The next morning, Li Zhongqian was indeed drunk again.
Yet he still remembered to buy Yaoying the thousand-layer pastry from Granny Zhang’s shop.
Yaoying accepted the pastry and handed him a bowl of sugarcane juice to sober up. "Elder Brother, I sent someone to invite Master Mengda Ti Po into the palace. He has arrived and is currently checking Mother’s pulse."
Li Zhongqian grunted vaguely, tilted his head back to drain the sugarcane juice in one gulp, then collapsed backward onto the felt mat and fell into a deep, snoring sleep.
Yaoying was both exasperated and amused. Kneeling before him, she patted him a few times.
He didn’t stir.
"He always does this—promises one thing, then goes on a drinking spree anyway…"
Yaoying muttered under her breath, wrung out a hot towel, and gently wiped Li Zhongqian’s face and hands.
Li Zhongqian always kept his golden hammers close, and his hands were rough with calluses. Across his palms ran a scar that stretched from one side to the other.
Even after all these years, it still looked startling.
Yaoying held his broad, sturdy hand, her fingertips tracing the fierce knife scar.
When this hand had guided hers to write, it had been slender and lean, with long, delicate fingers.
Back then, Li Zhongqian had been somber yet gentle, refined and elegant. He spent his days studying thick volumes under great scholars, could write rounded yet forceful seal script, and even painted landscapes in rich, dark ink.
Weijun enjoyed a mild climate. In spring, a hundred flowers bloomed, pear blossoms falling like snow in the courtyard, while peach and apricot blossoms displayed their delicate beauty.
A gentle breeze would sweep through, scattering petals like a carpet of fallen splendor across the steps.
While Li Zhongqian read or practiced calligraphy, Yaoying would crawl around on the felt mat beside him.
One moment she would gaze at the flurry of blossoms under the eaves, the next she would turn and prop herself against the desk, watching curiously as he wielded his brush.
Li Zhongqian would lift her onto his lap, take her chubby little hand in his, and teach her how to hold the brush.
He taught her to write her own name and to paint elegant, secluded orchids.
When Yaoying was five, during late spring, Li Zhongqian pointed to the colorful fallen blossoms under the eaves and taught her, word by word, to recite: "From the high tower the guest has gone; in the small garden petals randomly fly."
The day after teaching her this poem, "Falling Blossoms," Li Zhongqian returned to Jingnan to sweep the ancestral graves.
Yaoying went to stay with Li De.
The siblings met again in autumn.
Li Zhongqian, carrying a pair of hundred-catty golden hammers, traveled a thousand miles alone through battlefields littered with corpses and rivers of blood, until he found Yaoying on the brink of death.
Covered in wounds and drenched in blood, he held his little sister tightly.
"Xiao Qi, don’t be afraid. Your elder brother is here to take you home."
The knife scar across Li Zhongqian’s palm was left from that time.
From that day on, he never touched a book or a paintbrush again.
He practiced with his hammers daily, and as Xie Wuliang had predicted, his ferocity grew, his temperament turning increasingly gloomy and volatile.
His body grew stronger and sturdier by the day. The hands that once held books and brushed petals, elegant and refined like those of a noble scion, gradually became what they were now.
Even Xie Qing’s hands were more attractive than Li Zhongqian’s.
Yaoying sat for a while, lost in thought.
She knew how others saw Li Zhongqian.
They said he slaughtered countless people, that he was cruel and brutal, that he emptied city after city.
Yaoying had tried to reason with him.
On the battlefield, it was kill or be killed—there was no room for misplaced mercy. But massacring cities was still too cold-blooded.
Li Zhongqian had chuckled softly and ruffled her hair.
Yaoying thought he had taken her words to heart, but the next day she discovered that all her attendants had been replaced.
Attendant A said, "Young Lady, the Second Young Master is deeply beloved by the common people!"
Attendant B added, "Young Lady, set your mind at ease. The common folk do not speak ill of the Second Young Master."Yaoying was so angry she nearly fell over backwards: Only Li Zhongqian could come up with such a self-deceiving method!
In his deep slumber, Li Zhongqian suddenly turned over, his hand closing tightly around Yaoying’s wrist.
Yaoying stumbled from the pull, snapped back to her senses, pried his hand open, and muttered under her breath: “The magistrates are free to burn down houses, while the common people are forbidden even to light lamps!”
The gauze curtain swayed gently, and Chunru’s voice came from outside: “Your Highness, the Dharma Master has emerged.”
Yaoying left palace maids to care for Li Zhongqian and rose to go to the western wing.
Mengda Ti Po, dressed today in the black robes popular among northern Central Plains monks, stepped out from the inner hall with solemn dignity and dignified bearing, palms pressed together: “Princess, the Noble Consort did indeed use Brahmin medicine.”
The imperial physician nearby lowered his head, cold sweat trickling down.
Yaoying’s expression darkened slightly.
She knew Xie Guifei’s dementia was incurable. She had invited Mengda Ti Po into the palace not to treat Xie Guifei, but to determine the cause of her illness.
Xie Guifei’s condition was peculiar—she had already been acting erratically when Yaoying was born. At that time, Tang Shi was already dead, yet the Xie family remained at the peak of its power, with no signs of impending collapse.
A few months earlier, a Daoist priest, after examining Xie Guifei’s pulse, had shared his suspicion: Xie Guifei might have taken Brahmin medicine, which led to her mental derangement.
The imperial physicians in the palace knew little about Brahmin medicine. Fearing she might alert the enemy, Yaoying had kept this matter quiet.
She invited Mengda Ti Po into the palace precisely to confirm whether the Daoist priest’s suspicion was true or false.
Mengda Ti Po seemed completely oblivious to the suddenly tense atmosphere and said unhurriedly: “The Brahmin medicine used by the Noble Consort is likely an elixir of immortality recorded in the Brahmin Immortal Prescriptions. This humble monk has seen people who took this medicine long-term—they could not sleep at night, found no peace by day, suffered mental confusion, and had distorted memories, exactly like the Noble Consort’s symptoms.”
Yaoying calmly asked: “Dharma Master, is there a cure?”
Mengda Ti Po shook his head, his expression compassionate: “The toxins of the immortality elixir cannot be expelled. Moreover, the Noble Consort’s illness is far more severe than any case this humble monk has seen—her heart’s ailment is difficult to resolve.”
Yaoying understood in her heart.
Xie Guifei could not accept the fact that Xie Wuliang had died. The Brahmin medicine was the cause, but the tragic news of the Xie family drove her completely mad.
In her madness, Xie Wuliang remained alive.
Yaoying closed her eyes briefly, calming all her thoughts.
The palace staff, following her orders, had prepared gold, silver, silk, medicinal herbs, and several horses as gifts of gratitude for Mengda Ti Po.
Xie Qing, having been to the Hall of State Affairs, brought back the transit document signed by several chancellors.
Knowing that Mengda Ti Po was eager to depart for the Western Regions, Yaoying did not detain him further. She presented the document and escorted him out of the palace.
Mengda Ti Po was taken aback.
In truth, he had not wanted to enter the palace to treat Xie Guifei.
While in Shu, Mengda Ti Po often interacted with high officials and nobles. Most were courteous and refined, calling themselves lay practitioners, fervently devoted to Buddhist rituals and sutra discussions. Yet their actions were domineering, selfish, and ruthless, showing no regard for the lives of common people.
When Mengda Ti Po left Shu, the powerful figures who had once treated him as an honored guest immediately turned hostile, forcibly detaining him and his disciples, even killing his attendants to threaten him.
After escaping Shu, his resolve to reach the Western Regions grew stronger. However, the abbot of Daci’en Temple warned him that without a transit document, he would die in Jin City.
For the transit document, Mengda Ti Po had no choice but to risk being detained by the Seventh Princess and enter the palace.When the Seventh Princess asked if Consort Xie's illness could be cured, he hesitated for a moment before speaking the truth.
Consort Xie's illness was indeed incurable.
Mengda Ti Po felt uneasy.
Contrary to his expectations, the Seventh Princess was different from the nobles he had met before. She did not fly into a rage, vent her anger on him, or force him to stay and treat her mother.
As agreed, she readily allowed him to leave and even prepared generous gifts for him.
The heavy stone weighing on Mengda Ti Po's heart finally lifted.
While relieved, he also felt a sense of regret.
The Seventh Princess had a dignified appearance and clear eyes. When her gaze shifted, it was like the sun breaking through the clouds, casting a brilliant and radiant light.
She had an affinity with Buddhism.
Unfortunately, the princess did not believe in Buddhism.
Mengda Ti Po comforted Yaoying: "Princess, everything is fate. For Consort Xie, this may not be a bad thing. Good and bad are interconnected as cause and effect. The world is impermanent—let things follow their natural course."
Yaoying smiled.
She did not understand the Zen meaning in the monk's words, but one thing was clear to her: she would definitely uncover the identity of the poisoner.
Outside the palace gates, Mengda Ti Po solemnly bid farewell to Yaoying.
Yaoying imitated him by placing her palms together: "The journey to the Western Regions is fraught with hardships and dangers. I wish you a safe journey and success in all your endeavors."
Mengda Ti Po said, "Thank you, Princess."
Yaoying recalled something: "The Buddha Prince you wish to meet—is he Dharmaraga, the ruler of the Western Regions Royal Court?"
Mengda Ti Po was somewhat surprised and nodded. "Indeed."
...
The Royal Court of the Western Regions was different from the Central Plains. There, religious authority outweighed royal power. Dharmaraga was not only a revered Buddha Prince but also a secular monarch, regarded as a deity by the people of the Western Regions.
He ascended the throne as a youth, initially serving as a puppet emperor controlled by noble families and confined by ministers to a Buddhist temple to study the Buddhist Dharma.
When Dharmaraga was thirteen, the Northern Rong Khan led thirty thousand troops in a surprise attack on the royal city.
The armies led by the noble families were no match for the Northern Rong forces. They discarded their armor and fled in panic.
Dharmaraga, secluded in the Buddhist temple, learned of the news only when the temple was already heavily surrounded.
Monks urged Dharmaraga to surrender. As the Buddha Prince, the Northern Rong Khan's attack on the royal city was aimed at capturing him to command the Western Regions.
Unwilling to become a captive of the Northern Rong, Dharmaraga calmly directed the Monk Soldiers loyal to him, escaped the royal city, gathered the scattered Royal Court forces, and turned to attack the Northern Rong army.
During the battle, the Buddha Prince Dharmaraga, clad in crimson monastic robes, rode alone at the forefront of the formation.
His robes fluttered in the wind, creating a scene of solemn grandeur.
It was as if a deity had descended to the mortal world.
Inspired, the Monk Soldiers and the army erupted with astonishing combat power, fearlessly charging forward.
With just over two thousand men, they managed to drive the aggressive Northern Rong army out of the Royal Court.
The undefeated Northern Rong Khan never expected to be defeated by a youth. Recalling the strange legends surrounding the Buddha Prince's birth, he felt a lingering fear and turned east to continue annexing other tribes on the grasslands, not daring to provoke the Royal Court again.
At thirteen, Dharmaraga achieved a miraculous victory against the arrogant Northern Rong, earning unprecedented prestige. Seizing the opportunity, he reclaimed royal power and established his rule over the Royal Court.
Since then, the northern route of the Western Regions has enjoyed ten years of peace.
...
A few years ago, a monk from the Western Regions, by chance, found himself stranded in Shu. Mengda Ti Po had interacted with him for a time and heard detailed descriptions of that Buddhist Kingdom in the Western Regions, shrouded in yellow sand. That was how he came to know of Dharmaraga's life story.Years of continuous warfare had severed the connection between the Central Plains and the Western Regions for decades. Now, the various states in the Western Regions believed the Central Plains was still ruled by a unified dynasty.
The Central Plains knew even less about the Western Regions.
Mengda Ti Po hadn’t expected Li Yaoying to have heard of Dharmaraga’s name.
In fact, Yaoying not only knew of Dharmaraga but also knew that monk wouldn’t live for many more years.
As if to prove the saying that extreme wisdom invites harm, Dharmaraga had been frail since childhood. Though he could personally lead Monk Soldiers into battle in his teens, he soon became bedridden, unable to walk or ride horses.
A devout monk, he still resided in a Buddhist temple, using his status as Buddha Prince to suppress ambitious noble families, balance various factions, and intimidate the Northern Rong.
The Northern Rong Khan feared Dharmaraga.
Years later, Li Xuanzhen would fear him too.
Both sought to seize the Northern Route of the Western Regions in one stroke. The former was so terrified of Dharmaraga that he dared not attack the Royal Court for ten years, while the latter, Li Xuanzhen, suffered repeated defeats.
As the legends said, Dharmaraga was the Buddha Prince, protected by divine beings, undefeated in battle.
The Northern Rong and the Wei Dynasty could do nothing but wait for the day Dharmaraga would die from illness.
Dharmaraga knew that as long as he lived one more day, the Royal Court would remain peaceful for one more day. Once he died, the people of the Western Regions would inevitably suffer under the Northern Rong’s iron hooves—able-bodied men slaughtered, the elderly, women, and children enslaved.
Enduring immense suffering, he supported the crumbling Royal Court with his frail, sickly body, but ultimately, he succumbed to illness.
It was said that by the time of his death, illness had ravaged him beyond recognition.
A month later, the Royal Court fell.
Yaoying felt some sympathy for Dharmaraga.
Though both were plagued by poor health, she had been carefully cared for by her brother and suffered little. Dharmaraga, however, had to endure ascetic practices despite his illnesses—his short life of just over twenty years was filled with daily torment.
Perhaps only a monk of such formidable willpower could endure such unimaginable suffering.
Silently sighing in her heart, she asked no further questions. Bidding farewell to Mengda Ti Po, she watched as the monk walked away surrounded by his disciples.
She wondered if the monk would succeed in meeting Dharmaraga.
...
Princess Manor.
After Li Xuanzhen left last night, Zhu Lvyun cried all night. When she looked in the mirror this morning, her eyes were swollen like overripe peaches.
A servant whispered cautiously, "Princess, the Crown Prince stood in the courtyard until midnight before leaving."
Tears welled up again in Zhu Lvyun’s red, swollen eyes. She sobbed, "What good does it do for him to stand guard until midnight? I begged him to send troops to rescue my aunt, but he refused no matter what!"
The servant carefully tried to console her, rambling on with comforting words.
Zhu Lvyun wiped her tears. "My aunt is my only remaining family in this world. I must save her!"
She retrieved the letter her aunt had entrusted to a loyal servant and read it once more, her resolve hardening.
"Go to Yining Ward and inform the Yelu Tribe that I am willing to marry into their tribe!"
The servant bowed in acknowledgment, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
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