In the spring of the twelfth year of Chongde, the youngest son of the Northern Pacification Marquis entered the capital from the borderlands, appointed as the Crown Prince’s study companion.
Emerging from the southern gate of the imperial capital of Southern Yao, one could see a towering blue-green mountain standing in the distance. Named Jianjun Mountain, it was rumored to be the place where the founding emperor and a high monk first met. The high monk instantly recognized the emperor’s sovereign physiognomy, helping the founder evade pursuers when he was being hunted, and preparing travel funds to send him safely on his way.
After ascending the throne, the founding emperor remembered the high monk’s grace, but the monk had already passed into nirvana, leaving only a few disciples behind in the dilapidated small temple. The emperor then rebuilt the small temple on Jianjun Mountain, bestowing upon it the name Huguo Temple. Successive abbots within the temple held the title of Huguo Master, tasked with guarding and sustaining the national fortune of Southern Yao.
Although Jianjun Mountain looked close, riding a horse from the capital still took about an hour. The closer one got to the mountain, the more one realized the sheer scale of Jianjun Mountain, with its lush vegetation and a walk from the base to the summit taking at least half an hour.
The mountain paths were narrow, and complying with the founding emperor’s decree to demonstrate sincerity, people of all ranks were required to walk up the mountain on foot. Despite this requirement, Huguo Temple enjoyed flourishing incense offerings, with horses and carriages crowding the base of the mountain and an endless stream of pedestrians coming and going along the winding paths.
Upon reaching the peak, one was met with a rustic, grand, and solemn ancient temple featuring red walls and black tiles, occupying an expansive area. The front gate welcomed streams of endless pilgrims. Bypassing the corridors led to the inner courtyard where entry was forbidden to pedestrians. Monks resided within, and amidst the tranquility, the sounds of pilgrims from the front could occasionally be heard.
A tiny figure slipped through the entrance of the rear courtyard reserved for monks, avoiding the monks engaged in collective chanting in the courtyard, and stealthily made his way toward the abbot’s courtyard amidst the scent of burning incense.
Sneaking up to the window, he heard voices conversing inside. The hand he had intended to push open the window paused against the frame, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to be inside the abbot’s room. Hesitating, he heard one person inside call another Empress, causing the hand that had been reaching for the window to pull back in a hurry, his amber eyes constricting sharply.
Bo Ruofeng thought to himself, why was his timing so unfortunate, running into an imperial consort coming to see that old bald donkey?
Frowning his dark brows, he disconsolately plucked twice at the hemp rope around his waist. On the second day after entering the capital, he had ditched his guards, brought his own tools of retribution, and ridden a horse from the capital to Huguo Temple, determined to demand an explanation from Master Mingkong.
Thirteen years ago, the Northern Pacification Marquis Manor joyfully welcomed the birth of a young master. Compared to the joy of everyone else in the manor, Bo Ruofeng, who had opened his eyes to find himself turned into a tiny infant, was gripped by terror, suspecting this to be an excessively realistic prank directed at him. Wrapped tightly in warm swaddling clothes and unable to move, the moment he opened his mouth, he wailed ceaselessly, crying so hard he nearly choked himself to death.
At that time, this eccentric monk had abruptly paid a visit, and the entire household of the Marquis Manor treated him with utmost courtesy. One look told Bo Ruofeng that this monk possessed an extraordinary status. The moment the other opened his mouth, he declared that the child possessed the natural destiny of the Phoenix, required careful cultivation, and suggested sending him to the capital at an early age.
What a raving madman! Bo Ruofeng thought with absolute certainty; no normal person would ever believe such nonsense.
Yet the Marquis and his wife genuinely believed it. Back then, he was still small and had been placed to one side; the couple hadn’t avoided the infant when discussing the matter, which was how he learned the reasons.
First, male empresses had existed in previous dynasties, so it wasn’t unprecedented, and given the open-minded social customs of the current dynasty, there was admittedly a possibility. Second, and most importantly: as the abbot of Huguo Temple and the direct lineage successor of the nameless high monk from back then, Master Mingkong would certainly never do harm to Da Yao, meaning his prophecy was true nine times out of ten.
Understanding this, Bo Ruofeng realized that because Mingkong held such a prestigious status, whatever he said was bound to be believed by someone.
Having figured it out, the Marquis and his wife looked at him—still an infant—with complex expressions, summoning a parade of physicians to examine him over and over again before finally confirming that he was indeed a boy.
No matter how good one’s temperament was, any adult with a shred of dignity would find such humiliation unbearable. Gripping his fists in indignant anger, Bo Ruofeng had already beaten Mingkong into meat patties within his imagination.
As he grew slightly older, his parents in this lifetime began plotting what to teach him. His elder brother, Bo Yunqi, had learned horseback riding, archery, and martial arts from their father and other deputy generals ever since childhood, clearly groomed with the intention of cultivating the next Northern Pacification General.
Filled with curiosity, he watched those profound and mystical martial arts techniques, brimming with eager anticipation. To his surprise, when it came to his turn, the Marquis and his wife nearly pulled their hair out in distress, ultimately coming up with who-knows-what arrangement to hire a parade of teachers for him—instructors for music, calligraphy and painting, dancing, and palace etiquette nannies specifically assigned to him.
Bo Ruofeng tilted his head to lock gazes with the formidable nanny before him, nearly cracking his milk teeth during the tooth-changing phase.
He blamed all of this entirely on Mingkong—bah, the old bald donkey!
Naturally, Bo Ruofeng hadn’t learned any of those poems, dances, or music. From the moment he learned to speak and run, he embodied rebellion through physical action, investing all his skill points into martial arts. Every single day, he practiced his long spear until it whistled with fierce momentum, thrusting and stabbing relentlessly at a straw dummy. Through diligent and arduous practice, he held onto the hope of one day traveling thousands of miles with a saber to the capital to demand an explanation from the old bald donkey and force him to swallow those absurd remarks back down his throat.
Thirteen years passed, and whether Mingkong had spoken to the emperor or not, the Marquis Manor received an imperial decree explicitly demanding that Bo Ruofeng be sent into the capital to serve as a study companion for the fourteen-year-old crown prince.
Since Master Mingkong had a guest in his room right now, he could simply come back later. He had already waited thirteen years filled with doubt and confusion, so he didn’t mind waiting a few more sticks of incense. Frowning, Bo Ruofeng straightened up and was about to head toward the front via the courtyard gate when he heard hurried footsteps approaching from ahead.
Glancing left and right, the courtyard was small with only a few clumps of dwarf grass. As the footsteps drew closer and seemed on the verge of entering the door, he nimbly vaulted over the red wall and leaped out of the temple grounds.
Right outside the temple lay a forest, through which a rugged path wound its way down the mountain, serving as the route monks used to travel up and down. Plucking a long blade of grass casually, Bo Ruofeng whirled it around as he loitered outside the woods.
The spring sunshine was bright and warm, casting a cozy glow over his clothes. The monks were all attending morning classes, leaving the rear courtyard exceptionally quiet. Especially near the flaking red-lacquered back door, his pacing produced almost no sound aside from his own measured footsteps.
Suddenly, the rustling sound of a small animal stepping on withered leaves and dead branches drifted into the bored youth’s ears. Bo Ruofeng halted, listening intently for a moment before light sparked in his clear eyes and the corners of his lips curved upward.
Having frequently gone hunting alongside his elders on the borderlands, his hearing and eyesight were sharp, and such a faint sound could not escape him. As if discovering something amusing, Bo Ruofeng changed direction and rapidly plunged into the woods, following the sound.
Sure enough, a few dozen meters into the forest, he spotted a white furball darting back and forth around a tree. Initially thinking it was a rabbit, as he drew closer, he realized this white furball bore some faint black stripes and was letting out small yips.
Bo Ruofeng instantly recognized that this was no white rabbit, but rather resembled the cub of some large feline creature.
Why would a feline creature be in the forest? Staring fixedly at the white furball, Bo Ruofeng’s curiosity swelled to unprecedented heights. He sprinted forward a few steps, and just as he was about to uncover the mystery, his foot stepped into empty space. The entire patch of ground collapsed, dragging his entire body down into the bottom of a pit.
Cough, cough, cough! Landing flat on his rear at the bottom of the pit, Bo Ruofeng waved a hand to fan away the dust before his face. As the dust settled, he reflexively looked upward, only to lock gazes with someone sitting in the tree above.
The person was young, looking around the same age as him, and sat with great interest in the tree where the white furball had been scratching about. Crossing his arms, he looked down at Bo Ruofeng at the bottom of the pit; with his back to the light, his expression was somewhat unclear.
Supporting his aching lower back, Bo Ruofeng stood up, brushed the dust off his clothes, and surveyed the surrounding dirt pit. It was a perfectly square pit with dry grass laid across the bottom, clearly man-made.
Fortunately, there wasn’t a beast trap at the bottom, just dry grass, and the depth wasn’t enough to kill from a fall. His heart pounded rapidly; despite his relief, this unexpected accident was alarming enough to leave his limbs feeling somewhat weak. He looked up again toward the person. Seeing the figure use all four limbs to scramble down the tree and disappear from view, he wondered if the person had left.
Unable to help himself, Bo Ruofeng shouted, “Hey—”
The upper half of that person’s body popped up over the edge of the pit. It was a young master whose deep facial features, abyss-like phoenix eyes, and faint air of arrogance were on full display as he looked down upon the person at the bottom of the pit. Dressed in brocade robes, he presumably came from a wealthy or prominent background, and his unbuttoned outer garment held a yipping white furball cradled inside.
Now that he was closer, he finally saw the true appearance of the white furball. Bo Ruofeng’s pupils constricted—this was actually a white tiger!
Which family’s young master raised a baby white tiger as a pet to play with?
“Is this white tiger yours?” Bo Ruofeng couldn’t help asking a somewhat redundant question.
The youth remained silent, prompting Bo Ruofeng to continue, “Did you dig this pit? With people constantly coming and going at Huguo Temple, what were you thinking digging a pit right behind the monastery’s back mountain? What if someone got hurt?” By the end, the victim of collateral damage sounded rather indignant. “Pull me up.”
“You have some nerve talking about being impolite.” The youth pushed the white tiger’s head back down into his chest. “Judging by how you were skulking around the back courtyard, you hardly look like a good person.” He lifted his chin. “Besides, I dug this pit to catch prey. Who told you to take a fancy to my pet and fall right in? I haven’t even blamed you for ruining my setup.”
What kind of warped logic was that? Bo Ruofeng couldn’t help retorting, “You know very well this is the back courtyard! And yet you deliberately left your pet under a tree to lure beasts—where on earth are wild animals supposed to come from in a forest right next to a temple? Did you dig this pit to catch game or to harm people?”
Crouching at the edge of the pit, the youth gave a lazy yawn, looking thoroughly impatient. “You’re not old, but you lecture like a tutor and poke your nose into everything.”
He exuded the quintessential aura of self-absorption and supreme indifference.
“You!” Bo Ruofeng clenched his fists, glaring at the youth, nearly unable to stop himself from shouting curses at this arrogant brat. Who knows what kind of family raised such a foul-tempered kid; one could tell at a glance he had never suffered the harsh lessons of the real world.
Enduring and enduring, he reminded himself that with two lifetimes combined he was pushing forty, so he shouldn’t lower himself to bickering with a wet-behind-the-ears brat. “I won’t argue with you. Pull me up and let’s pretend none of this ever happened. Otherwise, if I manage to climb out on my own, you’ll definitely regret it.”
Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled spots of light upon the two of them.
In this secluded and sparsely populated spot, the youth stood up. “Hmph, daring to threaten me? Very well, then you can just stay at the bottom of the pit until someone comes by.” With that, he turned as if to leave.
A voice called out from behind, “Bastard! I’ll count to three, three…”
The youth ignored him.
“Two!”
The white tiger let out a soft yip. The youth stroked its head, completely unconcerned. “What’s there to fear? What can he possibly do to me?”
“One!”
A hemp rope with a short blade tied to the end thrust down from behind. Hearing the sound, the youth swiftly sidestepped to dodge the blade. Before he could react to the blade embedding itself in the tree trunk, he turned around in astonishment to see a figure grasping the rope and gracefully soaring out of the shallow pit, one hand clutching the hemp rope while the other launched an attack toward him.
So fast! The youth’s initial astonishment shifted into a combative spirit, and he met the attack head-on without hesitation. Yet his opponent’s movement technique was swift, fierce, and crisp, far superior to his own. Within a few exchanges, the youth—who was accustomed to receiving nothing but praise at the martial arts training grounds—found himself completely outmatched in both speed and force.
Realizing he had kicked a steel plate, he dodged a palm strike from his opponent and tried to flee.
However, the situation no longer permitted him to choose. A powerful force yanked him by the back collar, and amidst his unsteady footing, he caught sight of a figure gliding past his side.
As they crossed paths, the person lifted his gaze to look at him. His pupils were as clear and light as honey, the corners of his eyes drooping yet upturned, and his lips curved into a smile that carried a chill.
At a distance of barely a fist’s length, the youth froze for a moment; by the time he snapped out of it, he had already been securely bound in hemp rope, with even the white tiger in his arms tied tightly against his chest, leaving only its head poking out to yip and struggle.
No one had ever dared treat him with such disrespect! Staring fiercely at him as if trying to carve his features into memory, the youth gritted his teeth. “Who are you? State your name!”
“You’re not worried about your own predicament, and you still have the mind to seek revenge?” Bo Ruofeng calmly secured the bindings, ensuring the captive couldn’t struggle free.
Watching the youth’s expression curdle into growing panic, Bo Ruofeng rubbed his knuckles, mimicking the youth’s tone and warped logic from moments before. “This rope was originally prepared for Master Mingkong. I ruined your trap, and you used my rope—we are even. Oh wait, you caused me to fall into the pit, so I ought to make you hurt a little too, right?”
Dragging him by the rope to the edge of the pit, Bo Ruofeng glanced down, confirming the height wouldn’t kill. Finally realizing his disadvantage, the youth took a step back. “What are you trying to do! If you dare hurt me, I won’t let you off—ah!”
An eye for an eye, Bo Ruofeng delivered a kick that sent the tightly bound youth tumbling into the shallow pit.
The sensation of falling gave the youth a heart-stopping shock. Struggling to his feet at the bottom of the pit, he scrambled and bounced frantically in a disheveled attempt to leap out, only to watch helplessly as the figure walked away.
“Who on earth are you! Tell me your name! Your name!” Left with nothing but a patch of blue sky visible from the bottom of the pit, with no sign of Bo Ruofeng remaining, the youth shouted unyieldingly, “You just wait! I won’t let you off!” His fierce, threatening shouts mingled with a chorus of yips from the white tiger.
Hearing those exasperated shouts, Bo Ruofeng felt in exceptionally high spirits, humming a little tune as he retraced his steps.