Shiwu grabbed on to the hem of his robe. “Shifu has a harsh tongue but a gentle heart!” he said sweetly. “He’s actually a very kind person! Amazing too!”
“You little brat!” said the abbot derisively. He turned to Shen Qiao. “Your injury’s too serious. I’m no medical expert, and we don’t have all the herbs you need here. I can only do my best. But there’s nothing I can do about your martial arts. Your foundations are completely gone—this isn’t something that can be reversed through human efforts…”
Shen Qiao suddenly asked, “May I…ask if…there’s still…poison…in my body…?”
“Poison? What poison?” The abbot was bewildered. “I didn’t find any poison when I took your pulse!”
To double-check, he once again placed three fingers over Shen Qiao’s wrist and observed. After a moment, he withdrew his hand. “Your injuries might be grave, but I didn’t find any sign of poisoning.”
Ever since Shen Qiao had been poisoned with Joyful Reunion, it lingered on inside him. Even Yan Wushi had been unable to do anything about it. The poison had pervaded his bones and blood, flickering between active and dormant. It’d always impeded the recovery of his martial arts and made his attempts at cultivating internal energy ineffectual. His eyes had also suffered—they’d never fully healed.
But now the abbot said there was no poison within him.
He’d destroyed his martial arts, fully prepared to take Sang Jingxing down with him, yet that very descent into certain death ended up saving his life—it even drove the poison out of him completely.
Did this count as a blessing in disguise?
Shen Qiao’s lips tugged faintly upward in a wry smile.
The abbot walked in carrying a candlestick, which he placed next to Shen Qiao. He saw the slight curve of Shen Qiao’s mouth and said, bewildered, “You can still smile? In your awful state?”
The abbot twisted around and asked Shiwu, “Say, do you think all the awfulness broke him and turned him into a fool?”
“Shifu!” Shiwu sorely wished he could cover his master’s mouth.
“All right, all right!” said the abbot. “I won’t say anything more! That congee should be finished boiling about now—I’ll go take a look. It’s so strange not having that little brat Chuyi here to order around!”
As the abbot walked away again, he clicked his tongue. “Finding that old piece of ginseng took so much trouble, I couldn’t even bear to eat it! And now an outsider is getting the whole thing!”
“Please don’t take it to heart,” Shiwu said apologetically once the abbot was gone. “Shifu has always been like this—sharp-tongued but tenderhearted. He’s not good with words, but everything these last two days has been thanks to him! I really wouldn’t know what to do otherwise!”
“I know…” said Shen Qiao. “I’m…not crazy either… Is this…cellar…connected to…the outside? I think…I see…light.”
One by one, he forced out his words arduously.
“Yes,” said Shiwu. “Shifu bored two holes in the wall so some light can shine in. Your esteemed self can see now?”
“Gradually…I can…see a little…but it’s…not very clear.”
“Please don’t worry,” said Shiwu. “Shifu said that the cellar is very well hidden—it’ll be hard to find. The Duke of Pengcheng County’s men came twice and didn’t find us either time, so they just left. Shifu said that, in a little while, they’ll think we moved and they won’t come anymore.”
“Thank you…”
Shiwu laughed. “No need to thank me! Your esteemed self should rest well. Don’t worry, and focus on getting better. I’ll go boil some water for you.”
The place was dark and sunless, but it was quiet and excellent for recuperation. Shiwu said that Bailong Monastery had been built during the Han Dynasty’s final years, which made it over three hundred years old. Though it’d withstood the flames of war time and again, the bustle and incense it’d once seen were no more. All that was left was a scarred monastery, forsaken by all. By the time Shiwu’s shifu had moved in, it was already completely empty. The cellar was connected to a tunnel—likely dug when the monastery was built. When Shiwu’s shifu discovered it, it became a fantastic place to seek refuge.
Shen Qiao spent another two days in a dazed sleep. Sometimes his mind was clear, sometimes it was a jumbled mess. In the small hours, when he woke from his dreams, he’d find himself back in the past—so much so that he felt like he was still on Xuandu Mountain. As if, just by opening the doors, he’d be able to see Shizun standing outside, watching the disciples practice.
But of course, it wasn’t real. The past could never return, and the people who were gone, were gone.
It seemed those wonderful, peaceful years were left behind on Xuandu mountain, forever gone.
What followed them were all he’d experienced since: betrayal, setbacks, and dilemmas. The many countries warring with each other, seeking wealth and fame. The sects all plotting against each other, each clinging to their own views. The common folk groaning in their hell, struggling, unable to escape.
Suffering so ghastly, so unbearable, it was like he’d gone through it all himself.
“There was only one reason you were able to faithfully follow your Daoist core and refuse to give up on your so-called principles. It’s because you’ve never been in a situation so hopeless that you could no longer endure. Am I right?”
Yan Wushi had asked him that once.
Shen Qiao once again recalled his words. He remembered their interactions, bit by bit.
He’d thought that they were friends, once. But that notion hadn’t withstood a single blow of the other man’s mockery and scheming.
But even if he could start over…
If he could start over…
“Shen-langjun, are you feeling better today? This is rice congee with mountain ginseng, freshly cooked! Shifu said that it’ll be a great help to your recovery… Oh no, Shen-langjun, why are you crying? Does it hurt too much?!”
Beneath the feeble light, sparkling beads slowly, soundlessly, slid from the corners of Shen Qiao’s eyes and into his hair.
Hastily, Shiwu put down the congee and flung himself over. “I’ll go call Shifu!”
“No need.” With great effort, Shen Qiao reached out and grabbed the boy’s robe.
Shiwu yelped in surprise. “You can move now?!” he said, with undisguised joy. “Shifu said that your meridians were totally destroyed so you probably wouldn’t recover, not for the rest of your life! Looks like Shifu was only trying to scare me!”
Shen Qiao smiled at him.
While he was awake, his every bone screamed in agony—enough agony that he wished for death, right there. But he’d borne it, silently reciting lines of the Zhuyang Strategy that he’d studied. With this, something rather surprising had happened.
Back when he’d been studying the Zhuyang Strategy, he already had Xuandu Mountain’s martial arts as his foundation, so it wasn’t too difficult to pick up. But no matter what he did, his progress remained slow and steady, and even Qi Fengge couldn’t uncover the reason. Tao Hongjing had already passed by then, so Qi Fengge couldn’t ask him for an explanation. All he could do was let his disciple fumble along on his own and offer the occasional suggestion.
But now, with all his meridians damaged and his true qi lost, the Zhuyang Strategy brought about something completely unexpected: his shattered Dantian began recovering at an unbelievable speed, and his ruined meridians began to remold themselves, nourished by the Zhuyang Strategy’s true qi.
It looked possible that, before long, his injuries would be completely healed.
The Zhuyang Strategy was truly incredible—it had combined the strengths of all three schools of thought. Even though Shen Qiao had only studied two of the volumes, he still could see how profound and extensive its wisdom was.
The structured righteousness of Confucianism, the gentle clemency of Daoism, the solemn insight of Buddhism—each of them became as tiny streams trickling through his body.
Shen Qiao didn’t know if he’d stumbled upon a lifeline in the face of certain death, but his body grew better day by day, and the speed of recovery astonished even the abbot, who’d deemed him a lost cause.
Considerately, Shiwu didn’t ask him why he’d cried, but Shen Qiao took the initiative to reach for him. “Thank you, Shiwu.”
Shiwu was confused and a little embarrassed. “Your esteemed self has already thanked me many times!”
Shen Qiao treated others with kindness, but he’d never felt entitled to their kind treatment in return. After all, he’d act the same, regardless of whether they repaid him.
Everything he did was because he wanted to do it. It had nothing to do with whether other people understood him, approved of him, or mocked him.
Looking at things from this point of view, he and Yan Wushi were the same.
But in the end, Shen Qiao was only human. He didn’t have a heart as pure as snow, nor a spirit as sturdy as iron. He, too, grew tired and disheartened, and felt pain.
“This thanks is different,” he said.
“You’ve recovered so much already.” Shiwu smiled shyly. “Shifu said you should start eating meat. He bought a chicken today to make some soup.”
Shen Qiao was apologetic. “You’ve spent so much on me. Once I’m healed, I’ll go and earn some money…”
Shiwu laughed. “You don’t have to worry about that. Actually, Shifu has secretly saved up quite a stash—he just refuses to use it. So he keeps pretending to be hard up…”
“Shiwu, are you itching for a beating?! How can you bad-mouth your Shifu in front of other people! You treacherous little bastard! Ungrateful disciple!” The abbot had come in just in time to hear Shiwu talking.
Shiwu stuck out his tongue. “This disciple’s sorry! Please don’t be angry!”
“How did I think you were more well behaved than Chuyi?!” roared the abbot. “Each of you is more disappointing than the next! Good-for-nothing disciples!”
Shiwu obediently listened to his master’s admonishments and bowed respectfully, his manner childishly sweet.
Once the abbot’s temper finally calmed a little, he began complaining about his senior disciple. “There’s a fair on the north side of the city today. Chuyi ran off early in the morning and still hasn’t returned! Look at how wild he is! If he could sprout wings, he’d probably soar right to the heavens!”
“Perhaps Shixiong found something delicious and is bringing some back for us?”
“Bringing back, my ass!” said the abbot. “He only has a couple coppers! He won’t even have enough to buy something for himself!”
Suddenly, a bell rang in the cellar.
The tiny bell’s chime was very faint. But the abbot, standing right next to it, heard it immediately.
It was a simple mechanism—the bell was attached to a string that threaded outside, its other end tied somewhere around the front gates. Whenever someone entered, the movement would jostle the string, notifying the cellar’s inhabitants right away.
“Shixiong must have returned!” said Shiwu cheerily.
The boy was about to head out, but the abbot grabbed him. “Wait!” he said. “Something’s wrong!”
The moment these words left his mouth, Chuyi’s bubbly, vivacious voice came to them from outside. “Shifu, Shiwu, I’m back… Eh? Who are you?”
The abbot paled. This was bad.