Chapter 48

Zhao Ti said: “Master Benyin, no need to overthink it—the prior agreement still stands.”

Benyin clasped his palms together: “This humble monk is terrified—how could this possibly be allowed?”

Zhao Ti said: “Why not? Master, say no more.”

Benyin sighed: “Prince Yan, you act with righteousness—Tianlong Temple is deeply indebted.”

Saying this, he glanced at Duan Zhengming, whose mind raced: Benyin’s friendship with this man meant his identity was unquestionable; if this one could intercede on behalf of the vassal state, wouldn’t that offer great hope?

Duan Yu looked at Zhao Ti: “Brother Zhao, so you’re the Prince of Song!”

Zhao Ti said: “Didn’t you also conceal your own identity, Brother Duan?”

Duan Yu opened his mouth to speak, but Benyin turned to Duan Zhengming: “Master Duan, your coming here…”

Duan Zhengming shook off his thoughts and quickly explained Duan Yu’s injured meridians.

Benyin pondered: “This matter requires me to take you to the Moni Hall to consult with my three senior brothers.”

Duan Zhengming said: “To disturb the quiet cultivation of all these masters is a grave sin.”

Benyin said: “The Prince of Zhennan will one day inherit the throne; since he has come to Tianlong Temple seeking counsel, this must be a true dilemma—worthy of joint deliberation with my brothers.”

Saying this, he turned to Zhao Ti: “Master Zhao, please go ahead.”

Zhao Ti nodded; Duan Yu stepped forward and took his arm: “Brother Zhao, how did you come to this temple?”

Duan Zhengming rebuked: “Yu’er, don’t be disrespectful to the Prince of Yan—have you forgotten all proper etiquette?”

Duan Yu released his grip: “Yes, Uncle.” But he still stayed close to Zhao Ti, continuing to speak.

Seeing this, Duan Zhengming pondered: He had no idea how Yu’er had met this man, but it was surely a good thing—he could draw closer to him and ask for his help in petitioning the Emperor of Song.

The group walked toward the Moni Hall; Zhao Ti did not enter but sat motionless beside a four-stringed moon lute—this had been the agreed-upon position: if Kumojizhi stole the scriptures, he would intercept here.

Benyin said: “Master Zhao, you’ve been burdened—I’ll take these two inside to examine their injuries.”

Zhao Ti nodded: Since Duan Zhengming had arrived, Ku Rong would likely insist he learn one of the Six Meridians Sword Qi—even if Duan Zhengming learned one, they still couldn’t match Kumojizhi.

Originally, Kumojizhi would have seized Duan Zhengming, threatened to take him to Tibet, then Duan Yu would have rescued him with the Six Meridians Sword Qi—but Duan Yu, though saving Duan Zhengming, would himself be captured.

Even if Duan Yu could now train the Six Meridians Sword Qi, Kumojizhi would still end up taking one of them, forcing me to act in the end.

At that moment, a young novice brought tea; Zhao Ti told him to sit and asked about the four-stringed moon lute’s playing technique. Seeing the boy’s liveliness, he asked him to bring chess pieces for a game.

Benyin came out twice during the game, spoke briefly with Zhao Ti, who told him to attend to matters inside; Benyin clasped his palms in apology and returned.

Unaware, more than two hours had passed, when suddenly a soft sandalwood incense drifted in, followed by a faint, distant chant of Sanskrit.

Inside the Moni Hall, Benyin channeled his inner power and called out: “The Great Wheel King’s procession—please proceed this way.”

Outside, a voice drew nearer: “Thank you, Abbot.”

Zhao Ti heard the voice—kind, humble, impeccably courteous—and his lips curved slightly upward.

Moments later, footsteps approached, and a dozen figures appeared outside the Moni Hall.

At their head stood a monk in yellow robes, under fifty, his face radiant, faintly glowing as if with inner jewel-light, naturally brilliant like a pearl or jade.

Benyin stepped out and said to the monk: “Great Wheel King, please enter.”

Kumojizhi clasped his palms: “The Buddha teaches non-birth, non-death, non-defilement, non-purity. This humble monk’s faculties are dull—I have not yet penetrated the illusions of love, hatred, life, and death. I apologize for disturbing the masters of Tianlong Temple.”

Benyin shook his head: “Your actions here are needless overreach.”

Kumojizhi smiled, stepped inside, then suddenly saw Zhao Ti playing chess with the novice—his steps paused slightly, but his expression remained unchanged as he continued forward.

When he entered, Zhao Ti glanced at him once; when Zhao Ti looked his way, he did not look back.

Kumojizhi was arrogant and assumed Dali’s martial talents were limited; even if he suspected Zhao Ti was an ally, he could not retreat.

Watching the two enter, the novice said: “Master Zhao, shall we… continue the game?”

Zhao Ti smiled: “Of course—we’ll play a precious labyrinth.”

They arranged the black and white stones, utterly ignoring the commotion inside, but soon after, sounds of combat erupted.

The novice trembled; Zhao Ti said: “Don’t lose focus during chess.”

The novice said: “Yes, yes—but Master Zhao, I’m still afraid…”

Zhao Ti shook his head, listening as piercing qi sounds hissed incessantly from the hall, alongside another sound—like a blade, yet upon closer discernment, like force tearing through air—he knew it was Kumojizhi’s famed Flame Blade Palm.

The battle inside grew fiercer; after about half an hour, the sounds abruptly ceased, and moments later, Kumojizhi emerged, dragging one man—Duan Zhengming, the Baoding Emperor.

He declared loudly: “Our sovereign has long admired the Baoding Emperor’s virtue and yearns to meet him—please accompany us to Tibet for a discussion.”

The monks inside rushed out after him; at their head was Ku Rong, whose face was grotesque—one half ruddy and smooth, the other like withered bone, yellowed, protruding, devoid of muscle—clearly the result of a unique cultivation method.

Ku Rong spoke calmly: “Great Wheel King, this is inappropriate.”

Kumojizhi laughed heartily: Since entering the hall, he had noted Duan Zhengming’s air of noble luxury and deduced his identity—thus he seized his chance to capture him: “Inappropriate? Men, take the ruler of Dali!”

The dozen men outside moved to enter, when Zhao Ti slowly rose.

Kumojizhi feared the Six Meridians Sword Qi from the monks and now held Duan Zhengming before him, gripping his pulse point to render him utterly powerless.

Zhao Ti rose; Kumojizhi glanced at him—he knew Dali’s One Yang Finger masters well; this man was too young to be Duan Zhengchun; without such long-range ability, as long as he held Duan Zhengming, his escape from Tianlong Temple was certain, and he could then demand the complete Six Meridians Sword Scripture—taking him to Tibet was merely intimidation.

But just as he was about to look away, Zhao Ti raised his hand behind the four-stringed moon lute.

A light, chilling sound suddenly rose; Kumojizhi’s face changed instantly—he released one arm and slashed through the air.

A blazing palm wind met the Yin Shadow Finger’s qi, producing a sharp “crack.”

Zhao Ti sensed the opponent’s inner power far surpassed Duan Yanqing’s—even with one arm holding Duan Zhengming, he used only the other.

He raised his brows and unleashed both hands—four Yin Shadow Finger qi streams shot at Kumojizhi from different directions.

Kumojizhi used Duan Zhengming to shield against the monks; now his flank was exposed—he could only slash repeatedly with Flame Blade, but the Yin Shadow Finger’s icy force was too potent; the Flame Blade’s wind could not fully disperse it. With only one hand free, his divine aura shattered, his expression twisted in fury.

Zhao Ti’s Yin Shadow Finger qi kept coming; Kumojizhi was stunned—he had never seen such a martial art, nor could he recall any in his knowledge.

The Yin Shadow Finger forced him into desperate defense until he suddenly roared, released Duan Zhengming, and unleashed Flame Blade with his other hand as well.