Down the Mountain: The Moment You Step Outside, You Are Already in the Jianghu

Master Worryless's gaze fell upon him, carrying a hint of deeper meaning. "By taking first place this time, you have become the foremost of Shaolin's younger generation. Naturally, you shall be chosen as a 'seed expert' and sent down the mountain to travel the jianghu."

"First, to gain experience in the jianghu and broaden your horizons."

"Second, to represent Shaolin at this year's Eight Sects Alliance."

He paused, and his voice grew more solemn. "At that time, the seed experts selected by the eight great sects will gather together for the grand occasion. The resources of the eight sects will be pooled to cultivate their seed experts."

He looked at Zhu Yingxiong, expectation shining in his eyes. "There will be pills to improve your cultivation for you to choose from. Whether you can obtain them will depend on your own abilities."

Zhu Yingxiong's heart stirred slightly.

The Eight Sects Alliance, where all the seeds gathered. At last, he could venture out and see what the true jianghu of the Ming Empire was really like.

Master Worryless said slowly, "The Eight Sects Alliance is held once every two years, rotating among the eight great sects. This year, it will be held at Ancient Sword Pool. You must arrive there before the fifteenth of August."

He fell silent for a moment, then suddenly recalled something and looked up.

"Master, this disciple has another question."

"What is it?"

"In the Scripture Repository, this disciple searched everywhere but could not find the Marrow-Cleansing Scripture. May I ask where it is?"

At his words, Master Worryless's eyes dimmed slightly. After a long silence, he finally spoke slowly.

"The original Marrow-Cleansing Scripture was lost more than two hundred years ago."

Zhu Yingxiong's heart sank. The Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture and Marrow-Cleansing Scripture were Shaolin's two great treasures. He had assumed the latter was simply being kept elsewhere, never expecting it to have been lost.

"However."

Master Worryless's voice pulled him from his disappointment.

"Rumor has it that the Pure Thought Chan Sect still possesses a handwritten copy."

Zhu Yingxiong abruptly raised his eyes.

"It is only a rumor and has never been confirmed." Master Worryless looked at him with a trace of warning in his gaze. "Do not become too fixated on it."

"This disciple understands."

Zhu Yingxiong lowered his head in acknowledgment, silently repeating the name Pure Thought Chan Sect to himself.

The Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture was already so miraculous. How profound and wondrous must the Marrow-Cleansing Scripture be?

Even if it was only a rumor, he would surely have to make the journey someday.

Zhu Yingxiong bid his master farewell and left the meditation chamber.

Bamboo shadows swayed as a fresh breeze brushed his face. He followed the moss-covered pebble path out of the tranquil grounds, planning to visit Senior Brother Yuan Cheng's meditation courtyard and ask him about the jianghu below the mountain.

Yet halfway there, he suddenly stopped.

Not far ahead, beside the stone path, a figure stood with his hands behind his back. He seemed to have waited for a long while, yet had deliberately chosen a spot that neither blocked the path nor seemed abrupt. He would not intrude, but could still be noticed at a glance.

He wore a dark official uniform, with a regulation saber hanging at his waist.

It was none other than He Qiyang, the chief constable of the seven provinces.

"Greetings, Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen."

The moment He Qiyang saw him appear, he hurried forward and bowed. His manner was respectful and attentive, as though he had been waiting a long time for this meeting.

Zhu Yingxiong paused slightly, then returned the gesture with his palms pressed together. "Oh? So it is Chief Constable He. What brings you here?"

"Ah, Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen, just call me He Qiyang. Chief constable or not, before you, Martial Uncle, this junior cannot bear such a title." He Qiyang raised his head with a smile perfectly arranged upon his face—not overly fawning, yet full of warmth and familiarity.

Zhu Yingxiong's gaze passed over the bulging bundle on his shoulder, and he asked casually.

"Chief Constable He, are you heading down the mountain?" He did not address him by name directly.

At that, the smile on He Qiyang's face deepened as he answered smoothly.

"I am about to return to Wuchang Prefecture. Before departing, I heard that Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen would soon be traveling down the mountain as well. I thought that, no matter what, I had to come and see you."

He paused, his tone growing increasingly earnest.

"If Martial Uncle should pass through Wuchang Prefecture someday, please do me the honor of allowing this junior to play host. Should you ever have need of me, Martial Uncle, simply give the word. He will certainly do everything in his power."

His words were heartfelt and sincere, as though they were old friends who had known each other for years.

Zhu Yingxiong looked at him without changing expression. "In that case, many thanks, Chief Constable He."

"You are too courteous, Martial Uncle." He Qiyang waved his hands repeatedly. "Martial Uncle and I come from the same source, both disciples of Shaolin. We should naturally look after one another. Speaking of thanks only makes us seem distant."

After exchanging a few more words—nothing but expressions of admiration and concern—He Qiyang finally had the sense to stop. He bowed.

"I shall not disturb Martial Uncle's cultivation any longer. This junior takes his leave. Please take care, Martial Uncle."

"Travel safely, Chief Constable." Zhu Yingxiong returned the salute with his palms pressed together.

He Qiyang turned and strode away along the stone path. His dark-clad figure grew farther and farther away before soon disappearing deep within the bamboo grove.

Zhu Yingxiong remained where he was, watching the vanished figure as the faint smile on his face slowly faded.

He had waited here specifically just to bid him farewell—

This chief constable of the seven prefectures was certainly a thoughtful man.

It was just that such thoughtfulness had likely been directed at the wrong person.

He gave a slight shake of his head, then turned and continued toward Yuan Cheng's meditation courtyard.

Over the next few days, he visited the Scripture Repository as usual and used up his reward of seven days of reading.

He nearly went through every book in the entire Scripture Repository again. At the same time, he recorded every martial art he had not recorded before, including some unconventional yet practical ones.

Then he devoted himself to studying the ten martial arts he had selected earlier.

Seven days later, on a clear morning.

At Shaolin Temple's mountain gate, the morning light had just broken through, and the pine breeze drifted gently.

Zhu Yingxiong was saying his farewells.

Yuan Cheng stood before the stone steps, looking at his junior brother who was about to descend the mountain, his eyes full of envy.

"I do not know when I will be able to go down the mountain and gain experience.

Junior Brother, once you leave, you will surely make a name for yourself in the jianghu. Then, even here in the temple, I will hear of your fame."

The little novice Pure Affinity craned up his face, his eyes sparkling. He wanted to say something, yet did not know what to say.

Zhu Yingxiong lowered his head and reached out to rub that round little head once more.

"Work hard. When I return, I will test your martial arts."

Pure Affinity nodded heavily, though his eyes had already quietly reddened.

Zhu Yingxiong said no more. He turned around, leaving the mountain gate behind him, and stepped onto the long bluestone stairway leading down the mountain.

He descended the long stairway at an unhurried pace, as though he were merely taking an ordinary walk. Yet in less than half an hour, the foot of the mountain was already before him.

At the mountain's foot stood a pavilion in quiet solitude.

Beside it were three tall, entirely black horses tied up, their saddles and bridles gleaming, each one remarkably fine and spirited.

Within the pavilion sat a man in a commanding posture, his presence imposing. Two saber-bearing guards stood behind him.

Zhu Yingxiong's eyes were sharp, and he recognized the man from afar. It was Yan Wuju, commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

His heart stirred slightly. Is Martial Uncle leaving today as well? What a coincidence.

As his thoughts raced, he had already reached the pavilion. He pressed his palms together in salute, neither humble nor overbearing.

"This disciple greets Martial Uncle."

As he spoke, his gaze swept over the two men behind Yan Wuju. Both wore flying-fish robes and carried Embroidered Spring Sabers at their waists—the attire of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

"Martial Nephew Yuan Zhen, are you heading down the mountain?"

"Reporting to Martial Uncle, I am." Zhu Yingxiong pressed his palms together. "By my master's orders, this disciple is descending the mountain to gain experience and broaden his horizons."

"What a coincidence." Yan Wuju nodded slightly. "I am heading south, returning to the capital, Yingtian Prefecture. We can travel together. How about I see you off for part of the way?"

At his words, Zhu Yingxiong thought to himself, Such a coincidence?

His expression remained unchanged as he lowered his head.

"Thank you for your kindness, Martial Uncle. However, this disciple is descending the mountain to gain experience and wishes to travel alone. I would not dare trouble Martial Uncle to escort me."

His words were courteous and proper, yet carried a faint sense of distance.

The concern of this commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard had come rather suddenly.

He had never had any dealings with this martial uncle. Today was only their second meeting. Yet the other man was the commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, in charge of the empire's intelligence apparatus—a decisive and ruthless man of deep schemes. For such a person to suddenly treat him with such warmth gave him an inexplicable sense of wariness.

Yan Wuju was not angered. He merely nodded slightly.

"Very well. Then I shall not delay you."

With that, he stepped out of the pavilion and mounted his horse in one clean, decisive motion. He flicked the reins, and the black horse let out a long neigh as it reared up.

He reined in the horse and looked back, his gaze falling on Zhu Yingxiong with a meaningful look.

"We shall meet again in the capital."

Before his words had faded, he spurred his horse away.

The two Embroidered Uniform Guards followed closely behind. Their hoofbeats fell like a sudden downpour, and they quickly vanished beyond the end of the official road.

Zhu Yingxiong stood before the pavilion, watching the dust fade into the distance without moving for a long time.

Morning light fell across his moon-white monk's robes, stretching his shadow long and longer.

Behind him rang the morning bells of the ancient temple, a thousand years old.

Before him lay the unknown jianghu, where storms were already gathering.