Ten years ago?

That would be the eighth year of Yonghe.

Everyone’s hearts were suspended by this sentence.

Could it be that Yan Sanhe was already a dead person ten years ago? Dead in that massacre at the Zheng family?

Xie Zhifei felt his tears would never stop flowing.

He forcefully closed his eyes. “Master, I beg you to continue speaking.”

The old monk glanced at him and took two more puffs from the pipe.

“Ten years ago on the ninth of the ninth month, I was cultivating on an immortal island in Penglai. Early that morning, I calculated with my fingers that honored guests would arrive, and I found it very strange.”

Young Master Pei truly couldn’t help it. “Why would honored guests arriving be strange?”

The old monk glanced at Xuyun.

“At that time, he wasn’t around yet. I am a great enlightened monk that appears once every three hundred years. Great monks come and go without trace, appearing and vanishing mysteriously. But every year in the ninth month, I would cultivate in Penglai.”

No one dared contradict him. They all nodded vigorously.

“Great monks are aloof. How could vulgar mortals enter their eyes? So for someone to know I was cultivating in Penglai at this time…”

The old monk held up one palm before his eyes, then folded back two fingers.

“In this age, no more than three people would know. Those three weren’t honorable people, so I found it very strange. Lord Pei, guess who it was?”

Lord Pei honestly shook his head.

“It was Yan Xing.”

The old monk seemed too lazy to even use his eyes to condemn Lord Pei’s stupidity. He turned to look at Xie Zhifei:

“What kind of person Yan Xing was, I think you should know.”

“He’s our Xie family’s great benefactor. Without him, there would be no Xie family today.”

“Unfortunately, good people don’t get good rewards.”

The old monk sighed: “I met him while traveling in Yunnan Prefecture.”

That day, traveling by the Nujiang River, he saw someone sitting cross-legged on a large stone. That person held white stones in his left hand and black stones in his right, playing chess with himself.

He walked over curiously. His eyes first swept over the person, then swept over the board. He smiled: “Playing chess alone is boring. How about I accompany you in a game?”

That person raised his left hand and pushed the white stones forward: “Come!”

He smiled again. Clearly the white stones had the advantage on the board.

“Why give me the white stones?”

“Just at random, following my heart.”

That person studied the board without raising his head. “Your turn.”

He asked: “Aren’t you afraid of losing?”

That person laughed self-deprecatingly: “Losing is winning, winning is losing.”

Just this one sentence made Chanyue immediately view the man before him with new eyes.

He cultivated Buddhism, jumped outside the Three Realms, not within the Five Elements. But among mortals in this world, how many could calmly accept winning and losing?

Who wasn’t fighting desperately for a bit of fame, a bit of profit, until heads broke and blood flowed, fighting to the death?

“Benefactor, what is your name?”

Only then did that person raise his head and examine him carefully. “My surname is Yan, given name Xing.”

“Yan Xing?”

Chanyue calculated with his fingers and shook his head: “The character ‘Xing’ in your name is not good.”

Yan Xing laughed heartily. “Master is a person outside the red dust. Why still cling to good and bad?”

Chanyue: “I feel sorry for you. You should have been…”

“Whether king or marquis, in the end it’s just a pile of white bones. Caring about gains and losses is loss. Not caring about gains and losses is gain.”

Yan Xing pointed at the board: “Master, will you play this chess or not?”

A marvelous person!

Chanyue laughed heartily: “Play!”

One game of chess, from daylight to nightfall, from the stone to a bamboo couch. Finally, Chanyue won by half a point with a narrow advantage.

As Yan Xing gathered the pieces into the chess jar, he said with a satisfied smile: “To have one excellent game of chess in life is satisfying. One must drink a pot of wine.”

Chanyue smacked his lips. “The monk also wants to drink a pot.”

Yan Xing didn’t mention a single word about Buddhist prohibitions against alcohol. Instead, he said cheerfully: “Get drunk together, get drunk together!”

“One game of chess, several pots of wine—we became close friends.”

Recalling the past, the old monk’s smoking slowed. His eyes in the smoke contained a trace of smile.

“Wherever I traveled, I never stayed more than ten days. But by the Nujiang River, I stayed a full three months.

Our temperaments matched, our interests aligned. Every day we sat discussing Buddhism, discussing the Dao, with endless topics.

The old monk pursed his lips. “One night, with nothing to do, on a whim I read his fortune. Do you know what I discovered in that reading?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“In this world, every person we meet, every event we encounter, is karmic cause and effect from past lives. Some come to repay kindness, some come to seek revenge, some come to deliver you. And Yan Xing…”

The old monk said slowly: “He came to complete my merit.”

Xie Zhifei didn’t understand: “What does that mean?”

“Keep listening and you’ll naturally understand.”

The old monk: “After that, every three years he would come to Mount Wutai to see me. Each meeting was the same three things: chess, wine, discussing Buddhism and Dao.

He came from Yunnan Prefecture to Wutai—the mountains high, roads far, going through countless hardships. But each time he only stayed on the mountain seven days. When seven days were up, he would quietly leave.

I have abilities in divination, detecting fortune and misfortune, observing celestial phenomena. He never asked me to divine anything, never inquired. Truly an extraordinary person.”

What kind of appearance did someone Master Chanyue called an extraordinary person have?

This person existed in Yan Sanhe’s life, in Xie Daozhi’s life, and in Grandfather’s life too.

Xie Zhifei had never met Yan Xing, but this person was like a carving knife, stroke by stroke carving this name into his heart.

Never to forget until death.

“The story returns to the ninth of the ninth month. That morning after I finished divining, I waited for honored guests.

The old monk: “In the afternoon, dark clouds rolled in the sky, turbulent waves surged on the sea. Soon a torrential rain began. I was puzzled—in such weather, how could anyone possibly come to the island?”

Pei Xiao couldn’t help it again: “Why not?”

The old monk: “Lord Pei, have you seen the sea? When the rain is heavy and the waves are large, no matter how big or sturdy the boat, it can’t withstand one slap from the wind and waves.”

Pei Xiao was left speechless.

“Who knew that in such wind and waves, a boat sailed toward the island and steadily reached shore.”

The old monk looked at Pei Xiao: “Lord Pei, do you know what a true honored person is like?”

Pei Xiao wisely shook his head.

The old monk: “True honored people have the protection of Heaven, Earth, and divine spirits. In such weather, other people can’t even leave their doors, yet she could arrive safely amid wind and waves.”

Pei Xiao thought: Old Monk, stop rambling east and west. Hurry up and continue. This young master is going crazy with anxiety—about to develop a nervous disorder.

The old monk seemed to hear Lord Pei’s inner thoughts.

“Three people total on the boat—one boatman, one Yan Xing, and one person on Yan Xing’s back…”

“Yan Sanhe?” Pei Xiao blurted out.

“At that time she wasn’t yet called Yan Sanhe. Yan Xing didn’t know what she was called either. We could only call her ‘young woman.'”

The old monk changed his breath.

“She also couldn’t be considered a person, because when I first saw her, she was already like now—no breath, only a faint trace of pulse.”

After hearing this, veins bulged at Xie Zhifei’s temples.

“How could she have no breath?

How did she die?

Zhang Tianxing had such good martial skills—didn’t he save her?

Where is Zhang Tianxing? Why didn’t he accompany them?”

—