Chapter 468: The Story of the Gray Monk

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we're not telling tales of the Three Kingdoms' strife, nor of the heroes of Water Margin—let us speak of the True Lord Who Manifests Miracles…"

One table, one fan, one wooden clapper.

The storyteller relies solely on his voice; though the tale is old, the moment he speaks, a magic draws the audience's gaze.

Li Yan was also surprised—surprised by fate.

Since arriving in Shu, he had continually encountered matters tied to the True Lord Who Manifests Miracles; perhaps this held no small destiny.

"Master, you've come."

As Xie Zhengyuan stepped in, the shopkeeper hurried forward.

"Bring a distinguished guest—find us a quiet booth."

"There's one upstairs."

Xie Zhengyuan led the way, while Li Yan glanced around.

The teahouse was old: blue bricks, gray tiles, wooden frame with through-beam construction, eaves curling upward, inside nothing but simple bamboo tables and chairs.

Though early morning, many came to drink tea—people of all walks, mostly merchants, some savoring tea leisurely, others holding clay pipes, silently listening to the fast-paced storytelling.

In one corner of the main hall stood a tiger stove.

Inside, the fire burned fiercely; a large black iron kettle bubbled with steam, and tea guests fetched their own water as needed.

It wasn't refined, but exuded a relaxed charm.

Soon, Xie Zhengyuan led him upstairs; the private booth had no door, its wooden railing less than a meter away, allowing a direct view of the stage below.

"Bring my tea."

Xie Zhengyuan gave the order; the servant immediately went downstairs, retrieved a bamboo tube from a locked cabinet in the back kitchen, its red paper label bearing the words "Xiangshan Tribute Tea."

The tea was soon steeped, and tea snacks—chestnuts, walnuts, dried tofu—filled the table.

"Don't disdain it, Young Master Li."

Xie Zhengyuan chuckled: "Those who come to Zoumatown either drive big carts across the rivers and lakes, or are weary merchant teams with few coins to their names."

"If this teahouse were too grand, they wouldn't dare step inside."

"Nonsense."

Li Yan smiled: "This place is comfortable. After wandering so long, to pause and sip tea is a true pleasure."

"That man below—isn't that Li Tiezui?"

He glanced down at the stage.

The storyteller appeared dignified, yet his brow still held youthfulness—he was merely a young man who had grown prematurely serious.

"Hah."

Xie Zhengyuan laughed: "That old devil Li Tiezui? He's grown lazy. Won't rise till the sun's high overhead."

"I've already sent word—he'll come directly. Young Master, don't rush. Drink your tea, listen to the tale."

Li Yan nodded, sipped his tea, and found its aroma unique; he smiled: "Master Xie, your state of mind is admirable—I deeply respect it."

"What state of mind?"

Xie Zhengyuan shook his head: "In my youth, I too rushed about this land of Shenzhou, chasing grand ambitions."

"But as I aged, I could no longer run. Then I realized: a lifetime of hustle amounts to little. Look at these tea guests—many are locals of Zoumatown, earning barely enough. A pot of cheap tea still lets them live comfortably."

"Whereas some old comrades I knew are long gone—spent half their lives toiling, never granted the chance to rest and enjoy…"

He fell to eating peanuts, sipping tea now and then, swaying his head to the storyteller's rhythm.

Li Yan smiled silently, abandoned further thought, and simply enjoyed this long-missed tranquility…

…………

Elsewhere, Sha Lifi and Long Yan had stepped out.

Zoumatown teemed with merchant caravans, a mix of dragons and snakes; many concealed their identities. Wearing wide-brimmed hats and black veils, they blended in perfectly.

The town was indeed bustling: noodles, wontons, tofu pudding, crispy snacks—every stall along the street offered something different.

Sha Lifi was eloquent; even as a stranger, he charmed locals in mere words, eating, drinking, then heading to a fortune-teller's stall at Jinmen, chatting for ages.

Soon, the entire layout of Zoumatown was clear to them.

Long Yan had once been the Holy Maiden of the Poison Cult; though she had some martial world experience, she had mostly lived in the mountains, always protected, and later fled to Wushan for refuge.

She had never known this kind of street-life bustle.

Now, unburdened by thought, she found it fresh.

She followed Sha Lifi in silence, watching quietly—until they reached a Shu embroidery shop, where she stopped.

Sha Lifi turned and saw Long Yan staring intently at the embroiderers, their needles threading, shuttles whirring.

"What's so interesting?"

Sha Lifi paused, puzzled.

Long Yan fell silent a moment: "I remember my mother, before she died, was an embroiderer. I grew up listening to that sound."

"What if I opened a shop like this?"

"I don't think it's a good idea!"

Sha Lifi sneered: "This craft is passed down through generations. A few days' novelty, sure—but spend your whole life doing it? You'll be bored to death."

"I hear factories in Jinling and Tianjin now employ hundreds of embroiderers at once—you'd only lose money."

"Who wouldn't choose comfort over hardship?"

Long Yan's fleeting mood shattered; she snapped: "Then what do you suggest? Keep following Li Yan and his group forever?"

"They're young, brimming with potential—not ordinary people. One day they'll soar to the heavens. By then you'll be old, unable to even hold a spear—haven't you thought of your own future?"

Sha Lifi's face darkened: "Damn it, woman, why do you always bring up the one thing I don't want to hear? I'm just bored!"

He stormed off, furious.

Long Yan suddenly felt much better, calling after him: "You brute—you can't see past your own nose either. What are you pretending?"

Sha Lifi ignored her, glancing left and right.

After they left, Lu San stepped from the shadows across the street, watching Sha Lifi's retreating figure, lost in thought…

…………

Inside the teahouse, Li Yan suddenly sensed something and turned right.

Footsteps climbed the stairs; before the man appeared, his voice arrived.

"Oh my, Master Xie, sorry to keep you waiting."

A black-robed old man entered the booth: white beard, white hair neatly combed, holding an iron fan, a pocket watch hanging from his chest.

His appearance was fitting—except his mouth was a "heaven-covering-earth," and when he smiled, his protruding teeth showed plainly.

"You're quite the talker!"

Xie Zhengyuan rose and shook his head: "You never give me any respect. I told you to come early—you're late again."

"Ah, old age brings drowsiness. Forgive me, forgive me."

Clearly, the two had a close relationship.

After exchanging pleasantries, Xie Zhengyuan introduced: "This is a distinguished guest from Ezhou—he wishes to ask you something."

"Oh?"

Li Tiezui narrowed his eyes, bowed with his fan: "Young sir, you're no ordinary man. I'm just a storyteller scraping by. What do you wish to know?"

Xie Zhengyuan signaled; the servant blocked the door with a panel and quietly withdrew, leaving only the two inside. Li Yan bowed seriously: "Elder, I've come to ask about the 'Gray Robe Mad Monk.'"

"'Gray Robe Mad Monk'? I know him well!"

Li Tiezui laughed, tapping his iron fan against his palm: "He was a strange figure of Tang times, always wandering the Chengdu streets, dressed in rags, acting mad."

"He'd utter shocking words—those who angered him would mysteriously die. Over time, locals revered him as a deity, though he was merely a lunatic…"

Li Yan frowned: "Elder, you must know I'm not interested in that tale."

Li Tiezui fell silent, then laughed: "Then what do you wish to hear?"

The old man was hiding something…

Li Yan sensed it. He cut straight to the point: "I heard he inherited Xing Hepu's legacy—he's a 'Living Yin Official'…"

"Stop!"

Before Li Yan finished, Li Tiezui's face turned pale. He leapt up, staring fiercely at Li Yan: "Who are you?"

Li Yan remained calm: "Elder, no need to panic. I mean no harm—I only wish to find him and ask a few questions."

!.

He was now certain: this old man knew secrets.

Strange—earlier, he'd spoken of him to Cui Cong, even woven him into storytelling tales. Now he refused to speak…

Had something happened in between?

"I know nothing of what you ask. Goodbye!"

Li Tiezui bowed, turned, and moved to leave.

"Elder, don't rush."

Li Yan rose quickly to block him.

But the old man suddenly spun, his iron fan darting straight for Li Yan's Shanzhong point.

Hah—the old man wants to play?

Li Yan smiled, standing perfectly still.

He recognized the Iron Fan Skill—rare, but potent, originating from Shaolin secret forms.

That iron fan looked heavy indeed.

Daily practice strengthens the body, cultivates character, and can also be used against opponents, primarily targeting acupoints.

If blades are attached, there are even more variations.

Thud!

Li Tiezui merely intended to force him back, but never expected Li Yan to neither dodge nor evade—the iron fan struck directly on the Shanzhong acupoint.

"Ah, why didn't you dodge?"

Li Tiezui was instantly terrified.

One of the Eight Converging Points, also the Sea of Zong Qi—Qi converges at the Shanzhong; if struck, it causes chest tightness, coughing, and irritability.

If struck hard, one may struggle to breathe, suffer blood stasis, or even die.

He only meant to escape, never to injure anyone.

But soon, Li Tiezui sensed something was wrong.

His iron fan weighed seven or eight catties, yet when it struck Li Yan, the force vanished as if swallowed by the sea.

At the same time, Li Yan gently pushed forward, and a force surged forth—the iron fan in Li Tiezui's hand flew uncontrollably high into the air.

It was Li Yan's Immortal Seal Technique.

Though this old man was a senior of the Pingmen martial world, he was merely a performer, his skill at the peak of Mingjin.

Li Yan could stand there and let him strike—the one injured would only be the opponent.

Seeing this mysterious art, Li Tiezui's expression shifted between shock and resignation; he reluctantly bowed and said, "This old man has made a fool of himself. This matter is truly terrifying—why must you press so hard?"

Li Yan smiled and returned the bow. "Senior, don't fear. If you have any troubles, speak them out—I'll help you resolve them."

Li Tiezui hesitated for a long time; seeing Li Yan wouldn't relent, he finally sighed. "I thought this matter was already over..."

He looked dejected, sat down, and sipped tea. "Had I known it would be this troublesome, I'd rather never have gotten involved."

"I only happened to hear of the 'Gray Robe Mad Monk'—even in tales of the strange and supernatural, records are rare."

"In our line of work, fresh stories are unavoidable, so I inquired everywhere, spending much effort, until I learned something at Zhaojue Temple in Chengdu."

"Though a monk, the 'Gray Robe Mad Monk' dabbled in Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism, and shamanism, and once resided at Zhaojue Temple."

"Later, those who offended him died mysteriously; Zhaojue Temple could no longer bear it, and expelled him."

"But one young monk often stayed by his side. After the 'Gray Robe Mad Monk' suddenly died, his body emitted an unusual fragrance, and nearby villagers built a shrine to worship him."

"The young monk gathered the 'Gray Robe Mad Monk's' belongings, returned to Zhaojue Temple, and rumors spread that he had been a Living Yin Officer."

"Having traveled far and wide, I'd heard enough to know what a Living Yin Officer was. Curious, I followed the clues to find the Gray Monk Shrine."

"But time had passed—the shrine had long collapsed. Locals said strange things often happened there: at night, candlelight flickered, and voices chanting sutras or reciting poetry could be heard."

"Once, thunder rolled across the sky; villagers smelled a foul odor, followed it, and found a dead wild dog, struck dead by lightning, lying behind the temple."

"Moreover, locals had legends that the Gray Monk had turned into a zombie and harmed people. Over time, no one dared worship him, and the shrine fell into ruin."

"Originally, nothing more—after returning to Zouma Town, I turned these tales into rustic legends, just to amuse people."

"But then..."

As he spoke, his eyes filled with terror. "After I'd told this story for a long time, one night I dreamed of the Gray Monk."

"His body was blue-green, clothes tattered, nails elongated—he had become a zombie, warning me never to speak of him again."

"I thought it was just a dream, but when I woke, there were a pair of bare footprints on the floor before my bed—and the whole room reeked of corpse stench..."

"Oh?"

Li Yan narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you seek help from the City God Temple?"

"I did!"

Li Tiezui gritted his teeth. "At the time, the Chongqing City God Temple was under the jurisdiction of Daoists from Mount Qingcheng. But when I went to them, they warned me not to mention this matter again."

Li Yan thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Senior, don't fear. Just never mention it again. If he meant to harm you, why warn you?"

"Even so... sigh."

Li Tiezui shook his head. "I've spent half my life telling tales of ghosts and foxes, yet never truly believed them. This thing frightened me so badly, I've decided to retire."

"Never say I told you this."

"Of course not."

Li Tiezui seemed eager to leave; with a gloomy expression, he rose and hurried away.

"Li Shaoxia, any findings?"

After he left, Xie Zhengyuan entered and asked.

"Unfortunately, not what I'm looking for..."

Li Yan gave a vague reply, but inwardly had a hunch.

The 'Gray Robe Mad Monk' had discarded his soul warrant and chosen to survive in secret, cultivating the Yin Essence Transformation Art—his soul remains uncorrupted to this day.

Perhaps because he once served as a Living Yin Officer, he was extremely cautious, hiding all traces of himself.

But those on Mount Qingcheng likely know of this.

It seems I must go to Mount Qingcheng and inquire further.

Back at the inn, it was noon. Everyone ate a light meal. Li Yan had just lain down in his room when Lu San knocked loudly and entered.

His face was grim. "I have a plan—perhaps it can help Old Sha..."

(End of Chapter)