Chapter 84: The Blade Master Carries a Head

“You carry the load, I lead the horse, welcoming the sunrise, bidding farewell to the evening glow…”

“Smooth out the bumps~ to forge a path, after overcoming danger~ we set out again…”

“Set out again!”

The wind was clear, the sun bright, birds sang and flowers scented the air.

The nearby forest, though chaotic, followed an orderly rhythm; natural competition, cruel yet ingenious, prevented other large trees from growing around the big ones, leaving only short shrubs and vines.

Between each large tree lay patches of open space leading straight to the sky.

Chu Tianshu strolled through the forest, humming a folk tune, and found a narrow path.

He stood on the path, gazing both ways; one end stretched endlessly into the emerald mountains, vanishing from sight.

The other end, viewed from afar, also showed green hills stretching across the horizon, with clouds clinging to the mid-slopes.

Yet, at the foot of those distant mountains, there seemed to be the silhouette of a city.

It appeared to be an ancient city, lacking the look of a modern metropolis.

But this alone couldn’t determine what era this world resembled.

After all, even back home, vast as the land was, some places still preserved the look of ancient cities.

After the Nie Longding incident, Chu Tianshu didn’t return to the mainland by plane until the ninth day; in his hometown town, he feasted lavishly.

Savoring those most familiar flavors, he bathed, rested, changed clothes, sent messages to Second Grandpa and the others saying he was going on a trip, then activated his transmigration.

Now he was fresh-faced, wearing a blue shirt under a black casual coat, paired with long pants and sneakers, feeling light and easy.

The Three-Seven Divine Sword, supple as a tape measure, was coiled around his left wrist like a spiral-patterned armband.

Its wooden grain, ancient and elegant, was mostly hidden beneath his sleeves.

Since he’d spotted the ancient city in that direction, Chu Tianshu followed the path toward it.

The journey was long, and he walked slowly, as if on a countryside outing, continuing to hum the tune of “Where Is the Road?”

Actually, he couldn’t quite recall the full lyrics of the song.

He just sang the few familiar lines over and over, and it never grew tiresome.

But as he walked, he noticed the sky had grown dim, and the air grew damper and cooler.

“Looks like rain’s coming.”

Chu Tianshu glanced around, quickened his steps, and ran to a banana tree by the roadside, tearing off a large leaf.

He held the banana leaf over his head, and soon, a light drizzle began falling on the forest path.

A few li away stood a mud temple.

Chu Tianshu raised his left hand, fingers forming a sword, silently murmuring “Lin,” and quickened his pace.

Most of the rain falling from above was deflected by the banana leaf; the raindrops rushing toward them were subtly diverted by the Lin incantation, invisible yet effective.

A minor application, but enough to keep his favorite coat dry.

Yet as he neared the mud temple, he realized someone was already inside.

The ancient temple had no door—bamboo-reinforced earthen walls, thatched roof; inside stood a Buddhist standing statue.

There were two groups inside, all dressed in ancient attire.

One man hid in the corner, eyes closed, resting; his hair tied with hemp rope, beard unkempt, clothes stained and disheveled, yet radiating an aura of danger.

His sleeves were bound with thin cords, his waist cinched with a leather belt, and he cradled a blade in his arms.

The other group consisted of three men, seemingly familiar peddlers.

Two large bamboo baskets held a variety of heavy goods: tiger-head shoes, small trinkets, tambourines.

On one basket rested a large bundle, leaning against a bamboo pole stuck with candied hawthorns and straw.

The trio: one old, two young; both youths looked under twenty, with similar faces and clothing—likely relatives.

The elder faced the Buddha statue, palms together in prayer.

“Guanyin Bodhisattva, bless our journey and grant us smooth trade.”

Chu Tianshu glanced again at the mud Buddha statue.

Unlike the gentle, feminine Guanyin he knew.

This Guanyin wore robes like a wandering ascetic, yet its head resembled Shakyamuni Buddha.

Chu Tianshu had genuinely not realized this was a Guanyin temple at first.

The two young peddlers squatted beside their baskets, chewing bread, eyeing Chu Tianshu curiously.

After entering, Chu Tianshu tossed the banana leaf outside and smiled at them.

“Sir, your clothing looks quite unusual.”

The younger one, sensing Chu Tianshu’s friendliness, couldn’t help saying, “What style is this? It looks so spirited.”

Their accent was subtle, but they were understandable—luck enough.

Chu Tianshu smiled: “I made it myself.”

“Made it yourself?”

The young peddler sighed in admiration, “Sir, your hands are so skilled. I’d love to alter my own clothes, but I’m too afraid to pick up the scissors.”

The elder peddler, hearing their exchange, turned quickly and scowled at the younger one.

“Just get your candied hawthorns right—that’s enough. You’ve been squatting for half an hour already. Stand up, stretch your legs. When the rain stops, we’ll keep moving.”

Though his back looked ancient and his voice hoarse, his face revealed he was only in his forties or fifties.

“This boy is rude—please don’t take offense, sir.”

The elder peddler stepped forward and bowed.

Chu Tianshu, seeing his manner, suddenly realized—it was a Tang-era bow. He imitated it.

“No problem. Sharing shelter from the rain is fate. Just idle chatter.”

The elder peddler smiled: “Your accent—have you just arrived in Nanzhao?”

Chu Tianshu nodded: “I’m a physician, newly graduated, traveling to broaden my knowledge. I’ve only just arrived here.”

The elder peddler bowed deeply in respect: “So you’re a physician.”

“In old Tang times, physicians all paid homage to the Medicine King, Sun Simiao, and dressed as Daoists.”

The elder sighed, “I never imagined I’d meet a young physician like you, so skilled and dressed so differently.”

“Forgive me, sir, but I’ve lived in Nanzhao since childhood with my parents. Though I still think of Tang, I haven’t returned in many years. I’ve heard Tang has revived—could you tell us about it?”

Chu Tianshu chuckled.

Whenever unsure what to say, chuckle first.

He’d hoped to gather intel from locals—now the locals were asking him for news.

“Tang? It’s just the same as always.”

Chu Tianshu swiftly changed the subject: “What about Nanzhao? Has it been peaceful these past years?”

The elder peddler smiled: “Before, the Tibetans built castles everywhere, plundered our goods, conscripted laborers, and our king wanted to launch a great army against Shu Prefecture—it was chaos.”

“But since ten years ago, when our king was defeated by the Tang imperial army, Nanzhao broke ties with Tibet and expelled many Tibetans.”

“Ha! These past years, life in Nanzhao has been much better.”

Chu Tianshu’s expression turned strange.

The elder’s tone showed respect for the Nanzhao king, yet he seemed genuinely pleased the king had been beaten by the Tang emperor.

He considered himself both Nanzhao and Tang?

“Hmm.”

Chu Tianshu hesitated: “Sir, since you’re a Nanzhao subject, how can you not feel anger that Nanzhao’s army was defeated by the Tang army?”

“Why be angry?”

The elder looked puzzled. “Nanzhao has defeated imperial armies before too. They’ve always fought each other.”

“Like how the An Lushan and Shi Siming generals once rebelled, first defeating the emperor, then being defeated by him—it’s all normal.”

The elder chuckled, “Right now, life in Nanzhao is good enough.”

Chu Tianshu suddenly understood the elder’s logic.

In this elder’s mind, Nanzhao wasn’t a foreign state; its king was just a powerful Military Governor.

So naturally, he could see himself as both Nanzhao and Tang.

Just like people from Lingnan saw themselves as both Lingnan and Tang.

Originally, Nanzhao consisted of dozens of ethnic groups, with six independent kingdoms.

Nanzhao’s predecessor, Mengshe Zhao, had its first ruler pay homage to Emperor Gaozong and was appointed Governor of Weizhou.

Later, five of the six kingdoms often allied with Tibet and harassed Tang people.

Only Mengshe Zhao remained loyal to Tang; during the Kaiyuan era, it received Tang support, officials, and aid, conquering the other five kingdoms to form Nanzhao.

The ruler who united the six kingdoms was granted the title Duke of Yue; by then, many Tang people had already settled in Nanzhao.

By the Tianbao era, Nanzhao’s king, Ge Luofeng, was insulted by a Tang prefect demanding exorbitant bribes, sparking war. He repeatedly defeated Tang armies, allied with Tibet, called them brothers, and expanded Nanzhao’s territory during the An Lushan Rebellion.

During this time, many craftsmen and civilians were captured and brought to Nanzhao to replenish its population.

After Ge Luofeng’s death, his son having died early, his grandson “Yi Mouxun” ascended the throne—the current Nanzhao king.

Yi Mouxun allied with Tibet to attack Tang, but was repeatedly defeated by Tang armies, suffering heavy losses.

The Eastern Man, also allied with Tibet, were crushed and submitted to Tang.

Tibet grew suspicious, fearing Nanzhao would also defect to Tang.

Yi Mouxun seized the opportunity, broke ties with Tibet, and sought goodwill with Tang.

All these events were deeply familiar to the Tang people living in Nanzhao after the An Lushan Rebellion.

Yimouxun’s every action was typical of a Military Governor; even his subjects were no different from the people under other Tang rule—they still spoke their native tongues and used their native characters.

As for Yimouxun himself being a Bai person, that was even less worth mentioning.

Among Tang Military Governors, there were always people of every ethnicity.

Even when some frequently led troops on random marches, seeking to expand their territories, seize populations, and occasionally even attempted to storm Chang’an to capture the Tang Emperor, they still considered themselves Tang Ren—this was not contradictory.

“In short, the Nanzhao region is still fairly peaceful?”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “Good. Our Physicians may claim to save the dying and heal the wounded, but we don’t enjoy seeing too much death and injury.”

“Besides, traveling to practice medicine in peaceful places ensures greater personal safety.”

He heard footsteps approaching on the path outside the temple and turned his head to look.

The old peddler followed his gaze and suddenly turned pale, letting out a cry of shock.

The two young peddlers rushed forward and caught the old man: “What’s wrong?”

They too looked over—and instantly turned ashen.

Chu Tianshu frowned, staring at the figure.

The man walked step by step along the path, gripping a knife in his right hand and holding a severed head in his left.

Yet his expression was not monstrous, despite holding those two things.

Because he had no face—nothing above his neck but empty space, with blood still staining his wet clothes.

The sky was overcast, a light rain falling.

The headless man walked.

(End of Chapter)