Chapter 68: If You Lack Strength, Don

Gu Qing ascended the mountain alone, but when he descended, he was escorted by a crowd of monks, with the Lengqie Jing tucked in his arms—the full text of the Jiuyang Zhenjing was contained within it.

Gu Qing had already finished reading its contents, but when he was about to leave, Abbot Tianming insisted on gifting him the scripture.

Jueyuan knew that the Lengqie Jing contained the Jiuyang Zhenjing, but since he was not of the Jianghu, he thought nothing of it and saw no need to warn Abbot Tianming; he merely watched as Tianming made this gesture of goodwill, and when Gu Qing saw Tianming’s sincere intent, he accepted the scripture for the sake of the merit.

At the foot of Shaoshi Mountain, Gu Qing bid farewell to Abbot Tianming, then joined Xiao Longnu and Cheng Ying.

“Did you get it?”

Cheng Ying, clad in a thin jacket that did not hide her graceful figure, asked softly as Gu Qing approached.

Cheng Ying and Xiao Longnu knew full well why Gu Qing had come to Shaolin; seeing his cheerful demeanor upon descending, they quietly inquired.

Cheng Ying was of Huang Yaoshi’s lineage, but since following Gu Qing, her internal cultivation had shifted to the Jiuyin Zhenjing; she understood its subtleties and thus grew curious about the Jiuyang Zhenjing.

Gu Qing withdrew the Lengqie Jing from his chest and handed it to Cheng Ying.

Cheng Ying flipped through the scripture and saw, nestled between the Sanskrit characters, tiny script—the Jiuyang Zhenjing.

“Concentrate qi at the mountain’s root… no depressions, no breaks…”

Cheng Ying murmured the text aloud; Jiuyang means the sun, pure yang—this internal art’s entry point lies in refining the body’s pure yang qi, and at its peak, yin and yang harmonize.

“This cultivation method is truly remarkable.”

Cheng Ying skimmed through the scripture; it recorded few techniques, yet described qi circulation with exhaustive detail—even as a practitioner of the Jiuyin Zhenjing, she gained profound insight.

Jin Yong revised his novels twice; the origins of the Jiuyin Zhenjing and Jiuyang Zhenjing changed, but in the original version, both were written by Bodhidharma—the Jiuyang Zhenjing emphasized nourishing qi and preserving life, while the Jiuyin Zhenjing focused on defeating enemies; the two complemented and counterbalanced each other.

Later, in the Sanlian edition, Huang Shang became the author of the Jiuyin Zhenjing.

In the Century Revised edition, the Monk Who Drinks Wine became the author of the Jiuyang Zhenjing.

Yet the essence of both arts remained unchanged: Jiuyang remained pure, Jiuyin remained vast; they could mutually inform each other, and at their ultimate peaks, they converged as one.

After reading, Xiao Longnu and Cheng Ying returned the scripture to Gu Qing’s chest; the three walked hand in hand, and just before leaving, Gu Qing turned to glance once more at Shaoshi Mountain.

Years later, the young Zhang Wuji, afflicted with cold poison and accompanied by an old man, surrounded Shaolin Temple; because he was too gentle, the monks mocked him repeatedly, and he failed even to beg for Shaolin Jiuyang Gong, returning empty-handed.

Gu Qing simply bypassed Shaolin entirely—and got everything he needed.

People truly shouldn’t be too easygoing.

Gu Qing glanced at Xiao Longnu and said, “Shall we go to Luoyang, then return to Zhongnan Mountain?”

Recently, Gu Qing had acquired many martial arts manuals and accumulated considerable merit; he planned to find a quiet place for intensive dual-cultivation, to fully integrate all the arts he’d gathered. As for the Juqing Valley, he could visit later—it held only two swords worth his journey.

Xiao Longnu, clad in white robes with purple sashes and a fur-lined hat, smiled naturally at the mention of returning to the Ancient Tomb, yet added, “Anywhere is fine.” She was no longer as fearful of the mortal world, though she still cherished solitude.

“Then let’s go to Luoyang first.”

Gu Qing affirmed firmly.

Shaolin Temple was not far from Luoyang; Gu Qing drove the carriage, and along the way, numerous Shaolin lay disciples stopped to pay respects—some invited him to banquets, others offered gifts, all prominent local figures, all sincere. Since Xiao Longnu and Cheng Ying disliked crowds, Gu Qing accepted their silver out of merit but declined the banquets; by the time they reached Luoyang, the carriage was so laden with gold and silver that it cramped Xiao Longnu and Cheng Ying’s seating.

Gu Qing had to admit: Shaolin truly possessed power.

Luoyang in the Song Dynasty was the Western Capital, equally prosperous. Upon arriving, Gu Qing bought dried fruits with money, tucked silver into his chest, then entrusted the entire carriage to a lay disciple surnamed Zhao, utterly unconcerned about theft, and set out with Xiao Longnu and Cheng Ying to tour Luoyang.

They listened to operas, watched acrobatics, hired additional carriages, visited the Longmen Grottoes, and returned to the Zhao household as dusk fell.

“Lord Gu.”

The head of the Zhao household was tall and muscular, standing like a nail—clearly skilled in Shaolin’s hard qigong; his voice was strong and resonant. After addressing Gu Qing as Lord, he led him to a side chamber and said, “After you left today, we encountered three men—we heard they knew you, so we rescued them.”

Zhao Lei opened the chamber door; charcoal burned inside, warming the room. Two beds stood side by side—one held an old man, the other Wu Xiuwen; Wu Dunru stood anxiously beside them, and upon seeing Gu Qing, he rushed forward like a man seeing salvation, tears streaming, and fell to his knees.

“What happened?”

Gu Qing entered and examined the old man—his arms tightly bound, black blood oozing from his fingertips; Wu Xiuwen was the same.

“According to this Master Wu, it’s the Bingpo Yin Zhen poison of the Red Snake Demon.”

Zhao Lei added, “After rescuing the three Masters, we sought Luoyang’s top physicians—they were poisoned themselves upon contact. Had we not acted swiftly, we’d have been trapped too.”

Gu Qing nodded, looked at the old man—he must be Wu Santong, father of the two Wu brothers. He lifted them both upside down, pressed his fingers along their bodies, using his Xiantian Gong qi to reverse their internal flow, applying Ouyang Feng’s antidote method to slowly draw out the Bingpo Yin Zhen poison.

“Should we treat those physicians?”

Gu Qing asked Zhao Lei.

Zhao Lei shook his head. “Their poisoning was light—we drained their blood and sealed their meridians in time; they’re fine.”

“Thank you! Thank you!”

Wu Dunru bowed his head repeatedly to Gu Qing and Zhao Lei.

“How did you end up like this?”

Gu Qing pulled Wu Dunru up. Such a pitiful state—Guo Jing might not care, but Huang Rong would be ashamed.

“Little Wu and I met Father in Xiangyang—he’d been brought there by Uncle Zhu Ziliu.”

Wu Dunru looked at Wu Santong, tears in his eyes. “Father had cultivated in seclusion for years and greatly improved. Seeing us gloomy, he took us to hunt down the Red Snake Demon to avenge Mother.”

Gu Qing approved—it was rare for the two Wu brothers to do something truly righteous.

“What of Li Mochou? How is she?”

Gu Qing lowered his voice deliberately.

Li Mochou and Xiao Longnu were from the same sect, with sisterly affection; in The Return of the Condor Heroes, when Li Mochou kidnapped Guo Xiang, she didn’t know she was Huang Rong’s daughter—she mistook her for Xiao Longnu’s child and treated her with care, not harm.

Now, with Wu Santong and the Wu brothers in this state, Gu Qing assumed they’d fought Li Mochou; he spoke softly to avoid spreading the news and causing Xiao Longnu sorrow.

“Li Mochou is chasing us.”

Wu Dunru said.

“….”

Gu Qing’s gaze shifted.

If you lack strength, why provoke Li Mochou?

(End of Chapter)