A solitary green lamp flickered in the ancient courtyard, where the breeze carried the scent of lotus blossoms. The intermittent croaking of frogs and chirping of insects accentuated the deep tranquility of the night.
In the dilapidated hall, illuminated by dim candlelight, two figures sat cross-legged in meditation. One wore a blue robe, his ordinary face exuding an air of steadfastness, as unshakable as a towering mountain. The other was a boy under ten years old, his head shaved, lips red and teeth white, his oversized gray robe making him look even more childlike, his eyes brimming with innocence and naivety.
The boy scratched his bald head, unable to suppress his curiosity. He widened his eyes and blurted out:
“Master, how many bugs are chirping outside?”
“That’s the hundred and first question,” the blue-robed man replied impassively.
“Uh…” The little novice was stunned. How had it already been a hundred and one questions? He had tried so hard to restrain himself!
According to his master’s rule, he could ask no more than a hundred questions a day. But—but—he was just so curious!
He hung his head in disappointment. He would have to wait until tomorrow for the answer. But tomorrow would bring so many new and interesting things—a hundred questions would never be enough! He had to ration them carefully!
A child’s moods shift quickly. Soon, the little novice lifted his head again, his eyes round with excitement. “Master, Master, you promised to continue the story tonight! I want to hear about Qi Zhengyan!”
“Qi Zhengyan’s story…” The blue-robed man sighed, as if reminiscing. “Where did we leave off?”
“We left off when Qi Zhengyan was sent to Yicheng as deputy supervisor, but his cousin had his tendons severed by that Ghost Shadow Sword, and he couldn’t even take revenge!” The little novice declared proudly. “Master, isn’t my memory amazing?”
“One hundred and second question,” the blue-robed man noted calmly.
“Uh…” The little novice pursed his lips, shaking off his frustration. “Master, hurry up and tell the story! I can’t wait to hear how Qi Zhengyan avenges his cousin! He had that incredible encounter in the Demon Pool!”
The blue-robed man turned his gaze to the dim lamplight. “After being dissuaded by his superior, Qi Zhengyan appeared to endure the situation peacefully with the Ye family. But every night, his heart was torn by fierce internal conflict.”
“The part of him that had absorbed the Demon Lord’s knowledge sneered mockingly. In this world, strength determined victory—the essence of existence was survival of the fittest. Why resist inheriting such power? Why reject this unparalleled treasure? Look at him now—humiliated, his kin harmed, powerless to act, drowning in bitterness with no one to confide in!”
“The original ‘him’ wavered. What good were righteous sects if one lacked the strength to stand tall? At the end of the day, personal power was the foundation of everything. As long as he could control the demonic influence and maintain his heart, what was there to fear from the Demon Lord’s knowledge? A sword, too, was a tool for killing!”
The little novice listened intently but couldn’t resist interrupting. “But Master, you once said that demonic temptations often begin with seemingly reasonable arguments, targeting vulnerabilities where one feels confident. At first, there may be no effect, but once the breach is opened, it widens until the dam collapses. Master, I remember it well, right? Uh… please continue.”
“Qi Zhengyan shared this concern, so he endured, telling himself: ‘A gentleman’s revenge can wait ten years,'” the blue-robed man said serenely.
“But—but that’s just too unfair! Too… too humiliating!” the little monk declared indignantly.
The blue-robed man ignored his outburst and continued. “Just as his torment deepened, Zhen Ding arrived, calling him ‘cousin’ with a lazy, roguish grin.”
“Zhen Ding came! He’s got a fiery temper! Did he draw his sword to help?” the little novice exclaimed excitedly.
Zhen Ding was a monk just like him!
“After a moment of surprise and helplessness, Qi Zhengyan led Zhen Ding to the backyard, where they exchanged stories. Zhen Ding had already left the monastic life and now called himself ‘Little Meng,'” the blue-robed man clarified.
“Oh…” The little novice’s face fell in disappointment.
“Unable to hide the truth, Qi Zhengyan confided everything to Little Meng and planned to welcome him with wine. Little Meng said, ‘What’s wine without food?’ and volunteered to buy the most famous spiced beef in town.” The blue-robed man’s voice flowed like a tranquil river, carrying both peace and the weight of time. “Qi Zhengyan took some time to find a fine jar of wine. Before he could open it, Little Meng returned with the beef. After a sip of wine, Little Meng mentioned he had ‘picked up a sword on the way.’ Then he unwrapped a bundle—it was Ghost Shadow Sword’s personal blade.”
“Ghost Shadow Sword’s sword? A swordsman’s blade is his life! So Little Meng killed Ghost Shadow Sword while buying beef to avenge Qi Zhengyan’s cousin? On the way?! That’s so cool! So awesome!” the little novice cheered.
The blue-robed man glanced at him. “Have you been sneaking onto the Myriad World Talisman again?”
“Hehe…” The little novice grinned sheepishly. “Master, please continue.”
“Qi Zhengyan was deeply moved—and envious. A life of swift vengeance, roaming the martial world without restraint—this was the dream of every aspiring warrior. Thus, he resolved to travel and improve himself.” Here, the blue-robed man shifted tone. “That’s enough for tonight. It’s time for you to calm your mind and sleep.”
The little novice scratched his head restlessly. “Master, let me guess—did Qi Zhengyan face repeated setbacks in the martial world and eventually succumb to the Demon Lord’s knowledge, falling into darkness?”
“One hundred and third question—deducted from tomorrow’s quota.” The blue-robed man remained expressionless. “He did accept the Demon Lord’s knowledge out of frustration, but fortunately, he discovered the ‘demon’ in his own heart—a cause worth dying for—and did not lose his humanity.”
“What was the ‘demon’ in his heart?” The little novice couldn’t help asking, even knowing the cost.
The blue-robed man gazed into his innocent eyes. “Every person is born with an innate light, equal in dignity. He sought to create a world where all had equal opportunity—though not absolute equality.”
“What does that…” The little novice didn’t understand, but it sounded impressive. “Then where is Qi Zhengyan now? Master, you said he’s a real person!”
The blue-robed man looked out into the night, his gaze distant. “In this era of peace, everyone can practice martial arts. All receive the finest foundational training, and as they progress, they gain access to peerless techniques. In such a world, where opportunities are—more or less—equal, Qi Zhengyan, who was never one to oppose for opposition’s sake, naturally sheathed his sword.”
His eyes grew profound.
“When the world is just, and hope is within reach, the sword remains sheathed, hidden in the hall, its edge unseen—a mere ornament. But should the world grow corrupt, with privilege entrenched and the masses deprived of light, the sword must be drawn. Once unsheathed, it will stir storms and forge revolution anew.”
The little novice listened in bewilderment, finally exhaling a long, “Oh…”
“It’s time for you to calm your mind and sleep,” the blue-robed man repeated.
The little novice closed his eyes, settling into meditation—then suddenly cracked one open.
“Master, Master, if you’re not a monk, why am I a novice?”
“One hundred and sixth question,” the blue-robed man said flatly. “Because when I took you in, you were already a novice.”
“Master, Master, can I stop being a monk?”
“Master, Master…”
…
The night was deep, the moon full, the wind still.
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