Wandering Swordsman |

Shen Tao's voice still seemed to echo in my ears, deep and solemn. At that time, he appeared cold as ice, but inside, his heart was pounding like thunder. My grandfather? That relative I had never met, whose name my parents had never even mentioned, was actually spending the rest of his life in this ancient temple, with its lamp and Buddha?

Since we're already here, should we go see him?

The thought, like a vine, coiled around her heart, tightening ever more. But what followed was a deeper concern—the old lady's hatred for her mother had long since penetrated to the bone. If she learned that she had reunited with her grandfather, would she use this as an excuse to cause trouble? Her grandfather was old; if she were to be dragged into this turmoil because of her impulsive actions, wouldn't that be the greatest act of filial impiety?

Moreover... is he really ready to face a relative he has never met?

Shen Mo closed his eyes, and the blurry face of his mother, Wen Shi, appeared in his mind—gentle, silent, always gazing into the distance in the dead of night.

"If even my mother has never mentioned my grandfather, why should I force it?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible, but it was gently swept away by the mountain wind and scattered among the pine trees.

He didn't come here to find his relatives after all. He came to track down that mysterious young man and to uncover the conspiracy of overseas evil cultivators infiltrating the Central Plains.

Family ties are like a candle; though they warm the heart, they are easily extinguished by the wind. Rather than hastily acknowledging each other, it is better to quietly protect them.

Shen Mo took a deep breath, the crisp mountain air filling his lungs, seemingly washing away the last trace of hesitation. At that moment, only one thought occupied Shen Mo's mind: 'Grandpa, your well-being is my greatest comfort in this life.'

As Shen Mo was pondering, the young man slowly walked into Shaolin Temple, his expression calm and his demeanor composed.

Upon arriving at the palace, he took out three incense sticks from his sleeve, his movements slow and solemn, as if he already knew them by heart.

He first held the incense in his left hand, gently stroked the tip of the incense with his right hand, and bowed to the sky; then he put his hands together, raised the incense to his forehead, closed his eyes and whispered, his lips and teeth moving slightly, as if he were praying silently; finally, he slowly inserted the incense into the burner, and the green smoke rose up, turning into strands of pale golden threads in the afterglow of the setting sun, winding around the eaves of the Buddhist temple and soaring into the sky.

When he prayed to Buddha, he knelt on the prayer mat with his back straight as a pine tree and his forehead lightly touching the ground. His movements were unhurried, yet they conveyed an indescribable piety.

If Shen Mo hadn't witnessed him splitting pillars with his finger and killing people invisibly, he would almost have believed that he was a devout Buddhist.

This scene was witnessed by an old monk with white eyebrows. The monk was wearing an ochre-yellow kasaya, holding prayer beads, and his eyes were as calm as an ancient well. He was none other than Master Huikong, a high-ranking monk from Shaolin Temple.

He stepped forward slowly, put his palms together, and said, "Amitabha. Your worship is as meticulous and sincere as that of a disciple of this old monk. I observe that your features are clear and bright, yet there is a hint of worldliness about you, suggesting you are not an ordinary pilgrim. May I ask if you would be willing to come with me to the meditation hall for a chat?"

The young man paused slightly, then rose, clasped his hands in return, and said in a gentle, jade-like voice, "Disciple Jianzhen, I came here to pray for peace. I passed by this temple and saw the Buddha's light, which moved me deeply, hence my respect. If the Master does not mind, I am willing to listen to your teachings."

"Jianzhen?" Master Huikong's eyes snapped open, his prayer beads stopped abruptly, and his face showed undisguised astonishment. "Benefactor... you share the same name as the renowned Master Jianzhen from hundreds of years ago?"

The young man lowered his eyes, a slight smile playing on his lips, seemingly humble yet concealing his sharpness: "It's just a coincidence. This disciple dares not overstep the bounds of the sages."

Master Huikong gazed at him for a long time, his eyes seemingly able to pierce through his skin and reach his very soul. He slowly nodded and led him into the meditation hall. Inside, a single lamp burned dimly, sandalwood incense filled the air, and a character for "Zen" hung on the wall, its ink strokes vigorous and powerful, seemingly possessing immense strength.

"Since your name is 'Jianzhen,' you should know that 'Jian' means keen observation, and 'zhen' means your true nature." Master Huikong sat cross-legged on a futon, his tone gentle yet profoundly insightful. "However, from your perspective, although you have great ambitions, you are beset by misfortunes. What you seek is like rowing against the current; the path you walk is like treading on mountains of knives and seas of fire. If you insist on moving forward, you may face the danger to your life."

Jianzhen remained unmoved, clasping his hands together: "What this disciple seeks is nothing more than to purify the corrupt world and eliminate violence and bring peace. What calamity could there be?"

Master Huikong shook his head, a hint of pity flashing in his eyes: "What you seek, benefactor, may not be truly virtuous; your actions may not align with the Way of Heaven. Your convictions are as firm as iron, yet you are unaware that the secrets of Heaven have changed. Recently, Ziwei has shifted, and Mars guards the heart, foretelling great chaos in the martial world. And you…" He paused, his voice low and deep, "If you attempt to forcibly intervene in this chaos, not only will you fail, but you will also incur a great calamity."

He raised his eyes, his gaze piercing: "This old monk advises you, benefactor, to return to where you came from. Do not cross the line of destiny."

Jianzhen bowed his head respectfully and said, "Thank you for your guidance, Master. I will remember it."

However, he inwardly sneered.

A great calamity? Fate? The martial arts world of the Central Plains is nothing but a bunch of conservative and pedantic scholars who can't even sense the real killing intent, yet they dare to talk about the secrets of heaven?

He appeared humble, but his heart was churning like a raging storm: What can the martial arts world of the Central Plains, with its thousand-year-old tradition, do to me? If there is any obstacle, with my strength, I can shatter it with a single palm strike.

"This person worships Buddha as if he were a true believer, and speaks as if he were kind, but deep in his eyes, there is clearly a demon who disrespects Buddha, does not believe in Heaven, and only believes in his own hand." Master Huikong seemed to sense something, his brows furrowed slightly, but he ultimately remained silent.

He knew that heavenly secrets could not be forcibly revealed, and that people's hearts could not be forcibly changed.

After a moment of silence, Jianzhen suddenly spoke softly, his tone carrying just the right amount of admiration and a hint of barely perceptible probing: "This disciple has long heard that Shaolin is a sacred Buddhist site, not only with unparalleled martial arts but also with a supreme sacred relic—the Buddha's relic. Although this disciple is dull-witted, I yearn for it... If I could see it even once, I would die without regret."

As soon as he finished speaking, the air in the meditation hall seemed to freeze for a moment.

Master Huikong slightly raised his eyelids, his gaze as calm and serene as the moon reflected in an ancient well, yet concealing a sharp edge.

He slowly twirled the Bodhi prayer beads in his hand, his voice deep and steady: "The Buddha's relics are indeed the most precious treasure of this temple, enshrined in the underground palace of the Sutra Repository. They cannot be opened lightly except on ordinary days. Only on the Buddha's birthday, the eighth day of the fourth lunar month, does the abbot personally preside over the 'Relic Consecration Ceremony,' at which time thousands of people gather and incense burns like the sea, finally allowing them to see the true form."

He paused, his gaze sharp as a needle, gently piercing Jianzhen: "If you truly admire him, you may visit Shaolin again next year on Buddha's Birthday. At that time, the mountain gates will be wide open, and all pilgrims may enter the halls to pay their respects, and may also join the crowd in chanting sutras and praying for blessings, accumulating immeasurable merit."

Upon hearing this, Jianzhen immediately clasped his hands together, a look of gratitude appearing on his face: "Master, you are merciful! This disciple understands. The Buddha's relics are supreme sacred objects, how can they be treated lightly? This disciple was rash and almost offended you, please forgive me, Master." His tone was sincere, and even a hint of "shame" appeared in his eyes, as if he truly regretted his abruptness.

However, beneath his lowered eyelids, his gaze was like that of a venomous snake deep in a cold pool, chilling and sharp.