When the Flying Immortal from the Heavens clashed with the Sword Aimed at Heaven, Meng Qi and the Sword Emperor became entangled in a contest of spiritual energies, pushing each other to a realm he had never before reached.
At this moment, he felt no distinction between himself and heaven and earth; his spirit merged with nature, as if he had become part of it. Thus, what heaven and earth sensed, he sensed. The slightest movement of every hair on the heads of people near the mountain peak clearly emerged within his mind.
Around him surged an invisible ocean of primordial energy. His body soaked in it, every pore opening wide, hungrily and smoothly drawing it in, as if returning to his mother’s embrace!
This was an unprecedented sense of comfort, a union of man and heaven.
Guided by the Sword Emperor’s energy, and aided by this irreversible final strike from both sides, Meng Qi briefly stepped into this realm!
Past experiences, his current subtle state, and the grand path of his future flowed through his mind. He locked eyes with the Sword Emperor, feeling both joy and melancholy.
Their essence, energy, spirit, and intent, at their absolute peaks, converged at a single point, undergoing a wondrous transformation, collapsing into a dark, profound spot.
The spot stretched, a crack forming, from which burst forth white light, engulfing his vision.
Before being engulfed by the blinding white radiance, Meng Qi witnessed the Sword Emperor’s physical form disintegrate, saw him obliterate his external demon, observed his primordial spirit turn translucent, reverse its aging process, and regress to childhood—revealing a face that seemed faintly familiar.
The dazzling white faded, as did the darkness. Meng Qi’s ears caught the pleasant chirping of birds. Even in early winter, some birds unafraid of the cold still sang.
The grass roots beneath the thin snow, the dormant vitality, the scattered stones, and distant travelers all clearly emerged in Meng Qi’s mind.
But this strange sensation of unity with heaven and earth, without distinction of self, gradually faded. Meng Qi returned to his previous state—faintly sensing the power of heaven and earth, grasping the rhythm of natural cycles, yet now obscured by a vague, temporary barrier.
Yet Meng Qi wore a sincere smile. With this brief glimpse into the realm and having initially outlined his own path, he was certain to achieve unity with heaven and earth before the next mission. What he needed now was to temper his martial will by hunting the Wolf King, refining his mind, and verifying whether his current path aligned with the one he had originally forged. If not, he would have to begin anew—there was no regret at the threshold, and haste would be of no avail.
At that time, if alignment was achieved and he re-entered the realm of unity with heaven and earth, he would save two or three years of contemplation compared to He Jiu, Wang Siyuan, and others, needing only to consolidate and adjust.
He patted his green robe and slowly stood, glancing around. At the time, he had been in a daze, fully immersed in enlightenment and contemplation, so he had no idea how long the demon had dragged him into samsara, and thus could not judge the time difference between the two realms.
“What exactly happened with that external demon? It pulled me in for no apparent reason, and was then killed just as mysteriously…” Meng Qi believed he was surely the most bewildered among those who had survived demonic backlash, only able to describe it as inexplicable. “The young Sword Emperor looked somewhat familiar, but there are plenty of people with two or three points of resemblance…”
Meng Qi pondered for a while, gaining nothing, identified his location, and instead of heading toward the grasslands, went the opposite way.
…
Early November, white blanketed the grasslands—a once-in-a-century heavy snowfall.
This was one of the things herders hated most: the White Disaster!
The snow was thick. In some places, it wasn’t deep, but ice had formed on the surface. Cattle and sheep could not break through the top layer to reach the grass beneath, dying in large numbers from cold and hunger. Thus, tribe after tribe herded their livestock toward larger tribes, willingly handing over half their wealth, because there, the shamans of the Eternal Religion and the powerful grassland martial artists could melt the snow and relieve the White Disaster.
With migrations from many tribes, they arrived at Gegen Gao Le, where a clear river meandered past countless tents, miraculously unfrozen.
This place, near the border, was a hub for trade, filled with people speaking in various accents. Southern goods always tempted the eyes, but only the noble leaders of the tribes could afford them.
Hearing the noisy cries of cattle and sheep, smelling the mingling of strange odors, Old Wu’en tightened his worn fur coat, looked into the tent at drunken martial artists and herders, and contentedly counted silver coins, copper coins, and animal hides. Today had been another bountiful day.
Since the White Disaster began, tribe after tribe had arrived at Gegen Gao Le, more than ever before. And when grassland people gathered, they loved horse racing, wrestling, archery, martial contests—and drinking!
This made Old Wu’en’s “tavern” business flourish even more.
“Old man, I heard you used to be a great hunter who ventured deep into the grasslands and killed wolf demons?” a drunken man, bare-chested, asked loudly.
Wu’en smiled, the wrinkles on his face blooming like flowers: “Where, where? I don’t even remember such a thing myself.”
“I told you so,” the drunkard happily sat down. “By the Eternal Heaven, I never misjudge people!”
Wu’en said nothing, gazing at the animal hides in his hands, his eyes slightly distant, as if recalling something.
These barbarians—though the Khan had issued orders to promote the new silver coins and copper ingots, they still came with animal hides… Wu’en sighed, cursing these small tribes. The grasslands were vast, the tribes scattered. It was easy to gather them for raiding the south, but difficult to spread new practices.
Suddenly, the tent flap was lifted, a gust of cold wind blowing in, making everyone involuntarily shiver.
A man entered, dressed in grassland winter attire, with loose hair and left-side lapel, sporting two neat little mustaches, his eyes like black gems.
He was young, a long knife at his waist, seemingly no different from a wandering swordsman, walking straight to Old Wu’en.
“Pay first, then drink,” Old Wu’en didn’t even lift his eyes, stating the rule.
“One tael of gold for one tael of wine,” the man replied in a strange accent, clearly not accustomed to the language of the grasslands.
Old Wu’en’s counting of the animal hides froze. Slowly lifting his head, he said, “This wine is only lent, not sold.”
He spoke slowly, as if fearing the other might not understand the language of the grasslands.
“Lend me nine jars,” the guest said without hesitation.
Wu’en called over the mute boy who followed him, left him to watch the tent, then turned and led the guest toward a small tent at the back.
“The Seal?” Upon entering the tent, Wu’en suddenly spoke fluent Zhongyuan dialect, the official language of the Jin and Zhou dynasties.
The guest’s palm held a green official seal, radiating a hazy glow, revealing two characters: “Bu Feng” (Capture Wind).
“A Green Ribbon Chief Inspector, so young and already a Green Ribbon—this old man worked half his life just to reach Green Ribbon…” Wu’en examined him, realizing his strength must be extraordinary, or he wouldn’t be a Green Ribbon Chief Inspector at such a young age.
The guest was none other than Meng Qi. After leaving the grassland border, following prior arrangements, he had contacted a secret agent of the Six Gates of the Great Jin in the Northern Zhou, attempting to use the Six Gates’ grassland intelligence network to help locate the Wolf King.
After being introduced, he set out for Gegen Gao Le.
In his youth, Old Wu’en had been a famous martial artist in the grasslands, but had offended a tribal noble, nearly costing him his life, with his wife and daughter to be enslaved. Fortunately, the Six Gates took an interest in him, deploying a secret agent who caused the noble’s sudden death. His children then fought bitterly over the inheritance, allowing Wu’en to flee south with his family to Gegen Gao Le.
Since then, he had hated unrestrained nobles and devoted himself wholeheartedly to serving the Great Jin.
Meng Qi touched his deliberately grown mustaches and smiled: “Finally able to speak Jin language again. These past days I’ve had to act cold and aloof to avoid speaking too much and exposing myself.”
After a month of intensive training, he had only managed to grasp a rudimentary understanding of the prairie language, and his speaking skills were even more limited.
“Grassland language isn’t hard to learn at all. It’s the official language—heh—that took this old man ten years to master fluently,” Wu’en wore an expression of painful reminiscence before turning serious. “Comrade, what is it you want from this old man?”
He didn’t ask about the purpose of the Bu Feng agent.
“I’m here to kill the Wolf King,” Meng Qi said flatly, as if speaking of a trivial matter.
“Kill the Wolf King?” But Wu’en didn’t see it that way!
His eyes widened, staring at the man with the mustache like a monster.
Who was the Wolf King? The current Number One on the Human List!
He had hunted many top grassland martial artists, provoking widespread outrage. Yet to this day, no one had been able to stop him. Remember, once a tribe even sent an Outer Scene expert to hunt him!
Forget his strength—just his style of striking and fleeing immediately if he missed made him a massive headache.
Was the Wolf King really that easy to kill?
Meng Qi beamed with a radiant smile: “Indeed, Green Sash, please assist me in locating him. The Wolf King is prominently listed on the Six Gates’ most-wanted roster.”
The Wolf King had once killed many Jin martial artists, naturally appearing on the wanted list.
“If the Wolf King were that easy to find, he’d have died a hundred times already,” Wu’en frowned and shook his head.
Meng Qi nodded gently, fully agreeing. From the secret agent, he had obtained a detailed file on the Wolf King, including a list of almost all his victims, with dates, their strength at the time, backgrounds, and locations. After reading it, Meng Qi felt the Wolf King killed almost randomly, appearing suddenly in the east, then the west, his victims varying in strength. Without sufficient time to analyze, it was nearly impossible to find any pattern to his hiding places.
The only discernible pattern was that as the Wolf King’s strength grew, he had less interest in killing those far weaker than himself, though there were occasional exceptions, seemingly done on a whim.
If he couldn’t track the Wolf King down, he would have to risk luring him out. But the Wolf King had survived this long precisely because he was extremely sensitive to danger. He might detect something wrong, wait patiently, and strike suddenly only after breaking through to perfect half-step, putting Meng Qi in mortal danger.
“May I ask, Green Sash, do you have any news of the Wolf King?” Meng Qi earnestly looked at the local power, Wu’en.
Wu’en hesitated slightly before replying: “What you know is what this old man knows. But there may be others who know more.”
“Who?” Meng Qi had been resigned to a dead end, but now there was actually a lead?
Wu’en’s voice deepened: “The Wolf King has killed many grassland martial artists, mostly talented, strong young men. Some were sons of tribal nobles, others were disciples of famous martial artists. After their deaths, their families and friends naturally wanted revenge.”
“Some of the most vengeful secretly formed the ‘Wolf-Killing Society,’ to exchange information and kill the Wolf King. They are spread across the entire grasslands and may know more about his movements.”
“The Wolf-Killing Society…” Meng Qi had never heard of this organization before.
Wu’en exhaled: “This old man doesn’t know much about the Wolf-Killing Society, only a few members. If you want to join, I can introduce you, but whether joining is dangerous, this old man cannot say.”
Meng Qi hesitated briefly, then bowed: “Please, Green Ribbon, introduce me.”
His voice was firm, without the slightest wavering.
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