Ever since learning of this thing called the martial world last year, Qiqian’er had been holding in a bellyful of things she wanted to say. It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular—she wanted to question everyone present.

Whenever it came to reasoning things out, there was always an opening line. Someone like Qiqian’er, when she and the old ladies wanted to chat with someone, would generally start with their appearance.

An old women’s custom—unchanged for tens of thousands of years.

Reaching out to take the death-duel notice Guan Zhuping had written, Qiqian’er closed it up and set it aside without rising. Seeing Guan Zhuping’s puzzlement, she knelt there staring at his padded robe and asked: “Say, old brother, where’d you buy this cloth?”

Guan Zhuping had just been about to focus his mind and reach for his silver rifle, but at this he froze.

He looked down at his own robe—this garment had been offered up by disciples below him some time ago. He was focused on martial arts and didn’t fuss over such details, and this time he’d left in a hurry, bringing only this one garment when he left Yuegong Mountain.

He pondered for a long while without understanding what Qiqian’er was getting at. His mind in disarray, he wanted to sort it out, so he asked Qiqian’er in return: “What does Madam Yushu mean by this?”

Old ladies quarreling—praise first, then insult.

This? Was this praising him?

Guan Zhuping, well-traveled and experienced, generally disliked flattery. But this was Madam Yushu—did she also know of his reputation? Did she admire those bygone days of his glory in the martial world?

The two figures on the platform hadn’t moved, yet every word they spoke carried, without missing a syllable, to everyone’s ears around them.

And so the whole venue was filled with puzzled faces—only Xie Liuhao, holding his gong, thought to himself: ancestors, read the room. She’s starting again. Won’t even take an afternoon before she’s dug out how many grains of rice are in this old man’s mouse hole.

He looked at Guan Zhuping with sympathy, sniffled, and grabbed another handful of beans.

Guan Zhuping thought seriously for a moment, then finally, with the air of a master, said: “All mere rumors of the martial world, an undeserved reputation. Madam Yushu flatters me.”

Hearing this, Qiqian’er slapped her leg and said with certainty: “I knew it, definitely a celebrity!”

Before, afraid of giving herself away, she hadn’t dared say much during the fight with Pang Tu. But now that no one could recognize her voice, if she didn’t speak her mind freely, she wouldn’t deserve her surname Huo.

Guan Zhuping had fought countless battles in his life; how many famous figures of the martial world had fallen beneath his silver rifle? Before facing off, there was usually plenty of talk exchanged—but never like this.

He was pleased, he had to admit—yet completely baffled by Madam Yushu’s attitude.

And so he asked further: “But what does Madam Yushu wish to say?”

Qiqian’er didn’t take up his question, but continued: “Old brother, how old are you this year?”

Guan Zhuping raised his neck slightly: “This old one is eighty-four.”

Hearing this, Qiqian’er clicked her tongue several times, then continued: “How many children in your family?”

Guan Zhuping, somewhat angered, said coldly with brows drawn: “This old one devoted his whole life to martial arts and never married!”

This time Qiqian’er didn’t click her tongue. She nodded, her tone actually sounding gratified: “Ah, is that so! Is that so! No wonder, I knew it! This is good—this is as it should be.”

Guan Zhuping, enraged, reached for his rifle staff and shouted: “If you want to fight, then fight! Why all this nonsense?”

Qiqian’er instantly raised her voice: “Fight? Of course we’ll fight! But don’t we need to get some things straight first? Say, old brother, have all your back teeth fallen out? At your age, using so much strength—how come you’ve been drinking only noodle broth these past few meals…?”

Hm? Something was off about that.

Everyone around, Guan Zhuping included, was stunned. Could it be that Madam Yushu had someone tailing him?

She said noodle broth? What did that mean? She’d tracked his every move and even poisoned him on top of it? That couldn’t be—even if she’d played some trick, she wouldn’t spell it out so plainly in front of everyone.

Guan Zhuping’s heart chilled—first anger, then shock. He immediately set down his rifle staff, focused his energy, and circulated his qi—yet nothing was wrong at all?

And so he slowly opened his eyes and said coldly, looking at Qiqian’er: “However unworthy Baiquan Mountain may be, it is still a renowned mountain under the Son of Heaven’s own feet, and has produced countless heroes throughout the ages! You, you petty person, dare poison this old one? Truly despicable, truly the conduct of a petty person. Come then, if you have the nerve, fight me here on this platform…”

Qiqian’er hurriedly interrupted: “Wait, wait! Old brother, what are you talking about? Poison?”

“Still won’t admit it!!”

Guan Zhuping’s blood surged in his chest, and he raised his rifle in three connected strikes like a poison dragon bursting from the sea. Qiqian’er raised her small gold maces and blocked all three with three clangs. Guan Zhuping, worn from his travels and weakened with age, refused to show weakness before the fight even began—thinking himself poisoned, he’d struck out in a fit of anger, only to be easily blocked and have his rifle-head pressed to the ground.

Qiqian’er, somewhat annoyed, asked loudly: “Why are you as pathetic as your disciple? Not only do you not follow the rules, you all love pulling sneak attacks! Admit what? There’s nothing to admit!”

The fight had finally begun, and everyone on the viewing stands leapt to their feet. Seeing Guan Zhuping’s famous three strikes, they were inwardly impressed—old as he was past eighty, his hands and feet were still nimble, truly as fierce as the legends described. Yet in the blink of an eye, he’d been easily overpowered by Madam Yushu?

Those three blocking movements had been executed with skill and grace, each move calculated precisely—each of Guan Zhuping’s strikes was only half-completed before she struck it aside and neutralized the attack. He was forced into a second strike, which was likewise easily dissolved.

No, that couldn’t be right—that was the veteran recluse Guan Zhuping!

The crowd, seeing Guan Zhuping standing still, assumed it was merely a verbal dispute, not knowing that Guan Zhuping was secretly circulating his qi—his silver rifle, pinned to the ground, hadn’t budged an inch.

They’d waited two days for this? After those three lightning strikes passed, the crowd felt unsatisfied, as if stifled, and began to wonder—could Madam Yushu really have poisoned Guan Zhuping?

Guan Zhuping’s face changed drastically. Finally, gripping his rifle in one hand and clutching his chest with the other, he said furiously: “You despicable, poisonous woman, you really did poison this old one!”

Wrongly accused!

How could Qiqian’er accept such a charge? She raised her gold mace, pointed it at the Jiu Si Tang officials, and said loudly: “You’re senile! With all these officials sitting right here, I poisoned you? What nonsense are you spouting!”

Xie Wuhao, who’d been chewing his brother’s beans, suddenly choked, but didn’t dare cough, his face flushing red from holding it in.

Officials? Who? Who were officials?

Guan Zhuping said coldly and resolutely: “No poison? Then how does a petty person like you know this old one’s physical condition, and how do you know what he’s been drinking these past few days? Under bright heaven, in full view of everyone, you—you dare deny it? Hmph! With so many people here, I doubt you can wriggle out of this! Baiquan Mountain—so this is all it amounts to!”

Qiqian’er was so furious she nearly fell backward. She raised her small gold mace, pointed it at Guan Zhuping, and began cursing: “You old man, you’ve lived this long for nothing, talking such nonsense! You’re eighty-four, eighty-four! At your age how many back teeth could you possibly have left? If you had a full set of teeth, would you be drinking noodle broth every day?”

Guan Zhuping spat and cursed: “Still arguing! Even if this old one lost two teeth from excess heat, that’s this old one’s private business—how would you know that? And you still say you didn’t spy on me or poison me?”

Qiqian’er took a deep breath, bounced back a step, and argued right back: “Bah! You senile old fool, your teeth fell out and you’re already dribbling noodle broth—look at yourself! The rice bits from the noodle broth you drank yesterday and the day before are still on your lapel! I spied on you my foot! What nonsense is this old man spouting?”

Silence, silence, silence…

Countless mouthfuls of tea sprayed out, countless eyeballs nearly popped out…

The silver rifle in Guan Zhuping’s hand clattered to the ground. He slowly lowered his head to look at his own chest and lapel.

Qiqian’er passed the gold mace in her right hand to her left, and kindly pointed, saying: “There! There… look, the noodle bits are still there… oh dear, poor thing… eighty-four years old, and dribbling soup without even knowing it? Tsk tsk tsk…”

Guan Zhuping looked at his own lapel, and with trembling hands picked off a tiny bit of dried noodle from the front.

A lifetime of glory, all gone—might as well die right here!

Yet Qiqian’er still wouldn’t let it go, kindly pointing out more: “There, there… under your armpit, old brother, there’s another spot over there—ah yes, this one, this dribble’s in an out-of-the-way spot, been there half a month at least, hasn’t it?”

Unfortunately, this kindness went unappreciated—Guan Zhuping spat out a mouthful of blood, startling Qiqian’er so much she leapt backward onto the flagpole.

She shouted: “Uh-oh, not good—this old man’s so old, with no children to care for him, is there something wrong inside him? Why’s he spitting blood out of nowhere?”

Hearing this, Guan Zhuping—pfft—spat out another mouthful of blood.

Pei Daohai cried out in anguish: “Grand-master!” With that, he threw aside what he was holding and rushed onto the platform, catching the swaying Guan Zhuping.

Throwing caution to the wind, he cursed loudly at Qiqian’er: “Despicable and shameless!”

Could Qiqian’er take this lying down? She leapt down from the flagpole, staying well clear of the blood-flecked ground, and retorted immediately: “You child, what nonsense are you spouting? How am I despicable and shameless?”

Pei Daohai, furious to the point of bulging veins, roared: “If you have the guts, fight my grand-master with real blades and spears—how could you use such underhanded schemes to anger my grand-master into vomiting blood! You’re despicable, you’re shameless! Baiquan Mountain, I spit on you! Ptooey! Ptooey!”

In an instant, everything around them descended into chaos. Qiqian’er was the figurehead of Baiquan Mountain—to spit at her was to disgrace everyone there. Today, even at the cost of their lives, they’d hack that scoundrel on the platform into eight pieces; otherwise, tomorrow anyone, even some nobody’s grandson, could spit on them in turn.

This disgrace—Baiquan Mountain could not accept it!

Since Baiquan Mountain wouldn’t accept it, Qiqian’er certainly wouldn’t swallow this insult either. She’d wanted to spit back, but then thought—wait, no! With this mask on, spitting outward would only disgust herself.

And so, Madam Yushu swallowed her saliva, stood well back, and retorted: “Talking nonsense—how is this my doing? Clearly it’s you unworthy descendants who angered your grandfather into vomiting blood! Under bright heaven, in broad daylight, you dare spout such nonsense and slander me!”

Pei Daohai was about to retort sharply, but his grand-master pulled him back.

Guan Zhuping slowly drew breath, steadied his stance, and reaching out to grab his silver rifle again, said to Qiqian’er: “Madam Yushu, this is a duel between the two of us. He’s young, doesn’t understand—don’t hold it against him.”

He knew he would surely die today; he only feared his grand-disciple, alone, wouldn’t be able to leave this poisonous woman’s territory with his body.

Not hold it against him? No chance!

Qiqian’er considered losing an argument the single greatest disgrace in the world—even if she lost the duel on the platform today, losing an argument would torment her sleepless for half a month, and she’d slap herself silly for the rest of her life thinking back on it—why was she so tongue-tied? She should have said this, countered with that…

She said furiously: “That’s not how it is! Come now, come now! So many people here, they can all testify! How is your family so unreasonable? One moment I’m spying on you, the next I’m poisoning you? Now that you know I’ve been wronged, you say I angered you into vomiting blood! Hah, is all the reasoning in this world your Yuegong Mountain’s reasoning? Your unworthy descendants angered you into vomiting blood, and somehow that becomes my fault?”

The onlookers fell silent, and regardless of affiliation, regardless of righteous or underworld factions, all thought the same thing: it really was you who angered him!

Guan Zhuping endured as much as he could, but finally couldn’t hold back: “This old one can’t out-argue you—whatever you say goes! This old one has only this one life left… here! Take it, do as you will! You say what should be done with this old one—your territory, your call, entirely your word!”

Qiqian’er exploded with anger, pointing at Guan Zhuping and cursing: “You old man, why are you so unreasonable? Have you lived to the age of a dog, biting whoever you see?”

A buzz of murmuring rippled through the crowd at once. Qiqian’er, feeling stifled, swung her gold mace down hard at the ground! A boom rang out, and one corner of the four-cornered dueling platform was gone.

Well, that shut everyone up immediately!

And this still wasn’t letting people speak the truth?

Guan Zhuping’s eyes swam with golden stars from rage, and he was about to vomit blood again, when from a viewing stand on the right, someone intoned a Buddhist chant: “Amitabha, this is too much, benefactress. Master Guan’s blood and qi are already disturbed—do not anger him further.”

This Buddhist chant carried a childlike, milk-toothed voice. Everyone, startled, turned to look, and saw the curtain of that viewing stand drawn open, revealing among a dozen elderly monks a small monk sitting composed in their midst.

Truly a small monk—at most eleven or twelve years old.

Xie Wuhao, Jiu Si Tang’s Enforcement Commander, was startled at the sight of the newcomer. He stood and called out to those beside him: “Master Sik’u of Huguo Temple has arrived! Someone, invite the Master to sit over here.”

The martial-world crowd murmured among themselves, their words filled with chanting and reverence, all tinged with worship.

Qiqian’er, curious, examined him closely—the small monk seated in the middle, delicate and jade-carved in appearance, wearing a large red kasaya. Such an adorable child—she immediately fell into her usual affliction of wanting a son of her own.

She didn’t know what Huguo Temple represented, nor did she understand how deep the waters of the martial world ran, so she smiled and said to the pale, fair-skinned little monk: “Say, little monk, monastics shouldn’t lie—how did this old man, angered into vomiting blood by his unworthy descendants, become my fault? You’re laughing, but you don’t understand the affairs of this world—don’t talk nonsense, or I’ll…”

She’d been about to say something like “you talk nonsense, and this old woman will pull down your pants and spank you,” typical nagging talk, but then, seeing the numbers and standing of those around him, and knowing a fight would be troublesome and an argument with so many mouths would surely put her at a disadvantage, she changed the subject, pointing her gold mace and saying: “Little monk, come down here! Let me reason this out with you!”

Disaster! Baiquan Mountain challenging Huguo Temple right at its own door?

The atmosphere around them instantly turned oppressive—not even a cough was heard, and plenty of people’s legs went weak with fear.

Qiqian’er stood holding her gold mace, unmoving. The little monk was quiet for a moment, then slowly stood up.

Those around him showed startled faces, and someone gently advised: “Abbot, observing this woman’s strange and unpredictable conduct, you mustn’t take such a risk lightly—let this humble monk go down and meet her instead.”

Qiqian’er blinked in confusion, thinking: these monks aren’t chanting sutras—what, are they going to fight me too?

But the little monk calmly chanted: “Amitabha, brothers, do not worry. I observe that this female bodhisattva is merely sharp-tongued, yet has never taken advantage of anyone’s misfortune—so there’s no danger. Now that I no longer have my master’s protection, this little monk must grow up sometime.”

With that, the little monk’s form shifted slightly, and he leapt down steadily from the colorful stand. Wearing an enormous kasaya, he descended like a red cloud settling, not raising a single speck of dust upon landing.

Another round of cheers rose from the crowd, but Qiqian’er let out a surprised “eh.” Since entering this wretched martial world, she’d considered herself to have seen some masters, but the feeling this little monk gave off was completely different from those others.

How to put it—this little monk, so young, yet carried a genuine aura of authority.

The little monk’s expression was solemn, walking as if treading upon a lotus platform, step by step onto the dueling stage. As he drew near, Qiqian’er looked more closely, and inwardly cheered even louder.

How to describe it—in two lifetimes she’d never seen anyone else born with such a Buddha-like air. Truly, you could set him down anywhere without even building a temple, and incense money would pour in by the basketful immediately.

The little monk really was extraordinarily good-looking. Small as he was, his composure was so steady, and clean—just one glance at Qiqian’er, and he’d completely won over her heart, liver, and every organ in her body. This child’s skin was so fair, his eyes so bright and clear, his nose so delicately shaped, his mouth so proper—proper to the point that, apart from chanting sutras, it seemed unfit for speaking any other words.

Oh? Was the birthmark on this child’s forehead really a three-petaled lotus?

Sik’u, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under her gaze, pressed his palms together and bowed: “Greetings, female bodhisattva.”

Someone this pure greeting her so politely—Qiqian’er hurriedly returned the bow: “Good, good, good, tsk, little monk, you’re so good-looking, why’d you become a monk? Such a good child, and your parents were willing to let you go? How did those monks trick you into the temple… how old are you this year? Is that lotus on your forehead a birthmark? Truly destined for Buddhism…”

Qiqian’er tossed out a whole pile of questions, and poor little Sik’u—since he could remember, he’d lived in the temple, chanting sutras as soon as he could speak, copying scriptures alongside his master as soon as he could hold a brush. He understood these words literally, but their meaning eluded him.

Guan Zhuping, standing to the side, grew angry again and cursed at Qiqian’er: “You long-tongued woman, show some respect—shut your mouth! You mustn’t be rude to the Master.”

Qiqian’er, disliking him, was about to turn and unleash a long string of curses, but heard the little monk say: “But what reasoning does the female bodhisattva wish to discuss, calling this little monk down here?”

Qiqian’er clapped her hands: “Right, right, I called you down to be a witness. Come, come, everyone sit down, and I’ll reason this out properly with you all.”

A witness?

The monks looked at each other, and together let out a breath of relief.

Having said this, Qiqian’er reached out as if leading her own child, taking the little monk’s hand.

Leading him toward the middle, Qiqian’er also unceremoniously pointed and instructed the Jiu Si Tang commanders to assign people to help.

“That tall one over there, bring the cushion from under your seat for the little monk to sit on. The little monk is too pure a person—it’s not fitting for him to sit here, this place is covered in blood, inauspicious. He’s a monastic, don’t let this place sully him.”

At this, Guan Zhuping spat up two more mouthfuls of blood—she was disparaging him again. Guan Zhuping patted his chest and endured it—if he could drag Baiquan Mountain into opposition with Huguo Temple, he’d consider it worth dying for.

But the Huguo Temple monks were satisfied—their little abbot truly was a Buddha-child sent down to earth, the purest person in the world. Though they weren’t pleased their abbot’s hand was being held, hearing this benefactress call him “old brother” one moment and “you child” the next, they figured she must have some age to her, and so they could tolerate it.

Poor Xie Wuhao, the Northern Enforcement Commander, was treated like a servant boy, personally carrying the cushion up to the platform. He didn’t even notice his younger brother had already buried his head in the gong.

Before long, the platform was arranged in a triangle—Huguo Temple’s Master Sik’u seated on a satin cushion with vegetarian pastries set beside him, Jiu Si Tang’s Commander Xie Liuhao standing behind him, and Guan Zhuping, clutching his chest, supported into a sitting position by his grand-disciple, slowly circulating his qi to heal himself.

The onlookers all thought: years of roaming the martial world, they’d seen many strange things, but nothing as bizarre as today.

Once Qiqian’er sat down, Sik’u asked her: “What reasoning does the female bodhisattva wish to clarify?”

Qiqian’er thought for a moment, then said to Sik’u: “Little monk, didn’t you all just say I angered this old man into vomiting blood?”

Master Sik’u said nothing, only chanted a Buddhist verse.

Qiqian’er slapped her knee: “I’ve been wronged! Don’t take my word for it—look at his robe!”

Everyone turned together to look at Guan Zhuping’s robe. Guan Zhuping, mortified, immediately covered the soiled front of his chest with his hand, glaring at Qiqian’er, another wave of nausea rising in his chest.

Qiqian’er snorted at him, turned to Sik’u and said: “I say it’s his unworthy descendants who angered him, and I’m not making it up—look at this robe of his, this is the kind of coarse cloth you can buy up north for seven hundred iron coins, understand?”

Hm? Not understand! Everyone shook their heads together.

Qiqian’er said, exasperated: “You’re all such fools.” She pointed at the silver chests outside the sheds: “That silver over there is supposedly tribute money for me, that’s not wrong, is it?”

Everyone nodded together again, utterly unable to fathom what this woman was getting at.

Qiqian’er now grew pleased with herself, and counted off on her fingers for the little monk: “Not to put too fine a point on it, this man is eighty-four, an old man whose teeth are about to fall out entirely—which grandfather at this age would be sent traveling thousands of miles to fight on behalf of his descendants? Not one! Shouldn’t happen!”

How was one supposed to respond to that?

Thinking it over, the crowd realized—that was true! Pang Tu had caused the trouble, why send out an eighty-four-year-old? That really was excessive.

Qiqian’er, not caring who nodded or shook their heads around her, continued: “It’s not that I haven’t seen old men before. Not to mention others, in our old neighborhood there were several old men, none of them even eighty-four yet, retiring from work in their sixties, living as respected elders! Enjoying the blessings by the time they saw their third generation. When a person gets old, having worked hard their whole life and raised a houseful of children, shouldn’t they get to drink what they want, throw the occasional tantrum they please? Am I wrong?”

Qiqian’er clapped her hands, looking around for allies.

Of course it should be so—eighty-four years old, how many people even live to see that age nowadays.

Everyone nodded together.

Having gained support, Qiqian’er pointed again at Guan Zhuping: “This old man is like me—he manages a mountain peak too, called Jiuxiao Peak or something? By rights he shouldn’t have collected any less tribute silver. Tsk, come now, I’m not trying to shame his family’s juniors, but everyone look at this padded robe of his?”

Everyone looked at Guan Zhuping together.

Guan Zhuping had lost all face he had left in this lifetime, all dignity shattered, his mind buzzing, only able to weakly protect his robe.

Qiqian’er wore an expression of complete disdain: “Look at this workmanship, crude stitches and thick thread—clearly made by the lowest-grade seamstress. He’s earned all that silver off his disciples and grand-disciples, and however heartless he is, he’s eighty-four! Eighty-four! How many more days can he even stumble around? An elder going on a long journey—couldn’t they at least outfit him with two presentable outfits? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

To emphasize her point, Qiqian’er clapped her hands several times to show her disgust.

Having finished with the robe, she moved to the shoes: “Everyone look, look at these shoes—an old man with brittle bones, could break something with just one fall at this age, and they send him off with nothing but a pair of thick hemp-soled shoes? Eighty-four! Eighty-four! How many more days can he live?

Your Yuegong Mountain, with its wealth and power spanning centuries—surely not so poor as that? Those soft beef-tendon-soled shoes cost only two or three strings of coin—couldn’t they get the old man two pairs? Even a little filial devotion wouldn’t handle things this way. This is sending him up to fight to the death for the whole mountain—where’s the conscience in that?”

Hearing this, everyone went to look again at Guan Zhuping’s thick-soled cloth boots, worn down on one side—and indeed, it did look rather shabby. And it was true—this old man had carried the banner for Yuegong Mountain for decades; how much would it cost to buy him two comfortable pairs of shoes?

Seeing everyone agreeing with her, Qiqian’er grew even more pleased with herself. She turned and pointed at Guan Zhuping’s neck and fingernails, saying with total disdain: “Come, come, don’t say I’m wronging his family’s children—look at the back of this old gentleman’s neck, three inches of grime, and look at his fingernails, tsk, that dirt under his nails looks like it’s been there since last year.”

At this, Qiqian’er fixed her gaze on Pei Daohai and said: “What? I say you’re unfilial and you still won’t admit it? Well look at that, you’ve even got the coffin ready! Your grandfather is eighty-four! Eighty-four! His life is nearly spent, about to kick the bucket any moment—even an old donkey about to die gets fed well before the end! What, he doesn’t deserve that?

If you were truly filial, the night before, you’d at least boil a pot of hot water and give your grandfather a thorough wash from head to toe, trim his fingernails too—setting off on this journey, shouldn’t he go clean at least? He’s not some wandering ghost, is he? Besides that, if you can’t afford thirteen layers of burial robes, did you even prepare three layers of cloth for your grandfather?”

Martial-world people—wherever they die, that’s where their bones get buried, when would they ever bother with such niceties?

Pei Daohai wanted to retort but found nothing to say.

He hadn’t prepared any of this for his grand-master—he simply hadn’t known to!

Qiqian’er, seeing his shame, snorted coldly: “Your family didn’t take care of your elder properly, sent him out all disheveled to be a laughingstock, and outsiders, out of righteousness, pointed out a few things on the old man’s behalf—wasn’t that for your own good?

You great unfilial thing, struck by lightning you should be! Spent decades of the old man’s blood and sweat money, and can’t even bear to prepare proper burial clothes for him, and you blame me instead?

What, your grandfather got angered into vomiting blood, and that’s my fault? Come now, if you don’t want people pointing out your shortcomings, at least act like a decent human being! Eighty-four! Eighty-four! I’m truly baffled—at a death-duel arena, why’s your family still so long-winded… can’t win the fight, so you come and slander people instead…”

Before Qiqian’er even finished this scolding, Guan Zhuping spat out another mouthful of blood—a big one this time, like rain.

Fortunately Qiqian’er’s skills were good—she darted swiftly away, and even remembered to pull the little monk along with her as she leapt clear.

That movement was quick indeed.

Once she’d steadied herself, seeing Guan Zhuping about to collapse, she still wouldn’t let up, saying to Sik’u as if teaching a child: “Little monk, remember this well—it’s not that I look down on Yuegong Mountain, but a person born into this world, you can be poor, you can be wretched, but filial piety cannot be compromised in the slightest, or sooner or later heaven’s thunder will strike you down. You’ve seen this old man’s fate now, haven’t you?”

Master Sik’u wasn’t listening to a word Qiqian’er said—his mind was entirely filled with that phrase, eighty-four, eighty-four, eighty-four, Amitabha, eighty-four is so pitiful, so miserable.

He’d have his fellow monks prepare a few sets of clean monk’s robes for this poor old gentleman later—even their own monastic shoes, however humble, would be better than what was on his feet now…

Having won the argument, Qiqian’er naturally felt secretly pleased, and finally concluded: “Not to put too fine a point on it, a person must accumulate virtue and do good, must be filial to their parents, must abide by the rules of this world. You see how pitiful this old man is now? Hah! Eighty-four with no one to care for him—this is karma coming due.

Little monk, my words may be unpleasant, but the reasoning is sound. This is retribution coming for him—he himself is a great unfilial one! If he hadn’t been so arrogant and unrestrained in his youth, implicating his parents and relatives, causing their deaths because of him, he’d at least have blood relatives to manage things, and a family grave to be buried in when he died. Well, look at him now, still alive, worse than livestock, having lived to eighty-four without knowing where he went wrong.”

Sik’u, not knowing what came over him today, actually responded: “Female bodhisattva, where did he go wrong?”

Qiqian’er snorted coldly: “The realm has just been settled, the common people are only now finding peace, and he comes out to bring calamity to the martial world, stirring up conflict, harming and killing people—this man is disloyal and inhumane! His parents and relatives lost their lives because of him, and he, the sole surviving heir, lived to eighty-four without a shred of shame, not even managing to continue the family bloodline—this is a great unfilial offender! And in the end, when others entrusted their children to his tutelage, he trained them to become violently murderous—disloyal and unfilial in turn. Wouldn’t you say his heart is thoroughly rotten and black…”

She hadn’t even finished speaking when Guan Zhuping spat out blood three times in rapid succession, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed onto his back.

No one around spoke. After a long while, Sik’u sighed: “Amitabha, female bodhisattva… the old gentleman has passed.”

Qiqian’er said, unconcerned: “Little master, according to Buddhist teaching, where should he start growing cold from? Buddhism says the cold spreads from the head down to the feet—that would be the animal realm! Close enough. Our charity pavilions across hundreds of li around Baiquan Mountain—so many orphans and widows—well, at least we’ve reclaimed one today.”

She slowly released the little monk’s hand, and walked slowly toward the stunned Pei Daohai, saying: “Boy, listen clearly—it wasn’t me who angered him. I merely exposed the truth. He was angered to death by all of you! Yuegong Mountain—I spit on it! What kind of place is that!”

Guan Zhuping lay there, dying with his eyes open in misery. Qiqian’er stepped around his corpse and walked slowly toward Xie Wuhao.

Xie Wuhao, afraid, took two steps back, but heard Madam Yushu say: “Boy, I don’t want the silver chests under that shed—you all can take them away.”

Everyone was astonished, yet too afraid to speak.

They watched as Madam Yushu put away her gold maces, saying with disdain as she did: “Damned martial world, damned feuds and grudges! Every single one of you, born of mother and raised by father, and yet you treat your own lives as worthless, tossing them aside without a second thought—all of you, go home. Be dutiful to your parents, raise your children properly. If anyone dares collect tribute silver in my name again, watch out, I’ll sit on your rooftop and curse you for three days and three nights straight!”

With that, she stood, slung her gear on her back, looked around, and called out loudly: “Has all of Baiquan Mountain gone deaf?”

This shout carried on her true internal power, deafening in its force.

The Baiquan Mountain faction, naturally intimidated, all nodded in agreement at once.

Only then, satisfied, did Qiqian’er continue: “Now the realm is at peace, a wise ruler sits on the throne, and good days under Heaven’s protection are coming! From now on, if you have any spare money, send your children to school—later, passing the imperial exams for a title brings honor to the whole family, and even your ancestors eight generations back would laugh in their graves.

If you have daughters, raise them carefully too, work hard and prepare them a good dowry, so that when you’re old, you’ll have wine to drink in your later years. Live peacefully with children and grandchildren around you, with parents content and happy—that’s the good life. Instead you all go stirring around in this foolish, bloody martial world—truly… fools!”

Having said this, the young lady leapt lightly away, heading back toward the mountains.