Chapter 591: Epilogue · The God of Wealth and the Beggar Spirit (Part 2)

Epilogue · The God of Wealth and the Beggar Spirit (Part 2)

As Lei Laomeng’s sigh faded, Nan Gong Wu Meng froze in place.

Then, even beneath the custom-made disguise from the Gong Sun clan, a flush rapidly spread across her face; her eyes widened, her gaze darted away, and she stammered: “W-what are you talking about?!”

“Who—who’s going to marry him?”

“I—I was just…”

Lei Laomeng chuckled: “Otherwise, how could a lazybones like you have traveled every major river and mountain during the reconstruction of the Yin-Yang Cycle Sect, relying on your absurd luck to map out so many places?!”

Nan Gong Wu Meng huffed.

She picked up her tea and sipped it.

“Was there?”

Lei Laomeng saw Nan Gong Wu Meng’s face calm and composed, yet her hand trembled so violently it left a blur—making the tea inside the cup ripple, splashing waves against the walls, soaking her sleeves.

Lei Laomeng shook his head, choosing not to expose her; he rolled up the scroll, kept it himself instead of handing it to his personal guard, and said: “I know your nature. We’ve followed His Majesty since he was fourteen. Over these decades, we’ve been as close as brothers.”

“Nan Gong, you’ve spent most of these years away from the capital, never staying long. I don’t know if you’re truly busy—or if you harbor other thoughts. But if anything troubles you, you can tell us.”

“Or go straight to His Majesty.”

“You keep it bottled up inside, never speaking.”

Nan Gong Wu Meng lowered her head, murmured “Mm,” set down her cup, then feigned ignorance with a laugh: “Huh? What are you saying, Lei Da? I don’t understand! Did you finally put your spirit tablet in the Beast Tamer Manor?!”

She tried to deflect the topic as she always had—with jokes and laughter.

But Lei Laomeng didn’t take the bait.

One hand held the three-foot scroll; the other rested behind his back, jade belt cinching his waist. His deep blue robe was subtly embroidered with clouds and rosy hues. His once-tangled hair was now neatly combed, crowned with a hairpin, his temples streaked white, his crow’s feet and forehead lines deeply etched.

He stood there, gazing at Nan Gong Wu Meng with quiet serenity.

The usual foolish grin she relied on slowly faded from her face.

Lei Laomeng smiled faintly, sighing: “Nan Gong, your sect is gone. You’ve rebuilt this temple with your salary and battlefield merits, preserving the true Daoist lineage. But is this temple still the same one your master pulled you from the river?”

“Everything changes. Even if people or things remain, they are no longer what they were.”

“Master Tian Xian died on the battlefield. Yu Wen Hua is gone. Grandfather Chang Sun fell too… We’ve walked so far together—so much has happened.”

“Sometimes, I envy you. We’ve all changed, in some way or another.”

In Lei Laomeng’s smile lay something Nan Gong Wu Meng, with her carefree nature bordering on innate Dao-heart, could never comprehend.

She glanced away, guilty yet defiantly said:

“But you’re still yourselves.”

“And I’m still me—where’s the change?!”

Lei Laomeng burst into laughter, delighted his oldest friend remained unchanged—but his laughter slowly grew melancholic, tinged with the quiet truth of: “You need to grow up.”

“We are us—but not the us we once were.”

“After Fan Qing lost his arm, he stopped drinking entirely. Every year on the anniversary of that final battle, he carries wine to the battlefield, to where Master Tian Xian and Yu Wen Hua fell, and drinks himself into oblivion.”

“Qi Bi Li has grown far more composed. The Right Chancellor now carries the bearing of a refined scholar.”

“When we look back at our younger selves, are we even the same people?”

“So sometimes, I envy you—you’ve seemed unchanged, carefree, untouched by anything. But, Nan Gong, little sister—”

“People change. Everything moves forward.”

Lei Laomeng said:

“Will your relationship with His Majesty always remain as it was?”

Nan Gong Wu Meng’s body stiffened slightly.

Lei Laomeng didn’t press further; he shifted topics immediately.

He knew his friend too well—he knew if he pushed further, she’d pack her bags that very night and vanish for months.

He laughed heartily: “That’s all I’ll say, General Nan Gong. I’ll return to the capital to report. The Empire’s strategy for the next three hundred years will be built upon this scroll. Lei Laomeng, on behalf of His Majesty’s countless subjects, thanks you, General Nan Gong.”

He clasped his fists in salute: “Thank you, General. Six years of spring and autumn.”

Nan Gong Wu Meng fumbled, then returned the salute: “It’s my duty.”

Then she waved dismissively: “Oh come on, Lei Da, don’t be so stiff—you’re not Yan Daiqing.”

Lei Laomeng smiled gently: “The Right Chancellor is thirty-five now. His son is four. He’s calm, composed, carries scholarly grace, and no longer shows his emotions. He’s not the same rigid, easily flustered fool you remember.”

Nan Gong Wu Meng froze.

Lei Laomeng had, with gentle cruelty, laid bare the passage of time and the transformation of men before her eyes.

Lei Laomeng turned, waved his hand: “The world says all things change—so everyone mocks the man who carved his boat to find his lost sword. But think: aren’t you, aren’t I, aren’t we who cling to the past—all doing the same thing?”

“I’m off, Nan Gong.”

“Think on it. I’ve saved wine in the capital—for when you come.”

Lei Laomeng walked away, laughing with the temple’s young disciples, handing out snacks, then summoning his scouts to follow. These scouts stood seven to eight feet tall, lean and tall, faces stern and silent.

But barely a mile beyond the temple, they couldn’t hold back.

“Commander Lei—is that really the legendary Nan Gong General? One of the first core members of the Qilin Army, who joined the ten-thousand-li expedition, followed the Emperor through every battlefield, never once wounded by blade or arrow?!”

“The legendary Wu Meng Vanguard who founded the Qin Army’s first special reconnaissance unit!”

“The prodigy who broke through after leaping off a cliff!”

“The God of Wealth of Qin!”

“The immortal of the martial world who never ran out of money?!”

The scouts clustered around Lei Laomeng. He laughed loudly: “Yes, yes—all her. But what you’ve heard are just rumors—far from the truth.”

“Hmm. But one thing’s certain.”

Lei Laomeng grinned: “This woman has never been poor. Ha!”

He rode off with his cavalry scouts.

Inside the temple, Nan Gong Wu Meng, clad in plain Daoist robes, watched them vanish into the distance, muttering: “What ‘Qin Army Reconnaissance Corps’? That’s just Wen Qingyu spouting nonsense again.”

“What’s this ‘carving the boat to find the sword’ nonsense?”

Nan Gong Wu Meng muttered.

Behind her, the expressionless little girl said: “Teacher’s running away.”

Nan Gong Wu Meng flew into a rage, scooped up the girl, and pinched her still-chubby cheeks: “Little Daoist, what do you know?!”

The little Daoist stared, unblinking, at the woman who’d found her.

She asked: “Then who are you waiting for, hiding here?”

Nan Gong Wu Meng snapped: “No one!”

The little Daoist rolled her eyes.

“Waiting for His Majesty?”

Nan Gong Wu Meng crouched, propping her chin on one hand: “Nope. Besides—he’s His Majesty. He swept the land, unified the Nine Provinces. I’m just a Jianghu orphan with no parents.”

“Why would he wait for me?”

The little Daoist watched her teacher.

Even through the disguise, she saw the emotion in her teacher’s eyes—something she couldn’t name: sorrow? Stillness? Or quiet shame?

She never imagined her carefree teacher could wear such an expression.

Ever since Nan Gong Wu Meng found her, the teacher had always been utterly carefree.

Nan Gong Wu Meng was the first person she’d ever seen.

She had no parents either—she suspected she’d been abandoned. A jade pendant on her waist bore the character “Xie.” She’d been frozen to death—until a white tiger on the mountain carried her back.

So she’d been raised on white tiger’s milk.

She had an older brother and a younger brother.

Her brother was a black tiger. Her younger brother was a white tiger.

She was just a weak little girl—let her useless brothers handle things.

At age three, she was destined to become a wild child—until one day, hugging her brother and kicking hard, she heard a crackling sound. She looked up.

A dead tree on the cliffside dropped two bright red fruits.

Then her teacher—like a chaotic fool—fell from the sky.

The little girl’s eyes widened.

She saw this beautiful, godlike figure’s back suddenly burst into a blinding golden glow—and then watched her mother, brother, and brother being patted like cats by the teacher.

Finally, she was carried off. Her teacher, grim-faced, pondered long and hard, then named her “Xie Ziran,” meaning “Natural Dao.” But over the years, she wasn’t sure who was caring for whom.

She still didn’t understand why her teacher had randomly found her.

Xie Ziran sighed, expressionless, and patted her teacher:

“So you’re not waiting for His Majesty.”

“You’re waiting for Li Guanyi?”

“Mm.”

Nan Gong Wu Meng answered. Xie Ziran hadn’t expected a reply—she froze, instinctively looked up, and saw her teacher still wore the disguise.

But even the disguise couldn’t hide the fiery redness of her ears beneath her dark hair.

“Will he come?”

“I don’t know…”

………………

On this day, an old man crossed layer upon layer of checkpoints, traversed the Central Plains, the Eastern Sea, and the Western Regions, finally arriving among the mountains.

Tu Shengyuan raised his hand, the sleeve sliding down as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, then rubbed the fruit he found on his clothes, not caring about the dirt, and bit into it hard—crunch, crunch—juice splashed everywhere.

The old storyteller looked up to the sky and let out a long cry, sighing with emotion.

“Finally, finally!”

“I am safe!”