The Xihé Province suddenly decided to intercept the Yellow River and change its course, a major undertaking entangled with countless interests. Fortunately, General Helian Chijie’s prestige was sufficient to deter any reckless challengers. Helian Wǔwēi offered generous compensation to the powerful families whose lands along the lower reaches of the river were damaged. Many scions of noble houses were even granted positions within the Kǒngbì Army, albeit minor ones, which were blessings they had never dared to dream of before. Moreover, the redirection of the river was merely a semicircle twenty miles in length, not yet a truly disruptive change. Thus, Xihé Province remained calm on the surface, though whispers circulated among the aristocratic families. The common folk, as always, continued their lives unchanged, though they lamented the prohibition of commerce near the riverworks, which would have otherwise brought unexpected profit, patrolled and enforced by the Kǒngbì Army. After all, no horse grows fat without night fodder—such is the way of the world.
Xú Fèngnián and Helian Wǔwēi arrived at the site where stones were cast to block the river. This time, the tomb of the ancient Qin Emperor, hidden from the sky for nearly a thousand years, had drawn a tangled web of factions, none of whom wished to be seen in the open. Helian Wǔwēi’s role was akin to inviting bandits into his home—a perilous endeavor. Even without considering other powerful outsiders crossing into the region, General Zhòng Shéntōng alone was a formidable opponent. Thus, the venerable Chijie General dared not act carelessly, entrusting everything to the Kǒngbì Army, led by his trusted subordinates. Xú Fèngnián noticed a group of men and women dressed as scholars directing operations from a high platform. Most of them were gaunt and bore no resemblance to refined scholars. Surprised, Xú asked, “Are they disciples of the Mohist school?”
Hèlián Wǔwēi simply nodded with a faint smile, without elaborating on his own resources. Xú Fèngnián had resumed his disguise as a scholar, having previously used a ‘living skin’ mask to infiltrate the Chijie General’s mansion. He had been recognized at once by the old swordsman, White-Haired Kuí, not only because of the Chūnleī sword at his waist, but also because the two had known each other for many years. The ‘living skin’ disguise altered appearance but not aura, which was why Kuí had seen through his disguise. The shamaness Shū Xiū, in exchange for ten years of her life at the Prince’s Mansion, had crafted a ‘divine skin’ mask, which was given to Mùróng Tónghuáng, who was far more ambitious than her elder sister, Mùróng Wúzhú.
As Hèlián Wǔwēi and Xú Fèngnián strolled along the riverbank, the aftermath of a rare storm still lingered. The river’s level remained much higher than usual, its waters turbulent and muddy, roaring like thunder, inspiring awe and fear. Xú had left both the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Chūnleī sword behind at the mansion, his hands empty as he squatted on a massive rock by the shore. The river mist struck his face, and the sound roared in his ears, his internal energy subtly drawn and accelerated by the river’s force, far more intense than usual. Hèlián Wǔwēi tossed a stone into the river, which vanished without a splash, and sighed, “In my youth, I often swam against the current after the rain. Now, I can barely swim without being swept away. In old age, when I do take to the water, I only choose the gentle parts of the river. No matter how unwilling one is to admit it, age catches up with us all.”
As Xú Fèngnián was about to speak, he noticed a group of richly dressed individuals approaching leisurely, chatting and laughing. At their head was a tall man whose every movement exuded the commanding presence of one destined to shape the world. Behind him were several familiar yet not intimately known faces: Lù Guī and his daughter Lù Chén, Zhòng Tán and his servant girl Liú Dàogǔ. Except for Lù Chén, Xú had only met the others once before. He had worried that Lù Chén might recognize him, but to his surprise, she did not even glance his way, treating him with more indifference than a complete stranger. Still squatting, Xú did not rise. Hèlián Wǔwēi cast a glance and, suppressing his aura, said calmly, “That is General Zhòng Dàjiāngjūn, a man well-connected with the royal court of the Northern Mǎn. He is better at politics than at commanding troops. Unfortunately, his younger brother Zhòng Tóng was not here today.”
Zhòng Shéntōng, upon seeing Hèlián Wǔwēi, laughed heartily and approached swiftly, distancing himself from the others. The high-ranking General Zhòng, acting as a junior, saluted respectfully, “Greetings, General Helian Old Commander.”
Hèlián Wǔwēi did not leave Zhòng hanging. He slapped Xú Fèngnián’s head as if scolding a disrespectful nephew, growling, “Stand up and greet General Zhòng!”
Xú Fèngnián rose reluctantly and bowed slightly. Hèlián Wǔwēi feigned frustration, sighing, “Forgive him, General Zhòng. He is a distant relative, stubborn and ill-mannered.”
He turned sharply to Xú, eyes blazing, “You think you’re better than others just because you’ve read a few baskets of books! Have you become a Zhuàngyuán or a Chancellor? You’re just peering from the bottom of a well—no potential at all! Take General Zhòng’s son Zhòng Tán here, for example. He is only a few years older than you, yet he commands three thousand elite soldiers as the Commander of the Guard. He nearly became the Empire’s first Zhuàngyuán. Compared to your stinking, meaningless essays, he is a hundred times better!”
Zhòng Shéntōng saw the young man’s hesitation and assumed it was due to his family’s reputation, though Xú’s expression was far from friendly. He found no reason to doubt Hèlián’s claim of distant kinship. The Helian clan was a major family in Xihé, and though Hèlián Wǔwēi’s branch had declined, he had risen through the ranks of the military. Known for his scholarly pursuits, Hèlián was respected among scholars. If a promising young man emerged from a fallen branch of his family, Zhòng would have held similar hopes. Zhòng did not wish to sour the mood over such a trivial matter, so he laughed and replied, “Old Commander, you flatter my son too much. He is only a few years older than your nephew.”
Xú Fèngnián muttered under his breath, “Three thousand soldiers? Wait until I make a name for myself in court—I’ll command thirty thousand cavalry and still find it too few.”
Hèlián Wǔwēi kicked at him, scowling, “Your armchair strategies are worth nothing.”
Xú dodged the half-hearted kick and turned his back to them all, feigning shame in front of his elders. Zhòng Shéntōng found the scene amusing and played the mediator, offering a few words about the virtues of youthful ambition. Then, the two pillars of the Northern Mǎn military walked away from the others along the riverbank, discussing the next phase—breaking into the Qin Emperor’s tomb after the river was diverted. Both were seasoned foxes, and their conversation was filled with veiled intentions. In general, the elite Kǒngbì Army would handle the river diversion and the elimination of any wandering martial artists near the tomb. Zhòng’s family promised a steady supply of low-cost, high-quality iron ore to the Kǒngbì Army. The old Chijie General was known for his integrity and was highly regarded among the eight regional governors of the Northern Mǎn. Zhòng Shéntōng did not believe Hèlián would covet the tomb’s treasures enough to betray him. If it were Mùróng Bǎodǐng, whose martial prowess surpassed even Zhòng Tóng’s, Zhòng would never dare to negotiate with such a tiger.
The secret conversation ended on a pleasant note.
Zhòng Shéntōng glanced back. Zhòng Tán, the Lù family, and the Helian youth did not seem to mix well—hardly surprising. As Zhòng walked, he frowned slightly. His younger brother had said he needed to visit the Princess’s Grave but gave no reason. Zhòng had long grown accustomed to his brother’s eccentricities, but this time, the tomb’s secrets were too important to allow any missteps. Zhòng knew his brother’s relationship with the mysterious “Little Thought” within the Princess’s Grave was complicated, though the full extent remained unknown. He dared not pry too deeply, hoping only that the alliance with the “eight hundred ghosts” of the Princess’s Grave would not lead to unforeseen complications. As the tomb’s guardians, their betrayal was not something Zhòng could fully trust.
Suddenly, Zhòng Shéntōng and Helian Wǔwēi tensed, sensing an imminent threat.
A white rainbow surged across the river, racing upstream.
Where the rainbow passed, the river surged, rising a full zhang in height, crashing violently against the banks.
Far ahead, a dozen figures in colorful robes descended from the sky like butterflies, seemingly intent on blocking the rainbow’s path.
Their robes fluttered like celestial beings in murals, their sleeves stretching several zhang, each trailing wisps of cloud, making them appear like immortals descending from heaven.
Zhòng Tán’s eyes widened. He recognized the women immediately—just as his uncle Zhòng Tóng had described. They were the “Colorful Attendants” of the Princess’s Grave, known for their “Dance of the Ascending Sleeves.” It was said that, when combined, a single sleeve could rival even gods and Buddhas.
A low chant of Buddhist sutras filled the air.
Xú Fèngnián recognized it as the Heart Mantra of Bodhisattva Mahāsthāmaprāpta.
The white-robed figure finally paused, hovering a few feet above the river, one arm raised in a mudra.
It was a monk clad in white robes, facing the eighteen Colorful Attendants and their thirty-six sleeves. As the final syllable of the chant faded, the Yellow River beneath him erupted in an unusual phenomenon.
As the chant foretold—Mahāsthāmaprāpta’s might manifested in an instant!
The river behind the monk split apart. Half of the water surged forward, while the other half halted abruptly, rising over ten zhang into the air like a leaping yellow dragon. Following the monk’s mudra, it arced through the sky and then crashed down, covering heaven and earth, striking the eighteen women who had drawn upon the clouds.
The yellow dragon surged forward, followed closely by the white-robed monk.
The Colorful Attendants, who had appeared so beautifully, were scattered like autumn leaves. Some fell into the river, others onto the banks, and a few were hurled dozens of zhang away, utterly defeated, their divine grace completely shattered.
The monk ignored the women, continuing his journey upstream.
The Yellow River flows from the heavens.
The Northern Mǎn’s national religion, the Daoist Sect of Virtue, resided in those heavens.
The monk, Li Dangxin in White, sought the Sect where the Kirin Immortal resided, and the most direct path was along the river.
Zhòng Shéntōng’s face darkened. “Bái Yī Sēng Lǐ Dāngxīn!”
Hèlián Wǔwēi marveled, “Truly the Invincible Diamond who once defied the Northern Mǎn’s First Emperor.”
Zhòng Tán turned to his servant girl, Liu Daogu, and teased softly, “Your Princess’s Grave ‘Ascension Sleeves’ were too easily defeated. With such meager strength, how dare you challenge the mighty Luòyáng?”
The girl smiled, pointing into the distance.
The eighteen Colorful Attendants failed to stop the monk, and suddenly a towering figure appeared, too far to discern gender. When the figure stretched out its arms, it revealed a grotesque sight—four arms.
As the figure raised its arms, the eighteen fallen Attendants were pulled into the air like puppets on strings.
Zhòng Tán was astonished. “Is this your ‘Little Thought’? My uncle’s tastes are certainly unique.”
Liu Daogu shook her head. “It is an ancient guardian of the Princess’s Grave, a living corpse preserved for three hundred years. I advise you not to approach it closely, or you will not sleep easily. It has four arms and a Holding the pipa close, two faces—one sorrowful like Kṣitigarbha, the other joyous.”
Zhòng Tán shuddered. “Frightening indeed.”
Upon seeing the abomination, the white-robed monk finally grew furious, his eyes blazing with wrath.
He roared, “Buddha Tathāgata! You wretched demon, why have you not cast yourself into the The Void for forty-nine feet?!”
With one palm raised, the clouds above descended, countless golden rays piercing through the gaps in the white clouds, bathing the world in divine light.
Then, in an instant, the monk’s hands formed three mudras—Dharma Wheel, Purification, and Sin Crusher.
In the blink of an eye, the white rainbow vanished, leaving only a final declaration: “I shall return from the Sect of Virtue and cast you fully into the cycle of rebirth!”
The dark entity curled into a ball, then stretched back to its original form, though the eighteen Colorful Attendants were now utterly destroyed.
The entity straightened, creaking its neck stiffly.
Then it charged directly at Xú Fèngnián.
Xú Fèngnián stared in disbelief. “What did I ever do to you?!”
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