Chapter 101

They had caught the inner ghost.

It turned out to be a disciple from the Scripture Pavilion named Hui Ming. He had started the fire and then stolen the Companion Stone while transporting the Buddhist scriptures. His acts of harming fellow disciples and pilfering under watch appalled countless eminent monks of the Buddhist order. They could not help but furrow their brows and chant, “Amitabha.”

Miaoxin, his young face full of sorrow, said, “I know Senior Brother Hui Ming did wrong, and I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. But he was actually quite pitiful… Back in the year of the great flood, his lay family parents abandoned him at the gates of Myriad Laws Temple. A few months ago, when the temple was short-staffed, Senior Brother Hui Ming was greeting visitors at the gate and ran into his birth parents again. Those parents were utter scoundrels. They recognized him at once and caused a huge scene right there in this sacred Buddhist ground. They demanded he return to lay life, claiming the family owed debts and their lives hung by a thread under coercion. They wanted him to do some things for them…”

At this point, the little novice with keen Buddhist aptitude fell silent, his voice trailing off.

He had been a devout believer lost in the churning tides of the mortal world, only to be dragged back by this faint thread of kinship from his birth parents. They had abandoned him long ago, yet now they demanded his utter devotion and subservience. Unless he could cut flesh from his body to repay his mother and scrape marrow from his bones to repay his father, he would be at their mercy for life, plunging into an abyss of endless torment.

The patrolling disciples were on very good terms with those from the Scripture Pavilion.

The little novice wept bitterly.

Ruan Xuezong lowered his gaze and, imitating Grandmaster Tianyi, placed a hand on Miaoxin’s head, gently stroking it to comfort him.

Feeling that distinctive tenderness, the little monk soon threw himself into Ruan Xuezong’s arms and sobbed loudly. Tears soaked Ruan Xuezong’s monastic robes as he choked out, “S-Senior Brother Ruzong… What punishment do you think Senior Brother Hui Ming will face? Will… will he die?”

“Amitabha. No, he won’t. For… the Buddha is merciful,” Ruan Xuezong replied.

Having spent some time in the Buddhist order, Ruan Xuezong knew that Myriad Laws Temple truly embraced all things.

Sure enough, after the Shaolin Eighteen Arhats surrounded Hui Ming, he surrendered in despair without a fight. The group of monks refrained from excessive punishment. Instead, they took him to the Back Mountain’s pagoda grove and locked him in one of the towers.

There stood the Repentance Pagoda, a place specially meant to house wayward Buddhist disciples, vicious fiends dreaded by the Rivers and Lakes, and a century-old Zen master who recited scriptures day in and day out, teaching them: “Lay down the butcher’s knife, and you will become a Buddha at once; abandon evil, promote good, and achieve your true self.”

Upon hearing this resolution,

Miaoxin sniffled a few times and stopped crying. He even clasped his hands together and murmured softly, “Amitabha. The Buddha is merciful.”

But Ruan Xuezong was not entirely satisfied. “Didn’t Senior Brother Hui Ming confess any accomplices?”

Miaoxin’s eyes widened. “What accomplices?”

Du Rulan smiled faintly. “Miaoxin, your Senior Brother Ruzong misunderstood me deeply because I didn’t show up at the fire scene despite all the commotion last night.”

Miaoxin glanced at the odd atmosphere between the two and said, “Amitabha. Senior Brother Ruzong, you wronged Senior Brother Rulan. He was in the meditation hall cultivating quietly with the other brothers all night.”

At this, Ruan Xuezong understood.

Du Rulan had no intention of exposing himself yet. He hadn’t taken part in the Scripture Pavilion arson. Even if he had, he had kept himself completely clean.

He remained the pure and innocent young eminent monk.

Ruan Xuezong let out a cold chuckle and released his hold on the other man for now. “I’ll catch your tail soon enough,” he said. Then he channeled his lightness skill. With a swirl of fresh breeze, his white monastic robes fluttered as he soared into the air like a white swallow, leaping gracefully down the mountain ravine to wash his face.

Miaoxin’s astonished cry rang out. “Senior Brother Ruzong has such elegant lightness skill!”

Yet no matter how he looked at it, this didn’t seem to be their Shaolin lineage’s supreme technique, One Reed Crossing the River. That was a tale of Ancestor Damo: legend had it that when Damo needed to cross the river, he plucked a reed from the bank. Everyone knew how light and fragile a reed was, but he tossed it into the water, where it transformed into a slender boat. With a gentle push, he crossed effortlessly.

But Senior Brother Ruzong’s lightness skill showed no point of leverage—as if he had simply taken flight from flat ground. It left the little monk’s heart aflutter. In short, he wanted to learn it too!

Du Rulan gazed into the distance with both eyes and said softly, “It is quite elegant.”

The man came and went as he pleased, like a proud and untamed white bird that left not a single feather in the mortal world.

…

The martial tournament had ended, and they had claimed the prize from the Scripture Pavilion wager. Though the process had involved some unexpected mishaps, the outcome was rich and rewarding. The Western Regions Shamen Damo Sect prepared to take their leave.

On the day of their farewell, Ruan Xuezong showed up. He scanned the Shamen Damo Sect disciples but spotted no suspicious Demonic Sect figures. Recalling that their headquarters lay within Chasang Kingdom, he asked about it.

How could a group of poor monks afford to travel the Central Plains? Someone had to be backing them.

The Mad Monk of the Western Regions, Zisha Mi, spoke bluntly. “Little Master Ruzong, you are correct. It was our beautiful Queen of Chasang who fully sponsored our Shamen Damo Sect’s journey to the Central Plains.”

After entering the Central Plains, they had looked down on everyone. They never expected their first stop would pit them against Ruan Xuezong, this hidden human weapon of mass destruction. Young as he was, he was not only supremely skilled in martial arts but also a master at showing off—utterly unbeatable.

“Amitabha,” Ruan Xuezong said. “Then may this humble monk ask where the donors of Shamen plan to go after leaving Myriad Laws Temple?”

Ruan Xuezong and Zisha Mi had, after all, shared trials like “strangers who came to blows,” “vanquished foe,” and “Scripture Pavilion blaze.” They shared a rough camaraderie. Zisha Mi had later learned that Ruan Xuezong was Grandmaster Tianyi’s disciple.

He even sensed similarities with Ruan Xuezong: both peerlessly martial, young and promising, and holding transcendent status within Buddhism.

Out of mutual admiration, he had half a mind to invite Ruan Xuezong to visit the Western Regions. Thus, he hid nothing of his plans.

He stated plainly, “I’ve heard Wudang, Huashan, and Emei are also centuries-old sects. Famous Sword Villa in the Central Plains holds exceptional prestige and renown. This poor monk intends to pay respects to them all.”

“Pay respects” clearly meant “challenge them one by one.”

Ruan Xuezong masked a twitch of amusement at his lips and said gravely after a moment, “Amitabha. Donor Zisha Mi, you misunderstand Central Plains etiquette. This monk has a word of advice, if I may be so bold.”

Given Ruan Xuezong’s domineering nature, such phrases were mere courtesy. The subtext was: I’m saying it anyway.

Zisha Mi looked puzzled. “Please enlighten me, Little Master Ruzong.”

System 007 warned: 【What bad idea are you scheming now?】

Ruan Xuezong ignored its snark. He cleared his throat primly on the surface and flashed an exceedingly decorous smile. “Donor Zisha Mi, we Central Plains folk are the most hospitable and cherish the saying ‘courtesy demands reciprocity.’ Since you’ve come to the Central Plains and will surely befriend many powerhouses here, if you make some friends, don’t hold back your goodwill. Boldly invite them to visit the Western Regions, to admire the unique desert vistas and Chasang, that beautiful oasis city. By then, with Western Regions experts gathered, I imagine the Queen of Chasang will be delighted.”

He wondered if Du Qing’e would turn pale with fright at the sight of such a horde of Central Plains martial masters arriving from afar.

Zisha Mi had an epiphany. “What a splendid idea. Many thanks for your guidance, Little Master Ruzong.”

Challenging sects and martial families one by one was their goal, win or lose—they would breed enmities. But inviting opponents to the Western Regions afterward could turn foes to friends and spin a fine tale.

To think he, a grown man, had lost to this mere youth in the art of social savvy. How embarrassing.

System 007: 【…】

It watched as Ruan Xuezong bamboozled the entire Western Regions Shamen Damo Sect delegation into leaving. As they departed, they heaped praise on him. Onlooker pilgrims were thrilled, and upon descending the mountain, they boasted to all they met: “The Mad Monk of the Western Regions was won over by the personal charisma of Myriad Laws Temple’s little master!”

After bidding farewell to the Western visitors, Ruan Xuezong returned to the Back Mountain. There he spotted Du Rulan slightly stooped over, cradling something pitch-black in his palm: a yellow beak, chirping loudly.

Seeing him approach, the young monk smiled and held it out for inspection. “Junior Brother, look. A little black bird fell from the forest canopy here. In its dying gasps, it looks most pitiable.”

What “little black bird”—how innocently put.

Drawing closer, Ruan Xuezong saw it was clearly a newly hatched eaglet in the young monk’s palm—the future level-60 Demonic Sect Black Eagle.

His eyes narrowed at the sight. Well, well. So this was when Du Rulan had begun raising the Black Eagle.

Neither man nor eagle spelled anything good from here on out.

As the young monk’s amber eyes fixed on it quietly, the downy, patchy, ugly eaglet in his palm chirped twice, flapping its wings as if starved.

It even pecked at the young demon monk’s hand. Soon, that sharp beak drew a sizable gash, drawing blood.

Ruan Xuezong said coldly, “Senior Brother, what is the meaning of this?”

The young demon monk lowered his gaze demurely, his thin lips curving up as a compassionate smile—that could beguile the world—bloomed on his face. “Don’t panic, Junior Brother. Your senior merely recalled how Sakyamuni Ancestor once fed himself to a tiger and cut flesh to feed an eagle. This eagle clings to life by a thread. Junior Brother, ever merciful, surely couldn’t bear to let it suffer. If I cut my flesh and blood to feed it, would you not feel pity for me?”

Pity my foot.

Ruan Xuezong thought indifferently.

He wasn’t truly some guileless monk like Ruzong. Even if the Black Eagle starved to death before him or Du Rulan bled out, he wouldn’t bat an eye.

That was the sort of ruthless man he was.

Yet Buddhism forbade killing.

Wearing Ruzong’s skin for now, Ruan Xuezong couldn’t slay the Black Eagle and break precepts. Nor could he stand by and watch this demon monk carve flesh from himself to nurture the eaglet.

A Demonic Sect Black Eagle’s growth naturally began with human meat, after all.

Without a second thought, Ruan Xuezong snatched the eaglet from Du Rulan’s hand. Unfamiliar with him, the black eaglet snapped viciously, nearly drawing blood from Ruan Xuezong’s fair hand.

The eaglet lacked its future majestic wingspan, but its talons were already razor-sharp. They shredded Ruan Xuezong’s white monastic robe.

Shaolin disciples prided themselves on all-around prowess—even mending clothes by candlelight with needle and thread. But Ruan Xuezong knew nothing of that and certainly wouldn’t sew his own robes.

System 007 watched as Ruan Xuezong’s face remained impassive, his dark eyes nearly shooting death rays.

“Amitabha. Junior Brother, release it quickly. Don’t clutch it like that. This bird has a savage, brutal nature. Best to tempt it gently and tame it slowly,” Du Rulan said with a slight frown—whether for his beloved eaglet’s rough handling or Ruan Xuezong’s torn robe, who could say.

“Why bother?” Ruan Xuezong sneered. He gripped the wriggling bird. “Tame violence with violence—most straightforward.”

“Fierce as this Black Eagle’s temper may be, it’s still just a bird. Folk falconers have their ways: feed it meat to obey, pluck feathers if it disobeys and misbehaves, snap claws, smash the beak. I’ll imitate them for now. If it’s irredeemably wicked, then no matter how it pains me, I’ll risk breaking Buddhist precepts and slay it. Give it time, and this eagle will surely submit meekly.”

“…”

Du Rulan’s eyes flickered, but he said nothing.

Any smart person could hear the veiled warning in the youth’s words: taming birds on the surface, but cursing people underneath. And radiating supreme confidence: killing you would take but a moment.

Ruan Xuezong wasn’t sure if his “eagle-taming treatise” had landed with the man. But the bird seemed to get it.

For in his view, the young demon monk’s lips curved in a smile—soul-stealing, three parts feigned deafness, three parts nonchalance, and four parts dutiful obedience.

Ruan Xuezong shook it. “Did you hear that?”

The Black Eagle flapped its wings in terror.

That very night, Ruan Xuezong shed his robes and bathed in the mountain stream.

When he returned to his meditation room, he found a neatly folded white monastic robe lying quietly on his pallet. The tear from earlier had been mended seamlessly. Ruan Xuezong turned it over and over but could find no flaw—as if the eagle incident had never happened.