The human heart can be united; the human heart can be overturned.
This was a decisive battle that, in the eyes of the Xiliang people, had been delayed for many years.
In the past, during the battle at the Mojie Temple, Meng Qi was severely injured, while the monks at Mojie Temple suffered more than half of their deaths and injuries.
The Xiliang people, who had gained no advantage even through wheel warfare, would never forget that scene.
The pagoda and the main hall housing the deities were in ruins, though the pillars remained standing, not collapsed. However, the wind howled through the walls, and the grand and solemn majesty of the temple was gone forever.
The ground was littered with fallen monks. Some were already dead, while the living ones sat cross-legged, chanting scriptures, their bodies stained with blood. The foreign and awkward Sanskrit echoed through the temple. Though they were performing rituals for the dead, it chillingly foreshadowed the downfall of Xiliang.
Meng Qi was the National Advisor of Chu, and his entry into Mojie Temple had nothing to do with the martial forces of Jianghu in the Central Plains, nor was it for a martial arts competition.
He intended to shatter the confidence of the Xiliang people.
For a long time, the mysterious and strange martial arts of Mojie Temple had spread widely throughout the Central Plains. After Xiliang’s failed southern invasion, they even sent assassins to kill Yin Qingheng. Although those assassins had only learned Mojie Temple’s martial arts and had not shaved their heads to become real monks, everyone knew that if Xiliang faced extinction, those monks, originally just focused on chanting scriptures, would immediately rise up.
Meng Qi could not allow his friends, the pillars of Chu, and the young generals of the army to face such a deadly catastrophe.
Victory or defeat on the battlefield depended on skill, and sharp blades and arrows were just ordinary matters, but assassination by martial arts masters was something else entirely.
By then, Meng Qi was no longer the same man who had followed Li Yuanze in conquering the world. After obtaining countless classics from the palace of Chen, he had meditated on martial arts for years.
Precisely because his martial skills had improved, Meng Qi understood what a true martial arts master could achieve.
So he went alone.
He returned, bloodstained.
The nobles and upper class of Xiliang, fearing that the common people would panic over the devastation of the supreme temple in their hearts, sealed off the news and kept it secret.
Even the monarchs and ministers of Chu only knew the rough details. Not knowing martial arts themselves, they did not fully comprehend the specifics of the battle or the true extent of Meng Qi’s martial skills. Some younger generals and ministers even viewed it as no different from the duels of warriors in history, battles fought to raise morale before major conflicts.
The spirit of the Xiliang people was indeed broken. Before Meng Qi arrived, they only knew that he was a Chu general skilled in strange techniques and defense, one of the fourteen founding heroes of Chu, though the least renowned and with the smallest official rewards and titles.
A good warrior has no need for great glory, and the Xiliang people did not know how many other talented individuals like Meng Qi existed in the Central Plains.
As the Chu army launched a massive offensive, some nobles even advocated relocating the capital and fleeing westward, hoping that the vast Gobi Desert would block Chu’s invasion.
With morale scattered and governance corrupt, the Xiliang cavalry, famed for their bravery, were just a name. In less than six months, the Chu army had reached the capital, Xiazhou.
Now, the old Xiliang nobles gathered under Ayanpuka’s command had all, without exception, demonized Meng Qi. They said that the Chu National Advisor had sinister intentions, slaughtered all the monks at Mojie Temple, and nearly broke into the palace to assassinate the king, only being stopped by the monks’ desperate resistance, which severely injured and drove him away.
It was precisely because of this man that, when the Chu army attacked, the king and the nobles sought to preserve their strength by avoiding battle and fleeing the capital.
A lie told a thousand times becomes the truth. Gradually, they believed it themselves, let alone the younger generation who were either children or unborn at the time of the nation’s fall.
The more they admired and revered Ayanpuka, the more they regretted.
They lamented that Ayanpuka had been born thirty years too late.
—That was a Zanpu! Blessed by gods and Buddhas! He had mastered the highest martial arts of Mojie Temple! Meng Qi had never truly seen the strength of the Xiliang people! He was just lucky!
These thoughts lingered in the minds of the Xiliang people, gnawing at their hearts like madness.
Now, this emotion erupted like a volcano, and they screamed frantically,
Meng Qi was already old, while Ayanpuka was in his prime!
“Zanpu, kill him.”
A release of hatred and fear, people in the firelight waved their weapons, their eyes bloodshot.
Through the trees, it looked as though demons were dancing outside.
Mo Li: “……”
He folded up the coarse cloth draped over him. What Ayanpuka had just seen as the “falcon” was actually Mo Li.
The intention was to test Ayanpuka’s reaction to verify their suspicions about Mount Anahduo.
Sure enough, Ayanpuka had been distracted. He didn’t even notice when Meng Qi appeared behind him, which was highly unusual for a top-tier martial artist. Meng Qi’s surprise attack was successful, something even Mo Li hadn’t expected, because this was not part of their plan.
Their first priority was to burn the poppy plants. The seeds and powdered fruits that had already been harvested also needed to be destroyed.
Setting the fire went smoothly, but there were no poppy fruits in the warehouse. As they searched, Mo Li picked up a large roll of cloth, and Meng Qi came up with the idea to test Ayanpuka.
The Xiliang people were still shouting madly, unaware that Ayanpuka had already been injured. Mo Li, however, knew better and felt at ease.
Ayanpuka was now in a dilemma, trapped in a situation where he couldn’t back down. There was no sunlight, and even the moonlight was blocked by thick smoke and dense trees, preventing him from fully using his “Demon Lord Mara” technique. Even if he could, it would be useless since it had already been broken once before.
The Xiliang people didn’t know this, but how could Ayanpuka not realize it? Once his trump card was ineffective, everything would depend on individual skill.
When Ayanpuka broke out of the house, he thought he held the advantage due to the terrain, but the injury came too suddenly.
In truth, the sword thrust wasn’t very deep, but the internal injury caused by the sword’s shock was far more severe.
Ayanpuka hastily pressed several acupoints to stop the bleeding, but his internal energy was surging wildly. The more he fought, the more he felt his strength diminishing, his meridians becoming increasingly blocked.
This wasn’t going to work, so Ayanpuka began to retreat slowly, seemingly without notice.
It wasn’t to deceive Meng Qi, but to fool the Xiliang people below who were shouting. He wanted them to think that the fight was evenly matched so that he could slip away unnoticed and escape from their view.
Meng Qi’s lips curled into a mocking smile, but he didn’t expose the lie. Instead, he cooperated, moving with Ayanpuka in a choreographed exchange of blows.
Ayanpuka wasn’t foolish. He soon realized Meng Qi’s intentions.
—Meng Qi planned to act at the right moment, allowing the Xiliang people to witness Ayanpuka fleeing with their own eyes, abandoning them and running away alone.
Seeing their leader, whom they revered like a god, fall from grace would be more devastating than killing him outright.
This restoration movement, no matter how vast it was, would crumble in an instant, becoming nothing but scattered sand.
Morale would collapse, and thoughts of retreat would emerge. Some might still want to continue the restoration, while others would seize the hidden wealth they had been accumulating in secret for years and disappear into anonymity. But no matter what, they would all come to hate Ayanpuka with a burning fury—just as much as they once revered him, they would now despise him.
This was the drawback of deifying oneself and using faith to control one’s subordinates.
But Ayanpuka had no choice. Without the title of the Xiliang royal heir or without stealing the martial arts of Mojie Temple, he couldn’t rally people to his side or make them willingly serve him. He hadn’t even considered this a weakness because he knew the secret of the dragon veins and had enough confidence in his martial prowess.
Yet, nothing was going according to his plan.
The swordsman Su Li’er hadn’t come, Meng Qi wasn’t restrained by the mystery of Feihe Mountain’s dragon veins, and they had already invaded what he thought was his foolproof stronghold!
What was going on?
Ayanpuka was so furious that he almost coughed up blood, his internal breath becoming more erratic.
The Xiliang people’s wild cries echoed like fuel being added to the fire, making him feel even more overwhelmed.
The firelight flickered, and thick smoke billowed.
Ayanpuka didn’t dare to focus all his energy on the fight. He still had to be wary of his surroundings, watching for Mo Li, who could attack him from behind at any moment. He had already suffered a great loss from a surprise attack.
However, Mo Li wasn’t hiding in the shadows, plotting how to strike him down.
Dr. Mo had other things to take care of.
He circled around to a spacious bamboo house, which he and Meng Qi had previously suspected was Ayanpuka’s residence, because it was located at the highest point, and there were no vegetable or grain crops planted at the entrance—only a few peach blossom trees. From a distance, peeking through the window, the inside was very tidy and completely empty.
In the main hall of the bamboo house, there was a Buddha statue, and from the decor, it clearly had an exotic style.
Mo Li entered directly, searching for any poppy seeds Ayanpuka might have stored.
The more he searched, the more his brow furrowed.
The bamboo house looked ordinary on the outside—neither windproof nor warm. However, someone with internal strength living here wouldn’t care about those things. The bedroom floor was covered with soft wool carpets, clearly imported from the Western Regions, and while there weren’t many gold- and silver-embedded items, the silk, jade, and porcelain from the southern regions were all of the finest quality.
If not for the appearance of the bamboo house, Mo Li would have thought he had entered the imperial palace in Taijing.
Because these objects weren’t displayed as rare treasures but were used in daily life. Even the window poles were made of sandalwood wrapped in gold thread. The enamel-painted four-panel screen facing the bed was carved with intricate dragon and phoenix patterns at its base.
The study was filled with so many books that Mo Li wondered how they had even transported them here, and several valuable scrolls from famous masters of the previous dynasty hung on the walls.
One of the paintings was the famous “Tiger Descending the Mountain” by Yang Daozhi, the painting saint.
The painting was majestic, with the tiger so vividly lifelike that it seemed ready to leap from the canvas. A timid person might even collapse in fear upon first glance.
What caught Mo Li’s attention wasn’t the tiger, but the signature of the painting saint.
—Painted in the Year of the Rabbit at Dragon Claw Peak, Liuhe Temple.
Yang Daozhi had lived over three hundred years ago.
Moreover, Meng Qi had once said that when he was a sand rat, he spent a long time perched on the rafters of a study at Dragon Tail Peak on Shangyun Mountain, learning how to read and secretly studying the Four Books and Five Classics. The day Meng Qi transformed into human form, he had been spying on Yang Daozhi painting at Liuhe Temple on Dragon Claw Peak.
Whether or not this was the same painting, Mo Li couldn’t resist the urge to take it.
Just as his hand reached out, he suddenly stopped.
He picked up a writing brush from the table and threw it at the wall.
The painting scroll fell instantly, and at the same time, a mechanism hidden inside the wall triggered, releasing a shower of hair-thin poisoned needles.
Mo Li spun the cloth he had taken from the storeroom in front of him, swiftly blocking all the needles, which silently fell to the ground. The tiger painting was caught within the cloth as well.
Mo Li waited a while, and after seeing no second wave of projectiles, he carefully removed the painting using the cloth, rolled it up, and discarded the scroll.
Inside the wall, there was a recessed area where the mechanism was housed. The moment the scroll was removed, the trap would activate—Mo Li couldn’t figure out how Ayanpuka knew about the painting’s backstory. Meng Qi couldn’t have told him, and the dragon vein of Mount Anahduo certainly wouldn’t know either.
There were two other famous paintings from Shangyun Mountain nearby, but when Mo Li knocked them down, no mechanism was triggered.
Suppressing his doubts, he continued searching the study.
There couldn’t be any hidden passages or secret chambers—this was just a bamboo house, too simple for such complex mechanisms.
Finally, Mo Li found a small porcelain bottle. He uncorked it to find tiny, grayish-black seeds inside. Another bottle contained a thick, white paste that emitted the familiar scent of poppy. He tucked both bottles into his robe.
On the table were letters concerning the restoration of Xiliang and Ayanpuka’s orders for his subordinates to monitor and eliminate members of Fengxing Pavilion when the opportunity arose.
Mo Li quickly skimmed through them.
The room was pitch black; anyone else would have been unable to see a thing.
The more Mo Li read, the more alarmed he became. Ayanpuka’s network of subordinates had already spread throughout Yuzhou and Jingzhou, and they even had people in Yongzhou, Pingzhou, and Taijing.
Ayanpuka was a cautious man, so he had likely burned most of the truly important letters, leaving behind only those he thought might be useful later or those he still needed to contemplate. As Mo Li sorted through them, he finally paused at a letter from one of Ayanpuka’s subordinates, reporting that there was a master in King Ning’s court of Old Chu, where half of their agents had been lost.
Mo Li thought for a moment and decided to take this letter, along with any others he deemed useful.
With a shake of the cloth, he dislodged the poisoned needles, turning it into a ready-made bundle.
Author’s Note:
The fat rat fights in the front, while the black fish loots in the back.
