Chapter 85

The others acted on the word, pulling out a horizontal shelf from the bookcase, placing Jiumozhi upon it, and carrying him out.

Zhao Ti looked at Li Qingluo and smiled sweetly: “Madam, your injuries aren’t serious, are they?”

Li Qingluo stared blankly—this evil prince’s martial arts were so formidable, he had matched the monk evenly, and somehow won through trickery; only her father might stand against the monk, yet even if her father returned now, it would be useless—the evil prince might not be defeated, let alone with soldiers present.

“Your servant, your servant is not greatly harmed; returning home to take medicine and rest will suffice.”

Zhao Ti said: “I’ve helped Madam eliminate a foe—otherwise, he would’ve carried off all the martial arts from the Langhuan Jade Cave. Isn’t that so, Madam?”

Li Qingluo nodded mechanically, unsure of his intent.

Zhao Ti then glanced at Tong Guan, who cowered like an ostrich, head sunk low.

“What are you doing, Dao Fu?” Zhao Ti asked.

“Your servant, your servant…” Tong Guan wanted to kneel and confess—he had just realized he hadn’t given Zhao Ti the Kuihuabaodian manuscript, yet this art was passed down in a single lineage; surely Zhao Ti had taken it to practice, meaning the fault ultimately lay with him.

“Why are you stammering?” Zhao Ti frowned.

Tong Guan glanced at Li Qingluo, thinking such matters were unfit for outsiders to hear, and hurriedly said: “Your servant failed to protect Your Majesty—deserving death ten times over.”

Zhao Ti saw his trembling form and knew at once it was about the Kuihuabaodian ; he said: “Train diligently from now on—do not slacken.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, your servant understands.” Tong Guan wiped sweat from his forehead.

Zhao Ti then pointed to the large cloth sack holding Jiumozhi ’s books: “Since Madam agrees I’ve resolved the Mangdang Manor’s foe, I’ll keep these books for a few days as your repayment.”

“What?” Li Qingluo froze, then surged with fury—this evil prince’s conduct was no different from the monk’s; the monk stole cleverly, but this man outright seized by force!

Zhao Ti smiled: “Madam, rest easy—I’ll only look at them, I won’t keep them.”

Li Qingluo’s lips moved: “Will the Prince of Yan return the books to the manor?”

Zhao Ti shook his head: “Madam, what nonsense— I have no intention of leaving. I find your manor’s scenery pleasant; I’ll stay a few days.”

Li Qingluo nearly fainted—how could he not leave? She had planned to quickly give him the Xiao Xiang Gong, hoping he’d depart, since as royalty he likely wouldn’t spread it; yet now he wanted to read other secrets from the Langhuan Jade Cave, and outright declared he wouldn’t leave!

“What, Madam, do you not welcome me?” Zhao Ti said coolly.

“Of course not,” Li Qingluo forced a smile: “Your servant fears the manor is humble, the maids crude and ignorant of etiquette, unable to serve His Highness properly, and thus disrespectful.”

“Madam is indeed thoughtful,” Zhao Ti mused: “You said your daughter is well-read, fond of writing poetry and playing the qin—have her come daily to attend me.”

“Ah?” Li Qingluo blinked—what did this evil prince mean? Had he taken a fancy to Yanyan? That wouldn’t be impossible—whether as wife or concubine, it was better than being tied to that dreamer Murong Fu!

A reigning prince of the blood versus a descendant of a dynasty fallen centuries ago still chasing impossible dreams—there was no comparison whatsoever.

Thinking thus, Li Qingluo’s gaze toward Zhao Ti changed: “Your Highness, I shall obey your command—Yanyan will come daily to manage affairs. But she is young and unrefined; if she offends, please forgive her.”

Zhao Ti said: “No matter. She need only brew tea and arrange flowers—your daughter simply sees too few people.”

Li Qingluo agreed. At that moment, Tong Guan had filled the sack with books. Zhao Ti strode toward the door, and outside, the moon had sunk westward—the sky had brightened.

He had Zhou Dong, Sun Tong, and Li Qingluo arrange accommodations; within half an hour, everything was settled, and he rested.

At dawn, he rose, dressed, and went to see Jiumozhi first.

Jiumozhi was now bound to a wooden bed with iron chains. Zhou Dong whispered to Zhao Ti, who exclaimed: “Is that so?”

Zhou Dong said: “Your Majesty, it is true. But since he’s a monk, as long as he’s not dead, I don’t think it matters much…”

Zhao Ti shook his head: “Monks from the Western Regions differ from those in the Central Plains, but this is his own fault—he was greedy, ignorant of heaven’s height and earth’s depth, unaware of the countless strange arts in this world.”

Tong Guan stood beside them, eyes flickering—he had listened to Li Qingluo recite the Xiao Xiang Gong last night, pondered deeply, and concluded this art could not imitate the Kuihuabaodian ; yet the monk didn’t know, unaware of the martial art requiring self-castration to practice.

All the martial artists present now wore expressions of awe—they could not fathom what martial art Zhao Ti had used to reduce the monk to such a pitiful state; how could he ever face the martial world again? He might as well enter the palace—perhaps this was the imperial family’s method of recruiting eunuchs.

Zhao Ti stepped forward and looked at Jiumozhi lying on the bed.

Jiumozhi was not unconscious; though gravely injured, his life was not in danger—he had not directly practiced the Kuihuabaodian , so his qi and blood had not exploded.

His eyes were wide open, unblinking, motionless, fixed on the ceiling beams, like a statue.

Zhao Ti said: “How do you feel, monk?”

Jiumozhi slowly turned his eyes toward Zhao Ti—his gaze hollow and pale, as if his soul had fled.

Zhao Ti stroked his chin: “Don’t blame me, monk—I never told you to use my martial art. My art has limits; you recklessly used Xiao Xiang Gong to imitate it, and this fate is entirely your own doing.”

Jiumozhi closed his eyes, then opened them again—two slow trails of bitter tears trickled down, as if he wished to speak, his lips moving but no sound emerging.

Zhao Ti said: “Cause and effect never fail. Had you not stolen Xiao Xiang Gong, there would be no such trouble. Had you not coveted the Six Meridians Sword, you would never have come to Jiangnan. Had you not craved martial arts, would you be here today?”

Jiumozhi spoke slowly: “Your words are true. Had I not been born, I would not die. Had I not become a monk, I would not be a monk. You coveted this martial art—do you truly fare better than I?”

Zhao Ti chuckled silently—he knew Jiumozhi had grasped the secret of the Kuihuabaodian . He said: “Now you wish to debate doctrine with me? When you recover, we’ll discuss it thoroughly. ‘Formless, formless’—you are still clinging to form, unaware.”

He shook his head and stepped outside, where Sun Tong reported that Suzhou had sent five hundred soldiers, along with grain, vegetables, and meat.

He returned to his quarters. Ahead lay a study. Zhao Ti sat down to read the books of the Langhuan Jade Cave. Tong Guan stood beside him, lost in thought, repeatedly recalling the Kuihuabaodian , his heart trembling with fear.

At that moment, a knock came at the door.