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

In the morning rain, Lin Zongwu spoke slowly.

“There was no longer much point in staying with Xu Zhaonan. I had thought of returning to Jiangnan, to the place where your uncle-master, your aunt-master, and I once lived in seclusion, to look into it again — but for one thing, with all their fighting and killing, it’s probably been reduced to rubble by now. For another, at the Jiangning assembly, I had once agreed to an invitation from Lord Dai, so I thought I’d come and see, to honor that promise…”

“After arriving in Bianliang, I received an audience with Lord Dai and Zou Xu. As one who practices the martial arts, I repaid their courtesy in kind, and so I took on this so-called title of Peerless Grandmaster — but as for my dealings with the men of the Cinnabar Palace Guard, I never much cared for any of that…”

Lin Zongwu said this while patting the top of Ping’an’s head.

“In truth, Ping’an, moving through the world of the martial arts is just like this — no matter how great a name you’ve built for yourself, every encounter still comes down to sizing each other up. Back in Jiangning, your uncle-master… arranged a great many things for me — matters he himself never much cared for either, and found tedious. But with him arranging it, this master of mine found it all rather bearable… In this world, causing trouble, so to speak, always needs a companion to make it interesting.”

He patted the boy’s shoulder.

Ping’an thought of Wang Nantuo, and lowered his head. “Master…”

“And so, even with this title hanging over me, among the Cinnabar Palace Guard there are still plenty who don’t know their master’s true weight, always stirring up trouble… Of the so-called Eight Pillars Upholding the Nation, the Ying brothers, Ying Baiyan and Ying Bailong, are the most arrogant of all. Staying on in Bianliang any longer, sooner or later I’d have had to act as I did today and kill a bunch of them, just to establish my authority.”

“…So that’s how it was.” Ping’an nodded, still somewhat troubled. “Then… once Master has established his authority, will you go back to Bianliang?”

Lin Zongwu looked at him with a smile, but that smile turned suddenly calm and still. “And if I did?”

“If… then wouldn’t that mean… you’d still have to arrest them…”

“Otherwise, how would I explain myself when I return?”

“But… Master… they’re good people…”

“Ha, child, what do you know of good and evil?”

“They really are… truly, Master, I feel…”

“Don’t feel anything.” Lin Zongwu’s expression turned serious. “In this world, all this scheming and slaughter — there was never so much good and evil to it in the first place. Let me ask you — if I truly meant to take them back, for the sake of a difference in ideals… what would you do?”

“I… I’d just beg you, Master.” Ping’an mumbled. “I can’t beat you anyway…”

“And if you could beat me?”

“If I could…”

Ping’an fell silent for a long while. When he finally looked up, his brow was still furrowed with worry. “If I could beat you, I’d still beg you, Master…”

“…Good child.” Lin Zongwu didn’t press him further. He patted the boy’s head, sighing faintly. “For the sake of the mercy you’ll show in the future, how could I refuse you this once?”

He said, “In truth, what happened today has reminded me — since I no longer have the heart to manage these affairs, I ought to withdraw from this whole situation early. Otherwise, I fear the friction will never end, and only bring more trouble.”

The master and disciple had been together a long time now, and each understood the other’s habits well. Lin Zongwu’s way of instructing his disciple — sometimes hypothesizing, sometimes intimidating — was meant to make the young monk think for himself. In his younger years, his bluster had carried real menace; but by now, even with the mystical power of a Peerless Grandmaster, putting on a stern face could at most frighten Ping’an about thirty percent of the way — much the same as the scene with Ning Ji facing Lu Hongti and Liu Xigua in the southwest.

Before answering, he already knew his master had no true intention of arresting anyone; and now, having answered properly, he understood further that his master’s trip to Bianliang had been half-hearted from the start — likely, even before this confrontation, he’d already meant to leave.

“Then… Master, where will you go next?”

“This master of mine,” said Lin Zongwu, “wants to return home and go into seclusion for a while.” Though the place has long been reduced to ruins by the fighting, tending the house, working the land — all of it does the spirit good. Ping’an, this master’s seclusion is no small matter… the first time I went into seclusion, I came out having become a protector of the Ming religion. Later, after Fang La killed He Yunsheng, your uncle-master, your aunt-master, and I went into seclusion a second time, and when I emerged, I had achieved what is today the title of First Under Heaven. This time when I emerge, who knows what it might bring.”

“You know the place, too — if you ever grow weary wandering the martial world, you can come see your master there.”

“Mm.” Ping’an nodded.

“And you, disciple — where will you go next?” Lin Zongwu asked. “Following them… to the southwest?”

He knew of his disciple’s longing for the southwest, and had never once been angry about it.

“I haven’t actually thought about going there yet.” Ping’an scratched his head. “My… that elder brother and I made a promise to determine who’s the best under heaven — but that’s still a few years off. After he left Jiangning, I reckon he went off toward the southeast. Miss Yan came to Bianliang looking for him but went to the wrong place. As for me, once I’ve seen them safely across the river, I still want to go back to the region of Jin, to search for… my parents — I’m afraid that if I wait any longer, I won’t remember anything at all.”

He fell silent for a moment after saying this, then looked at his master. “But, Master… why don’t I go into seclusion with you too? Maybe when we both come out, I’ll be able to beat him…”

Lin Zongwu smiled back at him. “The young should go out and see the world; it’s the old who need to settle and reflect. I’ve seen enough already, which is why I have so much to go back and think over. At your age, you ought to travel ten thousand miles — don’t worry about me. As you go about your chivalrous wandering, I’ll have people keep an ear out, so I’ll know how you’re doing all the same.”

He paused there, then added, “Actually, going back to the region of Jin suits you rather well…”

Ping’an didn’t quite catch the meaning behind that remark. Across from him, Lin Zongwu had already risen to his feet. “Go on, find your master a staff.”

Earlier, after clearing the battlefield, Ping’an had already retrieved his own staff; now he ran out again and found a passable wooden pole to bring back to Lin Zongwu, who trimmed it briefly before taking up a stance in the room and beginning to teach Ping’an the fundamentals of staff technique.

Lin Zongwu had reached the pinnacle of martial skill in his lifetime, and in his past training of Ping’an he had, in fact, woven in techniques from all eighteen classical weapons — which was precisely why Ping’an’s improvised staff work had already proven so formidable. Now he went through the principles of staff technique with him step by step. The two of them differed greatly in size, and their grips and stances varied accordingly; when Ping’an’s form grew awkward, Lin Zongwu scolded him and made as if to strike — Ping’an would squint and brace to take it, having been struck plenty of times in past training sessions over such matters — but this time, the raised hand never actually came down.

Ping’an’s talent for martial arts was extremely high, his foundation solid, and after nearly a year of practice with the staff he had already built up considerable skill; with this session of careful instruction, the principles of the Demon-Subduing Staff technique fell fully into place, opening up a great deal of new understanding for him.

Outside, in the courtyard, the sky had long since brightened, the rain gradually easing as the hour drew toward noon.

Lin Zongwu said, “If you go to the region of Jin, there’s a staff master there with whom this master once had some connection — we hold each other in mutual regard. You may go pay him a visit.”

“That master,” he went on, “is the one now serving beside the female chancellor of Jin — the sect leader known as ‘Eight-Armed Dragon King’ Shi Jin. He’s a man of great skill, who has spent his life resisting the Jin invaders; when you meet him, you’ll surely be glad you did… And besides, being at the chancellor’s side, he knows a great many people. If you ask him about your parents, you may well find some lead.”

“Mm.” Ping’an nodded along.

“Ping’an…” Lin Zongwu spoke at last. “Many things — even in this master’s eyes, even in the whole world — can be left vague, brushed off with a joke. Including that Ding Shu and Yu Hezhong you protected today — the intelligence they carry may not be nearly as important as you all imagine… But there is one thing, a matter close to this master’s heart, and one that concerns your very life, that you must remember clearly.”

“Mm.”

“You need to eat more from now on, grow yourself taller and bigger — being bigger gives you more strength, so that as you travel the world further and hone your skill, in a few years, once you reach the southwest, you must beat that Long Aotian soundly and take the title of First Under Heaven for yourself! Do you understand? You know that when your uncle-master last spoke to me about you, he was still indignant on your behalf — how could my own disciple, his nephew-disciple, wander the martial world playing second fiddle to anyone, reduced to being called the Four-Foot Lecher. Even if you must be a lecher, you’ll be a six-foot one! You will be a six-foot one!”

There was no trace of a smile on Lin Zongwu’s face; his gaze was fierce and deep, as though he were speaking of some matter of the utmost gravity — even though what he said sounded rather absurd. Ping’an could only murmur, at a loss, “Master…”

Across from him, a finger reached out and tapped, again and again, against his forehead.

“If you fail to accomplish this, then on the day this master emerges from seclusion, I will beat you soundly… until you’re fat just like your master! I mean what I say — do you understand?”

“Master…”

Ping’an felt his eyes sting, and Lin Zongwu’s large hand came down over his forehead, covering his eyes.

“Do you understand?”

“Master… I understand…” the young monk cried out loudly.

“Good, that’s settled… none of this maidenly sniveling.”

Lin Zongwu waved a hand and turned, walking out into the clear expanse beyond.

The light rain, it seemed, had already stopped at some point. The young monk, still crying, watched his master vanish into the distance. Since the day he had first become his disciple, he and his master had parted ways many times before — but in those past times, what he had worried about was always his own difficulties and safety once separated from his master. Only this time, watching the retreating back of that master who was unmatched under heaven, did he feel, deep within, his master’s loneliness — his family had all left this world, so within him there was, in truth, great loneliness, and great sorrow.

Far off, amid the curtain of rain, Lin Zongwu turned his head back. In that ruined house, his only remaining kin in this world still remained — only that small child had chosen a path that seemed, in the end, to diverge somewhat from his own; and so, faintly, he let out a sigh.

He had spent his whole life pursuing renown, and now, even the act of showing off before the Cinnabar Palace Guard, of displaying his authority, felt utterly tedious to him — and so, it was time to leave.

Looking back on it all, he had never truly been a monk. In his younger days, wandering the martial world, he had simply found the many monks in the temples filthy and disagreeable, and after trying and rejecting many monasteries, he had finally, out of sheer spite, put on the monk’s robes to slaughter his way across the land, meaning to smear and defile Buddhism itself, and had made for himself the name “Demon Buddha.”

“Amitabha…”

How did it come to be like this…