Chapter 47

It was evening when he left Tianlong Temple; a warm breeze brushed past, fragrant flowers and grass filled the air, and Zhao Ti walked home beneath the fading sunset.

After returning to the inn and eating a little, he began his cultivation; the Illusion Yin Qi enveloped heaven and earth within his body, covering the Sunflower Qi, which hid in a corner, daring not to stir.

This Illusion Yin Qi was so tyrannical, Zhao Ti thought inwardly; it seemed the version Kunlun practiced during the Yitian era was not the complete one.

Seas turn to mulberry fields, war rages endlessly—many martial arts grow more fragmented with each transmission, and some vanish entirely.

After completing one great cycle of his cultivation, he felt his internal strength had increased further; seven days remained until Jiumozhi ’s promised arrival, and he should be able to reach the fifth level of Illusion Yin Finger Technique.

At the fifth level of Illusion Yin Finger, the Zhongchong point on the finger opens; then, besides the Shaoshang point, he could also unleash Qi from Zhongchong to harm others.

Days passed swiftly; at dawn that day, he achieved the fifth level of Illusion Yin Finger.

Zhao Ti raised his hand and struck the beam; two light, eerie sounds rang out, and two small holes pierced the beam, deeper than an inch.

After resting, he washed, ate breakfast, then took Zhou Dong and Su Yuan for a stroll through the city; according to schedule, Jiumozhi would arrive in two days, and the monks of Tianlong Temple were now intensifying their training—best not to disturb them yet.

They wandered through Dali City, arriving at Wuwei Temple, which was bustling with activity; no one knew what festival it was, but the number of pilgrims far exceeded the usual—men and women, families with children, elderly and toddlers, laughing and playing, a riot of noise.

At that moment, Zhao Ti saw a slender black-clad figure standing beneath a tree near the temple gate, standing cold and still amid the bustling crowd.

He walked over and smiled: “Miss Mu.”

Mu Wanjing’s eyes, dark as polished lacquer, studied him for a long moment: “Young Master Zhao truly keeps his word.”

Zhao Ti heard her voice hollow, unlike its usual soft melody; he guessed Qin Hongmian must have returned and likely joined Gan Baobao in confronting Duan Zhengchun—perhaps she already knew her true origins.

As for Duan Yanqing’s original plan, now unworkable—two of the Four Evils were gone; whether Duan Yanqing still remained in Wanchou Valley was uncertain, and Mu Wanjing’s previous timeline with him had long since been erased.

He smiled faintly: “Of course I keep my word.”

Mu Wanjing’s eyelashes dipped slightly: “How is the Black Rose?”

Zhao Ti said: “Well-fed and strong; I didn’t bring her out today.”

Mu Wanjing looked at him: “I’ll go with you to get the horse.”

Zhao Ti looked up at the sky: “The day is clear and bright; why rush? Come with me, Miss Mu, let’s stroll around Dali and enjoy its scenery—the horse can wait.”

Mu Wanjing said nothing; Zhao Ti turned and walked into Wuwei Temple, and after a few silent breaths, she followed behind.

They wandered through Wuwei Temple, then visited the city’s famous sights; by afternoon, Mu Wanjing said: “I must return.”

Zhao Ti said: “It’s still early—why so eager?”

Mu Wanjing said: “I told my master I’d be out briefly; I’ve been gone too long—she might come looking for me…”

Zhao Ti nodded; he knew Qin Hongmian’s nature well: “Then let’s meet again here tomorrow at Wuwei Temple.”

Mu Wanjing said: “Then I won’t take the horse today.” With that, she turned and left northward.

The next day, as soon as Zhao Ti arrived at Wuwei Temple, he saw Mu Wanjing hurrying toward him from afar: “Young Master Zhao, where’s the horse?”

Zhao Ti smiled: “Didn’t we agree to stroll first, then take the horse?”

Mu Wanjing shook her head: “I’m leaving Dali immediately—keep the horse. Ride it yourself.”

Zhao Ti frowned: “Why leave so suddenly? What’s the hurry? Taking the horse won’t take long.”

Mu Wanjing whispered: “When I returned yesterday, my master scolded me. She’s packed and ready to leave the city and return to the mountains—I slipped out to see you and tell you.”

Zhao Ti thought: “I won’t stay in Dali long either—the Black Rose will ride with me. If you want to reclaim her later, you’ll have to go to Dongjing.”

“Dongjing?” Mu Wanjing’s eyes grew distant: “You really meant it when you said your home is in Dongjing?”

Zhao Ti said: “Why lie? Dongjing isn’t far—it’s not some distant horizon. You’ve been to Jiangnan; why not Dongjing?”

Mu Wanjing fell silent for a moment, then opened her mouth—when suddenly she spotted two women approaching through the crowd, and panicked: “My master’s coming—Dongjing… we’ll talk about Dongjing later.”

Zhao Ti saw two women in martial attire scanning the crowd from afar—he guessed one was Qin Hongmian, the other Gan Baobao; Mu Wanjing spoke to them briefly, then all three vanished into the throng.

He paused thoughtfully, then turned: “Let’s go back.”

Zhou Dong and Su Yuan agreed; the three returned to the inn. Zhao Ti checked on the Black Rose in the courtyard—after days cooped up, the horse pawed the ground the moment she saw him.

Zhao Ti walked over and stroked her head: “Your mistress has matters to attend—so you’ll ride with me for now.”

The horse seemed to understand, nuzzling her head into his arm; Zhao Ti patted her a few times, then smiled and left.

Early the next morning, Zhao Ti arrived at Tianlong Temple; he had barely exchanged a few words with Benyin when a young novice entered: “Abbot, the state lord has arrived.”

Benyin blinked, looking at Zhao Ti: “Young Master Zhao, our state lord’s visit—do you know why? Would you care to meet him?”

Zhao Ti wondered why Duan Zhengming had come to Tianlong Temple: “No harm in seeing him.”

The novice stepped out, then returned with two men; the leader was a tall, bearded man in black robes, with a refined, handsome face; behind him was a youth, his face flushed red and yellow, his expression terribly unwell—it was Duan Yu.

Duan Zhengming entered, clasped his hands in greeting; though Tianlong Temple was a royal temple, it was still a Buddhist monastery—no imperial or familial hierarchy applied; they met as equals.

Duan Yu spotted Zhao Ti at once, his face brightening: “Young Master Zhao? You said we’d meet again—and so we have!”

Zhao Ti studied his unstable aura and frowned: “What happened to you, Young Master Duan?”

Duan Yu said: “You don’t know—I was delivering a letter to a place called Wanchou Valley when I was attacked by a disabled villain who spoke with abdominal voice—he injured my Eight Extraordinary Meridians. Luckily, my household guards arrived; otherwise, he’d have tortured me to death.”

Zhao Ti nodded; it wasn’t the original poisoning—it was Duan Yanqing who struck him. Clearly, the meridian damage was severe, hence Duan Zhengming brought him to Tianlong Temple for healing.

Duan Zhengming, seeing they knew each other, said: “Master Benyin, this gentleman is…”

Benyin quickly introduced Zhao Ti’s identity; Duan Zhengming listened, thought for a moment, then his expression changed drastically: “Are you the Prince of Yan of Great Song?”

Zhao Ti had not used a false name; as King of Dali, Duan Zhengming, inheriting his predecessor’s desire to become a vassal of Great Song, had memorized the names of the recent Song imperial clan.

Zhao Ti smiled: “Your Majesty has keen eyes—but this must remain secret.”

Duan Zhengming composed himself: “I know a little of Song court protocol—I was impolite.”

Beside them, Benyin stared, then gave a wry smile; he had suspected Zhao Ti’s high status, but never imagined he was a Song prince: “Young Master Zhao, this…”