A white-robed monk carried a massive section of the Yellow River through the Heaven’s Gate, submerging the Daode Sect. The worshippers and visitors at the Eighteen Observatories of Xiantao were all stunned. Initially, seeing the Yellow River suspended in the sky, they feared the monk had lost his mind and might Pour down the river’s immense weight upon their heads, which would have been a truly tragic death, a classic case of innocents caught in the crossfire. The white-robed monk soared straight toward Mount Fushan. At the foot of the mountain, murmurs spread among the crowd. Many spectators, once they recovered from their shock, exclaimed in delight. Such an extraordinary spectacle was undoubtedly the work of an immortal, a sight rarely witnessed in the mortal world.
Besides the Daode Sect’s devotees visiting the Eighteen Observatories, many others had come with the intention of watching the conflict unfold. The upper levels of the Daoist temple had long been monopolized by the nobility of the Northern Deserts. A plainly dressed man stood amidst the surging crowd, unremarkable in appearance. He rarely looked up to meet others’ gazes and showed no signs of extraordinary bearing, merely standing a little taller than most. He had arrived at the foot of the mountain half a month prior. His daily life was unexceptional—eating onion cakes like other pilgrims and sleeping on open ground on cool nights, using his long robe as a blanket. When he saw the white-robed monk leap through the Heaven’s Gate, seemingly intent on confronting the True Immortal Qilin, he decided he had no reason to linger further. Just as he turned to leave, smiling gently, he paused. A short, sturdy, dark-skinned man approached from his side. The man’s arms were long like a monkey’s, nearly reaching his knees, and his earlobes were unusually thick, reminiscent of a Bodhisattva’s statues. To the common eye, he simply bore a face of great fortune. The middle-aged man’s gaze was indifferent, his lips tightly pressed. Standing shoulder to shoulder with the younger, plain-clothed man, the contrast was striking—what had seemed unremarkable now appeared refined and elegant. The younger man said with a smile, “I expected you to come, though I didn’t anticipate meeting you here.”
The dark-skinned man grunted in acknowledgment.
The long-robed man raised his hand to shield his eyes, gazing into the distance. Two True Immortals of the Daode Sect remained at the Two Chan Monastery with the old monk. Three others had successively entered the Heaven’s Gate to intercept the white-robed monk. He sighed, “The Buddha Golden Body of Master Longshu, not even the five True Immortals could shatter. That kind of indestructible body is what true King Kongphysique should be.”
The middle-aged man said calmly, “The Sages of the Three Teachings are different from us. Once they reach the peak within their own realms, there’s no need for them to be earthly immortals. We can’t envy them.”
The tall man in his thirties chuckled softly, “I thought you would tear that Yellow River apart.”
The dark man shook his head, “Five True Immortals ganged up on Master Longshu. As the disciple, Li Dangxin has already paid respects to the Daode Sect. Even if the display is grand, it’s not excessive. Judging from the current situation, the Two Chan Monastery is in the right, while the Daode Sect is unreasonable. I’m just here for the spectacle, not to get involved.”
The man in his thirties withdrew his gaze. His eyes were startlingly silver and pupilless. He said with a touch of schadenfreude, “This downpour has turned the Daode Sect into a pond. The face of our Northern Desert Daoism is utterly lost. If the National Master still doesn’t intervene, how can he dare to suppress Buddhism?”
The dark-skinned man beside him lacked his companion’s penchant for reveling in others’ misfortunes. His words were always plain and never deliberately startling, “That’s beyond my knowledge.”
“Master Longshu’s explanation of the Diamond Sutra was profound yet accessible. It’s a pity you didn’t hear it.”
The man frowned, “Hong Jingyan, Master Longshu achieved the Buddha Golden Body by deeply studying the Diamond Sutra alone. But you, wanting to grasp everything, will not benefit your martial cultivation in the future—it will only be harmful.”
Hong Jingyan, the silver-eyed man, gave a self-deprecating smile, “Since I can’t defeat you no matter how I cultivate, I might as well learn a few flashy skills to intimidate others. Take, for example, Li Chungan of the Liyang Dynasty borrowing swords, or Li Dangxin suspending the river in the sky. These feats will certainly be recounted in the martial world for the next four or five decades.”
Seeming indifferent to social niceties, the dark-skinned man replied, “It’s my responsibility to advise you. What you do is your own choice.”
Hong Jingyan chuckled, “If you really wanted someone to do something, who would dare not comply?”
The earnest man simply smiled.
Hong Jingyan, once ranked fourth in the martial world but defeated by the white-robed Luoyang, suggested, “Shall we eat something?”
The dark-skinned man nodded, “I traveled in haste and didn’t bring any money. I’ll repay you later.”
Hong Jingyan moved his feet, half-laughing, half-sputtering, “You’re actually keeping track of that?”
But the man replied bluntly, “Our friendship hasn’t reached that level.”
Hong Jingyan laughed heartily, dropping the matter. Nearby, a Daoist temple offered vegetarian dishes, but it was packed. They patiently waited. During the wait, the dark man was jostled by an impatient pilgrim but stood firm. The pilgrim, although seemingly strong, stumbled awkwardly. He reached out to steady him. The pilgrim had come to the Daode Sect to pray for wealth, not out of genuine devotion. After being humbled, he was about to lash out, but upon seeing the sturdy man beside the simple farmer, he merely cursed and left. The middle-aged man paid no heed. Hong Jingyan, familiar with his temperament, was unsurprised. Finally, a table became available, and Hong ordered two large bowls of vegetarian noodles. They sat opposite each other, each quietly eating. Hong sucked in a firm noodle strand and mumbled, “We’ve walked step by step through the King Kong, Finger Divination, and Celestial Phenomenon realms. But how fundamentally different are these from the monks of the Two Chan Monastery’s King Konginvincibility, the Finger Divination of the True Immortal Qilin, and Cao Changqing’s Celestial Phenomenon? Moreover, the martial cultivators’ realms seem to differ as well, like Deng Ta’a’s Finger Divination compared to ours.”
After finishing his noodles, the dark man placed his chopsticks across the bowl and shook his head, “I’m not good at explaining. If you wish, we can spar.”
Sparring with you? Hong Jingyan didn’t take the bait. He answered himself calmly, “I could also carry the Yellow River over the Heaven’s Gate, though it would be more strenuous. But Li Dangxin must follow rules—he wouldn’t Pour down the river upon the crowd, neither would he dare. If it were me, I would act purely for my own satisfaction. Daoists believe there are gods above; monks seeking Buddhahood must first have the Buddha in their hearts. In the end, the Three Teachings all rely on external forces. Once you borrow from heaven, it’s like borrowing silver from others—you become constrained. Those who act recklessly are branded as heretics or heterodox. In my view, their longevity and freedom aren’t true freedom. As for Confucianism’s righteousness at the cost of life, it’s merely a scholar’s prison. Ultimately, only martial cultivators who achieve the Dao through strength can be truly free.”
The dark-skinned man frowned, “Still not hitting the mark.”
Hong Jingyan, unusually subdued today, smiled softly, “Let’s not dwell on that. Give me a straight answer—when will the two nations resume war? I’ll need a place to stay then.”
The middle-aged man gave no response, and Hong Jingyan didn’t feel slighted. Leaning lazily against the chair back, he continued, “The Emperor has been consolidating the martial world for years. It’s time for the fruits to ripen. On the battlefield, many martial heroes like the Sword Emperor of Xishu will emerge. Tragic indeed—perhaps only one in ten will survive. I feel sorry for them.”
The dark, taciturn man interlocked his fingers, still silent.
Suddenly, Hong Jingyan asked, “Say, what if we sneak into the imperial palace of the Liyang Dynasty and take the emperor’s head? Or how about heading to Beiliang to kill Xu Xiao?”
The middle-aged man, who had once startled the world from the Chess Sword Bureau, glanced at him and said indifferently, “I may not understand Buddhism or Daoism, but I’ve heard a saying in Central China: ‘For every foot the Dao rises, the demon rises a Zhang.’ I’m certain that when you and I stand at the palace gates, Wang Xianzhi of the Wudi City will already be waiting. As for Xu Xiao, his death would disrupt the balance between Liang, Liyang, and the Northern Deserts. Since you have ambitions, you won’t dare kill him, nor will you be able to.”
Hong Jingyan sighed deeply.
The middle-aged man asked, “I heard you lost to her?”
Hong Jingyan’s chair tilted forward, its front legs lifting off the ground. The man, who had watched the demon Luoyang grow up, remained expressionless, “I lost. But she paid a heavy price—self-destructing 126 acupoints, severing all emotions, becoming a living corpse. Later, her The Pearl of Liwas shattered by Deng Ta’a’s sword aura. She won’t live long.”
The dark man felt some regret.
He stood up and left the temple directly.
Hong Jingyan remained silent for a long time before finally exhaling deeply. In an instant, his entire body was soaked in cold sweat.
A woman wearing a veil and carrying a pipa entered quietly and sat beside Hong Jingyan. Her delicate hand lifted the veil slightly, revealing half her face.
Hong Jingyan glanced at her and ordered another bowl of vegetarian noodles, “He could owe money, but you can’t.”
The woman’s half-hidden face was youthful, but her voice was dry and hoarse like an old woman’s, “She’s not dead yet. How do we settle your debt?”
Hong Jingyan sneered, “You and your lover dare to demand payment from me?”
In an instant, the woman pressed a pipa string.
Hong Jingyan stretched lazily, “Don’t get angry with me. You haven’t even eaten the noodles yet, and you’re already full of resentment? Look how considerate I am—I know better than to fight that guy, so I just invite him for a meal.”
The number of people Hong Jingyan couldn’t defeat was few.
And that mighty Bodhisattva who could make Hong Jingyan so wary had already crossed the Yellow River, heading toward the northernmost icy plains.
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