novelraw Chapter 160: Kong Wen and Little Gold
Chapter 160: Kong Wen and Little Gold
North wind scoured the Black River, thinning the usual stench of fog until the winter melt finally showed through—black silt at the bottom, stubborn clusters of Black Heart Lotus tilting sideways but still alive, still growing. Twenty years earlier the place had been a dead marsh; now it looked almost… habitable.
Li Tan guided the Wind Lizard Crane down to the peak, dropping Qin Weiyu and Mo Jianxin off with a few curt words from Bai Muhan about guarding the place properly. She turned the beast toward Black River Market without looking back.
Mo Jianxin still couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to return after defecting. His chest felt tight with something close to joy. He and Qin Weiyu had shared this peak for years, yet the two of them were cut from the same silent cloth—barely a nod when passing each other. They parted without another word. Mo Jianxin dove straight for the cold spring at the mountain’s base.
“I’m back.”
The stone platform above the water felt like the face of a long-lost lover. He wrapped his arms around nothing, murmuring all the things he’d rehearsed in his head during those miserable years in Luo territory. Then—panic. “Shit!”
He shot toward his old cave residence.
Inside: neat rows of hundred-slot racks, every forging material sorted and labeled. In the center squatted a massive first-tier furnace, fire long dead. He cracked it open. The materials that required sustained flame had cooked into useless slag without supervision.
Heart twisting, he dumped the ruined stock, salvaged what he could, relit the furnace with fresh fuel, then finally returned to the cold spring platform. Legs folded beneath him, he lowered a fresh sword blank into the water for tempering while pulling out the newly acquired Azure Jade Sword Fabrication manual. Page by page, he sank into it.
This—this quiet, obsessive rhythm—was what he’d missed every single day since leaving.
Qin Weiyu’s routine was even simpler. First he took the mountain-protection array token, coaxed the golden auspicious clouds atop the peak into playful shapes: a hopping rabbit, then two tiny figures scrapping. Thirty-three years old now, and every time Qi Xiu or anyone else mentioned marriage he just shook his head.
He sat there grinning up at his cloud puppets until the novelty wore off, then dropped cross-legged into the sect’s spirit-gathering array. Around him, pots of Black Stem Marsh Orchid formed the Eight Trigrams pattern. Eyes closed. World shut out. Cultivation without distraction.
The Black River Qin clan mortals who lived on the peak had long grown used to their two reclusive immortals. One of the gate guards—a young mortal clansman—trudged up the path carrying three visiting cards.
“Three times already,” he told the clan steward. “You said only after three could we disturb the immortals.”
The steward frowned. “Who’d come looking for Chu Qin cultivators all the way out here? Everyone either goes to Immortal Grove Hollow or straight to the market.”
He opened the cards. Formal bows. Requests to meet Senior Qi Xiu. Old acquaintances. Names that meant nothing.
The steward snorted. “Some down-on-their-luck family who can’t even find the right door. Ignore them. No need to interrupt our immortals’ cultivation for this nonsense.”
Down at the gate, though, the five waiting cultivators were growing desperate.
One of them—older, sharper-eyed—finally snapped at the leader. “I told you. We screwed Qi Xiu over hard back then. Now he’s finally made something of himself. Crawling back now? It’s humiliating—and he clearly doesn’t want to see us.”
The leader—Zhang, the same Senior Brother who’d once coveted the sect leader token on Chu Qin Mountain—snapped back. “What else can we do? Qi Cloud’s become unlivable. Swallow the humiliation, get a foothold here first. I heard they’ve got a foothold in Black River Market too. If he won’t see us here, we go there.”
They eventually tracked Bai Muhan down in the market. She informed them politely that the sect had relocated operations to Immortal Grove Hollow.
Fortunately the Wei family—after the second Tianyin Mountain war—had opened beast-ship cargo routes bypassing Artifact & Talisman Alliance territory. The five scraped together every last spirit stone for passage, changing ships multiple times, and finally limped through the Immortal Grove gate.
“…You actually tracked me all the way here.”
Qi Xiu had just finished using Fate-Weaving Technique. His qi, blood, and spirit felt hollowed out. Seeing the five kneeling figures—especially Zhang—stirred equal parts nostalgia and dark amusement.
“…Senior, you’ve made it now. We… we’ve fallen on hard times back in Qi Cloud. No way to sugarcoat it. We’re desperate. Just give us a place. We’ll repay with our lives if necessary…”
Zhang talked smoothly, dredging up their old “heroic” defense of the Scripture Pavilion, painting himself as loyal to the end. On and on.
Qi Xiu felt bile rise. He didn’t even bother activating Humanity-Seeing. He crooked a finger at Qi Zhuang, whispered instructions.
Moments later Bai Xiaosheng arrived with the five juniors—Zhan Chou, Qin Sizhao, Luo Du, Qin Hu, Chu Wuying—lining up silently behind the kneeling men.
Zhang blinked. “This is…?”
Qi Xiu’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you think I’m still the same pushover Qi Xiu from back then?”
Five Illusory Moon Spirit Swords flashed in unison. Five heads rolled before anyone could react.
The juniors stood frozen—faces bloodless, chests heaving, stomachs churning. Only Chu Wuying, already blooded, kept his composure.
Bai Xiaosheng spoke quietly about the brutal realities of White Mountain: kill or be killed. Then he made them clean up.
The five corpses were dirt-poor. One storage bag, some low-grade junk. Split five ways. The juniors left quickly.
Bai Xiaosheng eyed the bodies in the main hall. “Why them? Why now?”
“Delusional pests. Bad luck to keep around. And the kids needed to see blood sometime.” Qi Xiu’s mouth said one thing; his mind said another: I just lost ten years of life. They picked the worst possible moment to show up. Deserved it.
He summoned Kan Da to scrub the hall and drag the bodies to the mountain’s unmarked burial ground.
Watching servants haul in buckets to wash away the blood, regret finally crept in. Zhang had been annoying, sure—but execution for showing up uninvited? That was starting to smell like the crooked path.
He swallowed the thought, called in Shen Chang, Yu Jing, Li Tan, Yu Denou, and Zhang Shishi.
“Shen Chang, you and Shishi head to White Mountain. Hire a Buddhist cultivation instructor. I need to consult one. Lots of Buddhist lineages out there—screen them. Nothing too fanatical.”
“With Mo Guinong gone, no one’s tending the spiritual fields properly. That Azure Jade Spirit Tree’s still half-dead. Yu Jing—go to Spirit Wood Alliance’s Bo Wood City. Bring back a spiritual plant cultivator.”
“Yu Denou, head to Linked Waters Alliance’s Linked Waters City. Hire a Daoist cultivation instructor. Bai senior’s leaving next year. We need to prepare.”
“Li Tan, cover their duties for now. No more transport runs in the short term.”
“Expenses—draw from Minniang. Be careful on the road.”
He sent them scattering in five directions.
Only after they left did he swallow a nourishing pill and begin recovering the vitality Fate-Weaving had drained.
The result had been two words: Six Consciousnesses.
His post-Foundation Establishment path apparently lay in the Buddhist branch. Bai Xiaosheng knew little about it. Time to bring in an actual monk.
Even though the accord with Artifact & Talisman Alliance existed on paper, trade remained dead. Hiring outsiders was safer than risking internal collusion later.
Barely half an hour passed before all five returned—together—escorting him to the main hall.
Inside stood an embarrassed-looking monk, roughly equivalent to late Qi Refining in Daoist terms. Forty or fifty, robes patched from travel, hair grown out to stubble, a large satchel slung across his chest. Something alive shifted inside.
“Why are you back already?” Qi Xiu asked, nonplussed.
The five exchanged glances. Yu Denou—ever the troublemaker—shoved Shen Chang forward.
Shen Chang sighed. “We barely left Immortal Grove when we ran into this monk. Asked what he did. Claims he’s a Buddhist-Daoist cultivation instructor. Knows spiritual plants, beast taming, everything. So… we brought him back for you to judge.”
“You’re supposed to go hire people, not grab the first beggar you see!”
The monk was plump, oily-looking—not exactly trustworthy. Qi Xiu’s temper snapped. He kicked Shen Chang to the ground.
“Hoodwinking me—hoodwinking me—hoodwinking me—”
Shen Chang rolled with it, laughing and begging for mercy. Qi Xiu landed a few more kicks before stopping.
He turned to question the monk—only for a golden-furred monkey to launch itself from the satchel straight into his arms.
Qi Xiu froze. Heterochromatic pupils—one gold, one silver. Little Gold. The same one lost years ago.
Memory of Gu Ji hit like a fist to the chest. He hurled the monkey to the floor.
“You damned beast! You got Gu Ji killed!”
Little Gold had grown—body larger, eyes brighter, intelligence clearly higher. It knelt immediately, kowtowing, mimicking human apology, looking utterly pathetic.
The monk hurried forward. “Senior, please calm down. Allow this poor monk to explain.”
The monk’s Dharma name was Kong Wen. A wandering disciple of a small White Mountain sect that treated travel itself as cultivation. His natal companion: this Heterochromatic Golden Silk Monkey.
Fate brought them together near Shandu. Kong Wen recognized the perfect match and rejoiced—until Zhang Shishi and the others spotted the monkey, surrounded him, and demanded answers.
A Buddhist, Kong Wen refused to steal another’s bonded beast. Penniless wanderer that he was, he offered himself in exchange—his service to repay the debt, so long as he could keep the monkey tied to his path.
Zhang Shishi and the rest quickly realized the man’s knowledge was genuine—Buddhist-Daoist instruction, plants, beasts. They brought him straight back.
Qi Xiu remained skeptical. He summoned Bai Xiaosheng for a proper test.
Kong Wen proved his words. Deep learning. And with one casual gesture he revived the wilting Azure Jade Spirit Tree.
Too convenient. Yet Humanity-Seeing found nothing but clear, empty clarity in the monk’s mind—no hidden schemes.
In the end Qi Xiu agreed: Kong Wen would serve as spiritual plant cultivator and general instructor for ten years after Bai Xiaosheng’s departure—in exchange for full ownership of Little Gold.
Deal struck.
Kong Wen—ever adaptable—settled the monkey under the Azure Jade Spirit Tree, threw together a grass hut barely tall enough to stand in, and declared himself at home.
Then he sat with Qi Xiu and patiently explained the Buddhist doctrine of the Six Consciousnesses, layer by layer.