Blood spattered, and the misshapen humanoid form dissolved into black mist mid-air. The barrier around Lin Shijin fell away, and he jogged over to Sheng Rufei.
Sheng Rufei had a smear of blood on his fingertips. After wiping it away, he found the youth standing at his side, eyes bright with envy and admiration.
“Shixiong is incredible! Was that a ninth-tier demon beast?”
Sheng Rufei shook his head, slightly ill at ease beneath the youth’s ardent gaze. “No. It was a mountain wraith from Hanhuan Mountain, not a ninth-tier beast.”
Ninth-tier beasts resembled humans and were exceedingly rare; their appearance always caused a stir.
Besides, if it had truly been one, his current cultivation would not have been sufficient to defeat it.
Realising his mistake, Lin Shijin whispered, “It’s still amazing. Has your cultivation improved these past few months, Shixiong? I remember last time we went out, you couldn’t yet manifest a sword shadow.”
Sheng Rufei gave a low hum of assent. Having wiped away the last of the blood, he tapped the youth lightly on the head. “Still a long way to go.”
His words were carried off by the wind; Lin Shijin didn’t hear them. He remained caught up in sincere admiration for his Shixiong’s strength, genuinely happy on his behalf.
Sheng Rufei was formidable… and, in time, those around him would surely be formidable too. Yet he himself was still utterly ordinary.
The thought left a strange hollowness in his chest. He had always known Sheng Rufei was powerful, but it had never been something that touched upon him. Now, everything felt different.
Lost in these thoughts, he followed Sheng Rufei up the mountain. They passed through scenes of autumn and summer, and only at the highest point did spring appear.
Peach blossoms bloomed in abundance, branches brimming with flowers. Petals drifted down in a soft cascade, settling into dust and damp earth.
No more beasts appeared. Lin Shijin trailed behind Sheng Rufei. In the distance he saw a temple glowing faintly with golden light, and pointed. “Shixiong, is that Jinyue Temple?”
Sheng Rufei gave a slight nod, his gaze dropping to the white ring on the youth’s wrist; a shadow crossed his expression.
“Shizun was here not long ago. Are all the people in there Buddhist cultivators? Why build a temple so far out?”
Sheng Rufei explained patiently, “Jinyue Temple has an ancient history. It’s said they can peer into the secrets of heaven. They kept themselves hidden until a thousand years ago, when they appeared at the summit of Cold Mountain. No one knows why.”
“The monks inside all cultivate the Buddhist path, and there are powerful figures among them. The most renowned is the High Monk Bu Wen. We’re here to see him.”
Shixiong really did know everything, Lin Shijin thought. Bu Wen (Not Asking)? What a peculiar name. Was it meant literally?
“Not asking, not asking anything?” Lin Shijin chuckled. “Quite an amusing name.”
He thought then of their own names, Shijin and Rufei. He felt, inexplicably, that they rather suited one another.
The final stretch was a long stone staircase, some steps cracked, some overgrown with moss. As they climbed, the distant tolling of a bell echoed richly through the air.
Looking up, Lin Shijin saw Jinyue Temple at the top, faintly wreathed in indistinct black mist.
At the entrance hung a large plaque inscribed with bold, sweeping characters. Two monks stood guard, incense thick in the air, distant statues of deities half-lost in rising smoke.
“Are the two benefactors here to see the Holy Monk Bu Wen?”
Lin Shijin jumped. A monk had appeared silently behind them.
He turned prayer beads between his fingers and murmured, “Amitabha,” his expression devoid of joy or sorrow. “The Holy Monk has long awaited your arrival.”
Lin Shijin instinctively looked to Sheng Rufei, a chill creeping down his spine. Had they been expected?
“Thank you,” Sheng Rufei said, casting another glance towards the doorway. His fingers tightened around his sword scabbard; he paused briefly, then followed the monk as though nothing was amiss.
They passed through a bamboo grove, leaves whispering overhead. Lin Shijin felt the strangeness of the place, an eerie stillness. He said very little, quietly edging closer to Sheng Rufei.
The monk ahead walked without a sound. He led them to the grove’s end, where a waterside pavilion stood. A monk in white robes sat within.
As soon as they arrived, their guide vanished. The white-robed monk pressed his palms together, uttered “Amitabha,” and opened his eyes… eyes carrying the weight of the mortal world.
“Benefactors, many are the branching paths ahead. The karma of past lives is difficult to unravel.”
“Such is the time, such is fate.”
With a soft sigh, he stepped forward before them… and closed his eyes.
Lin Shijin felt his skin crawl. He hadn’t understood a thing, yet this journey was nothing like he had imagined. He reached for Sheng Rufei’s fingertips.
“Shixiong… what does he mean?”
Sheng Rufei took his wrist, drawing him forward. His blade was already sliding from its sheath.
Lin Shijin copied him, his scabbard slipping down. Bamboo leaves fluttered. An invisible barrier spread out, and Sheng Rufei led him right up to the monk.
He touched him lightly. No breath.
“He’s been dead for more than a month,” Sheng Rufei said, withdrawing his hand. “There’s something very wrong here. We shouldn’t linger.”
Before the words had fully fallen, monks appeared all around them. With a cry of “Holy Monk—!”, golden light surged, surrounding the pair as monks levelled golden staffs at them.
The metal rings clashed with sharp, echoing chimes. The leading monk glared at them coldly. “Our Holy Monk was perfectly well before your arrival. Now, in but an instant, disaster has struck. Until the matter is investigated, we must trouble the two benefactors to remain in Jinyue Temple.”
Lin Shijin didn’t move. It all felt staged. How could it be so coincidental? They came to see Bu Wen, exchanged barely a few words, and he ‘passed away’.
“He was the one who summoned us. And besides, my shixiong has just examined him. Your Holy Monk has been dead for over a month. How could this have anything to do with us?”
The leading monk replied, “The Holy Monk cultivated the art of sitting-in-asceticism. His flesh decayed, yet his soul remained. Just now, his golden bell tolled.”
The bell’s toll meant his soul had perished only moments earlier.
Lin Shijin blinked. So one’s body could rot while one’s soul remained? Was that truly considered living, or dead?
“We ask the two benefactors to accompany us.”
If they fled now, it would look like guilt. But if they stayed, they would be isolated, left to the mercy of these monks for who-knew-how-long. And they still needed to hurry to Wuxiang Mountain.
Lin Shijin glanced at Sheng Rufei and found him still staring fixedly at Bu Wen’s corpse, something unreadable in his eyes.
“Shixiong… shall we go with them?”
Sheng Rufei came back to himself. He tightened his grip on Lin Shijin’s wrist and murmured, “Don’t be afraid. This won’t fall on us.”
Lin Shijin didn’t understand. Only later would he realise that from the moment Sheng Rufei had seen the corpse, he had already guessed the direction things would take.
The two of them were separated into rooms not far apart. Monks guarded the doors. The rooms were sealed, but Sheng Rufei only needed to tug the red thread lightly to summon him.
Lin Shijin crouched in his corner, peering through the paper window at the bald head of the monk standing guard. When the red thread on his wrist stirred, he hadn’t even reacted before he vanished.
He reappeared in Sheng Rufei’s room. As he opened his mouth, Sheng Rufei pressed his fingertips to it, shaking his head gently.
Lin Shijin understood. He glanced at the monk outside and nodded.
His lips brushed Sheng Rufei’s fingertips. Instinctively, he almost parted them to draw the finger in; heat prickled across his skin. But Sheng Rufei withdrew quickly.
“This temple is far from normal,” Sheng Rufei whispered by his ear, breath warm. “At midnight we’ll slip out and investigate.”
Lin Shijin nodded. His cultivation was weak, and he feared even speaking might alert the monks. So he took Sheng Rufei’s wrist and wrote in his palm:
Shixiong is truly bringing me along?
Sheng Rufei hummed softly. “I won’t leave you behind.”
Something small and tender jolted in Lin Shijin’s chest. He continued writing:
My cultivation is low. I’m afraid I’ll slow you down—or be discovered.
“No matter,” came the gentle warmth of Sheng Rufei’s palm as he turned his hand and clasped Lin Shijin’s fingers. “With me here, you won’t be found.”
Lin Shijin wrote a cheerful All right, then, unable to help it, leaned over to give him a delighted hug.
He scribbled a few more words:
Shixiong is so good.
Sheng Rufei’s fingers twitched faintly beneath his touch. When Lin Shijin looked up, he found Sheng Rufei’s gaze shuttered, emotions concealed.
Midnight came swiftly. Outside, the moon hung high. Lin Shijin wore the talismans prepared for him; the formation drawn on the floor shimmered faintly. When Sheng Rufei made enough noise to draw the monk in, the two of them stepped into the array, leaving only two illusions of themselves behind.
The illusions would not last long. They had limited time to return.
Their figures materialised outside the hall. Concealing their presence, they took on the appearance of monks. Lin Shijin kept pace easily. If nothing else, he excelled at escape techniques.
Night at Jinyue Temple was deathly still. Sutras were carved into the rock gardens; the sandalwood scent was thinner now, the faint glow from the halls murky and subdued.
“Shixiong, where are we going?”
“To Bu Wen’s corpse.”
Lin Shijin had noticed earlier how Sheng Rufei had stared at it. “Did you discover something?”
“Only a suspicion,” Sheng Rufei murmured. Footsteps echoed nearby. Both of them slipped behind an ornamental rock.
A monk was approaching, lantern in hand, the faint glow edging across the garden.
The crevice was cramped; shoulder to shoulder, they were pressed close, breaths mingling. Sheng Rufei, taller than him, shielded him slightly—Lin Shijin was practically in his arms.
Footsteps passed. Lin Shijin’s heart thudded wildly. He waited a moment, then whispered, “Shixiong, I think we can—”
He didn’t finish. A hand at his waist had gone hot…burning, almost. And when he turned, the edge of his ear brushed against something cool.
