Another encounter with a monk (please keep reading)

Li Fuchan sailed down from the seas.

With fate guiding him, he followed the currents, judged the weather, and rode the wind. Waves battered him without cease, and after months of wandering, he finally sailed inland onto a great river. Named the Ji River, it was the Song Kingdom's "king of rivers," linking north and south.

Unlike the scarcely inhabited seas, the Ji River already offered the sight of numerous cargo boats coming and going, and even the faint outlines of Immortal Sect ferry landings.

Unwilling to deal rashly with the local cultivators before understanding the situation, Li Fuchan moored his boat and continued on foot.

He came to a certain place.

A breeze slowly stirred between heaven and earth, wrinkling a thousand-mile lake.

Along both shores of the boundless lake, the scenery was picturesque. The lakeside households said the immortal lords in heaven had opened a gallery of paintings. Now dusk had fallen, and the crimson clouds were almost gone, leaving a single line like a beauty's slender waist. Suddenly, it drew itself delicately tight, and heaven and earth closed their vast eyes.

Night had fallen.

"The lands South of the Yangtze truly have beautiful scenery."

Li Fuchan glanced to the side. A stone on the shore had been carved into a marker bearing the words: Great Night Lake.

"I could stop here for a while, find a cultivators' market, and forge an Enchanted Sword that suits my hand. Unlike the barren seas, this place has more materials for forging, and their quality should be decent."

Li Fuchan did not resume his divinations. After all, he still had nowhere to settle.

In the distance, he spotted a tiny boat, its solitary silhouette no bigger than a mustard seed, moored amid the misty waters. It kept a very low profile, so he called out, "Boatman, can you take me across?"

Someone aboard glanced toward him from afar and called back, "Where do you hail from?"

"A lone rogue cultivator from the distant seas."

The people in the boat exchanged looks and murmured, "How should we handle him?"

"A rogue cultivator from the seas has nothing to his name. We finally managed to slip onto the Lake. All we need to do is lie low until the Lakeside Market opens tomorrow. Don't grow branches outside the trunk."

"He appeared far too abruptly. We can't let our guard down. Lure him aboard. Zhang Zhidong, you kill him."

Standing at the bow, Zhang Zhidong studied the man on shore. Suddenly, he saw a white-robed figure quietly appear beside him. His eyes brightened slightly, and he said with interest, "That might not be easy. A rogue cultivator from the seas who crossed the vast ocean and actually reached these prosperous lands South of the Yangtze. His aura is concentrated, not scattered; his expression steady, not flighty. And with such a fierce face, we might only draw fire onto ourselves."

The Demonic Cultivator leading them nodded and said gravely, "Then why aren't we leaving?"

Under Li Fuchan's gaze, the little boat fled like a startled sparrow, racing away as though possessed. For a moment, he was dumbfounded. "This..."

Just then, someone approached silently at his side. He wore plain white robes, a light veil over his face, and a bamboo hat, leaving only a pair of round, dark eyes visible. Smiling, he said, "The twelfth-generation head of the Yang Family in Tongquan Commandery on the eastern shore broke through to inner vision, raising the family to an aristocratic clan. Only a few days ago, they received the Immortal Sect's investiture and sent children of their direct line up the mountain to cultivate. Now they've taken the lead in organizing this Lakeside Market, inviting the various households to barter and exchange what they lack. In truth, it's a display of their prestige and power. These demonic cultivators slipped in to take advantage of it, hoping to buy low and sell high. A pack of rats accustomed to caution—and you frightened them clean away, fellow Daoist."

In fact, Li Fuchan had long since noticed the white-robed man's presence. They had even traveled together for a stretch, and he had secretly probed him a little. Though surprised by how thoroughly the man understood the situation at Great Night Lake, what truly made his mind falter after hearing those words was not the absurd business of Demonic Cultivators buying and reselling goods.

The lands South of the Yangtze are prosperous. The kingdoms don't meet one another with blades, the Immortal Sect governs mortals, and aristocratic clans stand everywhere. Most immortal cultivators here are refined and handsome, with dignified features. It's unlike the bitter cold of the Northern Lands, where wind and sand scour people's eyes into something coarse and calculating. I ought to change this fierce appearance of mine, lest it breed trouble for no reason.

He crouched, scooped up a handful of lake water to wash his face, and changed into pale blue-and-white robes. His long, formerly stern brows relaxed, gaining a gentler, more unhurried air, and his gray-black eyes softened considerably.

The white-robed man praised him sincerely. "A fine appearance."

Throughout their journey, the man had tried several times to speak to Li Fuchan, but he had never answered, fearing trouble. Now, relaxing a little, he considered silently, This man does look like an ascetic cultivator, and he's done nothing suspicious along the way. Now that I've reached the lands South of the Yangtze, I need a fellow Daoist to ask about the situation. I might as well seek a little advice.

Having made up his mind, he asked, "Where are you headed, fellow Daoist?"

The white-robed man was slightly surprised, not expecting Li Fuchan to initiate a conversation. A smile immediately warmed his eyes and brows as he replied, "I'm about to pass through the Yang Family's territory and head north to cultivate."

At that, something stirred in Li Fuchan's heart. "The Northern Lands are hardly a good place to go."

The white-robed man smiled. Without asking what he meant, he simply recited in a flowing voice:

"Leaving home in youth, long weathered by the dust; beholding mountains and waters, my heart lies still, without a ripple. All kin are distant; life and death are mine. No ties, no shackles, worldly bonds seen through, no bias remains. Sow good fruits far and wide, fall not into evil's fire. Deliver the foolish mortal multitude, cross not the muddy currents of calamity."

His voice paused, then he said softly, "It is only cultivation."

Li Fuchan's eyes lit up. "A fine verse."

After praising it, however, he sighed. "Yet the world has few kind souls like you."

"Oh?"

The white-robed man's gaze sharpened. Seeing a bead of cold sweat slide silently down Li Fuchan's temple, he could not help feeling surprised.

I've never heard of hostility toward Buddhists in the southern lands. Yet as I traveled from east to north, every aristocratic clan I encountered feared me; every sect I saw dreaded me. Those with masters dared not approach me, while those without turned furious eyes on me after only a few words, yet dared say little. I've ended up loathed by people and dogs alike, but no matter how I think about it, I cannot understand why. This man is a rogue cultivator from the seas. Why is he afraid of me too? Could Buddhist cultivators in the north have harmed him?

Li Fuchan bowed slightly. "I have yet to ask your name."

The white-robed man hesitated briefly, but in the end, as always, he revealed his true identity. "This humble monk's Dharma name is Huici, and my secular name is Mu Suli. Greetings, fellow Daoist."

Whoosh.

A brilliant light suddenly flared.

It illuminated the monk's calm, unruffled eyes, as though he had long since grown accustomed to such scenes.

Out on the great lake, Zhang Zhidong had been about to return to the cabin when his gaze suddenly shifted. Dimly, he glimpsed a streak of lightning cleaving the sky deep in the night, and blurted, "Is it going to rain?"

Before he finished speaking, the leading Demonic Cultivator lunged forward. One glance sent his expression changing violently. He grabbed Zhang Zhidong and cursed, "Rain, my ass! It's a Thunder Cultivator! Go!"

But he was still a step too late.

Golden-crimson lightning exploded with a thunderous roar, and Li Fuchan was already standing on the deck.

The leading Demonic Cultivator's face stiffened. Though he could sense that the newcomer's cultivation realm was not high, Thunder Cultivators naturally held the upper hand over them. Besides, they had sneaked in this time; how could they dare make a scene? He could only stiffly cup his hands. "Fellow Daoist, you..."

Li Fuchan seized him, frantic with anger. "Fellow Daoist, my ass! Get moving!"

He watched the little boat on the lake slowly vanish into the night.

Huici removed the veil and bamboo hat from his face, revealing the features of a middle-aged man, with broad, rounded cheeks and bright eyes.

He pressed his palms together and parted his lips, but did not know what to chant. Hiding his head and covering his face, harboring fear in his heart and not daring to reveal his true appearance—how could he have the face to chant the Buddha's name?

Only after a long while did he mock himself. "I truly wonder whether there are two of me in this world. This humble monk does good here, while the other eats people over there. Perhaps that is why they fear me so."

Putting his veil and bamboo hat back on, Huici murmured, sounding both mocking and consoling, "It is only cultivation."

He slowly stepped into the water. Only when the lake reached his waist did he stop sinking. He sighed and waded away.