Chapter Thirty-Two: Three Years
Time flowed swiftly, and three years passed in a blink.
Mount Song in Henan stretches sixty kilometers from east to west, boasting seventy-two peaks. The eastern part is known as Taishi Mountain, while the west is Shaoshi Mountain. Its main peak rises to 1,512 meters, a majestic and awe-inspiring sight.
At this moment, four riders urged their horses up the mountain path of Shaoshi. The slopes were steep, yet the road was a long procession of broad stone steps, grand in scale—a true feat of engineering. Still, the stones bore the marks of centuries of wear, for these steps had been carved under the reign of Emperor Gaozong of the Tang Dynasty for his pilgrimage to the Shaolin Monastery. Stretching for eight li, they had weathered the passage of hundreds of years.
The four horses were large and strong, their powerful legs carrying them easily up the mountain path. Clearly, they were northern breeds, much taller and sturdier than southern horses.
Leading the way was a chestnut steed, a plain and ancient-looking longsword hanging from its neck. Upon its back sat a young man in white, whose entire attire was as pale as snow. His bearing was gentle as jade, his face adorned with a calm smile, and his silver eyes sparkled with interest as he took in the scenery around him.
In the middle rode two even larger black horses, each bearing a burly man clad in black armor with a dark, rugged countenance. Their muscles bulged beneath their armor, their hands thick with calluses, and a murderous aura seemed to emanate from their eyes, enough to make ordinary folk tremble and falter. The two men were built like iron towers, each with two enormous swords strapped diagonally across their backs—an odd sight indeed. The blades, unsheathed, measured nearly six feet long and a foot wide, resembling door panels more than swords.
Bringing up the rear was a slender man on a blue horse. His face was pale and beardless, his purple robe grand and luxurious, its wide sleeves lending him a somewhat feminine air.
“Ba, Wu, the two of you have been struggling to contain your bloodlust lately. If this continues, you’ll stray into darkness. When we return to Wudang, you’ll train with my master for a while,” the young man in white said, sensing the chilling aura radiating from the two men behind him as they walked.
The two burly men exchanged glances. The square-faced one on the right smiled wryly. “Young Master, those we’ve killed were all Mongol invaders oppressing our people and evil bandits who terrorized the land.”
“Is that how you wish to remain—forever stuck at first-class mastery? Look at Xiaofan—he broke through to second-class in just a year and will soon surpass you both,” the youth in white replied.
The slender man in purple smiled modestly at this. “My skills are but a trifle compared to my two elder brothers.”
At that, the bearded giant on the left burst into laughter. “Xiaofan, don’t be so modest. Your skills are truly formidable, and that battle in the imperial palace last year proved it!”
He then turned to the youth in white. “Young Master, I’ve always wondered—back then, you could have slain that dog emperor with a single stroke. Why did you let him go?”
“Fool. The Young Master acts with purpose. It isn’t your place to question him,” the square-faced man beside him scolded.
But the young man in white did not answer immediately, his gaze lost in the distant mountains. His face bore the weariness of long travel.
“It was not yet time to kill him. When your skills have reached the right level, help me take his head,” he said at last, spurring his horse onward as his words drifted back on the mountain wind.
“Yes, Young Master! One day, I’ll bring you that dog emperor’s head myself!” the bearded giant shouted in reply.
Half an hour later, the rhythmic clatter of hooves on stone announced their progress halfway up Shaoshi Mountain.
The path wound upward. The youth in white glanced back, seeing five waterfalls cascading down the opposite slope, pearls of water sparkling like jade as they crashed below. Gazing out at the landscape, the mountains below seemed as small as ants.
Drawing a deep breath of crisp mountain air, the young man in white murmured, “The reputation of Central Mount Song is well deserved!”
They rounded a bend, and a stately monastery of yellow walls and green tiles came into view.
The bearded giant grinned at the imposing sight. “This Shaolin Monastery is truly grand—far grander than Kunlun, Kongtong, or Emei!”
The square-faced man shot him a sideways glare. “Of course. Shaolin has stood tall for centuries, leading the martial world. No other sect can compare.”
He paused, glancing awkwardly at the young man in white, as if realizing his words might have been ill-chosen.
The youth in white stared for a moment at the solemn cluster of temples ahead before speaking. “Indeed, Shaolin has long been the fountainhead of martial arts, home to many masters. I hope I can encounter one who will help me break through.”
“With your talent, Young Master, only Master Zhang could be your equal. You will surely succeed,” the slender man said.
The youth in white sighed. “Innate mastery… how difficult it is to attain!”
He drew another breath and said, “We are near the Shaolin gate. Let us dismount and walk up.”
The four dismounted and led their horses up the path.
After several hundred steps, they neared the entrance to Shaolin. To the left, ancient trees shaded a forest of stone steles, most of them broken and the inscriptions on the rest blurred with age.
Beyond the stele forest, they climbed a hundred more steps to the main gate. The sound of chanting drifted from within: “Blessed One, in the evil world five hundred years hence, should any uphold this scripture, I shall protect them, remove their suffering, grant them peace, and prevent all demons, sons or daughters of demons, or demonkind from seeking to harm them…”
Two slender young monks, one tall and one shorter, sat cross-legged before the gate, eyes closed in meditation. As the four approached, the clatter of hooves echoed up the mountain, and both monks opened their eyes and stood.
The tall monk called out, “Amitabha. May I ask where you travelers come from and what brings you to our monastery?”
The youth in white pressed his palms together in greeting. “Masters, I am Yuanye of Wudang. I have heard Shaolin’s martial arts are unrivaled and have come to witness them for myself.”
“Yuanye?” The tall monk’s tone was puzzled and his expression odd. For centuries, save for one incident in the Song and another a hundred years past, Shaolin had dominated the martial world. Now, a young Wudang disciple came openly to challenge them—no wonder the monk looked unsettled.
“Silver eyes! You are the Lord of the Black Banner Army—Young Master Wuhen!” the shorter monk gasped, catching sight of the youth’s silver pupils.
“Black Banner Army Lord!” the tall monk echoed, scanning the youth below with alarm.
The four atop the mountain path were indeed Yuanye, the brothers Xiong Ba and Xiong Wu, and Zhao Fan.
It had been three years since they left Xiangyang. In that time, they had traveled east to west, north to south, traversing nearly all the Central Plains. In their quest to challenge the Kunlun Sect, they had even ventured into the Western Regions, encountering many adventures along the way.
Yuanye sought the true essence of martial arts, the Xiong brothers honed their skills through battle, and Zhao Fan, too, had his own gains.
As for the Lord of the Black Banner Army, that was another story entirely.
In early March, they arrived in Henan, drawn to the famed Shaolin Monastery atop Shaoshi Mountain.
As the preeminent force in the martial world for centuries, Shaolin was famed for its countless secret techniques and hidden masters.
Yuanye’s future plans required him to subdue the martial world, and Shaolin was the last great sect they had not visited. Thus, upon reaching Dengfeng, they rode straight up Shaoshi Mountain, ready to experience the profound depths of Shaolin martial arts.
The two Shaolin monks stood stunned for a few breaths before recovering. The tall monk pressed his palms together, intoning, “Amitabha. Young Master, your presence graces our humble monastery. Please, step inside and rest while I inform the abbot.”
After whispering something to the shorter monk, the tall one hurried up the mountain to deliver news of Yuanye’s arrival.
Though meant as a secret, Yuanye overheard clearly enough: the short monk was to delay their party and give the monastery time to prepare.
Yuanye smiled, unconcerned. No matter how well prepared Shaolin was, what did he have to fear?
It was no surprise that the Shaolin monks were nervous. In recent years, news of Young Master Wuhen’s arrival would put any sect on high alert. The actions of Yuanye and his companions had left every sect in the land humiliated, yet none could openly retaliate—they could only swallow their anger.
A month before, Shaolin had received word that Yuanye’s group had visited Emei in Sichuan, and the monks had secretly rejoiced at the misfortune that had befallen Emei.
They had not expected the group to leave Emei, pass through Chengdu, and then head east for Dengfeng, making Shaolin their next destination.
Clearly, the monks did not believe the group was simply sightseeing. Within a thousand li of Dengfeng, no other power could draw such attention—none but Shaolin.
Half a month earlier, the three Shaolin Divine Monks and the chiefs of each hall had convened in urgent council, deliberating through the night before concluding that a challenge was inevitable. Even if they lost, Shaolin would lose with dignity; they would not suffer the disgrace that had befallen the Huashan Sect—defeated in skill, lives lost, and their corpses desecrated.
Since then, the atmosphere in Shaolin had changed. The abbot himself issued a decree forbidding monks from leaving the monastery.
Though the monks grumbled inwardly, none dared defy the order. They remained cloistered, training bitterly day and night. Strangely, business in Dengfeng’s taverns and brothels plummeted, as if even the townsfolk were influenced by Shaolin’s new ascetic spirit.
At last, Yuanye and his companions arrived.
The short, stout monk standing before Yuanye was both anxious and secretly delighted.
Soon, word would spread through Dengfeng that the party had ascended Shaoshi Mountain, and countless young maidens would rejoice, blushing at the thought of their mysterious suitor.