“There must be something strange about that swordsman.”
Mo Li could not forget the presence of that aura and turned back to chase.
Meng Qi reluctantly followed Mo Li, saying as he chased, “Perhaps he had a box containing a spiritual medicine, and during the fight, the box broke, releasing the aura.”
“A spiritual medicine the size of a thumb?” Mo Li retorted.
The swordsman originally wore a raincoat and a bamboo hat, his face covered tightly. When he escaped, he was barely clothed. If he really had a box that big on him, it would have been noticeable. At most, he might have had some small items like porcelain bottles or fire sticks. The older the spiritual medicine, the better the effect. He had never heard of a thumb-sized treasure.
This isn’t a mythical tale where you pick a magical fruit in the mountains, eat it, and suddenly become healthy and rejuvenated.
“The aura is endless. If it were spiritual medicine, it would still be alive.”
Medicines placed in a box would not have such vitality.
Meng Qi had nothing to say and could only sulk.
Mo Li noticed his odd behavior and wondered, “If it is spiritual medicine taking form, we must investigate its origins. Why are you unhappy?”
“The reality might not be as we think.”
Meng Qi had been a national teacher for decades and had seen many anomalies but never a monster.
He did not believe the swordsman was the only exception, but seeing Mo Li’s faint hope, Meng Qi swallowed his words.
As a dragon vein, he understood that kind of hope.
—That swordsman was not important. What mattered was if natural treasures could also take form, wouldn’t the spiritual medicines in their mountain have the same chance?
Everyone had a few outstanding spiritual medicines at home, which the dragon vein would subconsciously favor.
But the most important thing to Meng Qi now was not at home but right in front of him.
The two of them had been traveling together freely, enjoying their journey. However, after this incident, it might turn into a quest to find “qualified” spiritual medicines, carefully digging them up with roots and soil, and painstakingly carrying them home.
The thought of it was worrisome.
What if they encountered desperate warriors while dragging a cart full of treasures? Could they protect them?
Losing any one of them would be bad, and getting any of them hurt would be heartbreaking.
Qimao Mountain was far in Pingzhou, and Taijing was not close either. Transporting the spiritual medicines safely back would not be easy.
These issues accumulated, ultimately making Meng Qi unhappy. He had previously managed to send the cart away with great effort.
He could give horses away easily, but could he do the same with spiritual medicines?
In danger, sand rats could run and hide, but what about spiritual medicines?
The sand rat thought its place in the doctor’s arms was precarious.
No, absolutely not. Meng Qi pondered, he had to resolve this matter quickly.
Fortunately, the situation was complex and ever-changing, and he could easily find a legitimate reason.
Meng Qi cleared his throat and reminded, “The secret hidden by this swordsman might not be what we want to see. Piaoping Pavilion is an early planted pawn, specializing in shady dealings. It’s hard to say if this swordsman is bait aimed at us.”
“Bait?”
For a moment, Mo Li thought the secret of the dragon vein’s fondness for planting spiritual medicines had been exposed.
Meng Qi slowly shook his head and said softly, “What do top martial artists dream of?”
Power, money, influence, a higher realm?
The first three can be obtained with effort, but the last one is frustratingly elusive.
When martial arts skills reach their peak, what does the next stage look like? People cannot see it or even imagine it, so how can they achieve it?
The masters in tales spend their lives pursuing the ultimate swordsmanship. They live in seclusion, watching the clouds and tides, understanding the pinnacle of martial arts from a leaf or a breeze. This is true, as many martial artists do this because they are trapped. Yet it is also false, as they still know where the “path” lies and where to seek it.
The truly lost masters are Ancestor Qingwu, Meng Qi, and Monk Yuan Zhi.
Thinking of this, Mo Li could not help but glance at Meng Qi’s scarlet robe.
Time and luck.
Opportunities are hard to find, unpredictable, and leave no trace.
“Doctor?” Meng Qi noticed Mo Li’s distraction.
“Nothing.”
Mo Li looked away.
Meng Qi did not need a breakthrough. Whether his martial arts could improve was of no importance to him.
What trapped Meng Qi was the past and the future, this world, the entire human world.
The most troublesome and unbreakable reason for this predicament was something countless nobles coveted.
—Immortality, eternal life.
Mo Li had no solution for this, as he was the same as Meng Qi.
“Aura is the bait.”
Mo Li heard Meng Qi say.
“Natural treasures, blessed lands… Aura is intangible to people, but sometimes traces of its existence can be perceived. People in the martial world often fight to the death over secret manuals and famous swords, but to masters, those are useless. A golden armor or a spiritual medicine is more tempting. I don’t know what’s up with the aura on the swordsman; I just feel this person is strange.”
This was exactly Mo Li’s feeling. He pondered, “Just strange, no sense of danger.”
Meng Qi reluctantly nodded.
“That’s right.”
If there were a sense of danger, he would have stopped Mo Li from chasing.
Mo Li hesitated, “The swordsman doesn’t seem to know you, and certainly not me. This bait is meaningless. What if we didn’t chase?”
“Then bait or coincidence, which answer do you prefer?”
Mo Li did not want to choose either; he felt Meng Qi had more to say.
“How many people do you think Ancestor Qingwu has told his fallacy to? We are certainly not the only ones, nor the first.”
“Are you saying Piaoping Pavilion also—”
Also believed Ancestor Qingwu’s fallacy that cutting the dragon vein and absorbing the aura would lead to immortality?
Mo Li was shocked, incredulous but unable to refute.
Because Ancestor Qingwu’s fallacy involved something people could not resist—immortality and eternal life.
“Not necessarily believing, nor disbelieving. It’s hard to say. Until we catch up with the swordsman, who can be sure?” Meng Qi thought for a moment and added, “Of course, this is the worst-case scenario. I have no certainty because I can’t think of how a normal person could carry aura.”
Mo Li fell silent.
The wind howled past their ears, sharp and piercing.
The sun hung high in the sky, the leaves utterly still. This wind was created by their full exertion of lightness skill, demonstrating their incredible speed.
Even so, they couldn’t catch up with the swordsman and Monk Yuan Zhi.
The figures of those two were far ahead, visible but unreachable.
Mo Li realized deeply what it meant for an assassin’s best skill to be not only killing but also escaping.
—Or, it could be interpreted as running for one’s life.
The fame of Piaoping Pavilion assassins was well-deserved.
At this speed, they quickly exited the western mountains. Mo Li vaguely saw figures flashing before his eyes.
Those people were dressed in black, hiding at the foot of the mountain, possibly the ones coveting the rice shop’s ledger.
The stirred-up dust covered the black-clad assassins’ heads and faces.
They instinctively gripped their weapons tightly. After a long while, someone exclaimed, “Not good, it might be the leader!”
The Piaoping Pavilion assassins exchanged glances. The ledger was lost, and the leader was in trouble. What should they do now? Return in disgrace?
Not to mention the punishment awaiting them, even figuring out how to return was a monumental problem.
The assassins looked at the sun hanging in the sky, their expressions dazed.
The swordsman fleeing desperately in the distance suddenly remembered something, his face changing drastically. He glanced stealthily behind him at the relentless monk, then at the two trailing dust clouds. The anger in his eyes almost became tangible.
How long did these three intend to chase him?
He was the one seeking the ledger, the one silencing witnesses, and he came from a fearsome, mysterious assassin organization.
He had killed countless people, even by the standards of the underworld, he was an unequivocal executioner.
Cold-blooded, merciless.
Yet these days, a cold-blooded, merciless assassin was not feared, but pursued like a rat crossing the street, by people who seemed vicious and more terrifying than temple guardians, despite one being a monk.
The swordsman who believed in neither Buddha, nor gods, nor fate suddenly had an unprecedented doubt: perhaps he should check the almanac before his next outing?
Trees, hills, and houses flew past behind them.
The four of them ran farther and farther.
The first to sense something was wrong was Meng Qi.
“He’s circling.”
“You’re right, we’ve been following the mountain’s perimeter.” Mo Li confirmed it.
A dragon vein’s judgment of the mountain’s terrain was never wrong.
Monk Yuan Zhi ahead also gradually sensed something was off.
What was the swordsman doing? Leading them into a trap?
All three simultaneously heightened their vigilance. At that moment, the swordsman’s speed suddenly slowed, and he turned back, slashing at Monk Yuan Zhi.
“Hmm?”
After chasing for so long, none of the four were exhausted. Running another hundred miles would be no problem.
The swordsman’s sudden turn to attack surprised Mo Li.
After all, with three enemies behind him, if his escape speed was delayed, it would be hard for him to escape once surrounded.
Yuan Zhi swung his wooden staff, his body bulging with excessive internal energy. This was a Zen meditation technique, where decay and prosperity coexisted, derived from the Shakya Moni’s dual trees at his parinirvana. Yuan Zhi hadn’t suddenly gained thirty pounds; he had always been this heavy, tempered by ascetic practices and meditation techniques, compressed into a dried, shriveled form. Yet, because of his internal strength, his sagging skin didn’t shrink.
Now, his body was supported by vast and unparalleled internal energy. Anyone hit by it would not fare well.
The swordsman was struck hard, flying three zhang away.
He spat out a mouthful of blood and continued fleeing.
Looking at the fierce Monk Yuan Zhi wielding the wooden staff, Mo Li couldn’t help but wonder, “I thought Master Yuan Zhi was chasing the swordsman out of anger because the swordsman tried to kill him.”
But now it seemed as if the swordsman owed the old monk a hundred taels of gold.
It looked like a debt chase.
Meng Qi suggested another possibility, “Maybe capturing him could exchange for something important.”
Indeed, Yuan Zhi had an agreement with Qiu Jing, the master of Fengxing Pavilion, that this mysterious swordsman could repay the debt he owed for finding Master Meng’s whereabouts. Although Meng Qi was unaware of this, it didn’t prevent him from guessing.
Mo Li quickly glanced at the bloodstains on the ground.
The blood the swordsman spat was bright red, not dark.
This indicated his internal injury wasn’t severe.
With this delay, Mo Li and Meng Qi closed the distance to the two in front.
The old monk was bare-chested, while the swordsman was barely clothed.
His only remaining garment was a piece of cloth covering his body, yet he clung to it.
The swordsman’s steps were slowing. He dodged Yuan Zhi’s attacks awkwardly and saw familiar trees and figures ahead.
“Those are Piaoping Pavilion assassins,” Meng Qi suddenly said.
Yuan Zhi swung his staff ferociously, and the swordsman dodged left and right, still running forward.
Finally, the swordsman even rolled on the spot, lunging forward to escape Yuan Zhi’s internal energy range.
But this move caused his clothes to catch on the ground’s thorns, tearing them apart. His left pant leg also ripped, making him the second bare-chested runner, with his pants now in tatters.
Mo Li: “…”
By this point, the black face cloth was still securely tied around the swordsman’s neck.
The assassins, choking on dust: “…”
As the dust rolled away, one assassin suddenly woke up, screaming and lunging into the thorn bushes.
His arm was scratched and bleeding, but he desperately searched through the swordsman’s torn cloth.
Next came the second assassin who realized, then the third…
In an instant, everyone surrounded the area, chopping the thorns, their faces twisted like rabid dogs.
Soon, they found a stone bottle, broken, with a dozen or so dark brown pills rolling out.
The assassins scrambled for them, nearly killing each other over the pills.
Grabbing a pill, they immediately stuffed it into their mouths, collapsing as their bodies swayed.
Strange laughter and murmurs continued without end.
They lay limp, drooling, eyes glazed, lost in oblivion.
After about a quarter-hour, the assassins slowly regained their senses, searching the ground for more pills.
More and more assassins woke up, one whispering, “Stop looking, there are no extras. The effects last three days, we must return immediately.”
