A chance encounter left them somewhat unsatisfied, yet it didn’t end on a sour note.
The five riders moved at a leisurely pace when Yuan Zuozong suddenly chuckled and asked, “Feeling a bit better now?”
Xu Fengnian closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if savoring the refreshing chill unique to early spring. He smiled faintly. “Dumping all my grievances in one go really lifted a weight off my chest. Back in Northern Liang, I couldn’t speak so freely—after all, those around me were the ones who had to endure my temper, especially my second sister and Xu Beizhi. If they didn’t use me as a punching bag, they were already being generous.”
Yuan Zuozong laughed, but soon his expression darkened with concern. “Thanks to the collapse of the Huai border army and the banner of ‘Pacification,’ our journey south has been relatively smooth so far. But soon, the elite cavalry from Ji North, the infantry from Western Shu, and the troops from Qingzhou will converge. And as we get closer to the Guangli battlefield, Wu Zhongxuan’s northern army is watching like a tiger eyeing its prey. It won’t be long before someone jumps out to stir trouble, trying to curry favor with the court. It won’t derail our plans, but it’ll still be a nuisance.”
Xu Fengnian shook his head. “Once I decided to head south, I stopped hoping for a good reputation in the Central Plains.”
Xu Yanbing teased, “After spending two years painstakingly building up Northern Liang’s reputation, Your Highness is about to undo all that hard work.”
Xu Fengnian scoffed. “That’s the least of my worries.”
Xu Yanbing clicked his tongue. “Spoken like a true King of Northern Liang.”
Yuan Zuozong chimed in, “Spoken like a true grandmaster on the Martial Rankings.”
The old spy and Zhang Longjing echoed in unison, “Indeed!”
Xu Fengnian feigned sternness. “How insolent! Drag them all out and behead them!”
Their hearty laughter echoed far into the night.
As one of the ancestral temples of Buddhism, Hanshan Temple had long been renowned for its “small temple, great Buddha.” Unlike the vast grounds and numerous monks of the former Liangchan Temple, Hanshan Temple had never housed more than a hundred monks at its peak. One of its founding patriarchs, Monk Kuanxin, was revered by generations of emperors and nobles during the Dafeng Dynasty, with the last emperor even honoring him as a “Living Bodhisattva.” The origin of Buddhist prayer beads can also be traced back to Kuanxin’s practice of counting with soybeans. This ancient temple had miraculously survived the ravages of the Spring and Autumn Wars unscathed, only to be destroyed overnight by a single imperial decree.
As the five riders vanished into the night, the elderly monk Faxian instructed his young disciple to return to the Land God Temple with an oil lamp and rest. The old man then strolled alone along a dew-drenched path, like a wandering ghost in the wilderness. About half an hour later, he returned to the temple, which had transformed in that short time from a desolate, tomb-like structure into a brilliantly lit and opulent hall, exuding the grandeur of a noble household. Silk carpets adorned the stone steps, charcoal burned in braziers, and a strikingly handsome middle-aged man, ethereal as an exiled immortal, sat by the fire, attended by several stunningly beautiful maids.
The old monk, unfazed by the spectacle, climbed the steps and crouched by the brazier to warm his hands. The middle-aged man, whose beauty seemed painted, asked softly, “Well?”
The old man removed his fur hat and placed it on his knees. “He’s more receptive to reason than his father. And when he speaks, he does so eloquently and methodically. In short, he’s better than Xu Xiao.”
The old monk looked up at the man, one of the few surviving master strategists of the Spring and Autumn era. “Master Nalan, do you truly intend to pit the scholars and martial artists of Jiangnan against Northern Liang’s cavalry? Aren’t you afraid of overplaying your hand? That young man isn’t someone easily fooled. Aren’t you worried about going too far?”
The man addressed as Nalan by Monk Faxian lowered his head to fiddle with the charcoal, his jade-like face glowing with an almost ethereal radiance. He answered obliquely, “In Buddhism, there are sixteen contemplations, but none involve observing oneself, correct? There’s no time for self-reflection when one is busy sacrificing oneself.”
The old monk sighed helplessly. “You’re more of a monk than I am.”
Nalan Youci sneered. “Faxian, don’t forget that you were once a key piece in the Hongjia Northern Exodus. You were supposed to become the Buddhist leader in Southern Bei Mang, and you agreed at the time. But you backed out at the last moment. That man might let it slide, but I’m not as forgiving!”
The old monk rubbed his bald head. “What could I do? Back then, I found no solace in Confucian texts, nor could I settle with Daoist teachings. I turned to Buddhism as a last resort, just following the crowd to escape. But before I knew it, I ended up treating this foreign land as home. Once I became a monk, I had to leave worldly affairs behind.”
Nalan Youci snapped, “Abandon worldly affairs? Ignore the mortal realm? Turn your back on all living beings?”
The old monk chuckled. “In this world, we’re merely leaving behind a shell. All beings have their own fortunes and sufferings…”
Nalan Youci suddenly stood and shouted, “Uncle!”
The old monk stared blankly at the brazier, his gaze distant.
Nalan Youci fumed. “Cao Changqing has secretly contacted the remnants of Southern Dynasties, even persuading Wang Sui and Gu Jiantang. He promised Wang Sui the restoration of Eastern Yue and Gu Jiantang the title of the world’s foremost, not just the leftover ‘Grand Pillar of the State’ that Xu Xiao discarded. Once the Central Plains are pacified and Bei Mang swallowed, he even agreed that the Jiang clan of Western Chu would last only one generation before Jiang Ni abdicates in favor of a descendant of the Gu family. This is Cao Changqing’s grand finale for the Spring and Autumn era!”
The old monk sighed. “Such great suffering for all beings.”
Nalan Youci stood on the steps, lips pressed tight, his eyes dark.
The old monk no longer addressed him as “Master” but asked bluntly, “By forcing Xu Fengnian to oppose the court and turning the Central Plains against Northern Liang, are you scheming for Yanchi King Zhao Bing or his heir, Zhao Zhu?”
Nalan Youci’s expression hardened. “Once Bei Mang loses the strength to invade the south, the Xu family’s powerful army will be seen as a threat by Liyang. Northern Liang, akin to a rogue warlord state, will be ostracized by the world. This is inevitable. Any emperor would do the same—whether it’s the current emperor, Zhao Zhuan, or even Zhao Zhu, whom I serve. Even if Zhao Zhu and Xu Fengnian are sworn brothers, as long as Xu Fengnian remains King of Northern Liang, the situation won’t change. In fact, it might worsen. Right now, Liyang can’t touch Northern Liang’s cavalry, but that doesn’t mean they’ll remain powerless in five or ten years.”
Monk Faxian flipped his hands, warming the backs now. “You’ve planned far ahead, even factoring in Xu Fengnian’s friendship with your young strategist. But let me ask you: while ‘killing the hound after the hunt’ is the logic of emperors, isn’t ‘a cornered beast will fight back’ also logic?”
Without waiting for a reply, the old monk continued, “Why didn’t Northern Liang send its left and right cavalry armies south? Why only the elite Snow Dragon Cavalry, the backbone of Northern Liang’s forces? Is it because the young prince is reckless? Trying to flaunt the Xu family’s might to the Central Plains? I doubt it. For twenty years, the Xu family has fought Bei Mang’s barbarians at the northwestern border, never coveting the Central Plains—not in the past, and not now. Even the twenty families openly aligning with Northern Liang, now visible to the court, signal that this campaign isn’t rebellion. Flying the ‘Pacification’ banner is one step back; this is another. Northern Liang’s restraint is clear. Now, Nalan Youci, by disrupting this balance, aren’t you risking the bond between Xu Fengnian and Zhao Zhu? If Zhao Zhu eventually draws his dagger, do you truly believe Xu Fengnian won’t rebel in fury? By then, Bei Mang will likely be crippled, and the struggle for the Central Plains could see Northern Liang’s cavalry fighting unrestrained…”
The old monk abruptly stopped speaking, turning slowly to stare in shock at the tall figure beside him. “You… Nalan Youci, you want Xu Fengnian to become emperor?!”
Nalan Youci neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed uproariously.
With two fingers, he gently twirled a strand of hair by his ear, gritting his teeth. “Li Yishan’s sole disciple—why shouldn’t he be emperor?!”
The old monk lowered his head, murmuring, “Madness… sheer madness…”
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