SS CH110

Even through the doors and windows, the faint sounds of commotion outside could be heard, indicating that trouble had stirred up in the front courtyard once again.

Hengyuan locked his door, changed into a grey monk’s robe, strapped on a Buddhist monk’s knife, and vaulted out through the window. This area was secluded, with a small bamboo grove situated behind the building. The moment Hengyuan entered the grove, his footwork shifted through three different patterns in rapid succession, allowing him to dart hastily through the bamboo shadows. With the wind catching the edge of his robes, his silhouette vanished entirely. Even though the daylight had not yet fully faded, Hengyuan had seemingly disappeared into thin air.

His martial arts were not highly ranked within Wuxiang Temple, but his qinggong was exceptional. Aided by the cover of the terrain, his movements should have been completely unnoticed by ghosts and gods alike.

However, after Hengyuan entered the grove, two figures raised their heads from the roof of his building.

Xuan Su originally hadn’t wanted to partake in this shady “gentleman on the roof” business. Alas, forced by urgent circumstances, he had been dragged all the way here by Ye Fusheng and hauled up onto the roof.

The roof was covered in tiles that would clatter loudly at the slightest misstep. Just as Xuan Su was agonizing over what to do, Ye Fusheng grabbed his arm and leaped. Tapping his toes lightly on the ridge of the roof without applying downward force, he merely slid across it, dropping his body low. With a push and a twist of his palm, he dispersed the kinetic energy, lying prone on the tiles as silently and weightlessly as a fallen leaf blown by the wind.

Watching Ye Fusheng’s practiced ease in “scaling roofs and lifting tiles,” Xuan Su silently wondered just how many harsh winters and scorching summers the man had trained to reach such a realm.

They waited patiently for a while until they finally saw Hengyuan vault out the window. Ye Fusheng pressed Xuan Su’s head down, flattening themselves to adjust their angle and avoid the monk’s line of sight. After calculating for a moment in his mind, he finally led Xuan Su to follow him.

With Hengyuan in front and them behind, they shuttled back and forth through the forest, their bodies and shadows twisting and turning. Midway through, Hengyuan stopped several times to check his surroundings, but Ye Fusheng read his intentions through the traces of his footwork every single time, hiding them just a step ahead. Ultimately, they exited the bamboo grove without incident and entered the even more complex mountain paths.

Wuxiang Temple was built into the mountain, and Wenchang Mountain was a rugged, steep, and complex terrain. Entering it, Xuan Su felt as if the mountain paths were twisted into a labyrinth of tangled intestines. The lighting inside was dim, and he constantly had to guard against potential ambushes around them while remaining vigilant of Hengyuan’s wariness up ahead. He deeply felt that this short stretch was more grueling than the paths he had walked on Wangchen Peak for twenty years, and he was soon drenched in sweat.

Fortunately, he had a former Lueying Commander beside him, a man accustomed to tracking and stealth. Utilizing the vegetation, dirt, and rocks along the way to conceal their figures, Ye Fusheng focused his internal energy into his eyes, ears, and feet. Moving silently like the wind, his eyes stayed glued to Hengyuan while his ears monitored the rustling grass and wind for any surrounding movement. Even as Xuan Su was spun into dizzy disorientation, Ye Fusheng handled it with effortless ease.

The sky gradually darkened into dusk. Hengyuan slowed his pace upon reaching this area, forcing Ye Fusheng and Xuan Su to slow down as well. Paying close attention to the movements around them, they dodged and hid like ghosts unable to bear the light.

Catching his breath, Xuan Su also began examining their surroundings. He suddenly grabbed one of Ye Fusheng’s hands and quickly wrote a sentence on his palm: “This place might lead to the Du’e Cave.”

Although Xuan Su lacked Ye Fusheng’s seasoned experience, he was a grounded, meticulous person. The bumpy, headache-inducing journey had also made him highly observant.

The terrain of Wenchang Mountain was complex. Aside from the main peak, several steep cliffs and precipices jutted out from its sides. After establishing its foundation, Wuxiang Temple had carved caves into these locations for monks to use for ascetic cultivation and closed-door meditation. Anyone capable of reaching them naturally had significant skills to rely on.

The Du’e Cave was the most treacherous of them all. It was said to be hidden beneath a steep cliff—invisible from above, with an abyss below. Furthermore, the rock face had very few protrusions; the slightest misstep would result in a body shattered to pieces. For many years, only Zen Master Sekong resided there frequently, contemplating Zen and meditating in seclusion.

Even the monks of Wuxiang Temple rarely knew the exact location of the Du’e Cave. Xuan Su was able to spot the clues only because of what his late master, Duanya, had mentioned to him:

“The name Wenchang Mountain carries the meaning of ‘Crossing Calamities (Du’e) to Inquire of Zen (Wenchang)’, holding the belief that only those who can endure great asceticism can attain great enlightenment. Therefore, although its mountains are steep, the Du’e Cave is even harder to find—rugged and winding, as if desperate to make everyone ascending the mountain thoroughly experience ‘Eighty-One Calamities’. If you ever have the fortune to go there in the future, you must pay close attention.”

The moment the three words “Du’e Cave” were written, Ye Fusheng’s heart skipped a beat. He thought to himself, Could it be he’s going to meet the “Western Buddha”?

With this thought, he exchanged a glance with Xuan Su, both their eyes filled with grave seriousness.

Fortunately, despite taking precautions several times, Hengyuan never detected the two tails behind him. He finally stopped deliberately slowing his pace, and with a shift of his body, he darted forward. Ye Fusheng paused for three breaths to ensure a safe distance was established before leading Xuan Su to continue the pursuit.

After traveling another distance, they suddenly heard voices. Ye Fusheng gave Xuan Su a look. Knowing his qinggong was inferior, Xuan Su obediently slipped behind the side of the cliff wall and stopped. Ye Fusheng vaulted up into a large tree, parted the leaves, and watched as Hengyuan walked to the edge of the cliff ahead, put his fingers to his lips, and blew a sharp whistle.

This area was a natural wind tunnel. The howling mountain wind “blew” a shadow up from below the cliff. Light as a feather, it rode the wind upward and instantly landed in front of Hengyuan.

It was a tall, slender man dressed entirely in mourning black. A dull bronze mask covered half his face, leaving his exposed skin bloodlessly pale, looking exactly like a living ghost.

Xuan Su didn’t recognize him, but Ye Fusheng’s pupils contracted.

It was the Vermilion Bird Hall Master of the Burial Soul Palace, Bu Xueyao.

Since parting ways in Guyang City, Ye Fusheng had not seen him again. He had only heard Duanqing briefly mention going to Mizong Ridge to interrogate him. He had assumed that after swallowing half a bottle of Youmeng, this man had long since died of poison. He never expected him to still be alive.

A ball of fire ignited in Ye Fusheng’s chest, burning with anxious urgency. But looking closely at Bu Xueyao’s appearance was like having a basin of ice water dumped over him, instantly chilling him to the bone.

Bu Xueyao had changed.

He was originally a young man with bewitchingly alluring features, undoubtedly under thirty years old. Yet the Bu Xueyao standing here had lost that affected, seductive charm. Instead, he carried a heavy, lingering aura of decay, looking at least ten years older.

Bu Xueyao had withered significantly, nearly reduced to skin and bones. His exposed skin even showed slight signs of withered aging, and his eyes were tainted with suppressed madness and gloomy malice. Of the eight parts of striking beauty he once possessed, he couldn’t even fake two parts now.

Had Ye Fusheng not observed carefully and held a deep impression of Bu Xueyao, he likely wouldn’t have recognized him either.

Bu Xueyao’s qinggong was formidable, so Ye Fusheng couldn’t act rashly. He could only focus his internal energy into his eyes and ears, straining to listen to their conversation. However, both men were cautious, keeping their voices extremely low. Combined with the interference of the wind, Ye Fusheng could only catch a few fragmented words, roughly sounding like “bald donkeys” and “sentries.”

The two talked by the cliff for half a cup of tea’s time while Xuan Su and Ye Fusheng remained perfectly motionless. Finally, they bid farewell; Hengyuan returned the way he came, while Bu Xueyao walked toward another mountain path.

Xuan Su was quite sharp. Seeing the two depart, he flipped down beside Ye Fusheng and whispered, “What did you hear?”

Piecing together the chaotic fragments, Ye Fusheng replied, “The Western Buddha is still in the Du’e Cave, and has likely already been pinned down by them.”

Xuan Su frowned. “Who are ‘they’?”

Ye Fusheng whispered, “The man in black just now is the Vermilion Bird Hall Master of the Burial Soul Palace, known as the ‘Flying Rakshasa’, Bu Xueyao.”

A person’s name is like a tree’s shadow; even if Xuan Su never stepped through his front or inner doors, he should have heard of these deeply infamous names in the Jianghu.

Xuan Su immediately understood the implications. “Jianghu rumors say the ‘Flying Rakshasa’ excels in qinggong and bone-dislocating techniques, and possesses deep attainments in the art of poison. So, could the drugs in Wuxiang Temple’s food be related to him?”

“Eight or nine out of ten.” Ye Fusheng tilted his chin. “It’s about time. Let’s go down to the Du’e Cave first.”

“We aren’t going to chase Bu Xueyao?”

Ye Fusheng looked at him with an expression of sheer admiration. “It’s almost nightfall, and Bu Xueyao is likely going to inspect the sentries. Do you want to go head-to-head with those hidden assassins? The brave warrior sure has guts, but I respectfully choose to act like a coward.”

Xuan Su: “…”

Bu Xueyao was indeed going to inspect the sentries, which meant they had a decent window of time to act. Realizing this, the two walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down. They found three iron chains hanging down the cliffside, alongside a winding path as narrow as a sheep’s intestine. It was practically built directly onto the cliff face, making every foothold precarious.

Bu Xueyao relied on his formidable qinggong and used the chains for leverage to traverse this precipice with ease.

Ye Fusheng glanced at Xuan Su, who weighed his own abilities and said sincerely, “I shouldn’t fall, but I fear the chains clanking when I pull them might alert others.”

Narrowing his eyes, Ye Fusheng grabbed Xuan Su’s arm and leaped off the cliff, only saying, “Raise your internal breath, don’t worry about anything else.”

The move came so suddenly that Xuan Su only had time to gather a breath in his chest before feeling his body go weightless, almost believing he was about to smash into pieces. However, as Ye Fusheng leapt down, his feet pushed off the wall. Even while carrying a grown man, he forcefully twisted his body in mid-air, stepped three times on the sheer cliff face, twisted again, slid down the rock wall, and landed securely on a jutting platform.

This perilous descent took only a few breaths. Before Xuan Su could even react, the held breath swelled, making his chest ache. When he finally regained his senses and looked up, he saw Ye Fusheng flick the edge of his robe, brushing off an insignificant speck of dust.

He couldn’t help but look up at the rock wall, yet he couldn’t see a single footprint. Every time Ye Fusheng landed, he twisted to disperse the force, leaving no trace behind.

The terrain of the Du’e Cave was incredibly treacherous, and qinggong like that of Ye Fusheng and Bu Xueyao was rare in the Jianghu. Therefore, aside from Bu Xueyao, there weren’t many guards stationed here. Ye Fusheng and Xuan Su slipped in through the gaps, focusing their internal energy into their eyes and ears, silently bypassing the sentries every time before being detected.

This place was like a spider’s web, full of winding, twisting large and small cave entrances no matter which way they walked. Dodging sentries while searching for the Western Buddha left both of them feeling a bit dizzy. Growing anxious that Bu Xueyao would return soon if they kept dawdling, Xuan Su was about to remind Ye Fusheng, only to see the man pressing his ear against the cave wall, listening intently to something.

Without making a sound, Xuan Su scanned their surroundings, then also pressed his ear to the wall and heard the sound of a zither.

The zither music was just separated by a wall, but it was neither distant nor soaring; it was gentle, slow, and serene, lacking obvious rises and falls, flowing like a babbling brook over forest stones—unbelievably tender.

The anxious feeling in his heart was unknowingly smoothed out by the music. Xuan Su’s furrowed brow relaxed, but he suddenly jolted awake. Pulling his ear away, a look of horror surfaced in his eyes.

Seeing his reaction, Ye Fusheng asked softly, “What is it?”

Xuan Su slowly clenched his fists. “This melody… is Asking the Water.”

Daoist Duanya, Ji Qingyan, renowned as the “Eastern Dao,” stood unrivaled under heaven for his swordsmanship and internal energy. Yet compared to his martial arts, his zither skills were equally famous throughout the Jianghu. Daoist Duanya loved the zither his entire life, entering the Dao through its music. He once composed a melody based on the concept of “the highest good is like water,” naming it Asking the Water, which had the effect of calming the mind and soothing irritability.

Ye Fusheng had originally thought the melody sounded quite profound, and seeing Xuan Su’s reaction, his guess was likely confirmed.

Duanya was dead. It was said that upon his passing, Zen Master Sekong traveled to Wangchen Peak to pay his respects. He personally burned scriptures and sat vigil for three days before taking Duanya’s personal ancient zither, “Xuanxin.” Since then, he had returned to the mountain for closed-door meditation, not emerging for five years.

The Xuanxin zither was ancient, and having been modified by Daoist Duanya for many years, its tone differed significantly from ordinary zithers. Moreover, this piece, Asking the Water, was his original creation. Though lacking obvious rises and falls, the Dao was woven into the melody, making the fingering incredibly complex. Even his shidis and disciples had never grasped its essence; only his closest friend, Zen Master Sekong, had penetrated its true meaning.

In that case, the person behind this wall was undoubtedly Zen Master Sekong.

Behind the wall lay a large cave entrance, but guards were stationed there. The firelight flickered, and a slight misstep would cast their shadows. Although they could take out these few guards, it would easily attract others, and their efforts would fall short of success at the final stage.

Narrowing his eyes, Ye Fusheng whispered, “I will lure them away, and you take the opportunity to go in.”