As I smiled and comforted them, Xiao Yuan reappeared, announcing that the Third Miss wished to see me.

I followed Xiao Yuan to the small building where Mei Songwan resided.

The pavilion stood at the northeast corner of the lake, surrounded by a ring of blossoms. It retained an air of deep tranquility, the fragrance of flowers weaving through the air—truly a sanctuary apart from the mundane world.

When I arrived, Mei Songwan sat in a small gazebo at the center of the flower garden. In her left hand, she held a rolled scroll; her right hand rested upon the strings of a qin, plucking a note occasionally.

She wore a gown of snowy white silk that perfectly matched her pale skin, making her seem like an ethereal fairy untouched by worldly concerns. Four lengths of white silk draped around the gazebo, swaying gently in the breeze, like mist or smoke. Xiao Yuan led me to this spot, offered a slight smile, and departed. I stood outside the wicker gate, waiting a moment. Seeing Mei Songwan remained oblivious, I cleared my throat lightly. The qin music ceased instantly, and she turned her head. Upon seeing me, a soft smile touched her lips, and she rose gracefully, beckoning me forward: "Master Zhanran, please come in."

I cupped my hands in a distant salute, pushed open the wicker gate, and followed the winding path through the flowers to the gazebo, offering a slight smile: "Third Miss, forgive the intrusion."

Viewing her up close, Mei Songwan’s face was like polished white jade, framed by curved eyebrows and star-like eyes—delicate and gentle, yet overlaid with a faint, cool severity in her dark brows. She chuckled softly, her lips barely parting: "I was the one who summoned you. There's no need for ceremony. Please, have a seat."

She personally poured tea and handed me a cup. Her slender hands were like jade, flawless. At first glance, she didn't appear stunningly beautiful, but the longer I looked, the more I sensed a deep, blooming, gentle charm that demanded slow appreciation. I accepted the cup, placed it on the low table, returned a cupped-hand salute: "Third Miss, thank you!" This thanks was abrupt and somewhat vague, referring to the secret Shishen technique. Mei Songwan smiled: "It was of no use to me. I might as well give it to you. Just ensure no one else finds out." "Understood," I nodded. I wondered why the Fourth Young Master of the Wang family would gift me this movement technique if she possessed no martial arts herself.

Mei Songwan’s star-like eyes grew distant, and she said quietly, "It has been a long time since I saw my maternal grandfather... When you go to wish him a happy birthday, would you kindly deliver a letter for me?" Only then did I realize that the venerable Master Lu of Tiannan was Mei Songwan's grandfather. "I will," I confirmed.

Mei Songwan retrieved a letter from her sleeve and placed it on the table. I tucked it into my robes.

Mei Songwan smiled: "Grandfather is deeply devoted to Buddhism; he is a lay Buddhist practitioner. Please stay a while longer and tell him about the Dharma."

I nodded slowly, sighing inwardly; if fate permitted, staying a bit longer would be no hardship.

"Wait here a moment, I will fetch something," she said, rising gracefully. She moved like a supple willow branch and vanished into the upper floor of the small building.

Moments later, she returned, carrying a long, vermilion wooden box, about a meter long and half a meter wide. She placed it on the table and opened it, revealing two white jade statues of Maitreya Buddha, both round-bellied and laughing broadly.

Beneath the statues lay a sheet of plain silk, faintly inscribed with small, elegant, sharp characters. A quick glance confirmed it was the Diamond Sutra.

Mei Songwan pointed: "I trouble you, Master... If you cannot go, there is no need to force yourself. Finding someone else to deliver it will suffice." I smiled and nodded, closed the wooden box, and carried it away. Hailing City sat at the juncture of Haidong and Tiannan provinces, an essential gateway, extraordinarily prosperous.

The Feixian Tower was a grand restaurant near the south gate of Hailing City, three stories high, soaring up as if it could embrace the clouds and grasp the moon—truly magnificent.

As twilight deepened and the lanterns were lit, a monk suddenly arrived at the Feixian Tower. Clad in a gray robe, he carried two swords crossed on his back. His right hand manipulated a string of prayer beads, while he held the vermilion wooden box in his left, proceeding slowly up the stairs.

He was lean, of medium height, with a long face and ordinary features, yet his skin possessed a gentle, jade-like luster, an inner radiance that lent him an air of detachment from the dust of the world. Observing this presence, the greeters dared not slight him, quickly ushering him to a window seat on the second floor. It was now deep into dusk; the city was just beginning to buzz, and the restaurant was not crowded. This was Li Muzhan. After leaving the Mei Estate and traveling for half a month, I had finally exited Haidong and reached this gateway to Tiannan. Along the way, I had lived by the code of Xia (chivalry), engaging in good deeds, and coincidentally dismantling several major bandit strongholds. Soon, my reputation spread far and wide: the name 'Zhanran, the Monk of the Twin Swords,' echoed everywhere. I casually ordered a few dishes and surveyed the surroundings.

There were only about ten tables in the hall. At a table in the west sat four martial artists, loudly tearing into their food, drinking heartily, and chattering without restraint, their noise drowning out the rest of the room. Other tables also held martial figures, but they were far more subdued than these four.

The four men had drawn their long sabers, resting them on the table. In the lamplight, the steel gleamed menacingly, yet their faces were flushed red, their mouths stretched in continuous laughter. "Hahahaha... Boss, have you heard? Some monk has popped up recently, calling himself Zhanran, the Monk of the Twin Swords. They say he kills without batting an eye—must be one of those monks from Landuo Temple." "He's not from Landuo Temple!" The middle-aged man sitting in the head seat shook his head. He possessed a weighty composure; every glance from his eyes sparked cold electricity, signaling profound cultivation. "Really not from Landuo Temple?" asked a red-faced fellow, tilting his head. He sighed, "I heard this monk possesses immense strength and peerless swordsmanship; no one can stop him."

The middle-aged man in the head seat nodded: "Not from Landuo Temple... The monks there rarely use swords; they prefer finger strikes, palm techniques, or fist arts."

"So, it really isn't one of theirs." The red-faced fellow nodded and chuckled, "Boss, why don't the Landuo monks use swords?" "Perhaps they disdain them," the middle-aged man said dryly, curling his lip dismissively, "They don't need to use swords to prove their capability." "What arrogance!" The other three snorted in unison.

The middle-aged man spoke coolly: "The monks of Landuo Temple indeed possess astonishing skills. If you ever cross paths with them, run as far as you can. Never engage them in a fight." "Boss, are the Landuo monks truly that formidable? We wouldn't last a single move?" The middle-aged man nodded faintly: "Once the Vajra Finger is unleashed, none of you will escape!" Hearing 'Vajra Finger,' the three men pursed their lips but said no more. The terrifying power of the Vajra Finger was known to all—its striking force was invisible, formless, and impossible to defend against. After a moment of contemplation, having downed several cups, the four quickly regained their liveliness. "Boss, tell us, just who is this Monk of the Twin Swords, Zhanran?" The red-faced fellow asked. "I don't know; his origins are mysterious," the middle-aged man replied, his expression indifferent.

Another gray-robed middle-aged man murmured thoughtfully: "Of the Seven Great Sects, since he's not from Landuo Temple, and Shengxue Peak and Canghai Sword Sect are all women, and Penglai Pavilion consists of Daoists—it can't be any of them... Nangong Family? Unlikely!" "Xiankong Island or Changbai Sword Sect?" "Perhaps neither," the middle-aged man replied lightly. The red-faced fellow widened his eyes forcefully: "Could he be from the Eight Great Families?" The middle-aged man set down his silver cup and waved his hand: "Forget it. Talking about this..."

The red-faced fellow grinned foolishly: "Heh heh, Boss, I'd love to run into him!" "I really want to see how powerful this Monk of the Twin Swords actually is!" "You're drunk!" The middle-aged man frowned and said sternly, "It's better to avoid trouble than to seek it. He even..." "Heh heh, it’s all rumor and exaggeration, we shouldn't take it seriously!" The red-faced fellow waved his hand dismissively. "Say less, don't invite trouble!" the middle-aged man warned sternly. The gray-robed man quickly moved to cover the red-faced fellow's mouth, whispering: "Fourth Brother, drink your wine, drink your wine..."

The red-faced fellow struggled a few times before finally being freed. He let out a long breath: "Fine, I won't talk anymore. But my point is, I think this Zhanran is all hype!" I smiled faintly and shook my head as the waiter arrived with my dishes.

As I passed the western table, a leg suddenly shot out, tripping me. The dishes on the wooden tray flew into the air. I reached out and deftly snatched all four plates, setting them perfectly back onto the table without spilling a drop. The waiter, who had fallen, scrambled up with surprising agility, quickly retrieved the tray, and began apologizing profusely. "Damn it, where are your dog eyes looking, you scoundrel!" The red-faced fellow kicked out, sending the waiter sprawling.

The waiter was struck hard on the backside, falling into a humiliating face-plant. He struggled up but continued to apologize incessantly.

He knew the tempers of these martial bullies; speaking back at this moment could easily lead to a fatal slash. "Come here and lick your master's shoe clean!" the red-faced man demanded, pointing at his right foot. A few drops of soup had splashed onto his shoe when his leg stuck out and the dishes flew. The other three men watched the waiter coldly. The waiter grimaced, rooted to the spot, pretending not to hear. "You dog thing, didn't you hear your master's command?!" the red-faced bully roared, his voice like thunder splitting the sky. The waiter apologized with a pained expression but did not step forward. The red-faced bully suddenly rose, covered the short distance to the waiter in two steps, and swung his hand toward the waiter's face—

"Halt—!?" His hand stopped mid-air. He turned his head and saw a monk had grabbed his wrist.

I had been watching the spectacle from the side. Unless my life was immediately threatened, I preferred not to interfere; enduring minor humiliation was part of the tempering of the mortal world, the kiln of Samsara, where every person followed their own destined path. Perhaps this temporary disgrace would forge a great character. "What are you doing?!" the red-faced man snapped, his eyes wide, his voice low: "Mind your own business, Monk! Go chant your scriptures and cultivate your Buddha nature!" I sighed: "When one sees injustice, someone must step in. He has gone too far."

The gray-robed man sneered: "Whether he has gone too far is none of your concern! Are you deliberately making an enemy of us brothers? Then give us a few pointers!" Saying this, the three drew their sabers together, the steel flashing like silvery ripples.

I extended my right hand. With a resonant clang, the dark, unadorned longsword appeared in my grasp. I carved an arc, sweeping toward the three silver streaks. Clang! Clang! Clang! The three sabers were knocked aside, and the men were forced back a step. The middle-aged man frowned coldly: "Are you Zhanran, the Monk of the Twin Swords?" "Indeed, I am Zhanran," I confirmed, pointing my longsword. I added coolly: "No wonder you are so reckless; you actually possess some skill." The force behind that single sword strike was immense; an ordinary expert would have had their saber ripped from their grasp. Yet, these three only staggered, their weapons remaining firm—they were not weaklings.

The three exchanged glances. The middle-aged man frowned deeply and stated sternly: "Since that is the case, we must witness the skill of the Monk of the Twin Swords. Forgive us for the offense!" He then took the lead, and a mass of silver light surged toward me. The other two moved in coordinated strikes, bringing two more cold flashes to bear, attempting to crush me from three sides.

I smiled faintly. Before me, layers upon layers of sword light erupted, like overlapping mountain ranges, forming a wall that sealed off the three masses of silver light. Ding-ding-ding-ding... came the unending series of crisp sounds, like heavy rain drumming on plantain leaves. The patrons at a dozen nearby tables turned around, watching the unfolding spectacle with keen interest.

Zhanran, the Monk of the Twin Swords, had recently gained immense fame, being considered a rare master among the younger generation.

I shook my head, and my swordsmanship abruptly shifted, abandoning its dazzling display for a plain, unassuming style.

The three men secretly cursed, feeling stifled and constrained. Their three masses of silver light gradually diminished, as if the flame of an oil lamp were fading away. With every strike I made, I suppressed their aggression, like a great mountain pressing down, slowly, calmly, their fighting spirit waning with each passing moment. Ding! Ding! Ding! The three single sabers were sent flying, embedding themselves into the vermilion pillars, narrowly missing the men's hands. They stood stunned and empty-handed.

I returned my longsword to its scabbard and laughed: "Even I must tread carefully in this world, yet you three, with your mediocre, clumsy skills, dare to be so tyrannical. You truly do not know the immensity of heaven and earth!" The three stood there, faces ashen, silently fuming.

These three were middle-aged men, yet they had just been lectured by the young Li Muzhan. Instead of feeling gratitude for my restraint, they were furious. "Pick up your sabers and leave," I said, waving my hand, and returned to my seat. The three exchanged a look, stepped forward to retrieve their weapons, lifted the red-faced bully, and departed without a word. I shook my head and smiled, not even bothering to ask their names.

"Heh heh, well done, Monk of the Twin Swords Zhanran! You truly have some ability!" A loud laugh suddenly rang out, causing the vital energy of the surrounding patrons to churn. Everyone turned to look.

Two figures stood at the top of the stairs: one, a gaunt old man, and the other, a powerfully built, sturdy middle-aged man with a simple, honest face. I frowned: "May I ask which esteemed sirs you are?"

The sturdy middle-aged man strode forward, stopping directly in front of me, and smiled guilelessly: "Helian Guest Official, Ding Sheng!"