Not long after Li Chi came out of the military camp, Gao Xining came hurrying to find him—because Yu Jiuling had disappeared.

“Yesterday after he went to see you, he went back to his own tent and slept for a long time. When he woke up, he went to the cooking brigade to find food—said he was starving. He ate his fill, and when he left he stuffed away more than twenty steamed buns.”

Gao Xining’s face was full of worry. It was obvious: Yu Jiuling had gone to look for Master Li.

Perhaps in Yu Jiuling’s heart, he truly, deeply considered Master Li his teacher—the way he would a real father. Seeking out his master felt to him like a duty.

If he found the man alive, he would give his all to bring him back.

If he found only a body, he would give his all to bring that back.

Yu Jiuling had no thought for himself. The first place he had ever felt truly accepted was at Li Chi’s side.

And yet in Li Chi’s army, Yu Jiuling often felt that he was someone without much use—that staying in the army left him with little he could contribute.

Master Li was the second person who had made Yu Jiuling feel truly seen and accepted. Perhaps the word “master” brought to mind for Yu Jiuling the proprietor of the tavern where he had once worked, or the father who had left this world when he was still young.

So he went. Without hesitation or looking back.

Li Chi immediately sent for Gui Yuanshu and told him to find Yu Jiuling at any cost.

Li Chi stood at the riverbank, exhaling heavily. “That fool…”

Gao Xining said, “Ninth Brother is the kind of person who, if someone is good to him, gives them his whole heart in return. He worries about Master Li, so he absolutely had to go.”

Li Chi nodded. “But the reason Master Li didn’t take anyone with him is precisely because he knows—beyond himself, no one can be guaranteed to come through unharmed. The Master wants to face whatever comes on his own.”

Just then, a soldier ran up to report that someone was at the camp entrance, claiming to be surnamed Chu, requesting an audience with His Highness Prince Ning.

Li Chi, preoccupied with thoughts of Yu Jiuling, didn’t register it at first, and stood there blankly for a moment before it dawned on him: the only person who would say his surname was Chu could only be Master Fang—Master Fang Zhu.

Li Chi and Gao Xining hurried to the camp entrance to welcome him, and there stood Master Fang in plain cloth robes, simply waiting.

Master Fang looked travel-worn, his clothing the color of dust and road grime. He had clearly had an exhausting journey to get here.

But Li Chi had no choice but to make a request of him.

He recounted the situations of Master Li and Yu Jiuling, then asked for Master Fang’s help in finding them. Master Fang agreed at once.

Gao Xining knew there was no use trying to persuade Li Chi to keep Master Fang at his side, so she did not even attempt it.

She arranged for soldiers of the Tingwei Army to accompany Master Fang, tasked with seeing to all his needs along the way.

Having only just arrived at the Ning Army camp, with barely enough time to eat a meal, Master Fang set out with the Tingwei Army soldiers.

Liang Province. The estate Master Li had once visited.

Here, Master Li and Qi Lu had together killed one of those men, and Master Li had buried the body with his own hands.

Now he stood before that earthen grave, gazing at a pile of ash in front of it. From the look of it, someone had come to pay their respects not long ago.

Master Li guessed that the bonds between those people must have been strong, and so someone would inevitably come to visit. If anyone came, they might leave behind traces.

Staring at the ash before the grave, Master Li stood in silence for a long while. Then he set down the basket he was carrying and took out wine and paper offerings.

“I don’t know why any of you came to this. But some of what Qi Lu said—I don’t think he was lying to me entirely. He said… only those at the bottom are more susceptible to temptation, and only those who have been crushed down are more desperate to dream of rising to the top.”

Master Li crouched and lit the paper offerings.

He had brought two jars of wine. One he poured into the earth. The other he drank himself.

Watching the paper begin to burn, something in Master Li’s eyes was lit too—but whatever light appeared there was made entirely of his sorrow.

“Qi Lu also said, maybe precisely because they had been crushed down, they couldn’t stop fantasizing about how wonderful it would be to become the powerful ones themselves. He wasn’t wrong about that either.”

Master Li took a sip of wine. A trail of fire seemed to pass through his chest and belly.

Strong wine. A grieving heart.

“If given a choice, would you have come anyway?”

He murmured to himself.

“Yes.”

Someone spoke from behind him. Yet Master Li seemed not in the least startled. He stayed crouched where he was, not even turning his head.

Because the words “if given a choice” had not been directed at the bones beneath the grave.

The one who answered was the Holy Teacher.

He wore a long robe and walked toward Master Li with an unhurried pace.

“You ask whether we would come again. But have you asked yourself—if you were given another chance to choose, would you come?”

Master Li rose. He regarded the man wrapped in his long robes, and between his brows was something faintly contemptuous.

Before Master Li could speak, the Holy Teacher continued walking and speaking. “Have you ever thought about why it was you who was sent to hunt us down? Without question, you were chosen because you have the ability. But you must be someone who has ability without standing.”

He looked directly into Master Li’s eyes. “In this age—even if you live your life hiding and fleeing—can you still feel the kind of joy you once knew?”

He raised his chin slightly. “Freedom is the ultimate pursuit.”

Master Li smiled. “So you are still a group of people who think themselves visionaries—the kind who show others the way, I suppose.”

Faced with Master Li’s mockery, the Holy Teacher showed not the slightest irritation. Instead, he looked at Master Li with an expression of pity.

He said, “The human longing for freedom knows no limit. Do you know what the most shameless kind of freedom is?”

Master Li gave no answer. He simply watched.

The Holy Teacher continued, “The most shameless freedom is freedom without any floor beneath it—freedom to spend money, freedom to indulge, freedom to do good, and yes, freedom to kill, freedom to commit any evil one desires.”

He looked at Master Li. “Don’t lecture me with great moral principles—I myself already said it’s shameless and without limits. Do I need you to tell me that? I am simply informing you: that kind of freedom sounds horrifying to hear—but it is… very… enjoyable.”

He raised a finger and pointed at Master Li. “You, hiding and on the run—and yet you still find joy, don’t you?”

Master Li said, “You are not wrong. Freedom to kill is also a kind of freedom. So you can surely understand my desire to freely kill every last one of you.”

The Holy Teacher pointed to the grave. “You’re already doing it.”

Master Li said, “Not freely enough yet.”

The Holy Teacher said nothing more. He turned and began walking away, speaking as he went. “If you turn and leave now, we can have something resembling mutual freedom for quite a long stretch of time. If you choose not to leave—the chance I have given you will have been given. Consider it my return for you burying him and coming to burn paper offerings.”

Master Li did not move. He looked around, saw a chair nearby, pulled it over, and sat down before the grave.

The Holy Teacher glanced back, shook his head, and sighed. “You chose wrong.”

He kept walking forward. Outside the courtyard walls, a large number of Yong Province Army soldiers began pouring through the gates.

He had anticipated that Master Li would come here looking for clues.

As he reached the entrance of the estate, he suddenly stopped and looked back again toward Master Li.

That man—utterly still, seated quietly in the chair, drinking his wine, waiting as those Yong Province Army soldiers closed in around him.

“Wait!”

The Holy Teacher suddenly called out.

He turned and walked back in long strides to stand before Master Li, looking at the calm, unchanged expression on his face. “I see now. You came here to seek death.”

Master Li did not answer. He finished the last sip of his wine.

The Holy Teacher was silent for a very long time. Then he raised his hand. “Stand down.”

The Yong Province Army soldiers who had already closed in withdrew, receding like a tide retreating from shore, and quickly cleared the courtyard.

Such a vast space—now only two people remained. The emptiness felt immense.

“I concealed soldiers in ambush here. With your ability, you could not possibly have failed to detect them. And yet you did not leave—nor did you make a move against me.”

The Holy Teacher asked, “Why do you seek death?”

Master Li said, “I was merely posturing. Can you not tell?”

The Holy Teacher was silent.

After a very long silence, the Holy Teacher looked at Master Li and said, “Go back and recover from your injuries. When you have healed, come find me by the Eastern Sea. There is a mountain there called Tai Mountain—it resembles our Mount Tai remarkably closely.”

Having said those words, the Holy Teacher turned and strode away.

Master Li sat there watching the man’s retreating figure, and was silent for a very long time.

Then, suddenly, he wept. He buried his face in his hands and wept with a grief he had never allowed himself before—a raw, tearing, desperate kind of crying that shook through him completely.

Outside the courtyard wall, the Holy Teacher had been standing there, still wavering on whether he should regret his decision. When he heard that weeping, he stood completely still.

For reasons he could not name, two silent lines of tears traced their way down his face.

He turned to glance at Yu Jiuling, who had been bound and was sitting nearby, and asked in a flat, detached tone, “Who are you to him? Why did you dare to come after us alone?”

Yu Jiuling only looked back at him, not a trace of fear in his eyes.

“So even he has not managed it—to leave no trace in this world…”

The Holy Teacher murmured this to himself, then gave a small wave of his hand. “Release him. He is a minor figure. Not worth killing.”

His men untied Yu Jiuling. Without sparing the Holy Teacher more than a glance, Yu Jiuling turned and ran straight into the courtyard.

He ran without stopping until he reached Master Li, and seeing him sitting there, Yu Jiuling dropped to his knees before him with a heavy thud.

“Master, you were wrong.”

Master Li looked at the person before him. Suddenly, guilt surged through him.

Yu Jiuling had taken him as a master—a master who was like a father. Yet in truth, Master Li had never felt that deep of a connection toward Yu Jiuling.

“Master, you shouldn’t do this. If you feel that living is too hard, then walk away—but don’t die.”

“Master, I know you don’t want to talk right now—but I must say this. Dying on your own doesn’t solve anything. It only means you can’t see it anymore.”

“Master, how many times have you wanted to just… let it all go and be done with it? This is the first time… right?”

Yu Jiuling lifted his eyes to look at Master Li. “Before I met the Lord and the others, I had dozens—maybe hundreds—of times like this.”

“I used to think, if I just couldn’t see anything anymore, that would be fine. Everyone else, everything else—who cares. Close my eyes, and be at peace at last.”

Tears were circling in Yu Jiuling’s eyes.

“But Master—if I had closed my eyes forever, I would no longer be able to see. The demons who once destroyed me would still be laughing. They would still be saying: look at this poor wretch—he covered his ears and stole the bell, and thought he was happy.”

Those words made something shift violently in Master Li’s eyes.

He looked at Yu Jiuling, and after a long silence said, “You are also my master.”

He stood up and helped Yu Jiuling to his feet. “Go back. Tell Li Chi—I have gone to that Tai Mountain, to wait for someone.”

—