The next morning, Li Zhongqian was indeed drunk again.

However, he still remembered to buy the thousand-layer pastry from Granny Zhang’s shop for Li Yaoying.

Yaoying took the pastry and handed him a bowl of sugarcane juice to help with his hangover: “Brother, I sent someone to escort Monk Mondattiva into the palace. He has already arrived and is checking Mother’s pulse.”

Li Zhongqian grunted vaguely, tilted his head back to drink the sugarcane juice in one gulp, then fell backward onto the felt mat, snoring loudly.

Yaoying was both angry and amused. She knelt beside him and patted him a few times.

He wouldn’t wake up.

“Every time it’s the same. He promises to behave, but still drinks like a cow…”

Yaoying muttered softly as she wrung out a hot towel to wash the drunken Li Zhongqian’s face and hands.

Li Zhongqian rarely let go of his golden hammers, so his hands were covered in rough calluses, with a scar running across both palms.

After all these years, it was still shocking to see.

Yaoying held Li Zhongqian’s large, thick hands, her fingertips brushing over that fierce scar.

These hands that once held a brush to teach her writing used to be slender, with thin, elegant fingers.

Back then, Li Zhongqian was melancholic yet gentle, refined, and graceful. Every day he would study thick volumes with great scholars, write a vigorous yet elegant seal script, and even paint landscapes in dark ink.

Wei Prefecture had a mild climate. In spring, flowers bloomed everywhere, with pear blossoms like snow in the courtyard, and peach and apricot blossoms in their delicate beauty.

When the breeze blew, fallen petals carpeted the steps.

While Li Zhongqian wrote and read, Yaoying would crawl around on the felt mat beside him.

One moment she would watch the flying petals before the corridor, the next she would turn and sprawl on the writing desk, curiously watching Li Zhongqian wield his brush.

Li Zhongqian would pick up Yaoying and let her sit on his lap, holding her chubby little hand to teach her how to hold the brush.

He taught her to write her name and to paint elegant orchids.

When Yaoying was five years old, in late spring, Li Zhongqian pointed to the colorful fallen flowers before the corridor and taught her word by word: “The guest in the high tower has finally left, flowers scatter chaotically in the small garden.”

The day after teaching her this “Fallen Flowers” poem, Li Zhongqian returned to Jingnan to sweep the ancestral graves.

Yaoying went to stay with Li De.

When the siblings met again, it was autumn.

Li Zhongqian, carrying a pair of hundred-pound golden hammers, traveled a thousand li alone, crossing battlefields of corpses and blood, to find Yaoying barely alive.

He was covered in wounds and blood as he held his sister tightly.

“Little Seven, don’t be afraid, Brother has come to get you.”

The knife wound on Li Zhongqian’s palm was from that time.

From that day on, he never touched books or brushes again.

He practiced with his hammers every day, proving Xie Wuliang right as his killing intent grew stronger and his temperament became increasingly gloomy and volatile.

His body became more sturdy and strong day by day. Those hands that once held books and delicately handled flowers and brushes gradually lost their noble young master’s slender elegance, becoming what they were now.

Even Xie Qing’s hands were more attractive than Li Zhongqian’s.

Yaoying sat lost in thought for a while.

She knew how others viewed Li Zhongqian.

They said he killed without mercy, was brutal and cruel, and had emptied city after city.

Yaoying had tried to persuade Li Zhongqian.

While one couldn’t show weakness to enemies on the battlefield—it was killed or be killed—massacring entire cities was too cold-blooded.

Li Zhongqian laughed softly and ruffled Yaoying’s hair.

Yaoying thought he had taken her words to heart, but the next day she discovered all her attendants had been replaced.

Attendant A said: “My lady, the Second Young Master is deeply beloved by the common people!”

Attendant B said: “My lady, please rest assured, the common people don’t curse the Second Young Master.”

Yaoying was so angry she nearly fell backward: How could Li Zhongqian come up with such a ridiculous way of covering things up?

The sleeping Li Zhongqian suddenly turned over, his hand closing tightly around Yaoying’s wrist.

Yaoying was pulled off balance, coming back to her senses. She pried off Li Zhongqian’s hand, cursing softly: “Officials can start fires, but common people can’t even light lamps!”

The gauze curtain rustled as Chunru’s voice came from outside: “My lady, the monk has finished.”

Yaoying left a palace maid to look after Li Zhongqian and went to the western wing.

Mondattiva wore a black kasaya popular among Northern Chinese monks today, his appearance solemn and his bearing dignified. He stepped out from the inner hall with palms pressed together: “Princess, the Noble Consort indeed took Brahmin medicine.”

The attending physician beside him lowered his head, sweating profusely.

Yaoying’s expression darkened slightly.

She knew Xie Noble Consort’s mental illness was incurable. She hadn’t invited Mondattiva to the palace to treat her mother but to investigate the cause of her illness.

Xie Noble Consort’s illness was strange. She was already delusional when Yaoying was born. By then, Lady Tang was already dead, but the Xie family was still at its peak, showing no signs of imminent downfall.

A few months ago, a Taoist priest had checked Xie Noble Consort’s pulse and shared his suspicion: Xie Noble Consort might have taken Brahmin medicine, which led to her mental instability.

The palace physicians knew little about Brahmin medicine. Fearing to alarm anyone, Yaoying hadn’t made this matter public.

She had invited Mondattiva to the palace to confirm whether the Taoist priest’s suspicion was true or false.

Mondattiva seemed completely unaware of the suddenly tense atmosphere and spoke unhurriedly: “The Brahmin medicine the Noble Consort took should be an immortality elixir recorded in ‘The Brahmin Sages’ Pharmacopoeia.’ This poor monk has seen people who took this medicine long-term. They couldn’t sleep at night or find peace during the day, their minds were confused, their memories disordered—symptoms identical to the Noble Consort’s.”

Yaoying asked calmly: “Master, is there any way to treat this?”

Mondattiva shook his head, his expression compassionate: “The toxins from the immortality elixir cannot be removed, and the Noble Consort’s condition is far worse than anyone this poor monk has seen before. The illness of the heart is difficult to cure.”

Yaoying understood in her heart.

Xie Noble Consort couldn’t accept that Xie Wuliang was dead. While the Brahmin medicine was the cause of her illness, it was the devastating news about the Xie family that drove her completely mad.

In her madness, Xie Wuliang remained alive.

Yaoying closed her eyes briefly, collecting all her thoughts.

Following her orders, the palace servants had prepared gold, silver, silk, medicinal herbs, and several horses as gifts to thank Mondattiva.

Xie Qing had gone to the Hall of Government Affairs and brought back travel documents signed by several ministers.

Yaoying knew Mondattiva was eager to start his journey to the Western Regions, so she didn’t keep him. She presented the documents and sent him out of the palace.

Mondattiva was startled.

He hadn’t wanted to enter the palace to diagnose Xie Noble Consort.

In Shu, Mondattiva often dealt with nobility and officials. Most were courteous and refined in their manners, calling themselves lay Buddhist practitioners and showing great enthusiasm for Buddhist services and sutras, but their actions were tyrannical and cruel, showing no regard for the lives of common people.

When Mondattiva left Shu, those who had once treated him as an honored guest immediately turned on him, forcibly detaining him and his disciples, even killing his attendants to threaten him.

After escaping Shu, his determination to reach the Western Regions grew stronger, but the supervisor at Daci’en Temple told him that without travel documents, he would die in Jincheng.

For the sake of these documents, Mondattiva had to risk being detained by the Seventh Princess by entering the palace.

When the Seventh Princess asked if Xie Noble Consort’s illness could be cured, he hesitated for a moment before telling the truth.

Xie Noble Consort’s illness truly couldn’t be cured.

Mondattiva had been very anxious.

To his surprise, the Seventh Princess was different from the nobles he had encountered before. She didn’t fly into a rage, didn’t take out her anger on him, and didn’t forcibly keep him to treat her mother.

As agreed, she let him leave readily and even prepared generous gifts.

The weight on Mondattiva’s heart finally lifted.

After his relief, he felt some regret.

The Seventh Princess had a dignified countenance and clear eyes. When her gaze moved, it was like the sun breaking through clouds, brilliant light pouring down.

She had an affinity with Buddhism.

It was a pity the Princess didn’t believe in Buddha.

Mondattiva consoled Yaoying: “Princess, everything is predestined. The Noble Consort’s condition might not be a bad thing. Good and bad are cause and effect of each other, all things are impermanent, let it follow its karmic course.”

Yaoying smiled slightly.

She didn’t understand the Chan meaning in the master’s words, but one thing she was very clear about—she would find out who had administered the poison.

Outside the palace gates, Mondattiva formally bid farewell to Yaoying.

Yaoying imitated his gesture with palms pressed together: “The road to the West is treacherous. I wish Master a safe journey and success in all endeavors.”

Mondattiva said: “Thank you, Princess.”

Yaoying remembered something: “The Buddhist son Master wishes to meet, is it Dharmaraja, the sovereign of the Western Regions?”

Mondattiva was somewhat surprised and nodded: “Indeed it is.”

…

The Western Regions were different from the Central Plains. There, religious authority outweighed royal authority. Dharmaraja was both a highly revered Buddhist son and a secular king, a divine figure in the hearts of the Western Regions’ people.

He had ascended the throne as a youth, initially just a puppet emperor controlled by noble families, confined in a Buddhist temple to study dharma.

When Dharmaraja was thirteen, the Khan of the Northern Rong led thirty thousand troops in a surprise attack on the royal city.

The army led by the noble families was no match for the Northern Rong. They fled in panic, abandoning their armor and weapons.

Dharmaraja was living in seclusion in the Buddhist temple. By the time he received the news, the temple was already surrounded.

The monks urged Dharmaraja to surrender, saying he was a Buddhist son, and the Northern Rong Khan’s attack on the royal city was aimed at capturing him alive to command authority over the Western Regions.

Dharmaraja refused to become the Northern Rong’s captive. He calmly directed the monk soldiers loyal to him, to escape the royal city, then gathered the scattered royal troops and turned to attack the Northern Rong army.

During the battle, Buddhist son Dharmaraja wore crimson monk’s robes, riding alone at the front of the formation.

His robes fluttered, desolate and magnificent.

Like a deity descending to the mortal world.

The monk soldiers and army were inspired, erupting with amazing fighting spirit, charging forward without fear of death.

With barely over two thousand men, they drove the fierce Northern Rong army out of the kingdom.

The invincible Northern Rong Khan never expected to be defeated by a youth. Recalling the various mysterious legends surrounding the Buddhist son’s birth, he became apprehensive. He turned east to continue conquering other prairie tribes, no longer daring to easily provoke the kingdom.

At thirteen, Dharmaraja had defeated the mighty Northern Rong against overwhelming odds. His prestige reached unprecedented heights, and he seized the opportunity to reclaim royal authority, establishing his rule over the kingdom.

From then on, the Northern Route of the Western Regions knew ten years of peace.

…

Several years ago, a Western Regions monk had coincidentally drifted to Shu, and Mondattiva had associated with him for a time, hearing detailed descriptions of that Buddhist kingdom amid the yellow sands, thus learning of Dharmaraja’s life story.

After years of warfare, the Central Plains and Western Regions had been separated for decades. Now the various Western Regions states believed the Central Plains was still ruled by a unified dynasty.

The Central Plains knew even less about the Western Regions.

Mondattiva hadn’t expected Li Yaoying to have heard of Dharmaraja’s name.

Yaoying not only knew of Dharmaraja but also knew that the monk wouldn’t live many more years.

Perhaps proving the saying that extreme wisdom leads to harm, Dharmaraja had been sickly since childhood. Though he could personally lead monk soldiers into battle in his teens, he soon became bedridden, unable to get up or ride horses.

He was a devout monk who continued living in the Buddhist temple, using his status as a Buddhist son to suppress the ambitious noble families, balance various forces, and deter the Northern Rong.

The Northern Rong Khan feared Dharmaraja.

Years later, Li Xuanzhen feared him too.

They both wanted to take the Northern Route of the Western Regions in one stroke. The former was so frightened by Dharmaraja that he didn’t dare attack the kingdom for ten years, while the latter Li Xuanzhen suffered repeated defeats.

Just as the legends said, Dharmaraja was a Buddhist son blessed by divine beings and Buddhas, invincible in battle.

With no other options, the Northern Rong and Wei Dynasty could only wait for the day Dharmaraja died of illness.

Dharmaraja knew that as long as he lived one more day, the kingdom would have one more day of peace. Once he died, the people of the Western Regions would inevitably suffer the trampling of Northern Rong iron hooves—adult men would be slaughtered, the elderly, women, and children enslaved.

He endured pain and torment, supporting the storm-tossed kingdom with his weak body, but ultimately died of illness.

It was said that when he died, he had been tortured by illness until barely recognizable as a human.

A month later, the kingdom fell.

Yaoying felt some sympathy for Dharmaraja.

Though both were physically weak and sickly, she had been carefully tended by her brother and hadn’t suffered much hardship. But Dharmaraja had to practice asceticism with his ill body. In his brief twenty-some years, every day was torment.

Perhaps only a high monk of his strong will could endure so much suffering that ordinary people could not bear.

She sighed inwardly but asked nothing more, bidding farewell to Mondattiva and watching as the master walked away surrounded by his disciples.

She wondered if the master would successfully meet Dharmaraja.

…

Princess Manor.

After Li Xuanzhen left last night, Zhu Lüyun had cried all night. When she looked in the mirror in the morning, both her eyes were swollen like rotten peaches.

An attendant said softly: “Princess, the Crown Prince stood in the courtyard until midnight before leaving last night.”

Zhu Lüyun’s swollen eyes filled with tears again as she cried: “What use is it if he stayed until midnight? I begged him to lead troops to save my aunt, but he refused no matter what!”

The attendant carefully tried to console her, rambling on with various comforting words.

Zhu Lüyun wiped her tears: “Aunt is my only relative in this world. I must rescue her!”

She took out the letter her aunt had entrusted to a loyal servant to deliver to her, read it once, and made her decision.

“Go to Yining Ward and tell the people of the Yelu tribe that I am willing to marry down!”

The attendant lowered their head in acknowledgment, a slight smile curling at their lips.