Chapter 20: Aftermath and Last Wishes

In the slum west of Gushan County, when Wu Chengyu returned here again, it felt like another world. The fierce fight that day and the already stinking smell of blood had scared away the other real beggars like Mo Laodao and Wu Chengyu, but there were more rats in the slum than before.

Wu Chengyu pointed to the courtyard hiding the two corpses and told Lu Youjiao to bring people to move the corpses out.

He brought Hong Qigong and A Ku back to the ruined house that originally belonged to them; he hadn't wanted A Ku to come, as it would only add to the sorrow, but A Ku wouldn't leave his side.

Incidentally, A Ku indeed wasn't afraid of corpses; she had done plenty of stripping clothes from corpses while following Mo Laodao.

But when Hong Qigong helped move Mo Laodao's corpse out of the water vat, A Ku finally cried.

A Ku cried, but Wu Chengyu felt relieved, as if a knot in his heart had been completely untied.

Always, A Ku faced all the world's hardships with a smile, as if as long as she could still smile, everything would pass.

Some of those smiles came from the heart, like when A Ku saw Mo Laodao and Wu Chengyu; some were to comfort others, like when Wu Chengyu had just woken up and couldn't move, those smiles were a light in his eyes; some were to hide inner fear, and when she was captured by villains, A Ku probably also tried to use smiles to curry favor with him.

No matter what, A Ku being able to cry was a relief for Wu Chengyu. In that nightmare the night before last, the A Ku in the dream, no matter what torture she suffered, never forgot to smile at Wu Chengyu; that smile was too terrible for Wu Chengyu, representing a kind of despair and bone-deep coldness.

After A Ku finally finished crying, she found a piece of cloth in the ruined house, then ran to the well in the neighboring courtyard to draw water, knelt on the ground to tidy Mo Laodao's remains, carefully wiping away the bloodstains on Mo Laodao's body, murmuring words under her breath; Wu Chengyu could hear what she was saying, but didn't want to listen.

Hong Qigong sat to the side, watching A Ku, and couldn't help but feel guilty; he raised that big red gourd and gulped down wine mouthful by mouthful.

Wu Chengyu didn't care that Hong Qigong was right beside him; he moved the water vat, picked up a wooden board to dig the soil, and indeed dug out a wooden box one chi underground.

Inside the wooden box was a rolled-up sheepskin; Wu Chengyu glanced at it casually and indeed it was a map, but he now had no mind to study any treasure map—it was just a few scriptures of the Quanxing Dao Sect; if there really were treasures, Mo Laodao would have sold them long ago for food; this guy wasn't at all hidebound.

There was also a letter in the box; when the letter was unfolded, Wu Chengyu raised an eyebrow—the handwriting was unexpectedly neat and elegant, completely inconsistent with Mo Laotou's slovenly and filthy image.

The letter wasn't written to Wu Chengyu; Mo Laodao hadn't met Wu Chengyu yet when he wrote it.

The recipient was A Ku, or someone who could take care of A Ku after Mo Laodao's death; the whole letter was full of admonitions to A Ku, every line filled with worry, and also a bit of expectation for A Ku; it seemed he knew he wouldn't live much longer.

Also, it recounted his identity as a Quanxing Inheritor, instructing the person who got the map to inherit the Quanxing Dao Lineage; he didn't dare hope to glorify it, just that it could be passed down at least, so he chose his words carefully, with a bit of pleading; and when speaking of his own Dao lineage, there was a bit of pride, and more, indignation and resentment.

This was another person who died with resentment in his heart—a life of wandering and hardship, cautious and careful, only daring to secretly complain that Heaven was unjust.

Wu Chengyu didn't want to inherit any Quanxing Dao Lineage; he might as well go be the Beggar Sect Chief—at most, on the day he became chief, people would spit on him, but that was still better than being suppressed by Confucianism and Taoism people.

But he would take good care of A Ku and also keep those Quanxing classics safe; that would count as making up to Mo Laodao.

Wu Chengyu carefully put away the letter; this could be left for A Ku as a remembrance, and later he would teach her to read, so she could herself understand Mo Laodao's reluctance to part with her.

"Mo Laotou, that's all I can do. If you're not satisfied in the netherworld, come find me to argue on the day I die."

Wu Chengyu muttered to himself, then opened the map and looked at it for a while; ordinary people would look at a map with a blank face, let alone an ancient map without even latitude and longitude lines.

The map was drawn with twists and turns, making his eyes blur; he simply walked up to Hong Qigong and handed him the map.

"The treasure map left by Mo Laodao, said to be rich enough to rival a country; help me see where this is."

Saying it lightly as if it were a joke, anyone knew it was a joke; Hong Qigong didn't care and reached out to take it—he was after all the biggest beggar chief under heaven, and knew best what beggars were like and where to hide treasures.

It was only with Hong Qigong; besides A Ku there was no one else nearby; Wu Chengyu always trusted Hong Qigong's character; if it were someone else, they definitely wouldn't be so defenseless.

Hong Qigong stared at the map for a while, then used his hand to gesture on the map a few times, and nodded as he spoke.

"It should be Yuhuang Mountain in Hangzhou, very famous; I've been to Hangzhou many times, otherwise I really wouldn't recognize it. Look, one side is West Lake, the other side is the Qiantang River; this position drawn should be Fuxing Guan."

Wu Chengyu was dumbfounded, feeling like his intelligence was being crushed by a native; the places Hong Qigong pointed to were all a mess of chaotic lines in his eyes—how could he make out anything?

But knowing the specific location, Wu Chengyu felt reassured; they were all in the Jiangnan area; he would definitely find a chance to go there in the future and fulfill Mo Laodao's dying wish.

After A Ku finished tidying Mo Laodao's remains, the beggars on that side also came over, and the helpers carried Mo Laodao's body away.

Wu Chengyu discussed with A Ku whether to find a cemetery here for a grand funeral, or to cremate him first and bring the ashes to Gusu for burial; A Ku was unwilling to be separated from Mo Laodao and chose cremation; since that was the case, let Mo Laodao go to Gusu too—at least it would be a treasure land of feng shui, a blessed place on earth.

When the people from the Funeral Hall helped with the cremation, and A Ku stood guard in mourning clothes to the side, Wu Chengyu's father started to be restless again.

Or rather, that bamboo slip hidden in Wu Chengyu's consciousness, which had always pretended to be deaf and dumb and remained aloof, suddenly reacted; it inexplicably began to vibrate; when Wu Chengyu noticed the abnormality, the rolled-up bamboo slip silently unfolded.

Wu Chengyu subconsciously looked at the bamboo slip; those dozens of half-finished poems had finally all disappeared; only one poem remained on the bamboo slip, a complete poem.

"Ten years to forge one sword, the frosty blade never tested."

"Today I show it to you, sir; who has an unjust grievance?"

Behind it followed a line of words: "Turn the resentment in your heart into a three-chi blue edge; all unjust matters in the world can be slashed away with the sword."

Then, below that, there was nothing at all.

Wu Chengyu, while guarding A Ku and pretending nothing was wrong, tightly clenched his fist and cursed wildly in his heart; originally the bamboo slip had at least been full of words, but now it had shrunk by more than half.

And this poem "Xujian" by the Tang poet Jia Dao has been used in so many martial arts novels; do I still need you to teach me?

This broken bamboo slip—is its basic function just to summarize my previous actions? Is it your place? What use are you exactly?

Perhaps because Wu Chengyu was cursing more and more harshly, many more words appeared below those lines of poetry.

Wu Chengyu finally perked up this time; for him, as long as it wasn't poetry, anything was better.

Bupleurum, trichosanthes root, Chinese angelica, safflower, pangolin, peach kernel, rehmannia, chuanxiong, red peony, sanchi, chicken blood vine, salvia...

Seventy or eighty different medicines in one breath, with detailed ratios for each, the sovereign, minister, assistant, and courier roles, and preparation methods.

The last line of the bamboo slip wrote the name of this medicine: Black Jade Bone-Healing Ointment.

Today is the Fifth Working Day, results will definitely come out; I estimate it'll be hard to sign a contract the first time, after all the data is too little. Editors generally won't read the content carefully, only look at how the data is. My data, people take one look and move on.

My current investment count and daily readers probably make up about half of the Collection Count; if it were my previous book at this ratio I could laugh myself to death, but unfortunately the Basic Data is too low—only 42 Collections, basically almost no one can see it. Before 100,000 words there's another chance to sign a contract; hope the data can pick up by then.

Anyway, thank you all for your support.

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(Chapter End)