This is not the Shaolin Sword Intent. The bitterness in this sword is so intense, like a mountain collapsing and then being engulfed in flames—before it even kills, it is already scorched and withered.
Yet even a scorched sword is something the sixteen Shaolin monks could not withstand. They had no choice but to scatter and evade. In that single stroke, Tang Lici severed the last chain binding Pu Zhu’s right leg, his figure flickering like a ghost as he struck a major acupoint at the back of Pu Zhu’s neck. Then, lifting him by the collar, he vanished into the distance.
The Scripture Storage Pavilion blazed fiercely, black smoke coiling like malevolent spirits haunting the sky. Da Bao and Da Hui, their inner energy still unstable, could only watch as Tang Lici abducted Pu Zhu. Thousands of Shaolin monks gazed upward as Tang Lici made his escape, their expressions unreadable, their faces dark.
This was undeniably a humiliating disgrace.
Far away, beneath the dimly lit trees of the night, a figure leaned against a trunk, watching the distant flames of the Scripture Storage Pavilion.
“Venerable Master, will you not go and help extinguish the fire?” the man sighed.
“This old monk and Shaolin share a hatred as deep as the sea,” the elderly monk replied slowly. “Dahe annihilated my sect, slaughtered my wife and daughter. Had your father not saved my life back then, I would no longer exist in this world.” The man had white eyebrows and a white beard, appearing around sixty years old, his countenance gentle and kind—almost like the Long-Browed Arhat from the Arhat Hall. His appearance was serene, his tone calm and unhurried, yet the words he spoke were filled with ruthless venom, starkly at odds with his tranquil demeanor.
This was none other than the missing Miaoxing Chanshi.
Miaoxing Chanshi knew no martial arts, having devoted himself to Buddhist studies. On the surface, he seemed to have no connection with the martial monks of the “Da” generation. Yet no one knew his true secular identity or why he harbored such deep hatred for Shaolin Temple. The “Dahe” he spoke of was Pu Zhu’s nominal master, who had passed away many years ago—yet Miaoxing’s resentment remained unquenched.
The man in black observing the fire from the woods no longer held a red feathered fan. Even if Liu Yan were to see him now, he might not immediately recognize him as his once-renowned disciple, Fang Pingzhai. This black robe Fang Pingzhai wore was embroidered with silver patterns, luxurious even for night attire, as if deliberately setting him apart. When Miaoxing addressed him as “Prince Ji,” it confirmed that Fang Pingzhai had reclaimed his identity—as the sixth son of Later Zhou’s Emperor Chai Rong, Prince Ji Chai Xijin.
Feigning death to return to life, half a lifetime in exile, yet still unable to escape fate.
Burning the Scripture Storage Pavilion, framing Tang Lici, killing Da Cheng, Miaozhen, Miaozheng… Chai Xijin took no joy in it, and he grieved for them deeply. But… just as he could walk alongside Miaoxing, because Miaoxing’s venomous grudge mirrored his own family’s vengeance—if they could not devour others, they would devour themselves.
All of this was wrong. All of it was sinful.
But what did it matter?
Before Chai Xijin’s eyes, he kept seeing the corpses of Baiyun Valley, crawling over scorched, blood-soaked earth, gnawed at by wild beasts—yet never dying…
They moved. They spoke. And they never died…
Never died.
They never died.
So Fang Pingzhai died.
And Chai Xijin lived.
Now he stood here, watching the Scripture Storage Pavilion burn, watching Tang Lici’s reputation crumble, watching him break through the siege—even abducting Pu Zhu.
Outside Shaolin Temple, in the depths of Mount Funiu, within the woods where they had encountered the “Jade Flute Mountain Treasure Vase Venerable” ten days prior.
Tang Lici, gripping Pu Zhu, came to a stop amidst the wreckage of the forest.The poisonous mist released by Mo Ziru had driven away all the insects and beasts in the area, and the Songshan Sect would not return here again, making it a suitable place for temporary rest. Among the trees lay a shattered carriage, which Tang Lici did not disdain. He simply secured the broken walls of the carriage, turning it into a makeshift shelter from wind and rain.
He dragged the blind and mute Pu Zhu into the broken carriage.
Though Tang Lici had sealed Pu Zhu's acupoints, the monk still tightly gripped his sword.
It was merely an ordinary Blue Steel Sword, but Pu Zhu, having practiced swordsmanship for years, held the hilt so firmly it seemed cast in iron or bronze—impossible to pry from his grasp. Tang Lici tossed his own Jade Sword aside and remained silent for a moment. "Master Pu Zhu," he said slowly, "'Three Slumbers Sleepless Sky' cannot take your life."
Pu Zhu's face was pale, his eyes closed, and he did not speak.
Tang Lici continued, "Who in this world can claim to be without fault? Master, what shatters your Buddha-heart is not your transcendent friend, but your inability to see through." His tone lacked its usual vigor and sharpness, instead sounding weary and indifferent. "Be it the admiration of the world, the love of the masses, or the depths of wickedness, the unforgivable sins... Greed, hatred, delusion, unfulfilled desires, resentment, separation from loved ones..." He spoke slowly, "All is impermanent. This world... has always been so."
He seemed to have forgotten that Pu Zhu's acupoints were sealed and thus incapable of responding. After a long pause, he added, "The world is ever-changing, inconstant. What one loves today, what one hates today, the rights and wrongs of today—when revisited in another time, they may no longer hold. So-called 'impermanence'... means nothing lasts forever. Yet Buddha-nature is Tathāgata, Tathāgata is Dharma, and Dharma is permanence. Permanence is Tathāgata, Tathāgata is Sangha, and Sangha is permanence. Master, the rights and wrongs of actions are always impermanent, but for the 'Sangha,' as long as the Buddha-heart remains unchanged, it is Tathāgata." He spoke softly, "Stray from the path, and hell awaits. Wielding a sword to vanquish evil, saving lives and doing good—these are never wrong."
Pu Zhu trembled slightly. Of all the words Tang Lici had spoken, it was only at the phrase "stray from the path, and hell awaits" that he reacted.
After finishing, Tang Lici fell silent again. A long while later, he murmured, "...Master, your sword to vanquish evil is just like my omnipotence..."
As to how they were alike, he did not elaborate.
After another stretch of silence, he said slowly, "First, you must accept fate, see yourself clearly, and then see through... Understand that what you will bear is not injustice, but deserved retribution."
Pu Zhu suddenly opened his eyes. Though his gaze lacked focus, it seemed to gleam with light.
"Then ask yourself: Can you acknowledge it, endure it, and start anew?" Tang Lici whispered. "If not—if you feel humiliated, wronged, unable to bear it, if you believe your sins are unforgivable... then once your acupoints unseal, you may die. If you can, then congratulations—your Buddha-heart remains unbroken. You merely strayed from the path, and now hell awaits you."
Having said this, Tang Lici did not unseal Pu Zhu's acupoints. He waited patiently for them to release on their own.Yu Konghou disguised himself and deceived Pu Zhu, who then personally wrote a letter condemning Tang Lici. Regardless of what transpired, given Pu Zhu's status as the prospective abbot of Shaolin Temple and his long-standing reputation for impartiality and righteousness, he should not—and could not—have been coerced by Yu Konghou. Yet not only was Pu Zhu coerced, he was also shackled inside the abbot's chamber. This was not merely a personal failure for Pu Zhu; it was an unprecedented disgrace for Shaolin Temple.
Even if Pu Zhu were to die, he could not escape responsibility.
Yet Tang Lici said... "Hell lies ahead, but your Buddha-heart remains unbroken. Will you... walk on?"
Half an hour later, Pu Zhu sat up. As he did, he seemed to grow calmer, stirring a cloud of dust.
The dust swirled in the moonlight before settling, as though it had never been disturbed.
"My Buddha-heart is but two words—'no regrets,'" Pu Zhu said slowly. "The Avīci Hell is fitting for me."
Tang Lici smiled faintly. "The master is truly admirable."
Pu Zhu tightened his grip on his sword. "And why is it, Benefactor Tang, that you are willing to descend into hell?"
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