Xiao Nanhui had once heard people speak of a folk performance that was very popular throughout the southeastern Hua Prefecture — they said the performers could change three or four different expressions in the blink of an eye on stage, and it was a marvelous thing to see.

She had long wanted to see it for herself, but since Hua Prefecture had always been peaceful, she had never had occasion to go.

Yet what she was witnessing before her eyes now made her feel she no longer needed to go to all the trouble of making the trip to Hua Prefecture.

Look at those young men and women — who just a moment ago had been devout and reverent in expression — now transformed in this instant into killers with weapons in hand and blank eyes. She estimated there was no face-changing performance anywhere that could match the speed of what was happening before her now.

Ding Weixiang looked around and asked offhandedly:

“Which side are you taking?”

Xiao Nanhui glanced at the old woman to her right, then glanced at the row of young killers with fierce expressions to her left, and with great self-awareness moved her feet to the right.

She had barely finished those few steps when the old woman reached behind her back into the bamboo basket, gripped that “walking cane” she had been carrying on her back, and drew it out.

The other end of the “cane” slowly emerged from the basket, and Xiao Nanhui’s eyes went wide.

That was no walking cane at all — it was an enormous sickle. The blade gleamed bright as a new moon on a clear night, and on the back of the blade was a pattern of ancient characters engraved like growth rings, looking extraordinarily sinister.

Recalling the old woman’s earlier remark about “what a large head,” Xiao Nanhui was seized by an involuntary chill.

How many heads had those hands touched, and what had become of those heads?

The steps she had just moved over to the right, she moved right back, and with great dignity patted Ding Weixiang on the shoulder.

“I’m soft-hearted — I really can’t bring myself to mistreat an elder. You take care of it.”

The last syllable had barely left her lips when a familiar sound of air slicing open arose from all four directions — sounding at first like a swarm of bats erupting from within the mountain. Then the hissing silver threads bore down on her, forcing her back several steps, barely catching her balance at the edge of the stone stairs.

Once is unfamiliar, twice becomes familiar, and by the third and fourth time she ceased to find it strange.

She turned to look at Su Wei, thinking to say a few words — but found that he had already moved to stand in an out-of-the-way spot.

“You two handle this — I’ll just watch.”

How sensible.

Xiao Nanhui smiled — and hadn’t finished smiling before she was cut off by a head-on barrage of attacks.

These children’s fighting skills were still somewhat unrefined — not as good as the fighters she had encountered in Huozhou and west of the ranges earlier. But the other side had the advantage of numbers, and this cave was a closed space, leaving little room for evasion or retreat.

An ordinary person would be cut to pieces in no more than three exchanges under such an assault. But how many ordinary people were there to be found in this cave?

Xiao Nanhui met each move as it came and began mentally cataloguing their techniques and footwork.

In previous engagements she had always been too rushed and pressured to calmly study her opponents. Now she had at least half a chance.

Whether it was Pu Huna’s flying threads or the old woman’s sickle — the Shen family’s exclusive fighting method was aimed squarely at the head.

Back in the northern marshes, she had watched the head of the Xiong family head, Xiong Bingnan, be cut off.

Fighting techniques were endlessly varied, and striking vital points was a fundamental principle — the neck and above were all considered vital. Attacking there seemed unremarkable enough. But if every single move was directed at decapitation, that was strange.

And yet connecting this to the entire Shen family’s reverence for the absurd pursuit of immortality of the soul, it was not difficult to understand the reason for it all. Since ancient times, people had believed the soul entered and left through the top of the head, and decapitation was the quickest means of severing a person’s soul from its ties. Wait — that night in the traveling palace, the palace servant she had encountered had felt nothing even when she broke his bones. Only when Ding Weixiang had cut off both hands had the attacks finally stopped. And might the Shen family’s killing method have been honed specifically to deal with enemies of a similar kind?

While she was thinking this through, the flying threads had already woven into a net descending over her, set on pressing her to the ground and dismembering her.

The worst thing about these flying threads was when they formed a formation. Once formed, breaking through was all but impossible.

She dodged left and right, using the dagger in her hand to deflect continuously, but her weapon was too short, leaving her hampered. Before long, her clothes had been torn in several places. Fortunately, this time she had been wiser, and had put on soft armor underneath early on — she had at least not drawn blood.

Seeing her fluid and agile footwork, the young men and women shifted their formation, cutting off her retreat on all sides, attempting to drive her into the dead-end corner of the stone staircase.

Xiao Nanhui’s fighting technique was not necessarily the most refined, but she had fought through countless battles. After deflecting a few attacks, she had already read the other party’s intention, and felt as though she had been transported back to her childhood in the military camp.

She had been a girl then, and built slight on top of that — always surrounded and beaten by that gang of half-grown boys led by Xu Shu.

There was an unspoken rule in a group fight: pick on the softest target. Back then, she was always the one being picked on. Now it was finally her turn to do the picking.

She dodged the fine threads flying straight at her face, twisted her body, planted her feet against the stone wall, and with a burst of force from the soles of her feet, leaped through the air to clear a wave of the flying threads, hurling herself directly toward Shen Linlin standing in the middle by the water pool.

Shen Linlin had been enjoying the luxury of having nothing to do. He clearly hadn’t anticipated the enemy targeting him so quickly, and scrambled to draw his weapon to counter. And this was exactly the moment Xiao Nanhui had been waiting for.

She landed deliberately kicking up stone fragments — debris flying straight at Shen Linlin’s face. In this kind of situation, an experienced fighter who had been through life and death would absolutely not close their eyes to dodge. They would use the weapon in hand to break through this feint.

But Shen Linlin was clearly still inexperienced, and was moreover a child who couldn’t tolerate failure. He furiously raised his sleeve to block — and in that one opening, he felt his wrist go numb, and turning around, found his own whip already in that woman’s hand.

“What are you staring at? Yes, I’m taking it.”

Xiao Nanhui landed a solid punch squarely in his face, and Shen Linlin fell over backward like a plank.

With this whip in hand, she instantly felt the space around her ease considerably. Shen Linlin’s whip had evidently been tanned with some secret method using animal hide — it could withstand those seemingly indestructible flying threads. In an instant she felt her hands and feet had room to breathe. The whip coiled to the left to catch an arm, wrapped to the right to snare a leg, targeting specifically the weak spots in the footwork of these young killers, putting one down per hit.

Over on the other side, Ding Weixiang had also gained the upper hand and had cornered the old woman. The old woman’s movements were panicked, yet her expression showed no fear — the ruthlessness and killing intent in her techniques was fierce and richly plentiful. Taking advantage of the gap between exchanges, she sent a significant look toward Shen Yangyang by the black pool. Shen Yangyang finally moved away from the coffin, then drew a dagger, sliced open her palm, and smeared the blood across the bell at her waist.

Accompanied by an unbroken, continuous ringing of the bell, countless hair-thin, soft shadows surged from the outline of the stone wall — as though darkness had grown tendrils, spreading quickly outward in all directions, moving toward Xiao Nanhui and the others.

Xiao Nanhui coiled her whip around the nearest brazier and hurled it. Burning oil fell and the sparks erupted on the ground. In the light she caught a clear view of those “black hairs'” true nature.

They were black snakes — pointed heads, soft-raised bellies, and vivid red tails. In the many mountain forests she had passed through, she had encountered all manner of venomous insects, snakes, and rodents, but this particular variety she had never seen or heard of. From the snakes’ bizarre appearance, she knew she absolutely could not let any of them get within arm’s reach.

Rather than dealing with these snakes, it would be better to go straight for Shen Yangyang who was ringing the bell.

But this elder sister was far more difficult to handle than her brother. Lithe and agile, she held the high ground with no effort expended, protected by countless small snakes behind her — completely impossible to approach.

The snake tide was already closing in. Xiao Nanhui flew to Su Wei’s side, and those snakes seemed to be held back by something, not daring to come near. But Shen Yangyang’s bell sound grew ever more urgent. She knew this situation couldn’t hold for long.

She threw an arm around his waist, flung the long whip out with her left hand to loop it around an enormous suspended brazier above, and used the leverage to swing toward the stone wall in front of the black pool.

The old woman in the distance clearly saw her intention. The sickle in her hand shot forward and severed Shen Linlin’s whip in a single stroke. Prematurely losing her anchor, Xiao Nanhui and the man in her arms both went down together, almost tumbling into the snake pit. She hurriedly scrambled up and kicked over a nearby lamp stand — using fire to drive back the snakes — but that only bought her half a moment’s breathing room.

She pulled Su Wei back to the stone wall, and only then realized that the stone wall was an enormous stone door. Those small snakes had earlier crept in through the cracks of this stone door.

The stone door was covered in low-relief murals carved into it — worn with age and indistinct from a distance, but with something of a shape still visible up close. She suddenly noticed that at the center of this relief, there was a round, inwardly sunken small hole unlike the rest — and within that hole, visible only faintly, was a sharp protrusion. The more she looked at it, the more familiar it seemed.

She was just leaning in to examine it more closely when the man’s voice suddenly sounded.

“Don’t touch it — it’s poisoned.”

She was taken aback — and before she had time to react, a flash of sleeve passed before her eyes, and she saw his hand pressing firmly into the stone wall.

She was stunned, and a moment later lunged desperately to pull his hand back out. His bleeding fingers slid across her palm, leaving a streak of dark red.

“You — what are you doing?!”

Compared to her, the other party’s expression was disturbingly light and unbothered. He didn’t even pay attention to the wound on his hand — instead, he took her hand and used his sleeve to wipe the bloodstain from her palm.

“I said earlier I had a conjecture I hadn’t yet had a chance to verify. The moment has now presented itself — fitting to stake everything on it.”

The air held a moment of stillness, and then a dull, muffled sound came from deep within the stone wall. The earth shook. The scene before their eyes began to tremble violently.

Xiao Nanhui steadied herself and looked up in disbelief. That enormous stone door was actually, slowly, opening — revealing a pitch-black passageway beyond.

Behind them, Shen Shi’an’s form had toppled into the black pool. A massive blast of heat erupted from the center of the crystal coffin, and shards of stone together with a towering column of fire came rushing at the three of them. Xiao Nanhui and Ding Weixiang had no time to investigate what lay beyond the stone door — barely managing to pull Su Wei along, they tumbled into it.

The fire roared over their heads, surged several zhang into the stone doorway, and finally dissipated, transforming into a column of black smoke. The three of them had practically rolled and scrambled their way into the passage.

In the corridor of stone monument steles behind the Yongye Temple’s side hall, two young novices carrying a large wooden tub — one to the left, one to the right — moved like two crabs tied together, inching their way toward the rear courtyard’s sutra repository.

Bao San was tall, Ping’er was short. The tub couldn’t be held level no matter how they tried, and neither would yield to the other. So they went listing and tilting all the way to the sutra repository, and by the time they stepped through the door, more than half the water in the tub had already sloshed out.

“Master — the water is here!”

The tub landed with a bang. The splashing droplets mixed with muddy spots fell squarely on Hao Bai’s upturned backside.

He was holding half a scroll of some ancient text, using it to fan his medicinal fire brazier. Oblivious to the state of his clothes, he looked up at the sound and pointed toward the far end of the main hall.

“Over there, over there.”

Bao San clearly had no fondness for this self-important physician who kept moaning for meat, and left a few more muddy spots on the other man’s person as he passed, before finally arriving at the back of the hall.

The two set down the tub and stared curiously at the man bound to the pillar, when Yikong suddenly appeared behind them. The demon-subduing pestle in his hand came down hard on both novices’ bald heads.

“Sloppy, dawdling, and now standing around staring.” He paused, then asked in an even tone: “Has Zhu Yu come back?”

Bao San and Ping’er shook their heads, then felt the top of their heads throbbing painfully and couldn’t help lifting their hands to rub.

“Master, why won’t you let us go down the mountain to look? Everyone’s just sitting idle in the main hall anyway—”

Yikong reached out and rubbed both their bald heads.

“He probably forgot to add oil and the lamp went out on his way back, so he’s moving slowly in the dark. If you go looking for him, he’ll feel he’s lost face. Back to the main hall — tell everyone they can sleep now.”

The two novices acknowledged this and went off jostling each other out the door.

Yikong turned to look at the person bound to the pillar, then bowed his head and recited a Buddhist formula, followed by several words of apology. He got up, picked up the wooden tub, and emptied the entire contents over Lu Songping.

The ice-cold well water drenched him from head to foot. Lu Songping gasped sharply, and snapped his eyes open.

Yikong hastily kicked the wooden tub into a corner, his face all concerned attention — though his feet stayed where they were and did not step forward.

“Benefactor Lu has finally woken — this little monk was so worried.”

Lu Songping caught his breath for a moment. His empty gaze gradually focused on the large face of the monk before him.

“Yikong, the dharma master? Is this the Yongye Temple?”

“Awake?” Hao Bai at the doorway heard the movement and came quickly over. He glanced at the thoroughly soaked Lu Songping, and his tone carried an unintentional air of gloating. “Lu Songping — you’ve finally had your day. Back when I was fleeing to the An’dao Monastery in Wancheng with Su Pingchuan and Wu Xiaoliu, you sent people to harass me every few days, as if you were afraid others wouldn’t know you were a prefectural governor — pulling rank with that feather in your cap—”

“Is the old Qu Scholar perhaps suffering from excessive heat from his vegetarian meals?” Lu Songping glanced at Hao Bai, his tone carrying a naturally effortless sharpness. “Besides — His Majesty summoned you to the capital city and you still took over half a month to get there. Even if you were sent to sweep the latrines at Wangchen Tower as punishment, you’d have to accept it.”

Hao Bai’s dark face went from black to red to green with fury. It was a while before it returned to its normal color. He waved a hand at Yikong.

“That’s definitely the same rotten scoundrel.”

Yikong stepped forward at last and began loosening the coarse hemp rope wound with prayer flags from Lu Songping’s body, speaking all the while without pause.

“Does Benefactor Lu still remember what happened before?”

Lu Songping was silent for a moment, quickly recalling what had happened months ago.

“The day of the spring hunt — I was carrying out His Majesty’s orders to intercept Miss Xiao on a side road, and then because of the night bats we split into three groups to track the bat swarms. The group I followed flew southeast into a deep mountain. I went after them and discovered a subterranean cave embedded within a deep mountain gorge. Every last bat disappeared into it. I dismounted and went in to investigate. And then—”

Lu Songping suddenly stopped at this point. Hao Bai was impatient and kept pressing.

“And then? And then what?”

Lu Songping did not continue, but fell into a long, contemplative silence.

After a long while, he slowly stood, and looked at Yikong.

“What month is it now?”

“The middle of the seventh month.”

“Is His Majesty in the capital?”

“He is not.”

“After the spring hunt—” He paused here, which was rare for him. “Is Miss Xiao well?”

Hao Bai instantly went quiet. Yikong turned and showed only his back.

“This little monk lives buried in these deep mountains, far from any news. If Benefactor Lu wants to hear a story, he should go down the mountain and find a teahouse.”

“So be it. There is urgent business — I must take my leave and settle things first. We’ll speak another day.”

With that, Lu Songping truly lifted his foot to walk. But the very next instant Yikong suddenly spoke again.

“Benefactor Lu may wish to know — when you arrived, it was a novice of our temple who went to the foot of the mountain to receive you. And he has yet to return.”

Lu Songping’s footstep paused. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of that oversized wooden tub in the corner.

Over there, Yikong’s voice continued at its unhurried pace, carrying for some inexplicable reason an air that sounded vaguely ominous.

“My disciple is most skilled at growing vegetables. The cabbages he grows are a vivid green, the radishes white and plump—”

Lu Songping said nothing. With a sharp ‘shk’ he drew his sword.

Hao Bai gave a frightened shudder, but the other party only held the blade up to the candlelight and examined the bloodstains on it with care, then sheathed it again.

“The blood on the blade is the same as the blood on my body — both coagulated. It should be from the bats I cut down in that cave. Your temple’s person should be unharmed.”

Yikong finally turned around again, and with an amicable manner, stepped aside to clear the way.

“In that case — please, as you go down the mountain, tell him to come rolling back before me at once.”

“Of course.” Lu Songping paused and suddenly thought of something. “How did I get here?”

The young novice’s body lay motionless among the sedge grass in front of the stone staircase.

After a long while, a small insect drinking the dew flew past, and he truly couldn’t hold back any longer — and sneezed.

All around was still utterly quiet. After a moment he finally trembled open his eyes to look around.

Zou Sifang’s corpse still lay face-down in the same place. The horse cart stood quietly beneath the mountain gate. The sway-backed old horse was dozing on its front hooves. And on the cart behind it, the lid of the wooden coffin nailed together from boards had shattered into pieces scattered to one side, the coffin empty within.

Speaking of the abbot — young in years yet broad and deep in his learning. Over these years he had passed down many a scripture and dharma teaching, but none of it had been of half as much use as this one technique: “Playing Dead to Stay Alive.”

He rubbed the large lump that had risen on the back of his skull from knocking against the stone, and was just about to stand up out of the grass — when suddenly a figure appeared on the mountain path, footsteps swift, and in a blink was nearly upon him.

Zhu Yu’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat close to tears.

Hadn’t you already left? How are you back again?

He didn’t dare look anymore, and hurriedly lay back down in his previous position. In the urgency of lying down, the lump that had just swollen up was bumped again. The pain made him wince and grimace, nearly losing control of his expression.

The footsteps drew closer. The man in his full suit of black armor flew past his side, heading straight for the horse cart.

“Truly a one-piece heritage with that vengeful teacher of yours.” The other party’s voice drifted lightly down, seeming to carry a slight nasal quality. “There are many mosquitoes in the grass — find somewhere else to lie.”

Zhu Yu opened his mouth, slightly stunned.

This person seemed like a different one from the one he had just seen — and yet clearly was the same person.

While he stood there dazed, Lu Songping had already checked over Zou Sifang’s body, then untied the old horse from the cart, took the reins in hand, put a foot on the cart board, and swung up onto the horse in one motion.

“When you’ve finished lying there, hurry back to the temple. Your master is waiting for you to tend the vegetables.”

The sound of hoofbeats faded into the distance. Zhu Yu still sat in the grass, and after a long moment finally patted the dust off himself and stood up.

His head was spinning from the chain of events tonight. He rubbed his head as he walked up the mountain.

He didn’t know how long he walked before arriving once more at the temple gate. In the night, a most familiar silhouette stood there, as though waiting for him to return.

“Master! I’m so glad to see you—”

He called out happily and took two steps at a run, aching to pour out everything — how he had run into danger, and how he had cleverly escaped — all at once.

But he’d barely gotten a few words out before he spotted the white-robed physician standing not far behind Yikong with a large pack on his back. The rest of the words he’d been about to say went back down his throat.

Why had this person come out? Could it be he’d had enough and was finally leaving?

Zhu Yu felt a flicker of cheer — but then he noticed that Yikong too had a simple travel bundle in hand.

As far back as he could remember after being taken in by the temple, the abbot had never once walked out of the Yongye Temple.

A trace of confusion passed through the small novice’s eyes.

“Master — are you going on a long journey?”

Yikong smiled and nodded.

“Go bring out the fastest horse we have in the temple.”

The confusion in Zhu Yu’s eyes deepened.

“Master — the fastest we have in the temple, the fastest, is the oxcart Old Lin uses to deliver vegetables.”

From behind, Hao Bai broke into laughter. Yikong retracted his smile.

“Benefactor Hao had better laugh while he still has the chance. The road ahead is full of hardship and danger. I fear there will be little room for such ease again.”