Chapter 120: Treacherous Undercurrents, the Fate of the Great Qian Royal Clan, Journey to Fanzhou for the Robe
Shen Yanzhou gazed at Yu Chenyu, whose brows and eyes were calm and indifferent, without uttering a word. Yu Chenyu likewise met his eyes impassively.
An unseen tension spread through the air like the scent of gunpowder, as if the two were on the verge of a fierce clash.
From behind, Chunchao watched the scene unfold, her entire body tense. She had not expected that a conversation that seemed peaceful just moments ago would suddenly turn into such a sharp, sword-drawn confrontation.
Even when disagreements had arisen between the Princess Consort and Shen Yanzhou before, it had never reached this cold and murderous level.
To those unaware of the circumstances, it would seem as though the two were bitter enemies with a hatred as deep as life and death.
After a moment, Shen Yanzhou was the first to avert his gaze. He let out a faint sigh, then turned and began to walk out of the Emerald Bamboo Courtyard.
“That monastic robe, I will retrieve it, and I will present it on the day of the Empress’s birthday,” he said. “But from this day onward, I owe you nothing.”
“The debt of raising and care over these years—we are even.”
His faint words drifted away on the wind, and soon, his figure disappeared beyond the courtyard.
Yu Chenyu watched his retreating back. Hearing those words, her eyelids trembled slightly, and her chest rose and fell violently.
Clearly, her heart was far from as calm as her face.
Shen Yanzhou’s final words—“from this day onward, we are even”—made her heart inexplicably twist with a faint ache.
The scheme laid down twenty years ago, he had finally seen through it.
Originally, Yu Chenyu had never intended for him to become entangled in this. After all, the former Shen Yanzhou had been nothing more than a useless cripple, his life and death controlled by Shen Jingxiao. What could she have possibly expected of him?
Yet why did Shen Yanzhou have to display such extraordinary talent, step by step, until he caught the eye of Emperor Mingde himself?
“This was always your fate—you cannot blame me.”
“Even without me, you would still have to face the Cui Clan of Hejian, and the intolerance of the entire Great Qian Dynasty.”
“If you must blame someone, blame your incompetent father. Blame the fallen state of the royal house. Blame the forebears of Great Qian—blame the founding ancestor of the Xia family who once shattered the balance of Heaven’s order.”
“For a thousand years, Great Qian has declined. This is a fate none can change. All those of royal blood are reviled by Heaven’s law.”
“Emperor Mingde is no exception—and neither will you be. The destiny of Great Qian has reached its end. Only by cleansing the royal bloodline can this dark filth be washed away and Heaven’s order restored.”
Yu Chenyu’s eyes deepened.
——
At dawn the next day, after giving careful instructions for the matters of the Hundred-Household Command, Shen Yanzhou set off in secret.
Fanzhou lay to the northwest of the Imperial Capital, nearly ten thousand miles away.
If all went well, a round trip would take roughly half a month.
However, after leaving the capital, he detoured into the dense forests of the northwest outskirts and, within a cold and pristine pool, summoned the Soul-devouring Flood Serpent.
The serpent had followed him from Hidden Moon Mountain and since then had remained in hibernation within the woods beyond the capital.
With it as his mount, the journey would be shortened by half.
The time thus saved was enough for him to arrange many things—and catch many hidden forces unprepared.
Meanwhile, at the same time Shen Yanzhou departed, the Demon Suppression King, Shen Jingxiao, also left the capital, using urgent Southern Border affairs as an excuse.
The two left the Imperial Capital almost one after another.
With the Empress’s birthday approaching, the city grew livelier by the day.
Streets and alleys were being decorated, and envoys from small nations began to arrive one after another. Every day, people in exotic attire could be seen walking through the avenues.
“The Empress’s birthday—envoys from Qi should be arriving soon.”
In the Marquis of Divine Might’s Residence, Zhao Qingchan pondered over Shen Yanzhou’s instructions. She was uncertain whether Qi Haoran’s imperial elder sister would attend in person. If she waited in the capital, she might miss her entirely.
Thus, she had no choice but to make the journey to Qi herself.
——
In the Crown Prince’s Mansion, Ye Xingchen, now a strategist under the Crown Prince, was preparing his men for a mission to Fanzhou.
Though he knew the future and was certain the Buddhist treasure lay there, obtaining it would be far from easy.
He needed to make full preparations.
With the Empress’s birthday near, any failure in this matter would not only cost him the Crown Prince’s trust—it could cost him his head.
——
The entire capital seethed with hidden undercurrents. The calamity that had struck the Duke’s Residence left many ministers anxious and uneasy.
Inside the Palace of the Yearly Rites, Empress Cui Jingyi sipped her tea slowly. Present within the inner curtain was the current Imperial Uncle—her elder brother, Cui Zhenghong.
Though middle-aged, his complexion remained rosy and vigorous like that of a youth. His features still showed traces of his former handsomeness, his posture commanding, his white robe immaculate—his bearing akin to that of a lofty sage.
All the eunuchs and maids who normally attended the Empress had been dismissed, leaving only the two of them.
“Mingyang will return at the end of the month,” Cui Zhenghong began in his cultured and gentle tone.
“That’s good,” Cui Jingyi replied with a faint smile, her eyes soft, glowing with a rare maternal warmth. “It’s been a long time since I last saw that child.”
“His return may not be an entirely good thing,” Cui Zhenghong sighed. “If the old men of Dragon-Guarding Mountain take this chance to act madly and strike back with all their might, with Mingyang’s abilities, he may not come out unscathed.”
“His master is strong, yes—but has still not stepped into the First Rank.”
“Are there still any of the First Rank left among the mountain guardians?” Cui Jingyi asked in surprise.
“After so many years of barely clinging to survival, there’s not much left of their foundation. During the struggle for succession back then, the royal bloodline of Xia De’s generation was nearly wiped out. When Dragon-Guarding Mountain was attacked, those old relics either died or were crippled. What waves can they still stir?” Cui Zhenghong said with a faint smile.
Cui Jingyi’s face showed concern. “Still, I worry something might happen. Knowing Xia De’s mind, he has surely noticed something by now.”
Cui Zhenghong rose, lifted the curtain, and walked behind his sister. He reached out to brush a strand of her hair aside, smiling softly. “So what if he has? In this deep palace, who can stop me from coming and going? The so-called laws and rules are nothing but hollow words.”
“He knows his place. Otherwise, would he have been allowed to remain peacefully in the Hall of Cultivated Mind all these years, nurturing himself in seclusion?”
Even so, Cui Jingyi’s brows furrowed faintly. “Still, something feels off. Xia De’s demeanor lately has changed entirely from before. Better to be cautious.”
Cui Zhenghong said lightly, “He can only accept his fate. This is the destiny of the royal bloodline of Great Qian. Since the time the First Emperor of Great Qian imprisoned Heaven’s law and suppressed the Six Paths—creating that so-called ideal of educating the people, making all men dragons, and ruling the Nine Provinces—retribution was inevitable.”
“The fall of Great Qian is Heaven’s decree. We are merely following the natural order.”
“It isn’t just our Cui Clan. Look across the vast Nine Provinces—how many harbor resentment toward that First Emperor? Because of what he did, tell me—do any beings beyond the First Rank still exist in this world?”
“Heaven’s law vanished, and all paths were severed.”
Hearing this, Cui Jingyi’s expression grew complicated.
Even after more than a thousand years, the great families and noble clans still recorded those events. That era had been one of chaos and division—immortal sects and noble houses warring, small nations struggling to survive, human lives as fragile as grass.
Then the First Emperor of Great Qian had risen, single-handedly reshaping the world.
From that time, immortal sects entered the mortal realm, Confucian teachings enlightened the masses, Buddhist doctrines spread, and martial cultivation flourished as never before.
The evil gods born of obscene worship were shattered and cast into the turbulent void.
The ancient families, suppressed by his might, entered the court as officials to maintain order—the Cui Clan of Hejian among them.
He unified the six realms, drove out the barbarians and demon races, destroyed a hundred nations, subjugated the immortal sects, dug canals, built Yao Pass, established rites, abolished corrupt worship, and unified measurements and language.
Such were the deeds of the First Emperor.
Many of the Cui Clan’s ancestors had personally witnessed his invincible power.
Under his rule, all sects and families bowed before him. None dared to rebel.
The Great Qian flourished—peace and prosperity reigned, and even Beiyu, the northern kingdom of orthodox human heritage, bent its knee in submission.
But that age did not last. The First Emperor suddenly vanished—as though erased from existence.
Many speculated that his actions had violated Heaven’s law, disrupting the cycle of the Six Paths, and thus he was obliterated.
After his disappearance, the royal line of Great Qian declined rapidly. Many of imperial blood suffered strange ailments in old age—black spots on their bodies, pus-filled blood, waning vitality, collapsing cultivation, endless misfortune—few met a good end.
Of course, such records were hidden in the royal archives, never made known to outsiders.
Only great powers like the Cui Clan had uncovered the truth.
The fall of Great Qian was destined. When the royal bloodline was extinguished, the dynasty would perish.
In other words, Emperor Mingde was fated to be the last ruler of Great Qian.
As for Crown Prince Xia Chongming—
He possessed no blood of the royal line.
All of this had long been part of the Cui Clan’s plan.
After the fall of the Great Qian Dynasty, the immense wealth and heritage accumulated over the past millennium would inevitably elevate the Cui Clan to an unprecedented height.
“At the time, when Xia De fought for the throne, not a single royal elder of Dragon-Guarding Mountain supported him. To those old fellows there, Xia De, who sought the illusionary title of emperor, had already become nothing more than our Cui Clan’s puppet. Why would they ever help him again?”
“Now then, once your birthday celebration concludes, it’s time for Xia De to step down from his position as well,” said Cui Zhenghong.
——
Night had fallen deep.
In the west of the Imperial Capital, Chunshui Pavilion was still filled with the sound of strings and flutes, and the melodious singing voices of courtesans, lively and vibrant.
At the highest loft, the courtesan Ning Kui sat before a bronze mirror, combing her hair. Reflected within was her exquisitely beautiful face, her skin fine as porcelain.
“So, the chess piece left untouched for twenty years has finally come into play.”
Her gaze fell upon a bloodstained, shattered wooden comb that had suddenly appeared before her, her thoughts swirling.
The mysterious being who had once brought that stillborn infant back to Beiyu had held this very token. Over the years, the upper echelons of Beiyu—including her aunt, the Empress—had all investigated his identity.
But that being was far too mysterious. Everyone knew he had long hidden within the Imperial Capital, yet none knew who “he” truly was.
Now, this wooden comb had inexplicably appeared within her boudoir.
Could this be a signal?
——
Three days later, above the skies of Fanzhou, a dark shadow streaked past like a gust of violent wind and plunged straight into a forest below.
Not long after, a handsome young nobleman emerged from the woods, accompanied by an old man in black robes.
The lands of Fanzhou were vast—deserts and hills stretching endlessly. Once they left the forest, waves of yellow sand could already be seen rolling across the horizon.
“The Floating Sky Temple is the most renowned monastery in Fanzhou. A few inquiries will reveal its precise location.”
“However, Yu Chenyu sending me to retrieve that monastic robe… it surely isn’t so simple.”
“It must involve the mystery of the original body’s parentage. If he was Emperor Mingde’s illegitimate son, then who was his mother?” Shen Yanzhou pondered.
He still had half a month before the Empress’s birthday.
When that day arrived, waves were certain to rise.
Though he was no longer the original Shen Yanzhou, these entangled grudges and karmic threads were now inseparable from him.
Rubbing his temples, Shen Yanzhou resumed his journey with the Soul-devouring Flood Serpent.
An hour later, he found the official road and stopped a passing caravan. After a few questions, he confirmed the location of the Floating Sky Temple.
In Fanzhou, Buddhism flourished. The deeper one went, the more one saw pilgrims prostrating themselves along every highway, moving inch by inch with devout reverence.
By dusk, Shen Yanzhou and the Soul-devouring Flood Serpent arrived at the Floating Sky Mountain where the temple stood.
From afar, the mountain seemed to float among the clouds. The surrounding wilderness was filled with dust and desolation, but this place was lush and green—a veritable oasis amid the desert.
As one of Fanzhou’s most famous temples, its crowds of devotees were like swarming ants.
Even before approaching, the sound of chanting filled the air—vast and resonant, as though countless Buddhas were preaching the Dharma.
Concealing himself with an invisibility art, Shen Yanzhou stood at the foot of the mountain for a long time. From within, he sensed something strange that stirred a reverent urge to bow and turn the prayer wheels.
He could distinctly feel the blazing tide of faith surging from all directions, converging upon the mountain’s peak.
An ordinary person in such a place would, before long, become a devout follower of the Buddha.
“Confucianism, Martial, Buddhism, Daoism, Shamanism… each lineage truly has its depth.”
“In the original story, the Buddhist sects barely appeared. Yet even when chaos engulfed the Imperial Capital and wars raged across the Nine Provinces, Fanzhou remained untouched.”
“It seems all lineages tacitly regard this land as sacred ground.”
Shen Yanzhou lightly shook his head. He had no intention of meddling—Buddhism’s existence had its own reason.
He left the Soul-devouring Flood Serpent waiting at the mountain’s base, then followed the mountain path past the kneeling pilgrims toward the Floating Sky Temple.
He still recalled some details about this place.
In the original tale, there had been a Peach Blossom Demon of profound cultivation living here, who followed the aged abbot, chanting and eating vegetarian meals each day.
When that demon had first taken human form, she had been naive and unaware of her beauty that could upend nations, drawing covetous eyes from every direction.
A Daoist expert had sought to enslave her as a spirit pet; an aristocratic scion had wanted to capture her as his demon concubine; and a Buddhist monk had tried to convert her—until the Peach Blossom Demon erupted in fury, bathing the land in blood.
At that time, the Buddha Child of the Floating Sky Temple had entered the mortal world. By a twist of fate, he and the demon had met. To save her, he broke his precepts and slew his foes, erasing the six burn scars on his head…
Years later, that Buddha Child who once killed had reincarnated as a young novice in the Floating Sky Temple.
And the Peach Blossom Demon, once feared across the realms, had shed her murderous aura and taken up residence at the temple, freeloading meals and drink.
Returning from his thoughts, Shen Yanzhou avoided the main entrance and decided to sneak in through a side gate to first locate the monastic robe.
However, just as he approached, a dense wave of incense fragrance filled the air.
An elderly monk, with kindly eyes and a gentle smile, stood there as if waiting, watching him warmly.
Knowing his invisibility art was useless before such a master, Shen Yanzhou dispelled the technique and revealed himself.
“Poor monk Yun Zang has awaited you for some time, benefactor,” the monk said with palms joined.
“Greetings, Master.”
Shen Yanzhou returned the gesture, sensing no hostility from him.
He was slightly surprised. It seemed the man had long known he would come. Could this also be Yu Chenyu’s arrangement?
If so, why not simply have the robe delivered directly to the capital?
“Please follow me, benefactor. I know what you seek,” said the monk, Yun Zang. Without further words, he turned and led the way.
After a moment’s thought, Shen Yanzhou followed, heading with Yun Zang toward the rear courtyard chambers.
Even though dusk had fallen, the temple was still filled with the glow of incense. Long lines of devotees waited outside the Great Buddha Hall, murmuring sutras as they bowed in devotion.
“What you seek lies here.”
Yun Zang entered a chamber and led Shen Yanzhou to a table, upon which sat a slightly worn travel bundle.
Shen Yanzhou opened it and found inside several tattered items—a child’s rattle made of wheat stalks, a bloodstained broken wooden comb, and a shattered jade pendant carved with mandarin ducks.
But the Five-colored Monastic Robe he sought was nowhere to be found.
“Master, have you mistaken me for someone else?” Shen Yanzhou asked.
“No. You are indeed the one I awaited. As for the other thing you seek, it is not here,” said Yun Zang.
Looking at the child’s toy, Shen Yanzhou naturally guessed its meaning.
Was this Yu Chenyu’s way of reminding him—of his hidden origins, his blood feud?
The so-called task of retrieving the Seven-colored Monastic Robe—was it merely a pretext for him to learn the truth of his birth?
“How tiresome and distasteful,” Shen Yanzhou muttered softly, shaking his head. With a wave of his hand, he took the old bundle.
“Please follow me to meet the Abbot. To take that item, his permission is required,” Yun Zang said, leaving the chamber and leading on.
Shen Yanzhou said nothing, simply following behind. After circling a few side halls, a faint fragrance of peach blossoms reached his nose—different from the incense.
Before him stood a vibrant peach tree in full bloom. An old monk in robes sat beneath it, his back bent, his head lowered as he fingered a string of prayer beads. A charming young woman sat barefoot on a branch above, swinging her legs idly.
Upon their arrival, Yun Zang withdrew quietly.
The old monk beneath the peach tree turned at the sound. His eyes were pale, with only the pupils visible—ancient and profound, as though they saw through all the cycles of karma.
“You have finally come,” he said to Shen Yanzhou, his voice heavy with age.