Chapter 587: Friend or Foe

Chapter 587: Friend or Foe

In November, the capital city of Keju also began to see snow, though it was still gentler than in the previous year. At the very top of the towering palace, there was a platform that seemed to float in the air, offering a sweeping view of half the city. Two identical silk cushions were neatly arranged beside each other, and in this moment, the young Emperor Gaizhi was seated upright and composed.

It was the first day of the new year, a day when the young Emperor, under the guidance of the first assistant to the throne, Li Zhang Ying, was about to receive his lessons.

"Teacher, the matter of the location hasn't yet reached a clear resolution. Why have you delayed this for so long? Is it the will of the high priests, or is it because Liu Xin's administration has been ineffective?"

The young Emperor spoke first, but his concern was evident.

"Liu Xin is not incompetent. On the contrary, this matter isn’t beyond his grasp."

Li Zhang Ying did not reveal the full truth, content instead with the four classical texts and the intention to indoctrinate the emperor into the role of a Confucian scholar. He patiently explained the progress of the new policies.

"However, the location of the Buddha’s footprint is a poison lurking within the empire. To remove it without risking injury is a delicate task, requiring careful consideration. Rushing would be a grave mistake."

"When I learned that you intended to punish these foreign barbarians, I immediately went to investigate their current situation."

The young Emperor scoffed, laughing softly. "Well, if you think you can handle this, then let the great Sage Li come and take charge of the location matters. Or better yet, use this opportunity to accumulate some merit and rise quickly into the inner council, easing the burden on you, Teacher."

"Your majesty, you must decide who among these Buddhist sects will be your allies."

The young Emperor’s expression hardened, his voice firm. "It is clear that, in the eyes of the elders, you are merely a 'wise' figure. But if you persist in this, you will only bring trouble."

Li Zhang Ying smiled gently. "Indeed, my young friend. The path of understanding is not always clear, but it is essential."

Gaizhi, confused by the wisdom of the young Emperor, asked, "So, if the Buddhist locations are so difficult to manage, why did you choose to intervene?"

"Because I believe their influence must be addressed. The matter is more complex than it appears. The current situation is fraught with peril, and delaying action only weakens our position."

The young Emperor’s brow furrowed. He quickly rose from the silk cushion, bowing respectfully to Li Zhang Ying. "May I inquire about the state of the locations?"

Li Zhang Ying nodded, his tone measured. "You have already heard my words about the locations. As for what you saw there, I must admit, the elders have been watching closely."

The young Emperor’s eyes narrowed in thought. "The Buddha’s footprint is a poison in the empire. To remove it without causing harm is a delicate matter."

"Indeed, the burden of this responsibility is immense. To act hastily would be a grave error. But to wait and see who truly stands to gain from this situation is a dangerous path."

"First, understand the wisdom, then act wisely."

Gaizhi’s gaze lingered on the young Emperor, sensing a depth in his words. "Perhaps, with patience and understanding, we can find a way forward."

Li Zhang Ying chuckled softly. "Well, if you’re so wise, then let us see what the future holds."

The two exchanged a moment of silence, the weight of their conversation settling over them like a quiet storm.

Teacher, is there still the Yin‑Yang Sequence?

His words were decisive, brimming with fierce confidence.

Zhang Fengyue gathered his gaze, turned his head and asked, “What is the reason?”

The Yin‑Yang Sequence, after being dismantled and devoured by the Dao Sequence, has waned; many have fled abroad to barren lands, yet the student knows that within the homeland's Yin‑Yang Sequence there remains an entity called the “Eastern Emperor Palace” that seeks revenge.

How is this related to the matter of the border lands?

As you mentioned just now, the Buddhist Sequence that learned the “Yellow Millet” has strayed; since it is tied to the Yellow Millet, it must be linked to both the Dao and Yin‑Yang Sequences.

The Emperor's analysis only deepens, his confidence swelling.

Since the Dao Sequence cannot spare effort to snatch cheap gains, the small Yin‑Yang Sequence will surely take advantage of the Buddhist Sequence to gain something.

To deduce this far shows the Emperor's “Numerical Arts” have markedly advanced in recent times.

Zhang Fengyue's face rarely bore a smile of approval.

All thanks to the teacher's diligent instruction.

The Emperor blinked, “If one were to be cunning, the Martial and Ink Sequences might also be part of the answer.”

“You mean the people of Li Jun, don’t you? They hardly qualify.”

Zhang Fengyue shook his head: “The Martial Sequence has bound itself in a cocoon, now lacking sharp claws or external disputes; once a hundred gates of the Martial Sequence stood, now only a single Heavenly Gate remains. Yet even in decay, some deem them a delicacy, and their longevity remains uncertain.”

“I do not know who else remains.”

“Your answer, though incomplete, can guess the Yin‑Yang Sequence; that is already commendable. Let us end today's lesson.”

Zhang Fengyue rose from the cushion, saying, “Henceforth I shall focus on the borderlands, guiding you step by step to uncover all answers. Such a method should hasten your ascent.”

“Thank you, teacher.”

Emperor Jiaqi performed the disciple's bow, his voice filled with gratitude and sincere reverence.

In the ruined temple at the border of Yu Mo and Cang Lan, Dun Zhu wrestled with a Buddhist Sequence warrior as formidable as himself.

Far off, Li Jun yawned idly.

The Horse King sat amid a pile of corpses, shoulders hunched, his dim red eyes wandering to unknown realms of the Bright Ghost.

Fresh blood splattered upon the snow, blooming vivid crimson flowers.

A wooden pillar as thick as a wrist swung upon Dun Zhu's shoulder, splinters flashing before his eyes, carving bloody slits across his cheek.

Dun Zhu, fierce‑eyed, ignored the pain in his shoulder, lunged and flung a heavy whip‑leg toward his opponent's head.

The Buddhist Sequence monk, adept in close combat, braced his left hand to block the whip‑leg, while his right hand reached for Dun Zhu's throat, his right toe barely lifting.

Should he seize the foe, a savage knee strike would follow.

Dun Zhu's thick brows knit, and at the crucial moment he inhaled sharply, his back muscles tensing, causing his body to tilt backward.

The monk's left hand missed, his fingertip grazing Dun Zhu's throat, leaving a line of blood.

Having escaped peril, Dun Zhu had not yet steadied his breath when the modified opponent surged forward, leapt, and swung a horizontal kick upon his raised arms.

The massive force knocked Dun Zhu backward repeatedly, his arm bones delivering a pain as if breaking.

The monk's face twisted ferociously, chasing onward, his fists striking relentlessly.

The dull thuds of bone meeting bone merged into a relentless roar, reaching a ferocious intensity.

In his frenzied assault, the monk let out a hysterical scream, as if to vent his pent‑up frustration and despair.

To him, today's events were nothing short of a nightmare.

He had only just entered the Sequence, not yet savoring the lavish servitude of countless Buddhist slaves, when his grand temple fell victim to an unforeseen calamity.

A clear‑sighted man attacked his temple without cause.

From abbot to novice, all were slaughtered, leaving only himself.

When he thought the demon‑head might be merciful, offering a chance at life, the man seized him like a beast, scrutinizing him from side to side.

Only then did he realize the opponent regarded him as a carefully selected fighting dog.

Even more unbearable was that his opponent was a contemptible Buddhist slave, lower than an ant!

There was no escape, yet he was humiliated thus.

Reflecting upon this, the monk's wrath grew heavier, his strikes ever more vicious.

He resolved to kill this foul‑smelling creature before he himself fell.

Lost in frenzy, he failed to notice that the Buddhist slave's eyes, hidden behind his arms, shone with calm composure.

Like a patient predator lying in wait for a lethal strike.

“Ah, it seems I arrive a moment too late.”

Suddenly, a bright, smiling voice rang out from beyond the ruins.

Li Jun, half‑asleep, lifted his eyelids and gazed toward the sound.

A robust, cheerful face stood ten zhang away, turned toward him.

The face's owner wore a scholar's robe, his meticulously tied bun adorned with a wooden pin snatched from somewhere, making him appear a shabby literatus.

“This child's courage is astonishing, daring to wander alone before us, unaware that we have been cursed by his father?”

His dim red eyes brightened, and the Horse King's cold voice intoned, “Shall I strike him down?”

Li Jun replied, “Patience, Zhang Fengyue's son ought not be so foolish; first see what he intends.”

Their conversation was not quiet, heard clearly by the nearby scholar.

Three eyes—two black, one red—scrutinized up and down, causing his skin to prickle.

The scholar, already poised for action, saw Li Jun tilt his chin toward him.

“Are you Zhang Suiyuan?”

“Indeed, are you Master Li Xin?”

Li Jun nodded, “You should be at the Qu Jin Temple now; why have you come here?”

“Just passing time, taking a stroll.”

Zhang Suiyuan surveyed the ruins and asked, “How many have been dismantled?”

“The fifth.”

“Impressive!”

Zhang Suiyuan smirked, “I am no less; from here to the Qu Jin Temple, every newly rebuilt Sangyan temple I have torn down. In total five, a perfect stalemate.”

Upon hearing this, Li Jun and the Horse King exchanged a glance, both puzzled.

“Is this man missing a thread in his mind?”

Yet Zhang Fengyue's son should not be so foolish; first see what he intends.

After all, these temples were previously dismantled by him.

“Although our empire has a saying that a father's debt is repaid by his son, I doubt both of you would wish to use me as a vent for your grievances, don't you?”

Zhang Siyuan, greeting the strange gazes of Li Jun and Lord Ma Wang, smiled and said, “May I have a chance to sit down and talk?”

Li Jun lifted his hand and patted a small stone beside him.

I can offer you a seat, but I fear you might not dare to sit.

What would make you hesitate? The people raised by a hero like Old Master Su would not speak without keeping their word.

Zhang Siyuan lifted the front of his robe, strode forward, and indeed settled beside Li Jun.

Do you truly not fear that I might kill you?

Having overseen so many Confucian orders, Li Jun was still encountering such a person for the first time.

It is said that Chancellor Zhang had only a son like you; if I were to kill him, he would surely be very upset, wouldn't he?

Upset? I cannot even hope for that.

Zhang Siyuan shook his head. “Moreover, in the Confucian order, the least valuable is the son.”

You are not like those elite scions,” Li Jun said, gazing into his eyes.

That point is indeed different. They are all dutiful sons and virtuous grandchildren, each gentle, modest, and yielding; they would rather kill their own brothers than defy their fathers.

Zhang Siyuan’s expression was solemn, nodding with a sense of ceremony: “I should be considered a rebellious son.”