The blue bricks and dark tiles were hidden among layers upon layers of green leaves. At such a late hour, only a few shops in the outskirts remained open.
Stone lions stood at the entrance, and two lanterns hung beneath the eaves.
Pei Nai stepped inside. The shop attendant, who had been resting, quickly got up and approached. “Welcome, guest. Please, have a seat. What would you like to drink?”
“A pot of Zhuyeqing tea, please.”
“Right away, please wait a moment.”
Pei Nai chose a table by the window and sat down. Beyond the window was the view of the inner courtyard. With a casual glance, she happened to notice a seat in the corridor of the courtyard. Between the pillars, half of a kasaya robe was faintly visible.
Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be the old monk? She stood up and stepped over the threshold, walking toward it.
The monk sat cross-legged on a cushion, a low table placed before him. His robe trailed behind him as he slowly lifted a cup and sipped tea.
Pei Nai had never seen this old monk before; he seemed to exist only in the stories told by others. She was still thinking about how to ask his identity.
The monk’s gaze shifted from the tea leaves floating in his cup to her. He spoke slowly, “Awake?”
Pei Nai was taken aback. This old monk seemed overly familiar.
They had never met before—why would he greet her with those words?
“I’m awake.” In order to find out the reason behind her missing memories and the truth of awakening in another person’s body, Pei Nai chose to go along with it.
He set down his teacup and gestured with an open palm for her to sit across from him. The night was slightly cold. Pei Nai adjusted her skirt and knelt down, gathering the chill wind into her sleeves.
“Have you forgotten many things?” the monk asked in a steady voice.
Pei Nai nodded firmly. “Earlier, I was still traveling with the army toward Guancheng. When I woke up again, I was already in this girl’s body. Even the wooden shard on my tongue—everything is utterly confusing. I ask you, senior, to clear my doubts.”
“On the way to Guancheng?” The old monk pondered for a moment, then smiled faintly. “You must have forgotten the most painful part of your memory. But it does not matter. Once your body fully accepts the Hun Tree fragment, you will remember again.”
Pei Nai frowned. The most painful memory? She did not understand—what could have caused it?
“I once heard my father mention you. So… are you an old friend of his?”
The monk nodded slightly. “You could say so.”
You could say so? Pei Nai pondered the phrase, feeling there was more behind it.
Before she could ask further, the monk added, “I had a deep friendship with one of your ancestors.” This served as a clarification.
“Then this Hun Tree fragment… does it have the power to save lives, to bring the dead back to life?” Pei Nai asked.
The monk picked up a new porcelain cup from the side and slowly poured tea. “I once made a solemn vow to an old friend not to speak of this matter. Please forgive me.”
Tender tea leaves fell into the boiling water, releasing a rich fragrance.
Pei Nai’s gaze fell upon the monk’s right hand. It was rough, weathered—but beside his little finger, there was an extra finger, making it six in total, an unusual sight.
“May I venture a guess… are you the Monk of Zhongchuan, Senior Zhong?”
Among the martial world’s factions—the Three Mountains, Five Peaks, and Six Rivers—the Three Mountains and Five Peaks were great families passed down through generations. The Northern Spear, Western Blade, and Southern Sword stood atop the martial world, each serving a great nation, commanding armies, and bearing the responsibility of defending their homelands.
These three families were revered as the Upper Three Mountains. Everyone knew: as long as the spear, blade, and sword remained, so too did the nations.
The Five Peaks were also orthodox sects with centuries of heritage. Only the Six Rivers referred to rising heroes of recent decades—peerless figures admired across the land, also known as the Six Heroes.
Beyond these, there remained legends of the Zhongchuan lineage. They were hidden and elusive, never appearing openly. Each generation consisted of a solitary monk who, in old age, would adopt an orphan and pass down all his teachings, ensuring the continuation of Zhongchuan’s divine martial arts.
It was said that the Monk of Zhongchuan practiced the Fixed Light Compassion Palm. Rumor had it that this technique possessed the power to pierce clouds and split the earth, with strength capable of rivaling an army. However, those who inherited it would suffer deformities in their hands due to its backlash—most notably, six fingers.
“Yes… and no. It is merely an empty name.”
Hearing this, Pei Nai’s eyes widened. “Since we have met here, is it not fate?”
Senior Zhong looked at her directly, his expression slightly amused, as if urging her to speak her true intention.
Pei Nai cupped her hands in salute. “I dare to ask for your guidance—just a few moves.”
Senior Zhong threw his head back and laughed. “Your temperament is quite similar to that old friend of mine. As expected of a single lineage.” He shook his head with a smile and flicked his sleeve. “Very well. It is all karma, after all.”
“I possess nothing of value—only the Fixed Light Compassion Palm, barely presentable. If you do not mind, you may learn a move or two. In times of danger without a weapon, it will suffice for self-defense.”
Hearing this, Pei Nai immediately knelt on the empty ground beside the cushion. Her gesture carried the meaning of taking a master.
Before she could bow, Senior Zhong raised his hand to stop her. “No need. It is late; we can dispense with formalities. Calm your mind, and we shall begin.”
Pei Nai nodded, ready.
Senior Zhong then said, “The Fixed Light Compassion Palm is renowned. Countless warriors have come to challenge Zhongchuan, hoping to glimpse its secrets. They imitate its form, yet never succeed. Do you know why?”
Pei Nai shook her head.
“It is because they do not know that this technique has two layers. Its former form was the Ten Thousand Hatreds Palm. Only after profound enlightenment, when the practitioner truly lets go, does it become the Fixed Light Compassion Palm.”
Pei Nai frowned. “You mean the Ten Thousand Hatreds Palm—the one that caused endless bloodshed in the martial world, exterminating two sects with unimaginable cruelty?”
“Indeed.”
“But…” Pei Nai was puzzled. “Didn’t the Ten Thousand Hatreds Palm disappear over two hundred years ago?”
A faint mist seemed to linger in Senior Zhong’s eyes, as if stories surfaced and faded within them—countless twists and turns waiting to be told. Yet he only smiled faintly. One could see silent joys and sorrows, yet what one felt was ultimate peace.
In that brief moment, Pei Nai sensed something profound and indescribable from his gaze—something like… a glimpse of perfect completion after nirvana.
“These two techniques have long become one. They oppose each other, yet also give rise to each other. Without suffering, there is no compassion. They complete one another and cannot be separated. Thus, it is better to say—the Ten Thousand Hatreds Palm still exists, in another form.”
Pei Nai listened quietly, saying nothing.
Senior Zhong gently raised his hands. At once, Pei Nai felt the pressure in the air shift. Streams of energy surged from all directions, pushing open the doors and gathering across the ground, ready to erupt.
His sleeves fluttered wildly in the wind. With another lift of his palm, the small table, broom, and other objects in the courtyard rose into the air.
A powerful upward gust shot toward the sky, sending Pei Nai’s long hair scattering in all directions.