Jinyang City remained as bustling as ever, its wide avenues choked with the ceaseless flow of traffic, weaving in and out of each other.

Along both sides of the main street stood rows of shops, clerks shouting their wares vigorously in the morning sun; the fresh air was laced with the enticing aroma of various snacks, creating a vibrant, noisy spectacle. Suddenly, on the avenue stretching in from the East Gate, where crowds were pressing shoulder-to-shoulder, the people parted towards the edges, clearing a path down the center, for a moving stack of firewood,

easily twice the height of a man, was slowly advancing. Beneath this towering load was a youth, about seventeen or eighteen, lean in build,

of average height, with a long face punctuated by a few blemishes of adolescence around the jawline, walking with a solemn, measured pace. His head was utterly bald and gleaming, reflecting the morning sunlight brilliantly; six distinct burn scars were clearly visible—he was, in fact, a tonsured monk.

He wore a short, brown tunic, a string of purple prayer beads looped around his wrist, and a small axe tucked into his belt.

Hunching slightly, he moved steadily, one sure step after another.

The bundle of firewood on his back was mountainous, a load no ordinary person could carry, yet he bore it with ease, his astonishing strength naturally drawing stares.

“Who is this fellow? What incredible strength!”

asked a burly man nearby, loudly slurping his soy milk around a fried dough stick. A small, wiry man next to him piped up, “Him? You don’t know him?

…Heh, you must not be from around here, sir?”

“Well, I just arrived two days ago, looking to set up a small business in Jinyang,” the man chuckled, appearing to be in his early forties, with a round face and wearing a blue tunic, radiating good-natured warmth. “That explains it… This is Li Muzhan, his monastic name is Zhanran. He’s no ordinary character!” the small man stated. “How is he not ordinary?”

“Immense strength. Though he’s a monk, you don’t want to cross him. He’s killed a man before!” “Killed someone?!” The blue-clad man’s expression shifted.

The small man glanced toward where the monk walked, leaned closer, and lowered his voice, “Two fellows once had the audacity to try and rob him on the road, and he ended up slaughtering one of them!”

“So he’s highly skilled in martial arts?” the blue-clad man widened his eyes.

The small man shook his head. “In my view, he hasn't studied any martial arts at all. But with that kind of brute strength, he can crush a man flat with one punch. What difference does it make if he’s trained or not?”

“That’s right, that’s right!”

The blue-clad man nodded, glancing cautiously in the monk’s direction. As if sensing the gaze, the youth’s eyes swept over, and the man quickly averted his look, pretending he hadn’t seen anything.

Li Muzhan withdrew his gaze,

a slight smile touching his lips. His demeanor was calm, his eyes placid.

Though amidst the clamor of the marketplace, he moved as if walking through wilderness solitude, retaining his focus and concentration. He proceeded eastward down the main street, crossed a bridge, and arrived before a tall building situated right by the riverbank.

Suspended centrally across the facade was a long horizontal plaque inscribed with three gilded characters that shone brightly: "Chaoran Lou" (Transcendent Tower). A great river cut beneath the bridge, and Chaoran Lou commanded a prime spot on its bank; sitting upstairs offered a sweeping view of the wide waterway. When the south wind blew, it swept directly over the water’s surface and into the building, bringing a refreshing coolness.

This Chaoran Lou was one of Jinyang City’s foremost grand taverns, rising three stories high,

towering toward the clouds. The entire structure was lacquered a deep, dark brown, imparting an air of imposing solemnity and inherent power. A young server darted out from the building.

He was seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a short hemp tunic, of similar build to the wood-carrying youth, with a pointed, melon-seed face, his small eyes narrowed to slits in a perpetual, friendly smile. He approached and said cheerfully, “Muzhan, you’re here!” Without further ado, the boy turned and led the way, skirting around the back of Chaoran Lou into a courtyard. The courtyard was spacious, paved with blue bricks, and kept meticulously clean. Along the south wall stood a weapon rack, fully stocked with every conceivable blade and polearm. In the western corner of the yard was a makeshift thatched shed, piled high with firewood. After depositing his load inside the shed, Li Muzhan straightened up, dusted off his clothes, and remarked, “Li Jian, it looks like rain these next few days, so I brought some extra firewood over early.” The melon-seed-faced youth grinned widely. “If Muzhan says it’s going to rain, then it will surely rain! Come on, let’s go have a drink!” The boy knew that Li Muzhan had an uncanny understanding of astronomy and was unfailingly accurate about the weather. Li Muzhan waved his hand. “Next time. Second Sister is coming back today. Prepare some wine and dishes for me to take home; the road is long, I can’t be delayed.” The youth’s eyes lit up. “Second Sister is back? Wonderful! I’ll prepare everything right away!” He bolted out in a flash, leaving Li Muzhan alone.

Li Muzhan shook his head and smiled faintly. This childhood friend had indeed changed now that he was working; he was no longer prone to dawdling. He turned and surveyed the courtyard—high walls, dark tiles, undeniably impressive. He had been in this world for seventeen years now and had long since adapted.

In his previous life, he was already forty, having achieved nothing. He’d graduated from the philosophy department of a third-rate university and then landed a meager job to survive. His youthful ideals had evaporated, melted down by society, leaving him only able to drift with the current. Later, as he aged, he married, forced into buying a house before the wedding, only to divorce later. The mortgage felt like a massive mountain crushing the air from his lungs. Though his days at the company dragged on endlessly, with a harsh superior who constantly sought fault, he dared not resign.

He had to endure; poverty leaves one short of courage, and there was nothing to be done until a traffic accident ended it all. The memories of his past life felt like a distant, fading dream, growing increasingly vague. Skyscrapers, computers, televisions, airplanes, and cars now seemed impossibly far away. The world he inhabited now boasted two millennia of recorded civilization, spanning ten dynasties.

The current Great Yan Dynasty was at its zenith, reigning in an age of splendor. The Great Yan Dynasty bore a subtle resemblance to the Tang Dynasty of his former era: martial prowess was highly esteemed, and even scholars customarily carried long swords and knew a few techniques; the populace was courageous and valorous. However, this world was strictly hierarchical. Martial arts manuals and techniques, if they possessed any true power, were kept strictly secret. For a poor child without any established background, there were three pathways to begin martial training: joining a sect, entering a powerful family, or finding a master.

The first required substantial fees for entry and maintenance; the second demanded a certain innate talent, making it hard for the mediocre to enter; and finding a master was an opportunity that might never arise. As a commoner with a modest background, he could neither afford sect tuition nor realistically hope for a master.

Only one path remained: entering a great family. When he encountered those bandits a while ago and killed one in a fit of rage, he understood a critical lesson: to truly live well in this world, relying on meditative calm was insufficient;

only martial skill would suffice. If those two robbers had been more astute or possessed some martial arts, he would surely have perished! When he was six, his eldest brother, Li Mufeng, then eighteen, entered the Mei Residence and had now risen to the position of Executor, wielding considerable authority.

Entering would not be difficult; even with his brother’s rigid impartiality, his own aptitude was certainly sufficient. But he was accustomed to freedom and, being a man from a later age, disliked the subservience of being a retainer, so he had always resisted. That encounter with the bandits changed his mind; he resolved to enter the Mei Residence, learn martial arts, rise above the common herd, and live freely.

As his thoughts swirled, he strolled to the weapon rack, plucked a long sword, and brought it close to examine it. In the sunlight, the blade flashed with cold light. He raised a hand to touch his bare head and suddenly laughed. Being bald, he had no way to test if the sword possessed the legendary quality of shaving hair cleanly even when merely waved. He swung it a few times casually, then turned to look around. “Haha, Muzhan, it’s clear you’re a novice!” the youth returned, smiling widely. Li Muzhan laughed. “I’ve never trained in the martial way, so naturally I’m a novice. Have you started learning martial arts?” “Hehe, just getting started!” the boy chuckled sheepishly. He quickly added, “The day before yesterday, I completed my three years of service, so now I qualify to begin training!” “Congratulations then,” Li Muzhan replied, returning the long sword to the rack. “Once you learn martial arts, your rise to prominence will surely follow!” The youth puffed out his chest proudly, waving a dismissive hand. “Hah, no matter how high I rise, I’m still just a waiter!”

“I heard Steward Zhao thinks highly of you. Once you start training, they might promote you into the Mei Residence,” Li Muzhan offered. “That’s all thanks to Big Brother!” the youth laughed. Li Muzhan smiled. “Big Brother praised your quick wit when he last visited. You’ve improved a lot these past few days, your perception is much sharper—you truly have a bright future. You might even surpass him someday.” “Big Brother really is…”

The youth laughed, shaking his head with apparent indifference, though the corners of his mouth betrayed him with a slight upward curve. Li Muzhan looked down at the long sword, shook his head, and sighed softly. The youth laughed. “Muzhan, don’t worry. With your innate divine strength, once you start learning martial arts, it’ll be more effective than someone else practicing for ten years!” “I just have a bit of extra muscle, it’s not as miraculous as all that!” Li Muzhan shook his head and smiled. “Auntie has been waiting anxiously for you to return lately.”

“What happened?” the youth asked. “Auntie arranged a marriage prospect for you.

She wants you to come home and take a look,” Li Muzhan said with a gentle smile. The youth’s jaw dropped. “Ah—?!” He stomped his foot repeatedly. “Mother really is too much! I’m still young!” Li Muzhan chuckled.

“You’re already nineteen, it’s time you took a wife and settled down a bit.”

“No way, I’m not going back!” the youth insisted, shaking his head repeatedly. Li Muzhan smiled kindly. “I took a peek for you.

It’s the Zhang family’s girl from Shijia Village—pretty, virtuous. I don’t know what good karma you accumulated in a past life to deserve this luck… Are you really not going? Don't regret it later!” “…Really?” The youth hesitated. Li Muzhan laughed and chided him. “When have I ever lied to you?”

The youth scratched his head and gave a sheepish smile. “Hehe, maybe it’s good to go back and look. My mother has been frantic lately, absolutely determined to get me a wife. She’s practically holding a knife to my throat!” Li Muzhan burst into laughter and waved his hand. “Hurry up and check on my order.”

“I’ll go rush them!” The youth sprinted away. Moments later, he returned carrying a square wooden box, lacquered a gleaming red, which he placed before Li Muzhan. He gestured into the box, pointing out the contents. “Braised Lion’s Head meatballs, Crystal Pork Hock, Red-Braised Mutton, Honey-Glazed Chicken Thighs, and four vegetable dishes. That should be enough for a good meal.” “Mm, good. Deduct the cost from my firewood payment,” Li Muzhan said, lifting the box and starting toward the exit. “Don’t forget to go home; Auntie is very anxious.” “Got it!” The youth followed him to the front of Chaoran Lou, watching as the monk steadily merged into the crowd and disappeared.

Carrying the wooden box, Li Muzhan moved east with the flow of people, intending to leave the city. The current Emperor deeply revered Buddhism, granting monks exceptionally high status. Jinyang City housed several large monasteries, the largest being the Great Guangming Temple, which spanned a hundred acres, housing a thousand monks, and radiated majestic, imposing grandeur. Li Muzhan, this monk, was genuine. The village he hailed from was called Lijia Village, nestled among surrounding mountains. The easternmost peak was Mount Ai, and halfway up its slope stood a dilapidated temple named Chengjing Temple, formerly presided over by an old monk named Faxing.

Originally, Li Muzhan’s family had three children, and poverty made it impossible to feed them all. When he was three, he accompanied his parents to offer incense at Chengjing Temple, where he encountered the old monk Faxing.

Li Muzhan intentionally displayed exceptional spiritual aptitude, causing the old monk immense delight and leading him to accept the boy as his successor disciple. Becoming a monk meant exemption from taxes, a stratagem Li Muzhan adopted to ease his family’s burden.

His parents were reluctant but yielded to their poverty. Moreover, the temple was close to home, allowing them to visit anytime. They thought he could stay there for four or five years, perhaps until his elder brother could start earning a living, and then they would bring him back. After becoming Master Faxing’s disciple, he continued to spend his days at home, playing with his elder brother and second sister, only returning to the temple for meals and bedtime. The old monk Faxing indulged him and did not impose strict discipline. When he was ten, Monk Faxing passed away. Chengjing Temple was left with only him. He lived freely, mostly staying at home, but the title of monk was official; he possessed the ordination certificate and was listed in the Register of Traveling Monks.

Moving through the bustle, he maintained his calm composure, carrying the wooden box with an unhurried gait. Suddenly, his brow furrowed, and he stopped, looking toward the roadside. Beneath the bridge, a monk in gray robes lay prone, utterly still. Passersby came and went, paying him no mind. Although Jinyang City was prosperous, it was not without beggars.

In the height of summer, lying on the street to sleep posed no immediate danger;

it wouldn't kill a man. Li Muzhan looked on, and a sudden flicker stirred in his heart, causing a ripple across the tranquil lake of his mind. He approached, squatted down, and patted the monk’s shoulder. “Venerable Sir, what is the matter?” As soon as he drew near, a foul stench washed over him, striking straight into his mind, churning his stomach and guts, making him instantly want to vomit. He took a deep breath and managed to suppress the urge. The monk’s body trembled slightly, and he slowly rose.

Lifting his head, he revealed a long, horse-like face covered in pustules, weeping thick, yellow pus—a sight both repulsive and terrifying. Li Muzhan was startled. No wonder no one paid him any attention; that appearance was enough to frighten people away. Medicine was not well-developed in this era; sometimes a common cold could be fatal, and such a severe ailment meant certain doom. Under normal circumstances, he would not meddle in others' affairs. The world was full of suffering, and merely managing to stay safe was fortunate enough. Furthermore, having experienced death, he did not view it as something insurmountable. Fear stems from the unknown; understanding breeds fearlessness. His usual mind was clear and undisturbed, but seeing this monk, a slight ripple formed—he sensed there must be a destiny involved, so he reached out. Looking into the monk’s eyes, he asked softly, “Venerable Sir, what has afflicted you?” The horse-faced monk shakily sat up, his expression calm and serene. He brought his palms together in greeting. “Amitabha. My time is short, Little Master. You need not concern yourself with this old monk.” Li Muzhan returned the gesture, shook his head, and said, “Since you are ill, you must be treated. Please wait a moment!” There was a Rejuvenation Medical Hall less than a hundred paces away. He quickly returned with an elderly man. The elder had a salt-and-pepper beard, a thin, lean face, and looked surprisingly young, walking with his hand stroking his beard, his eyes narrowed as if he were constantly half-asleep. Upon reaching the scene, he pinched his nose briefly before releasing it. After one glance at the monk, he shook his head repeatedly. Li Muzhan smiled.

“Elder Li, since you’ve come, please take a look. Among all practitioners in Jinyang City, your medical skill is highest; you are capable of miraculous revival!” The elder shook his head, studied the scene for a moment, then spread his hands, sighing. “Muzhan, it’s not that I am heartless, but this Master’s vital energy is poisoned to the core, his illness is past saving. This old man truly is powerless!” Li Muzhan frowned slightly, looked at the horse-faced monk, and said, “…Elder Li, then please just prescribe some medicine!” “Muzhan, no medicine will work,” the elder said, waving his hand, turning to leave. Li Muzhan sighed helplessly but did not stop him. Watching him depart, he turned back to the horse-faced monk. “Venerable Sir, do you have any final wishes?” The horse-faced monk’s expression remained peaceful.

He shook his head. “This old monk is a hermit from beyond the mountains who ventured into the secular world. Now, to shed this mortal shell and depart to the Western Paradise is a joy I welcome.” Li Muzhan felt deep reverence.

Those who can truly see through life and death are rare; this must stem from the monk’s rigorous Buddhist cultivation and diligent daily practice. Li Muzhan himself had experienced death and found transcending it relatively easy; this monk, however, had conquered fear itself, and that transcendence of mortality was a true accomplishment of spiritual discipline. He considered for a moment.

“Venerable Sir, I originate from Chengjing Temple. The environment there is beautiful with mountains and clear waters. Why not go there to recuperate?” The horse-faced monk shook his head. “No need to trouble the Young Master.”

“Don’t refuse,” Li Muzhan insisted. Disregarding the man’s struggles and impervious to the stench, he hoisted the monk onto his back and strode out of Jinyang City. He followed the official road eastward,

crossed a bridge, continued east, scaled a mountain, and descended into a village called Lijia Village. He bypassed the village entirely, followed the riverbank eastward, and ascended Mount Ai to the east, where a temple sat halfway up the slope.

The plaque above the entrance bore three large characters: Chengjing Temple. Chengjing Temple faced south and backed north, sheltered by the mountain from the northern winds—a good location indeed. The grounds were kept clean, yet one could tell it had weathered many years; the walls had been patched, and the window and door frames replaced.