If the will of Heaven truly existed, and humanity could manage to peer into the mandates of heaven, then was the destiny perceived by mortals truly the will of Heaven itself, or was the will of Heaven guiding humans who attempted to alter their fate straight toward the future it desired all along? This was a question Mingkong had never been able to figure out.
His master had said that Da Yao would perish at the hands of the Crown Prince, all because of a seductive vixen hailing from Northern Yue.
He had described in detail to his sole disciple what he had witnessed. He saw the new emperor of twenty-some years in the future—an oppressive ruler, arbitrary, headstrong, and utterly devoid of mercy. The empire grew powerful because of him, yet it would likewise be destroyed because its entire future was tied to a single man.
He would take the Northern Yue vixen as his empress, whereupon the vicious consort would bewitch the sovereign, throw the imperial court into chaos, lead Da Yao to military defeat, shatter the mountains and rivers, and reduce the country to ruin.
Obediently listening to the end, Mingkong remained silent for a long time. On this ordinary night, those events felt far too distant; no matter how his master described them, they belonged to more than twenty years in the future. The current Crown Prince was not even a year old yet, making it impossible to discern his temperament, let alone know whom he would take as empress in the future.
Hearing of these things, he treated them merely as passing words. At the time, Mingkong was probably more concerned about what vegetable dishes would be served for dinner or how to catch up on neglected homework.
That was until Mingkong heard his master declare that he intended to alter the future where Da Yao perished.
A thunderbolt struck his heart out of a clear sky. Mingkong snapped his head up to stare straight at his master, his eyes blown wide with shock. “But Master, everything you speak of belongs to the future. How could something like this possibly be changed?”
What he had imagined amounted to no more than his master utilizing the title of State Protector Grand Master to interfere in the selection of the Crown Prince’s consort. Or perhaps even going so far as to seat someone else upon the Crown Prince’s throne. Yet all of those measures would at least have to wait until the Crown Prince grew up; what puzzled him far more was why Guan Zhen was resolved to change things right at this very moment, practically preparing to meddle immediately.
“Sooner is better than later, Mingkong.” Guan Zhen patted his head. Mingkong’s gaze fell upon Guan Zhen’s face, where he discovered that Guan Zhen had truly aged considerably ever since this session of meditation. This aging was not merely reflected in his complexion or demeanor, but in the sudden abundance of wrinkles on his face and the age spots appearing on his hands.
He genuinely seemed to have aged ten years over the course of a single meditation session, yet how could such a thing be possible for a mortal? With his heart beating faster and faster as a vague suspicion formed, Mingkong clenched his fists. Then he heard Guan Zhen sigh: “During meditation, your master attempted countless ways to interfere, yet fate remains difficult to alter.”
“Da Yao’s fortune appears exhausted, but in the profound unseen, the heavens have revealed a glimmer of hope to me.” Looking vigorous, bright-eyed, and benevolent, Guan Zhen said, “Mingkong, the Purple Emperor Star must be accompanied by the Heavenly Treasury Star on either side. Right now, the straying of the Heavenly Treasury Star has allowed that vicious consort to exploit the opening. As long as we use the Crown Prince’s birth characters to locate where the Heavenly Treasury Star resides, and then restore the star to its rightful position.”
“No!” Mingkong pressed down on Guan Zhen’s forearm. The disappearance of the Heavenly Treasury Star must surely carry its own significance. Ignorant though he was, he knew well that attempting to shake the heavens with mortal strength was as futile as a mayfly trying to shake a giant tree.
Mingkong protested, “It won’t work, Master! If everything you witnessed is ordained by heaven, and the world is inevitably bound by the law of the jungle where the strong prey upon the weak, how can it truly be changed? Besides, you have already paid such a heavy price just by peering into heavenly mandates this time. If you forcibly go against the heavens, wouldn’t you, wouldn’t you plunge yourself into grave danger?”
Guan Zhen fell silent for a long time, sinking into deep contemplation. A moment later, the dark clouds across his brow cleared away. Pushing Mingkong’s hand aside, he stated with absolute certainty, “Yet Mingkong, if destiny cannot be defied, why would it guide me toward finding a solution? If a predetermined fate can be defied, can it truly still be called destiny? Or perhaps all your master’s calculations are nothing more than insignificant pawns in the hands of the Heavenly Dao.”
“Even if I am a pawn, your master is willing. Huguo Temple has enjoyed the devotion of Da Yao’s people for many years; a future where the common folk are displaced and the world is plunged into devastation is not one I wish to see.”
“That you and I are master and disciple, and able to discuss this under the moonlight tonight on what seems like an ordinary day, is only because the country is stable. Your master was born here, protected by the national fortune, and has spent a lifetime in cultivation. If I were ignorant and unaware, that would be one thing; but now that I know, how can I stand by and watch Da Yao perish?”
Guan Zhen’s words threw Mingkong’s thoughts into disarray, leaving him utterly speechless.
“Mingkong, your master is ultimately nothing more than a mortal. Born human and dwelling within the mortal dust, one always harbors selfish desires, always foolishly yearns to change something, even if it is insignificant.” Pulling Mingkong to his feet, Guan Zhen walked him over to push open the window. Transferring his own prayer beads onto Mingkong’s wrist, he pointed toward the dazzling Crown Prince star and said, “Mingkong, you are my only disciple. From this day forward, you shall protect Da Yao in your master’s stead.”
Mingkong wanted to say more, but Guan Zhen instructed him to return and rest.
Wearing the prayer beads, Mingkong returned to his room. Forgetting to eat dinner, he blankly stripped off his outer robes and lay down upon the bed. Tossing and turning, he replayed his master’s words over and over, finding them more and more unsettling the longer he thought about them.
“As long as we use the Crown Prince’s birth characters to locate where the Heavenly Treasury Star resides, and then restore the star to its rightful position.”
“Perhaps all your master’s calculations are nothing more than insignificant pawns in the hands of the Heavenly Dao.”
“Even if I am a pawn, your master is willing.”
Mingkong bolted upright from the bed, his heart hammering against his ribs as though it might leap out of his throat. His eyelids twitched continuously, as if a catastrophic event were about to transpire.
Master! Driven by an instinctive premonition, Mingkong hurriedly shoved his shoes on, snatched up his outer robe, and bolted back toward the courtyard, running straight into his fellow senior and junior apprentices returning from elsewhere.
Ignoring their inquiries and paying no heed to the astonished glances they cast toward the prayer beads on his wrist, Mingkong rushed straight into the abbot’s courtyard, his heart silently and desperately pleading.
Yet all his inward hope shattered the moment he laid eyes on the beam of light shooting skyward from Master Guan Zhen’s courtyard. He had never imagined that the world-renowned Master Guan Zhen would stubbornly attempt to defy and rewrite the future using his own methods within such an obscure, nameless little courtyard.
No longer able to maintain the detached mindset of an outsider, Mingkong rushed into the courtyard with despair plastered across his face.
A massive, intricate ritual array was drawn upon the ground of the courtyard. Guan Zhen sat alone in the center with a serene and peaceful expression, radiating an unyielding, indomitable resolve. Within the inner ring, surging torrents of boundless life force rushed in from all directions to pour through his crown, funneling into the array beneath him as a medium to awaken it; in the outer ring, the light of the array blazed with blinding brilliance, shooting straight up into the heavens.
He heard Guan Zhen murmuring the soul-summoning incantation, a forbidden technique kept secret for many years. Since it was a forbidden technique, its cost was naturally astronomical.
Appalled, Mingkong cried out, “Master!”
Scant wisps of life force converged from all directions at an accelerating pace, highly concentrated within this tiny patch of ground, slicing across exposed skin like razor blades. He had no choice but to raise his sleeve to shield his face. Once the concentration reached its absolute peak, the howling wind ceased, the churning cloud layers froze, and the movement of grass blades and lapel edges all fell completely still. Absolute silence reigned, leaving nothing audible save for the sound of his own breathing.
Until a sudden, sharp ringing pierced the air, battering his eardrums. A towering shockwave of spiritual pressure dozens of meters high surged forward, swallowing the minuscule mortal who had sacrificed himself. Blood began to seep from Guan Zhen’s facial features. Magical power erupted from beneath Guan Zhen’s seat, rolling outward in successive shockwaves that hammered the ritual array.
The array transitioned from brilliant radiance to dim obscurity as its patterns cracked and its light dissipated. The monks chanting with pious devotion ceased their recitations the moment the array shattered, their breathing halting in the very same instant.
The small courtyard plunged back into darkness and dead silence amidst the sound of weeping.
Ever since Guan Zhen passed into nirvana that night, Mingkong spent every single night replaying his master’s words and observing the starry night sky.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the star summoned at the cost of his master’s life.
That same year, after succeeding to the abbotship, Mingkong dreamed during a meditation session of a star falling from the heavens. Opening his eyes, he finally beheld that straying Heavenly Treasury Star being guided toward its slow return to position.
It turned out to be a foreign star from another realm.
The misplaced Heavenly Treasury Star calculated via the Crown Prince’s birth characters to match his destined fate turned out to be an alien entity belonging to this world no longer. Had his master known that the Heavenly Treasury Star summoned at the cost of his life did not belong to Da Yao, would he still have acted with such unyielding resolve?
Benefactor Bo’s gaze, laden with resentment and sorrow, and his master’s hopeful expression prior to departure constantly intersected before Mingkong’s eyes, blurring the lines between right and wrong, truth and falsehood.
What on earth constituted the will of Heaven? Gazing at the spirit pagoda before him, Mingkong closed his eyes for a long moment, his expression turning peaceful as he murmured softly, “Amitabha, compassionate Buddha.”
Early the next morning, Bo Ruofeng went to the palace to pay his respects to the emperor.
Upon coming here, he had heard rumors that the emperor harbored deep wariness toward the Four Great Garrison Generals on account of their overwhelming military authority, which was why he had summoned him to the capital under the guise of serving as the Crown Prince’s study companion while actually acting as a political hostage. He had mentally prepared himself to face difficulties.
Yet upon entering the capital, Bo Ruofeng discovered that reality differed from his expectations. First of all, aside from himself, who hailed from the Northern Pacification Marquis Manor, none of the other three grand generals had sons summoned to the capital.
Then there was this reigning emperor.
Maintaining his bowing posture, Bo Ruofeng waited and waited, yet failed to hear the words “Rise.” Unable to help himself, he lifted his head to steal a glance at the silent emperor, only to discover that the man was completely engrossed in painting at his desk, stroke by meticulous stroke.
The emperor was exceptionally well-preserved, looking nothing at all like a contemporary of Bo Ruofeng’s rough, unrestrained, older-generation father. He wore a beard, possessed handsome and striking facial features, maintained high spirits, and cut a tall, lean, upright figure.
The brush shaft clicked softly against the brush holder. Realizing the emperor was signaling him, Bo Ruofeng quickly lowered his head again. However, he heard the emperor say indifferently, “Why are you in such a hurry to lower your head? I am not going to eat you.”
Footsteps drew closer until a pair of clean boots appeared before him. The emperor commanded, “Raise your head and see how my painting looks.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for my offense.” Unsure of the emperor’s temperament, Bo Ruofeng offered a preliminary apology for his earlier scrutiny before lifting his head.
The painting unrolled by the emperor still bore wet traces. It depicted a woman holding an umbrella, turning her head back to look at the viewer outside the frame. The cold detachment in her eyes contrasted sharply with the vibrant color of the floral hairpin against her temple. It was evident that while she was a beauty, she was also an unapproachable, frosty beauty.
Bo Ruofeng recognized the subject as the Empress he had encountered yesterday at Huguo Temple, though back then she had been dressed in magnificent court robes draped in pearls and jade, sharing only one common trait with the woman in the painting—neither wore a smile.
Bo Ruofeng smiled, revealing two canine teeth, lending the handsome young man an air of innocent, earnest silliness. Raising his thumb, he offered a sincere and frank compliment: “Your Majesty paints wonderfully! Such a celestial beauty belongs only in the heavens, rarely heard of anywhere in the mortal realm. Your Majesty possesses peerless artistic skill; thanks to Your Majesty’s grace, this subject was fortunate enough to behold a celestial fairy today.”
Having heard the praise he desired, the emperor failed to keep his lips straight, throwing his head back in hearty laughter.
Carefully rolling up the scroll with zero intention of explaining the woman’s identity to Bo Ruofeng, the emperor’s tone turned significantly warmer and more approachable. “Rise. Are you the youngest son of Bo Wangshan? Grand Master Mingkong told me you possess the talent of an able minister, which is why I summoned you into the palace. Starting today, you will go to the Imperial Study to study alongside Cheng’er. I hope you will turn out just like your father.”
He finally told him to get up! His legs had gone numb from kneeling. Hearing this, Bo Ruofeng scrambled to his feet, joints popping audibly from holding the prostrating posture for too long. Just as he was rolling his shoulders to loosen them up, the emperor suddenly reached out and clapped a hand onto his shoulder, giving Bo Ruofeng a start.
Lifting his gaze, Bo Ruofeng met the emperor’s smiling countenance. “Assist the Crown Prince well.”
Bo Ruofeng quickly cupped his fists in salute. “This subject obeys the decree.”
“Mhm.” The emperor nodded in satisfaction, saying nothing further.
Bo Ruofeng stood obediently for a moment. Since the hand on his shoulder hadn’t been lifted, he had no choice but to remain standing alongside the emperor in silence.
After a short while, the emperor finally withdrew his hand. Figuring the audience was over, the flattery delivered, and the instructions given, Bo Ruofeng prepared to request leave to withdraw. Then he heard the emperor remark casually, “Yesterday, you and Cheng’er crossed paths in the back mountain of Huguo Temple and became friends through a brawl, didn’t you?”
That fellow went and filed a complaint?!
Reacting swiftly, Bo Ruofeng prepared to drop to his knees and plead guilty, only to be caught by the upper arm and held up by the emperor’s single hand. “No need to kneel. You are far more timid than your father, dropping to your knees at every turn.”
Had status disparities not existed, dropping to his knees at every turn was hardly Bo Ruofeng’s natural hobby. Granted permission to stand straight, he lowered his eyes to stare at the emperor’s lower half in an attitude of dutiful subjection, offering his confession: “Your Majesty, please forgive me; yesterday this subject was unaware that he was the Crown Prince. Had I known.”
The emperor impatiently waved a hand, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Knowing what of it? Cheng’er has been spoiled rotten; nowadays no one in the capital dares cross him, and he refuses to even heed my words. Summoning you as a study companion is not meant for you to serve as his servant like the others; I hope,” he turned his gaze to Bo Ruofeng, who stood shorter than him, intensifying his tone, “that you can be Cheng’er’s friend.”
Friend? Given the emperor’s status, why would he suddenly take the initiative to have a minister’s son become friends with his pampered Crown Prince? Thinking with lightning speed, Bo Ruofeng immediately cupped his fists in a deep bow, feigning profound shock. “This subject is unworthy.”
Simultaneously, he recalled the emperor’s words just moments earlier. So his summons to the capital really was connected to that old bald donkey! Mentally, Bo Ruofeng let out a dismissive scoff: why did monks have a hand in literally everything? Although his arrival in this realm was an accident, Mingkong was undeniably driving everything behind the scenes.
Noticing that Bo Ruofeng’s bewildered and panicked expression bore no trace of falseness, the emperor scrutinized the clueless-looking youth for a moment, growing increasingly grave as he privately wondered if this kid was as thick-headed as his father. He looked rather silly, too.
Consequently, he had to spell things out more clearly. Letting out a long sigh as he paced back and forth, the emperor muttered, “Your father told me you are skilled in both literary and martial arts, and have always had your own unique methods for studying. The Crown Prince loves martial arts, and since you come from the Northern Pacification Marquis Manor, your interests will surely align with his. It is a pity my son is unruly and dislikes reading; I grow entirely exhausted listening to the tutors complain day in and day out. I simply wish for someone to make him take a bit more interest in his studies.”
So that was what the emperor was really getting at. Bo Ruofeng grew thoughtful. The Son of Heaven’s word was law; regardless of what calculations the majesty before him harbored, since he hadn’t blamed him for yesterday’s actions, it proved that level of behavior hadn’t crossed the emperor’s bottom line.
He already had a clear idea of how to get along with the Crown Prince in the future.
He had originally wanted to approach the Crown Prince anyway, just to see what this fledgling hawk, who had yet to grow into the tyrant that made the State Protector Grand Master so anxious, actually looked like. Adopting a humble stance, Bo Ruofeng cupped his fists. “This subject accepts the decree.”