Killing Monks

Jiang Junti lowered her head and let the fists fall on her body.

One punch after another.

Consciousness gradually faded.

He suddenly remembered when he was a child, his master taught him martial arts by punching him one punch at a time.

At that time, my master said: "I'm hitting you for your own good, to make you remember that you can't be lazy when practicing."

Later, the master stopped hitting him.

Later, my master died.

He was ordered to commit suicide by the emperor.

He didn't even dare to cry.

……

Outside the illusion, Guangyuan held the Mirror of Observation, quietly watching everything in the valley.

The golden light has gradually faded.

The armored guards stopped what they were doing, formed a circle, and looked down at the mangled body on the ground.

They had been manipulated by the illusion and unleashed all their anger, resentment, and hatred on their leader.

One punch, one punch, another punch.

Jiang Junti lay motionless on the ground.

Long, long afterward, only Guangyuan remained in the valley.

The wind blew in from the mouth of the valley, ruffling his clothes.

He looked at the twenty-three corpses on the ground, but he wasn't happy; he just sighed.

If Jiang Junti had resisted Wei Mingxin in the illusion just now, he might have been able to break through his inner demons, and then he would have been the one fleeing in panic.

But Jiang Junti did not fight back, not even after she died.

He left the valley and did not continue towards Qujiang County. Instead, he turned back and headed towards Nanting Township.

Two days later, Guangyuan stood in front of a pile of ruins.

The Yin family mansion had been reduced to a charred skeleton. The beams had collapsed, the walls were crumbling, and the black smoke had long since dissipated, leaving only ashes swirling in the wind.

Guangyuan stepped over the burned threshold and went inside.

The courtyard was littered with signs of battle: sword energy, qi, eagle claws, and charred corpses.

He stopped in his tracks.

A broken sword was stuck diagonally in the ashes.

The sword was blackened by the fire, the blade was chipped in several places, and the tip was broken off.

But Guangyuan still recognized him.

The third sword.

He recalled the man's peculiar sword stance, saying: "Ten swords, the third sword."

He recalled that when they parted, the man clasped his hands in a fist salute and said, "Monk, until we meet again."

Until next time.

Guangyuan crouched down and reached out to grasp the broken sword.

The sword was cold.

When he left that day, the Third Sword remained behind. He said he could handle the Imperial Guards.

He certainly can.

His sword could pierce through the Nine Dragons Overlord Body, and his Taiyin Sword Technique could injure the leader of the men in black.

But he couldn't defeat the Great Zhou.

Looking at the devastated ruins, Guangyuan wondered what had happened that night.

The leader of the men in black hadn't gone far. He gathered more men, even more men.

If twenty people aren't enough, then forty. If forty people aren't enough, then eighty.

To use numbers to overpower the few, to use the majority to oppress the minority.

Cui Ku La Xiu.

Yin Ping is dead. His daughter and son-in-law are dead. The child who hid behind his mother, timidly watching him, is also dead.

The third sword also killed him.

This is the power of a dynasty.

Perhaps from the moment Yin Ping uttered those words in court, from the moment the emperor harbored murderous intent, this was the inevitable ending.

Within the territory of the Great Zhou, Yin Ping had nowhere to escape.

The people the emperor wanted to kill were simply living one more day or one day later.

With Yin Ping's experience in officialdom, how could he not know?

he knows.

He probably knew from the beginning.

So he departed so calmly and peacefully. He chose to die in his hometown, in his ancestral home, on the land of the Great Zhou, as a subject of the Great Zhou!

Instead of fleeing the Great Zhou and living a life of ignominy.

Just like Jiang Junti, she did not run away from death.

But what about his family?

The young woman holding the child, the man standing in front of his wife and child, and the child peeking out to look at him.

What did they do wrong?

There is a third sword.

He could have left. He could have ignored it. But he didn't.

And myself.

Guangyuan looked down at the broken sword in his hand.

What did I get in return for my act of chivalry?

It was the ambush in the valley. It was Jiang Junti's death. It was myself standing before the ruins at this moment.

If I hadn't left Nanting Township at that time, or if I had been with the Third Sword, I could have repelled the Imperial Guards.

But what about next time?

What about the time after that?

The wind swept through the ruins, stirring up ashes that blinded us.

Guangyuan raised his head, looked at the gray sky, and suddenly remembered a poem he had memorized in his previous life.

"The sacred deeds of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors have deceived countless travelers."

The sound echoed among the ruins, but there was no response.

He released his grip, and the broken sword fell back into the ashes with a muffled thud.

Guangyuan turned around and left the ruins without looking back.

He endured wind and rain, sleeping outdoors along the way, and meddled in some other people's business, which delayed him. By the time he returned to Prajna Temple in Qujiang County, it was already March or April.

In March and April, the peach blossoms are in full bloom.

But when he stood in front of the Prajna Temple, he stopped in his tracks.

The temple gates were tightly closed.

White seals were pasted across the two wooden doors, and the vermilion official seals on the seals had faded and become blurred by wind and rain.

The threshold was covered with fallen leaves, and green grass grew in the cracks of the steps.

The date on the seal was two months ago.

Guangyuan stood in front of the door and looked for a long time.

He turned and went down the mountain, entering Qujiang County.

After wandering around the county town for most of the day, he finally found the mute man at the corner of a dilapidated street.

The mute man huddled in the corner, his clothes tattered, looking even more disheveled than when he was in Huji Town. He was so thin that his cheekbones protruded, his eyes were sunken, and he held a broken bowl in his hands, which contained half a bowl of leftover food.

The mute man was stunned when he saw Guangyuan.

The bowl fell to the ground, spilling leftover food everywhere.

He lunged forward, grabbing Guangyuan's sleeves tightly with both hands, wailing and crying out, tears streaming down his face. He screamed with all his might, but couldn't utter a single word.

Guangyuan didn't move, letting him hold her.

After the mute boy finished crying, he started gesturing. His hands moved rapidly, his face full of anxiety. But his gestures were too chaotic and too hasty for Guangyuan to understand.

Fortunately, Qujiang County is not large, and fortunately, there are well-informed people in the county.

Guangyuan took the mute man to a small teahouse in the county town. They found the knowledgeable storyteller who always sat in the corner.

A few taels of silver were placed on the table.

The storyteller cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Your Prajna Temple was originally a peaceful place. After you left, that mute monk stayed there all by himself, opening the door, sweeping the floor, and adding incense to welcome guests every day."

"The incense at the temple is cheap, costing only one coin per stick, and sometimes even none at all. Poor people from far and wide love to go there."

"Later, that mute master even gave people porridge."

"Over time, the reputation of Prajna Temple spread. Some said it was a miracle from the Bodhisattva, while others said it was the compassion of the mute master."

The storyteller picked up his teacup and took a sip.

"But in this world, some people are happy, and some people are not."

Guangyuan asked, "Who's unhappy?"