The faint light of dawn spread a grayish blue from the eastern sky. Amid the drifting curtain of rain, the men before the deserted village, weapons still in hand, gradually came to a halt, swaying unsteadily. Some wiped the rain from their faces, shaking their heads faintly in confusion.

Beside them, from within the ruins of a collapsed earthen house, Ying Baiyan’s arm stretched out, shaking, as he crawled free. He opened his mouth and spat blood, then forced the mud from his head and face and looked over toward them.

He then bent down and groped through the rubble several times before finally, with a grunt, pulling free his broadsword, buried under bricks. He let out another cry and stamped his feet on the ruins several times.

Nearby, the massive figure, who had been watching the short, shaven-headed staff-wielder, turned his head and looked over.

“Ying Baiyan, what are you howling about?”

“Grand Master, Sect Leader Lin… you ambushed me?” Ying Baiyan drew a deep breath, standing amid the rubble, and gestured at those around him. “For the sake of these rebels?”

The sound of the rain rustled on, and the air around them seemed to freeze after Ying Baiyan’s words, “you ambushed me,” so much so that the noise of the rain grew unusually distinct. The massive figure narrowed his eyes; in the morning air, a few figures from the Cinnabar Palace Guard slowly moved closer to Ying Baiyan, seemingly wary of Lin Zongwu striking again. All around, both the other Cinnabar Palace Guard members and the fleeing group alike were holding their breath.

Among the crowd, someone stepped forward, moving into the wind and rain. “Sect Leader Lin, calm your anger — this must be a misunderstanding.”

Behind him, Ying Baiyan gave a subtle gesture to the side, and most of the onlookers gathered around him accordingly. Some rose from the ground, others clutched their chests and struggled to make their way over to him as well.

Lin Zongwu stood there, watching it all quietly. Only once he saw more than ten, then twenty men gathering did his lips slowly part — he was smiling. As the more than twenty men finally stood assembled before him, the last of the wounded, struggling over, saw across the rain that slow, spreading grin, and the two rows of white teeth like a Buddha’s fangs beneath it.

Crash—

In the morning light, the curtain of rain shattered.

The pooled water on the ground bloomed outward like a lotus bursting open, and in an instant surged forward. Ten-odd zhang away, the air itself seemed to crack; a blocking figure froze for an instant in midair, the water flying from his entire body scattering apart.

In the instant before he was sent flying, Lin Zongwu’s sleeve had already swept upward and slammed down with tremendous force; in the crowd, a second figure’s chest caved inward, his whole body crashing into the mud, while Lin Zongwu’s left arm, like a great blade, cleaved a third airborne figure clean in half at the waist, into a shape no ordinary human body could form.

Since the fall of the Central Plains, life around Bianliang had not been easy, and the men gathered around Ying Baiyan were mostly of a vicious bent — but the speed with which Lin Zongwu’s massive form crushed through them was simply too great. Some of the men at the front barely had time to raise a single move; others managed just one strike. One fighter, wielding a steel whip capable of shattering stone, brought it down with all his strength — Lin Zongwu blocked with a single arm, and the whip twisted, tearing free of the man’s grip and whistling away, before Lin Zongwu kicked him, sending him flying backward. This man’s internal organs had already ruptured, but still conscious in midair, he saw another man beside him seized by the top of the head and struck with a heavy punch that crushed his face flat.

Ying Baiyan’s broadsword had already been swung down from overhead, but before it landed, Lin Zongwu grabbed a fighter and shoved him into its path; Ying Baiyan’s blade struck the man’s head and face, and he hastily pulled back his strength — but Lin Zongwu had already stamped down from behind, driving the man’s body instantly to its knees, his head slamming into the mud with a splat. Ying Baiyan saw the massive figure behind, treading on the man’s body, leap over toward him.

“Ahhhhhh—” Ying Baiyan screamed hysterically, his long blade whirling in a wide arc, spraying rain and blood through the air, but the next instant, a booming, bone-chilling impact sounded in the air, and Ying Baiyan staggered back a dozen or more paces through the rain, his body twisted, his head turned to one side, a great gash torn open at the corner of his mouth — his entire jaw had been shattered by a single punch from Lin Zongwu.

The massive figure continued to strike through the crowd, snatching up a weapon at hand and using it to smash gruesome wounds into two more men, blood, flesh, and shattered bone mixing together in the mud, before charging on toward Ying Baiyan once more. Ying Baiyan bared his teeth in a savage grimace, trying to strike back, but his arm was broken by the blunt weapon in Lin Zongwu’s grip; he tried to rise, only to be slammed back down into the mud by another punch.

Ying Baiyan convulsed in the water. Lin Zongwu bent down, hauled him up, and struck him again, hard, driving him back down into the mud with a crash.

He lifted him up once more, and struck him down again — three times in all — before Lin Zongwu finally flung the broken remains of Ying Baiyan back into the scattered crowd behind.

Of the more than twenty men gathered here, most were already dead; the survivors lay sprawled on the ground, some too frightened even to stand, crawling backward on the ground instead. All around, more onlookers stared at the massive figure in the rain — his movements a moment ago had been savage and violent, and now white vapor rose from the top of his head, proof that he too had pushed himself to his absolute limit. Yet this was already a nearly superhuman level of mastery, and at that moment no one dared make a sound.

Lin Zongwu’s gaze swept across them all. After a long while, he finally spoke.

“Cinnabar Palace Guard.” He pointed around at them. “Every one of you who drew a weapon against me — kill them all.”

Then: “The rest of you may go.”

“…Go back and tell Ying Bailong — his elder brother, I killed him. If he ever looks upon me with disrespect again, I’ll kill the entire Ying family the same way.”

Those his gaze had passed over drew their blades and closed in on the few who had struck at Lin Zongwu but had not yet died, not daring the slightest hesitation. No one dared ask any further questions about the rebels now. Lin Zongwu’s gaze passed over Yu Hezhong’s group, lingering briefly on Yan Yunzhi, before he walked toward the young monk.

Ping’an heard his master say quietly, “There’s wound medicine on the corpses — go check.” The young monk said, “Oh,” and nodded, running off to search through the bodies even as the others carried out their killing nearby.

After a while, the Cinnabar Palace Guard’s men dispersed and scattered from the place. By the time Yu Hezhong and the others came to their senses, the massive figure of the grandmaster had already vanished from sight.

…

The light rain of early morning continued to fall. Having gathered wound medicine and other supplies from the corpses, the group pressed on through the rain, and upon reaching an abandoned house by the roadside, the young monk said, “We’re safe now.”

Though puzzled, everyone stopped to rest there regardless.

They gathered branches to build a fire, and the wounded helped each other with further bandaging. The young monk helped out here and there for a while before leaving the room; after a moment, someone who noticed pointed toward another house across from the abandoned one.

There, in the house opposite, a fire had also been lit, and the massive figure of the monk — the invincible grandmaster himself — sat inside, with the young monk standing beside him, speaking about something. Afterward, the massive monk redressed the youth’s wounds.

No one dared approach.

Only the veterans of the martial world, thinking it over, gradually came to understand — this Young Hero Sun was in fact a disciple of the Peerless Grandmaster, Lin Zongwu.

Someone with experience from the region of Jin then recalled that Sect Leader Lin had once, years ago, had a disciple in Jin named Ping’an, though the news had not spread widely. It seemed now that this Ping’an’s formal Buddhist name might indeed be Wukong.

…

“Master, why are you here? Are you here to arrest us?”

Outside, the sky remained dim from the rain. Over the warm fire, white congee was cooking, into which Lin Zongwu had tossed a bit of dried scallop and diced meat; as the fragrance began to build, Ping’an, now dressed in dry clothes, sat there and asked what was on his mind.

“Master, why did you kill them, too? Aren’t you afraid of falling out with them?”

He tugged at his own clothes.

Lin Zongwu watched him fidget, and smiled faintly. “In this past half year or so, it seems you’ve been eating well — you’ve grown.”

“Mm, Master, I’ve grown quite a bit taller this past year.” Ping’an showed off a little. He was at that age when the body shoots up like bamboo, and now bore some of the marks of a young man. He then sat back down. “Heh heh, actually… Master, when you were at the martial arts assembly in the city, I went to watch too, sometimes — only… well, Master, you had your own affairs, so I didn’t come over to greet you…”

Lin Zongwu reached out and ruffled his head.

“Young Hero Sun Wukong, out there doing chivalrous deeds — as your master, I’ve heard of it often, and I’m proud. But… you never much cared for Dai Mengwei and Zou Xu, I knew you wouldn’t come… in truth, it doesn’t mean much either way…”

“I know Master went from Grand Master to Peerless Grandmaster.”

“Hahahaha.” Lin Zongwu laughed. “The title hanging over one’s head just keeps getting more grandiose — it’s really nothing but an idle gimmick. Lord Dai explained the trick of it to me — with a resounding title, more people from the martial world will come to take part in great affairs. I respect his learning, so I didn’t refuse.”

“Dai Mengwei…” The young monk frowned.

Lin Zongwu sighed. “Lord Dai… his scholarship, in my eyes, surpasses even that of the treacherous minister Qin Siyuan of old. He… sat and discussed matters of the world with me at length, and earned my respect. But that’s not so important now — you, my disciple, should learn to judge for yourself, look carefully, and not simply follow the crowd’s opinion… besides, even with all that respect, after what happened today, we’re probably bound to go our separate ways.”

As Lin Zongwu spoke, he spread his hands open. Ping’an blinked at him, then reached out and grasped his palm.

“So you mean, Master… you turned against them for my sake?”

Lin Zongwu smiled.

“That’s right,” he said. “And what else could I have done?”

The young monk grew even more troubled.

Inside the ruined house, the firelight flickered, and the congee in the food box began to give off a fragrant scent. Lin Zongwu watched the young monk’s complicated, conflicted expression for a long while, then pressed his palm to the ground and let out an uproarious, delighted laugh.

“Still so innocent, child that you are — hahahaha…”

Outside the house lay the curtain of rain.

Across the rain, in the other ruined house, the others heard this burst of laughter and could hardly have imagined that the same Lin Zongwu — the Peerless Grandmaster who, only moments before, had slaughtered dozens of men with barely a gesture, like some demon god — could also let out such a warm, affectionate laugh.

The congee in the food box bubbled with froth. Lin Zongwu took out his chopsticks and stirred it.

“Why do you still call yourself Sun Wukong? And also, why the staff?”

“Er… calling myself Sun Wukong, Master, so that when you heard it, you’d know it was me. Besides, Wukong-this-and-that also sounds like a monk’s name… as for the staff, my… my elder brother told me a story once, about a Sun Wukong in the tale who used a staff, called the Ruyi Jingu Bang, weighing a hundred thousand and eight thousand jin — very impressive.”

“Hoh! Even I couldn’t lift that.” Lin Zongwu tapped the pot. “But your staff technique is far too merciful — back in that forest, when you struck the sixth man, you held back and let him cry out — otherwise you could have felled several more.”

“Mm… it’s that my skill is still lacking…”

“It’s that this master of yours failed to teach you proper staff technique, which let them bully you like that. Once we finish this congee, I’ll teach you the Demon-Subduing Staff technique.”

“Master…”

“As for that girl… she’s a bit old for you…”

“…Eh?”

“That girl who calls you Little Sun and no one else — practicing the Tan Gong Sword. A few years older than you is no matter, and her looks are passable enough, but her skill is truly poor, and her talent isn’t high. Taking up with her, you’d have quite a task ahead teaching her — and in the end it might just cost this old master some face.”

“Master! I’m a monk—”

Ping’an jumped, nearly startled out of his skin.

“Ping’an, you’re a fake monk. Back in the day, when I wore the robes myself, I never actually kept away from women either — it’s only that later, as my skill deepened, I found practicing martial arts more interesting than the pleasures of the flesh, and so I let it go. You’re still young; there’s much you ought to experience — no harm in that. Understanding worldly desire is something one must begin from the body before it reaches the heart; you have to experience it to truly see through it. Look at you — you’re old enough now…”

The massive master sat there, holding forth at length. Ping’an, astonished for a good while, finally caught the glint of amusement hidden in his eyes and, hesitantly, sat back down cross-legged.

“Master, you’re teasing me…”

“What I said is also the truth.”

“Actually… the one Miss Yan likes is my elder brother…”

“…”

Lin Zongwu poured the congee into the wooden bowl, pausing slightly.

“That ‘Five-Foot Lecher’ name my elder brother carries — it was actually Miss Yan herself who pinned it on him…”

“So it turns out she’s a girl who’s been ‘lechered’ by someone else… and yet, looking at her, she still seems to be untouched…”

“Er, well, that’s… a long story…”

“Take your time telling it.”

In the rain-soaked morning, his master seemed suddenly to have great patience for such family matters. Ping’an scratched his head and finally, slowly, began recounting the detailed events back in Jiangning — after his uncle-master had passed, he had told his master roughly how the two of them had come to know each other, but had never gone into detail about much of it.

Now, speaking of the matter with Yan Yunzhi, and the detailed origins of the “Five-Foot Lecher” and his own “Four-Foot Lecher,” Ping’an felt uneasy, glancing up at his master now and then — but Lin Zongwu simply sat beside him, having poured his own bowl of congee, slowly turning the bowl in his hands, listening quietly. When Ping’an finished telling of Yan Yunzhi’s story, Lin Zongwu spoke again, asking about what came after; Ping’an went on to describe their final meeting, and the future duel promised in the southwest, at which point Lin Zongwu raised an eyebrow.

Master and disciple slowly drank their congee. After much rambling, Ping’an finally looked up. “Master, you still haven’t told me about your own affairs…” He was also worried about how his master had been treated under Dai Mengwei.

Lin Zongwu continued sipping his congee quietly.

“After your uncle-master passed, this master of mine, recalling the past, has had much confusion in his mind…”

Slowly, he began to speak.