Chapter 242 – Burying Oneself in the Mountain, Awaiting the Harvest, Truth About the Emperor - Part 2

On a day of heavy snowfall in the dead of winter, Li Yuan was once again traveling as the White-Robed Blade King. He slaughtered a den of bandits and rescued the women they had abducted. He then divided the bandits’ loot among them so they could return home, keeping not a single coin for himself.

Amid their tearful thanks, Li Yuan stood alone in the drifting snow, gazing at bloodstains where crimson mingled with white. He raised his gourd of wine and let out a hearty laugh. “Glorious...simply glorious!”

𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

But soon he heard movement behind him. Turning his head, he spotted three men and two women, all dressed like roaming heroes—three carried blades, one a sword, and one a spear, picking their way up the slope.

They’d caught wind of these bandits terrorizing the area and had come to clear them out. Young and unaffiliated with any major sect, they were eager to prove themselves. Yet from a few miles away, they’d already smelled blood. Now, seeing the bandits’ bodies strewn in the snow—and a lone swordsman in white perched on a boulder, drinking under the bleak winter sky—they gaped in awe, then realized the bandits lay dead at his feet.

All five approached to pay their respects, each announcing their name—

“Qian Zhengrong of the Eversword School.”

“Wang Xiaoqian of the Falling Blade School.”

“Cong Zuxue of the Coldpeak Dojo.”

“Dou Zijuan of the Eight Blades Sect.”

“Liu Buqu of the Warspear League.”

Li Yuan looked them over and said in a low voice, “Zhang Xiu.”

That was the name he had assumed as the White-Robed Blade King, and it had grown quite famous in Silkfloss Province by now. The moment they heard it, the five exchanged awestruck glances as if meeting their idol. Some turned starry-eyed, while others blushed. The band of hot-blooded youths excitedly crowded around Li Yuan, all but forgetting their initial goal of vanquishing evil.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

Later that afternoon, as night was falling...

Liu Buqu suggested, “Sir Zhang, it’s getting late. I know there’s a temple nearby—fairly popular, and the monks are kind. If you’d rather not travel in this weather, would you join us there for the night?”

Li Yuan found these youngsters quite likable, so he answered with a laugh, “Sure.”

They trudged off together through the snow, and on the way, Li Yuan casually offered them pointers in their martial arts. The temple turned out just as Liu Buqu had described—well-patronized, not huge but possessed of a humble charm. Its abbot was out late, tending to the sick in a nearby village, so a young monk welcomed them, served a simple vegetarian meal, and prepared sleeping quarters.

As the night deepened, Li Yuan found himself wandering around the temple grounds. It housed a handful of traveling strangers with nowhere else to go. Even at this late hour, a few remained in the main hall, praying under flickering lamps.

Eventually, the abbot returned, treading through the thick snow. By then, the main hall was empty. Li Yuan overheard voices at the entrance.

“Old Wang from Still Mountain Village...he won’t make it,” the abbot said with a weary sigh. “He’s suffering from hunger, cold, and exhaustion. He needs expensive tonics, but he has no money. I managed to scrape together some silver for two doses of medicine, yet still couldn’t save him. Amitabha...I couldn’t do more.”

A fellow monk replied in a consoling tone, “Don’t blame yourself. The chaos of war has driven up the cost of herbs, and poor harvests plague us year after year...”

Li Yuan stepped forward.

The abbot, spotting him, offered a bow. “I am Abbot Xuan Xiang. Greetings, Benefactor Zhang.”

Li Yuan said nothing. The Beggars Sect had once placed a bounty on him, so his picture had circulated widely. It didn’t surprise him that someone with the abbot’s experience recognized him. Wordlessly, he pressed six banknotes—each worth 500 taels of silver—into the abbot’s hands.

Alarmed, the abbot tried to refuse. “I...I can’t possibly accept this.”

Li Yuan smiled. “Ill-gotten gains spent on a righteous cause, doesn’t that bring a man joy?”

The abbot and the monk beside him exchanged a bright-eyed glance, then solemnly bowed. “Amitabha, you are a true hero.”

At the words

true hero

, Li Yuan felt only a pang of frustration. He had spent over a year walking this path, only to remain stuck at that final half-step. Hearing them call him

hero

just made it sting even more.

Noting his expression, the abbot offered a sympathetic smile. “You seem troubled. If you’d like, I can recite sutras for you, to help calm your mind.”

Li Yuan nodded. “Thank you, Abbot.”

Moments later, under the old temple’s faint candlelight, the abbot knelt and struck a wooden bowl, chanting steadily. The low, soothing resonance of the sutra spread through the hall. Li Yuan couldn’t make out the words, but he stared up at the time-worn Buddha statue in front of him.

In the dim glow, the statue’s face looked serene, eyes half-lidded. Li Yuan bowed three times, then sank to his knees on the cushion, silently pondering what had gone wrong—why he couldn’t grasp that last piece on the path of the hero?

He’d spent over a year on this quest. He had saved countless lives. He’d carried out his ideal of righteousness. So why was he still falling short? Irritation gnawed at him.

The abbot eyed him and spoke gently. “If your mind remains uneasy, please stay a while. I will continue to pray for you.”

Li Yuan sighed. “It might be all the blood on my hands that keeps me awake.”

The abbot offered a reassuring smile. “The Buddha can be both merciful and wrathful. You have put an end to evil deeds; what blood is there to stain your hands?”

Slaying evil karma, not slaying men...

Li Yuan paused. The old monk’s words felt close in spirit to modern principles he’d once known. Unfortunately, it didn’t address his real worry; otherwise, he might have found sudden enlightenment right then and there.

The abbot continued, “May I ask, what was it you sought in your earlier prayer?”

Li Yuan froze for a moment. What had he been praying for? He’d prayed for peace of mind...and a chance to finally grasp the path of the hero.

He suddenly paused, frowning. Without warning, it all clicked into place. He hadn’t been bowing to the Buddha; he’d been bowing to his own desires. Yes, saving people was virtuous, but his motive was still rooted in ambition. He was never truly focused on upholding justice for its own sake, but on reaching a higher realm of power.

On one hand, he rescued countless people; on the other, he was secretly selling high quality seventh rank weapons, each of which fueled even more bloodshed and misery. He clamped down on the Beggars Sect while simultaneously running the underworld from behind the scenes.

He roamed the land in the name of justice, yet he was fully aware there were problems he neither could nor should get involved in. After all, he had never aspired to be some righteous hero who burned with indignation and carried the world on his shoulders. So how could he possibly embody a true hero?

“Benefactor?” The abbot’s gentle voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Li Yuan gave a slight bow. “Apologies, Abbot. I need to go for a walk.”

“Please, do as you wish.” The abbot offered a kind smile.

Stepping outside the ancient hall, Li Yuan tipped his head back, breathing in the frigid air. A scene from a television series he’d watched in his previous life floated through his mind. It was of a long-lived man determined to become the strongest, hiding his identity to join various sects, mastering their techniques before forging his own supreme art. He had once been a righteous alliance leader, even an emperor, but also a demonic overlord—and yet, in the end, rising stars surpassed him as he became a laughingstock.

In some ways, Li Yuan felt an uncanny similarity to that character.

“So that’s how it is,” he murmured, letting out a loud laugh.

He wasn’t a

chivalrous hero.

Was it any wonder the path of the hero had led him nowhere? He was neither wholly good nor blatantly evil, just a man who wanted to ensure his family survived this chaotic world.

“In the end, it’s all about waiting for those seeds to ripen,” Li Yuan said quietly, then sighed.

Still, the last year and more hadn’t been a waste.

First, he had consolidated his power. His influence was growing in Silkfloss Province, and Tang Nian was thriving in Cloudpeak Province. So his family had a fallback in case things went awry.

Second, he had gained insight into how his

seed

might grow. Now, he could focus on guiding that growth with a clear purpose.

The next morning, Li Yuan parted ways with the five youths. Somewhere deep in a deserted mountain range, he stripped off his robe and removed the iron blade at his belt. After a moment’s thought, he soared up to a craggy cliff face and carved out a few words in bold strokes—

Here Lies Zhang Xiu, Buried.