Mongolia and the Han Chinese have always been natural enemies. Although after the Mongols retreated north of the Great Wall, open conflict between the two sides has never truly ceased.
Now, the Mongols are no longer the once-dominant superpower they were in their prime. Since being driven back to the steppes by the Ming dynasty, internal divisions have continuously plagued them. Tribes such as the Oirats and the Duoyan have broken away, declaring independence and waging constant wars against each other. Nevertheless, in the eyes of the Han Chinese, they are still habitually referred to collectively as “Mongols.”
According to ancient accounts, the word “Mongol” means “silver.” To the Mongols, silver is regarded as one of the most precious and spiritually significant metals bestowed by heaven. Looking at the silver mask adorned with large ox horns hanging at Buta’s side, Lu Bing’s expression darkened further.
“If you had the courage to come to Central China,” Lu Bing stared fiercely at the shaman, “why then hide your face? Master Ninggu, is this truly how you behave?”
“You’re lying!” Buta’s face flushed red. “My master is the most renowned Bo’e among the steppe tribes. If it weren’t for your Master Dian to invite our master on behalf of the Khan, we wouldn’t have come even if your carts were piled high with gold and silver!”
“Very well,” Lu Bing nodded slightly. “So it is indeed as I suspected.”
Among the steppe tribes, the predominant belief is in Shamanism, a faith that reveres the spirits dwelling in all things. According to Shamanic belief, the world consists of three realms: the heavens above, where the gods reside; the earth in the middle, where humans dwell; and the underworld below, the domain of ghosts and demons.
The great shamans are known as “Shamans,” from which the name of the religion originates. Each Mongol tribe venerates its own particular deities and has its own shaman. Typically, female shamans, known as “Odegen,” are more common, while male shamans, called “Bo’e,” are rare.
However, male shamans hold much higher status than their female counterparts, perhaps precisely because of their rarity.
Although Lu Bing could not perceive the spiritual cultivation of the great shaman Ninggu as Mei Qing might, he could immediately tell from Ninggu’s appearance that he must be a top-tier shaman from the northern steppes.
The transmission of shamanic power differs greatly from that of Buddhism or Daoism, possessing a deeply mysterious nature. It is said that the prosperity of a tribe depends fundamentally on the number and strength of its shamans. Yet the emergence of a great shaman is neither the result of cultivation nor dependent on formal instruction—it simply occurs naturally.
A person may become a shaman for no apparent reason. One morning, he or she may simply awaken as a great shaman. All the knowledge, spiritual abilities, techniques, and experiences suddenly become part of their consciousness as if descending from heaven itself. From then on, they live as shamans, healing the sick, driving away evil spirits, and praying for blessings within the tribe. Though a shaman may receive guidance from a higher-level shaman, their abilities and spiritual power are essentially determined the moment they become shamans.
Perhaps due to the wild and fierce blood coursing through the northern tribes, the combat abilities of shamans are astonishingly formidable. Yet unlike Buddhist monks or Daoist practitioners, whose lives may be long, shamans live no longer than ordinary people. To them, the length of one’s life holds no significance. Their souls and spirits are believed to follow the will of heaven, naturally passing on to the next generation after their physical death. Thus, they do not waste time cultivating for longevity.
Shamans typically do not engage in battle directly, preferring instead to guide their people with wisdom. Even when they do take part in warfare, it is usually to inspire and support the warriors. However, when a shaman does choose to fight personally, the result is often devastating—once a battle ends, so too does the shaman’s life.
During the previous Yuan dynasty, Zhang Liusun, the Grand Master of the Xuanjiao sect, unified the Daoist sects across the land with the aid of several Mongol shamans. Their formidable combat abilities and frenzied performances in battle deeply unnerved the Daoist practitioners of the time.
Daoist cultivators in Central China have always valued self-preservation. In any conflict, they first seek to protect themselves before striking their opponents. Both sides follow this principle, so during confrontations, they often leave room for retreat, avoiding pushing the enemy into a desperate fight to the death that would leave both sides wounded. But shamans are entirely different. Once they strike, they hold nothing back. This style of combat was deeply unsettling to Daoist sects, causing them considerable losses.
However, since the Ming dynasty drove the Yuan forces back beyond the northern frontier a hundred years ago, Daoist sects in Central China have had no contact with shamans for a century. If it weren’t for Lu Bing’s deep familiarity with both Yuan and Ming Daoist affairs as head of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, he would not have known all this.
Therefore, upon hearing Buta’s own admission that his master had been invited by Master Dian, Lu Bing turned his gaze toward Tao Zhongwen, who stood nearby, and asked, “Master Dian, would you care to explain this?”
Smiling broadly, Tao Zhongwen replied, “Oh? What is it that concerns you, Director Lu?”
“The Ming dynasty and the Mongols are hereditary enemies, irreconcilable as fire and water,” Lu Bing said gravely. “Yet now, without the court’s permission, you have secretly invited foreign sorcerers into our land. What could your intentions possibly be? This matter of secretly colluding with foreign forces and consorting with evil cults must have an explanation, must it not?”
Though Lu Bing’s tone was confrontational, Tao Zhongwen still smiled. “Director Lu, you are being too rigid. This journey of mine to Anlu was purely for a private matter concerning my sect, undertaken solely as a cultivator. Master Ninggu was merely invited by me as a witness. Although you and I serve the imperial court, surely we are still allowed to have one or two fellow cultivators as friends? There are many cultivators overseas—according to our Ming laws, does that mean we cannot associate with them at all?”
“If it were merely a casual association, there would be no problem,” Lu Bing shook his head. “But as Buta just said, Ninggu is a tribal shaman invited here at the Khan’s behest by your invitation. How can you call him a cultivation friend? Even if this were a personal matter of your sect, why would you need a foreign shaman to act as a witness? Could it be that your sect actually originates overseas?”
Tao Zhongwen’s smile remained unchanged, and he was about to reply when suddenly a sigh came from behind him.
This sigh was deep and aged, yet strangely calming to the heart. Everyone turned their heads and saw that Master Ninggu had somehow appeared among them.
He had removed his leather hood, revealing his true face. Master Ninggu appeared extremely old—his hair was thin, plaited into several long braids hanging down his back. His eyebrows were sparse, but a few long strands drooped from either side. His eyes were surrounded by layers of wrinkles, and his face, weathered by years of hardship, was covered in deep creases, tinged with a grayish-yellow hue.
“I am not, in fact, Master Dian’s friend,” Master Ninggu spoke, his voice aged but lacking the strange accent of Buta, sounding like any elderly Han man. “I did not come merely as a witness to his private matters, nor solely at the Khan’s request.”
His cloudy eyes gazed into the distance and came to rest directly on Mei Qing’s face. “This gentleman here, I have come for you.”
“Me?” Mei Qing was greatly surprised. “Master, what business do you have with me?”
“I do not know,” Master Ninggu sighed, seemingly indifferent to the various expressions his words had caused. “It is the will of the gods. I know you can answer the questions in my heart. That is why I came.”
Hearing Ninggu’s words, Tao Zhongwen, who had maintained his smile until now, finally showed a change in expression. His smile faded as he turned to Ninggu and said, “Master Ninggu, I had a prior agreement with Khan Leming…”
Ninggu let out a dry chuckle. “The Khan knows, and I know. But the fate of the shaman is the fate of the tribe.”
Upon hearing Ninggu’s words, Lu Bing felt a surge of hope. Earlier, when he first saw these four individuals, he had been deeply concerned. If a fight broke out, and the four of them proved unwilling to compromise, his side would likely be at a disadvantage.
Now, for reasons unknown, Ninggu had openly declared his need for Mei Qing to resolve his doubts. Whatever the case, it seemed unlikely that he would turn against Mei Qing. If he could be persuaded not to take part in the conflict, or even to switch sides, their position would be greatly strengthened.
Clearly, Tao Zhongwen had not anticipated this turn of events, which was why he had hastily brought up his prior agreement with the Khan, trying to pressure Ninggu into compliance. But judging from Ninggu’s lofty status among the tribes, he clearly had no intention of yielding.
Lu Bing seized the opportunity immediately. “Master Ninggu, may I ask what kind of confusion you have that requires Mei Qing’s help? However, this is not the proper place to discuss such matters. Might we postpone it?”
Ninggu sighed and shook his head. “I have traveled thousands of miles to see Mei Qing once. My time is nearly up—I cannot afford to wait any longer.”
Mei Qing exchanged a glance with Lu Bing.
For some reason, the words of this great shaman Ninggu carried an undeniable sincerity.
After a moment’s thought, Mei Qing spoke earnestly. “I am but a junior cultivator, with shallow cultivation and little experience. I do not know what help I might offer, but if you have any questions, please ask freely.”
Seeing the situation slipping beyond his control, Tao Zhongwen let out a snort, and together with Huang Guxu and Zhuo Wanchun, stepped back a few paces, leaving Master and apprentice to stand alone at the front.
Upon hearing Ninggu’s words about his “time being up,” Buta cried out in alarm. “Master…”
Ninggu raised a hand to silence Buta. In his cloudy eyes, a flicker of intense emotion flared as he gazed at Mei Qing. “I am eighty-four years old this year. To you cultivators of Central China, that may seem nothing. But among the shamans of the steppe—both Odegen and Bo’e—none have lived as long as I have. Yet in recent years, I have increasingly felt my life slipping away. I have begun to hear the call of the gods. My time is near.”
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