Chapter Nine: The Foreign Monk

Amid the bustle, Yi Bao covertly signaled to Gongyang Cuo and drifted up the slope. Gongyang Cuo, without the slightest hesitation, followed close behind. Only when they were several yards away and certain no one else was near did they both come to a stop. Yi Bao spoke first:

“Brother Gongyang, what do you think?”

Gongyang Cuo was silent for a moment, pursed his lips, and sighed before he could even open his mouth. “There is no difference between what you and I are thinking.”

“Oh, that is well then. Since you too think the monsters of Mount Mei are far more dangerous than those outside, would you be willing to negotiate this matter with the guild leader?” Yi Bao thought for a moment, as if realizing his suggestion was not entirely appropriate, and quickly amended, “You’re more familiar with the guild leader. If I were, I’d go myself.”

“It’s not so easy…” Gongyang Cuo’s brow slowly furrowed. He mused, “From what you see, there have already been dozens of live monsters and bodies captured—enough to be a costly endeavor. But I know that Guild Leader Baili’s purpose this time is not just business. There are other reasons, and it is far from simple.”

“Oh? So secretive? Would you be willing to share, Brother Gongyang?”

“I never intended to hide it from you. If you wish to know, I have no reason not to speak,” Gongyang Cuo said calmly, folding his hands behind his back. “The root of this hunt lies with the Lord of Yan himself.”

Yi Bao was slightly startled, pondering, “Could it be that Lord Yan is in a rush to find monster slaves for his offspring? That would be a challenge, but not without possible solutions…”

“No, no! How many offspring does Lord Yan have, and how many can truly bind monster slaves? Why would the Tian Si Guild risk coming to Mount Mei for that? To be frank, this endeavor is to expand the death-soldier camp in Liaodong, where every soldier has a battle pet. Now, Lord Yan wants to double their number!”

“Double? Wouldn’t that require over two hundred monsters?”

“To be exact, two hundred and twenty. It is Lord Yan’s absolute decree: Tian Si Guild must provide eighty monsters, and the other two guilds seventy each. No less, possibly more. All must be ready within three months.”

Yi Bao drew a sharp breath, his tone grave. “It took Lord Yan more than a decade to build the death-soldier camp up to just over two hundred. Now he wants to double it in three months? That’s impossible! He’s asking the impossible!”

“If not for that, why would Baili Shuyi risk entering Mount Mei so soon after the Blood Moon, desperate to seize this half-month window and willing to lose lives to capture enough monsters? Why would he pay such a price to invite the two of us along?”

“But…” Yi Bao hesitated, his face uneasy. “You know as well as I do that the two of us alone cannot bear so great a task. At most, we can handle one or two monsters who have taken form or become true demons. But Mount Mei is teeming with them—how could we be so lucky every time?”

“The situation is as it is. Even so, we have no way out…”

“Perhaps we could invite some more fellow practitioners to aid us? Those whom the Tian Si Guild cannot reach, perhaps the two of us could persuade?”

“That too is difficult. You know the cultivators of Great Yan—only you and I are permitted into the mountains. Practitioners from other states are of no use. There are others in the Three Mountains and Five Peaks, but fetching them would take too long. Half a month passes in a blink, and by then, even if three or five more came, who would dare to enter so lightly?”

“But still—”

“That is all, Brother Yi. No need to dwell on it,” Gongyang Cuo said, hands behind his back, gazing up at the sparse, yellowing leaves atop the trees, his voice deep and calm. “Since we are here, we can only do our best and leave the rest to fate. Let us hope for the best.”

At this, both men fell silent. After a long time, Yi Bao let out a heavy sigh, a deep, unspoken anxiety weighing on him.

“Alas—”

By the time they returned to camp, several hours had passed. Yi Bao kept seeking an opportunity to consult Baili Shuyi, as if such a question would bring him some comfort. But Baili was endlessly busy—first inspecting the cages where Qi Gan imprisoned the hound beasts, then overseeing the apothecaries as they dissected the beasts and collected their demon cores. Only deep into the night did he finally return to his tent.

Yi Bao dispensed with formalities, heading straight for Baili Shuyi’s quarters. But he was still a step late—Gongyang Cuo was already inside, and seemed to be speaking on some critical matter.

He entered just as Gongyang Cuo’s tone took on an uncharacteristic urgency. Yi Bao was surprised—just today, during their discussion, Gongyang Cuo had seemed calm and detached, speaking of leaving matters to fate. Why was he now so agitated? Had something changed? With this thought, he pricked up his ears to listen.

“...In any case, tomorrow’s plan must not go forward!” Gongyang Cuo shook his head, his large ears swaying comically, yet his face was tense and stubborn. “This hunt, though fruitful, has cost dearly in blood, and the losses only grow. You cannot ignore this, Shuyi. And the commotion of the hunt is too great—if it draws other monsters, what then…”

“Brother Gongyang, you need not worry. I have made arrangements for tomorrow. Rest assured,” Baili Shuyi raised his cup and sipped, his manner unhurried. “Today’s events were within my calculations, a way to test the monsters here and see if we can go further in the future. Now that we see how vicious they are, we will remain here, content to capture a few and nothing more.”

At this, Yi Bao’s face darkened, and he strode into the tent, forgetting courtesy. “From what you say, Guild Leader, do you still intend for us to venture into those seven mountains and twenty-nine valleys?”

Baili Shuyi gestured for him to sit and replied, “I did consider it… but seeing your expression, let me reassure you: I have abandoned that idea. We would not survive such a venture. So let us not dwell on it.”

Yi Bao’s face relaxed, but Gongyang Cuo was not appeased. “Even if we don’t venture further, I still cannot rest easy about tomorrow’s hunt. There are more than thirty monsters—perhaps even more than today. How can I be at ease?”

“Over thirty? That’s far too many,” Yi Bao’s face tensed again. “Frankly, we should split into smaller teams and hunt separately. It will be slower, but safer. With half a month, it should suffice…”

Baili Shuyi waved his hand, cutting Yi Bao off, glancing at their anxious faces. He set his cup down. “It seems if I don’t give you some explanation, neither of you will sleep tonight?”

“Exactly!” they both replied in unison, firm and resolute.

“In that case, I’ll tell you…” Baili Shuyi smiled mysteriously. “Tonight, the helpers I invited will arrive. With them, even thirty monsters are nothing to fear.”

“Helpers?” Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao were both startled, and pressed, “Cultivators?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“I’m not sure—anywhere from a few to a dozen.”

More than a dozen cultivators? Hearing this, both Yi Bao and Gongyang Cuo were greatly relieved. With so many to assist, even several true monsters could be managed, let alone thirty or fifty ordinary beasts. What surprised them was that Baili Shuyi, a mere guild head, could persuade so many cultivators to help.

Not to mention, the cost alone would be immense. Even Lord Yan could hardly afford it—how could he?

They exchanged glances, hesitating, until Gongyang Cuo finally asked, “Guild Leader Baili, it’s not that we doubt you, but this is a serious matter. How did you…”

Just then, a bell chimed from inside Baili Shuyi’s robe. He drew out a copper bell that rang without wind. At once, he cut Gongyang Cuo short and rose to his feet. “No need to ask! If you don’t believe me, see for yourselves—they are here.”

With that, Baili Shuyi strode out of the tent toward the camp gates. Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao hastened to follow. In moments, they reached the entrance.

The gate was still tightly shut. Seeing the guild leader arrive, the watchman saluted. Baili Shuyi asked, “Anyone outside?”

“No, and no sign of monsters either.”

Even Baili Shuyi looked a little perplexed, but with the bell ringing urgently in his hand, he ordered, “Open the gates. I will go out myself.”

“Yes, sir.”

The gate swung open. Baili Shuyi strode out into the wilds, followed closely by Qi Gan and Kan Gan, blades drawn, as well as Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao, who dared not linger. They had only gone a few yards when they heard a rustling from the trees. A group of people emerged from the forest.

Baili Shuyi’s face lit up. He called out loudly, “Is that Master Miqing?”

“It is I, humble monk…”

As the words sounded, the group drew near.

There were seven in all, robed in pleated, multicolored garments, wearing bodhi beads, straw sandals, and wide-brimmed hats; their burdens wrapped in cloth, begging bowls at their chests. Four carried crescent staffs, two wielded demon-subduing staves, and the last, with long brows and beard, carried an enormous alms bowl, his face serene and compassionate.

Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao were stunned. They had never imagined the people Baili Shuyi invited would be foreign monks.

At this time, the Western Faith had yet to spread into the Eastern Divine Continent. The Three Teachings—Intercept, Elucidation, and Humanity—still held sway. Though the Intercepting Sect had waned and the Elucidation Sect was in decline since the war of deification, the Humanity Sect remained revered by all.

The Western Faith had intervened repeatedly in this war, aiding the Three Teachings wholeheartedly, earning their grudging recognition. Thus, foreign monks were permitted to travel the Eastern Divine Continent. Even so, they were not accepted, nor recognized by the common people.

It was like the arrival of Christian missionaries in Ming and Qing China—tolerated, but with few followers, and a chilly reception overall.

So it was among cultivators as well: outwardly polite, inwardly resistant. This attitude spread among the great states and feudal lords, who saw them as a threat, refusing contact, let alone collaboration.

For Baili Shuyi to invite foreign monks left Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao deeply unsettled.

But outwardly, they maintained decorum, stepping forward to salute the monks. “Greetings, friends. I am Gongyang Cuo (Yi Bao), a cultivator of the Humanity Sect. Well met.”

“Greetings to both of you,” the monk addressed as Miqing replied, then introduced the others: “This is my master, Elder Kuyu. The rest are my fellow disciples—Xing, Cong, Hui, Zhi, and Tui. We greet you both.”

The junior monks all pressed their palms together in unison. “Greetings, esteemed friends.”

Elder Kuyu likewise pressed his hands together, though he addressed them differently: “Well met, friends.”

By the hierarchy of cultivators, Elder Kuyu, as an elder monk, would not be considered an equal to a common alchemist. Only the masters of Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao could be his peers, addressed as ‘Elder.’ That Elder Kuyu paid them such respect already exceeded courtesy.

After these formalities, Baili Shuyi and the others stepped forward to greet Elder Kuyu and his companions.

With seven foreign monks joining them, the hunt on the morrow would indeed be far safer. Yet Gongyang Cuo and Yi Bao could not set their minds at ease. On the contrary, a new anxiety bloomed in their hearts:

“Did these monks come to Mount Mei simply to help Baili, or is there another purpose?”