to my final alleyway duel with Tuoba Pusa, this is infinitely more majestic.*
*Ah, yes. This is the martial world I once dreamed of as a boy.*
Munching leisurely on his melon seeds, Xu Fengnian enjoyed the free commentary from his fellow spectators. According to the most well-informed whispers, the two young warriors were no nobodies in the martial world. One, wielding the famed sword “Five Strands of Silk,” was a close friend of a direct disciple of one of the newly selected “Ten Great Masters” from Huishan’s Great Snowy Peak. The other, a local Northern Liang swordsman, was said to have even caught the eye of Xu Fengnian himself, who allegedly personally instructed him in a few moves.
Hearing this, Xu Fengnian nearly choked on his melon seeds—more amused than when he’d heard Dongxi boast about seeing through Old Huang’s true prowess.
Just as Xu Fengnian was sinking into melancholy, the crowd suddenly parted. He turned to see two men walking side by side, their expressions solemn. One cradled a longsword, while the other clasped his hands behind his back, looking as though they were about to compete for a spot among the Ten Great Masters. Xu Fengnian stepped aside with the others, making way for these two grandmasters—one known as the “Plum Rain Sword of Jiangnan,” the other dubbed the “Divine Dragon of the Central Plains.”
*Now those are titles worthy of respect,* Xu Fengnian mused. *Unlike me—still without a proper moniker to my name.*
Sighing, he cracked another melon seed, feeling not just melancholic but downright wistful.
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage