Chapter 221: Bodhisattva's Decree

The vast night, unsettling the hearts of men.

Moonlight spilled upon Yuan Mingfei’s face, casting specks of desolation.

“These years, we’ve all been eight generals, yet you lot of favored ones merely reap the benefits. We who climbed by our own merit are left toiling, sweating blood to rake in so much money for the gambling syndicate—how can you not even grant us a shred of courtesy?”

“But without a patron, how could the Sichuan-Chongqing gambling ring monopolize so many gray industries in Chongqing Prefecture? Besides, we aren’t just taking money without action. Now someone must sacrifice themselves, and it falls to us to lead the charge.”

Gong Qing smiled faintly, “As the old saying goes, ‘Eat from others’ mouths, take from their hands.’ Now we’re all on the same boat, like mayflies. There’s no point dwelling on past grievances.”

“Indeed, there’s no point.”

Hesitation faded from Yuan Mingfei’s face. She sighed, “I can’t twist my arm against my thigh—I’ll join.”

“I knew you weren’t a fool, Sister Mingfei.”

A strange flush crept across Gong Qing’s cheeks, as if truly rejoicing in Yuan’s decision.

“Sister, don’t blame yourself. Master Zhang didn’t send you to labor in vain. He told me to bring you a treasure.”

“What is it?”

The blush on Gong Qing’s face deepened. Her misty eyes seemed to flicker with golden light.

She extended her hand, her slender fingers slowly spreading to reveal a lotus bud in full bloom upon her palm!

Yet in the next instant, her pupils dilated abruptly, her entire body stiffening as if she’d lost her soul.

Coincidentally, Yuan Mingfei’s expression mirrored hers—frozen in place.

In a single moment, the world; in a thousand years, the Buddha’s realm.

The night deepened, a wind stirred in the courtyard.

To ordinary folk, it was merely a cool breeze, but as it swept over Gong Qing, it sliced through her flesh and blood like a blade of bone and steel, stripping away her skin inch by inch.

Closer inspection revealed the wounds bore the marks of fingernails clawing.

In a heartbeat, the beauty had become a creature of blood.

Gong Qing collapsed into the crimson pool beneath her, her reformed pupils brimming with horror and dread.

The lifelike lotus had shattered into countless tiny mechanical components, scattering at her skirt’s edge.

“Why?”

Gong Qing lifted her blood-red face, her eyes brimming with palpable venom.

Yuan Mingfei smiled, “Sister, have you forgotten where we lived in those days?”

“Wasn’t it the Jokhang Temple?”

“It was hell! That stench of Buddhism on you—I smelled it the moment you stepped in.”

Yuan Mingfei sneered, “I knew you could sleep, but I didn’t expect you to dare test the Vajra Staff of the Jokhang Temple. Foolish girl.”

The woman tore at her heart, roaring, “Longtu warned me—you don’t even possess the Buddha Country Host!”

“If I lack even the Buddha Country Host, what do you think carried me out of the Jokhang Temple? Why didn’t that bald monk come himself?”

Gong Qing’s face went slack, blood streaming down her body.

“He lied to me—you’re the Buddha Country Host.”

Bang!

An iron rod lashed out from the side, driving the woman’s head into her abdomen.

Cao Cang arrived belatedly, his aura sharp and lethal, only to see the woman grin at him, “Now I’m doomed to wander again. But before I go, I’ll slaughter that bald monk, Longtu!”

Thud.

Cao Cang knelt on one knee, palms pressed together, a thick iron rod gripped in his tiger’s mouth.

“Hufa Shen Cao Cang, I obey the Bodhisattva’s decree.”

Ding-ling! Ding-ling!!

The guest-welcoming wind chimes rang out as the shop door creaked open.

Such antiquated trinkets had once flourished in the early days of the Longwu Emperor, though now they were obsolete.

Perhaps only these old-fashioned barber shops still used them.

The Great Ming tradition held that both men and women kept long hair, but most common folk couldn’t afford servants to tend their locks. Thus, some barber artisans seized the opportunity, mimicking the Western barbarians’ barber shops.

This establishment, named “Cloud Bun Hall,” retained the old Ming style. Its interior was cramped.

Tung oil planks barely accommodated two or three leather barber chairs. Beside them, a three-tiered wooden rack held towels, protective cloths, razors, combs, and other tools.

The only hint of modern Ming style was the mirror before the barber chair, equipped with hairstyle simulation and panoramic viewing functions.

On the blank wall to the right hung a scroll of weapons and armor, depicting the Longwu Emperor’s majestic figure during his campaign against the Wokou pirates.

“Heavy snow falls, striking faces; biting winds pierce to the bone. Dark clouds loom low, mountains and rivers shrouded in gloom, sparse forests withered and bleak.”

The shop’s sound system played a kunqu opera from the early Ming period, recounting the tale of the leopard-headed snow night ascending Liangshan.

“You’ve come?”

The speaker’s voice was deep, yet carried the sharpness of a blade slicing through snow.

An old man over sixty, his hair white as blossoms, yet his eyes remained piercingly sharp.

He wore ordinary Ming robes, save for a two-finger-wide sash at his waist. His right thumb hooked it, a ring shaped like black jade on his finger, reflecting a faint, ghostly glow.

Li Jun nodded, “I’ve come.”

“You’re not easy to invite.”

“No choice. I lost half my life in the Chengdu Prefecture, barely survived. I must be cautious.”

“Then why come now?”

“Since I’ve decided to kill, I must know who the enemy is.”

“Your tone suggests, if I tried to stop you, you’d kill me too?”

“Persuasion isn’t obstruction. I can distinguish grudges.”

Question and answer, like fists flying—decisive and swift.

Yan Baihu didn’t press further, his tiger-like eyes fixed on Li Jun.

Suddenly, Li Jun felt the temperature in the shop rising incessantly, fine sweat crawling across his chest.

In horror, his field of vision seemed to narrow rapidly—or perhaps Yan Baihu’s form was expanding.

After a moment, only that aged yet unaging face remained in his sight, along with the increasingly piercing kunqu aria at his ear!

This Jin Yiwei Baihu’s strength surpassed even the seventh rank!

“In the Chengdu Prefecture, you wielded Le Chong’s legal scales, proving in the Great Ming Law that you bear no grave sins.”

Hearing the name again, Li Jun was startled, “Le Chong?”

Yan Baihu replied calmly, “A relative.”

Li Jun’s brow furrowed, “How dare the Wu family…”

“It’s Confucianism.”

A flicker of sorrow and anger crossed Yan Bajiang's eyes. "He dared to speak on state affairs, became the one who sticks out. Under the overwhelming tide of events, even if I were a hundred-man commander of the Imperial Guards, I couldn't save him."

Grief was for the plight of his descendants, unable to help.

Anger was for the Legalists' lack of contention, losing in utter defeat.

Li Jun was silent for a moment, then suddenly clasped his hands in a bow, bowing deeply to Yan Bajiang.

This bow was to repay the life-saving grace of that day.

If not for the jade tablet he gave, Li Jun might have died under Yu Kuang's flying sword.

Yan Bajiang's body remained still, accepting the bow with dignity.

After Li Jun lifted his head, the hidden vigilance in his eyes had mostly dissipated.

Yan Bajiang's cold, hard face had softened considerably, and he patted the chair beside him, asking Li Jun in a low voice, "Back then, Le Zhong liked me to shave his face. Shall I try?"

"I'd be delighted."

Li Jun grinned, took a big step forward, lay back in the chair, his expression calm and composed.