Immortal Travel of Longevity

The young Daoist had saved quite a bit of money over the years.

The funeral rites were suitably grand.

That day, he donned his Daoist robes and performed the very first ritual service of his life.

He remained calm and his expression composed, simply because his Master had once told him such rituals demanded solemnity.

The fengshui of Liuyun Temple's Back Mountain wasn't particularly good, but his Master had requested to be buried there. All of his martial ancestors rested there, and he had said he wouldn't be lonely.

The young Daoist recited the sutras of salvation many times over.

Many people came to the temple that day—pilgrims who had frequented the place in the past.

When he saw Tong Zhihuan, the young Daoist knelt and kowtowed three times.

Though Mister Tong had been unable to save his Master, the young Daoist understood that the will of heaven could not be defied. Furthermore, Mister Tong had paid an exceptionally heavy price.

Zhao Wuji came as well.

He had shared some friendship with the priest, and now that the old man had passed away, it was only right to come pay his respects.

"I'll have someone come by later to renovate Liuyun Temple," he told the young Daoist. "And we'll erect a better tombstone for your Master."

The young Daoist paused, then shook his head. "Let it be. Master wanted to keep everything simple. He also told me not to change anything in the temple. He wanted this place to stay exactly as it was, so my martial uncles wouldn't fail to recognize it when they returned."

Zhao Wuji was slightly taken aback. "Your martial uncles...?"

"Yes." The young Daoist nodded. "Master said my martial uncles went down the mountain a long time ago. He didn't know where they were."

"Do you know their Daoist names?" Zhao Wuji offered. "I could help you look for them."

"Changshan, Xuan Shen, Zisu..." the young Daoist recited.

Zhao Wuji committed the names to memory and nodded. "I've noted them down."

He paused for a moment before asking, "And what are your plans for the future, young Priest?"

The young Daoist shook his head. "I... I don't know..."

He wanted to stay in the temple, but his Master had told him to go down the mountain.

"Why don't you travel with me for now?" Zhao Wuji suggested.

Although the young Daoist didn't know Layman Zhao's true identity, he had seen enough of his entourage to know the man wielded extraordinary influence.

However, he decided against it. His Master had told him to go down the mountain; there had to be a reason for it.

Seeing his hesitation, Zhao Wuji didn't press the issue. "Take your time to think it over," he said.

"Mhm."

The young Priest kept vigil by the coffin until the seventh day of mourning.

Many people came to pay their respects, but none of his martial uncles returned. His Master had claimed they possessed vast Divine Abilities and would certainly come back, yet in the end, no one showed up.

That was until tonight, when a large Buddhist monk arrived outside the temple.

The young Priest noticed the monk standing at the entrance, hesitating to come inside.

"Amitabha..."

The monk had a somewhat bloated figure, yet his face was lined with age. With his white eyebrows, he didn't look kind or benevolent; instead, he gave off a fierce and imposing aura.

The young Priest stepped forward and bowed. "Greetings, Master. The temple is holding funeral rites. I'm afraid it won't be convenient for you to stay the night..."

The fierce-looking monk shook his head. "You misunderstand, young Priest. This old monk is here to see off his Senior Brother."

The young Priest stared in confusion.

The monk sized him up but offered no explanation. "This old monk will just stand outside the temple for a while. I hope you will permit it."

The young Priest opened his mouth, initially intending to turn him away. However, after a moment of thought, he permitted the monk to stay at the door.

"Please, do as you wish."

With that, the young Priest returned inside the temple.

He walked back to the grave and began chanting the sutras of salvation, accumulating merit for his Master's next life.

"Could it be..."

It was as if he had suddenly realized something.

He sprang to his feet and ran toward the temple entrance.

But the monk was already gone.

The young Priest shouted, "Master! Master!"

There was no response.

He could only run down the mountain to give chase. Though he didn't know which way the monk had gone, he relied on luck, searching everywhere.

As if favored by fate, the young Priest finally spotted the somewhat bloated monk walking along the official road.

"Master!"

The monk stopped in his tracks and turned around.

The young Priest ran up to him. Panting heavily, he quickly cupped his hands in greeting. "Greetings, Martial Uncle!"

A hint of a smile appeared on the monk's face, but he shook his head. "I cannot accept that. I am a man who abandoned the Dao. I have no right to be called your Martial Uncle. Just call me Hui'an."

The young Priest paused. "Which martial... May I ask what your former Daoist name was?"

"I was the third disciple," he said. "Master named me Xuan Shen."

The young Priest's eyes lit up in sudden realization. His guess had been right—this really was his Martial Uncle.

"Martial... Master Hui'an, why won't you go see Master?"

Hui'an shook his head. "My hands are stained with the blood of countless people. I am a natural killer who abandoned the Dao to study Buddhism. I have no face to step foot in that temple again. I hope you can understand."

Hearing this, the young Priest felt a wave of bitterness. "Master often talked about you..."

Hui'an seemed momentarily dazed.

"Compared to Martial Uncle Changshan and Martial Aunt Zisu, Master worried about you the most," the young Priest continued. "He said you had a fate fraught with hardship and feared you had suffered greatly. He really wanted to see you before he passed..."

Hui'an pursed his lips. Shaking his head, he let out a long sigh.

"I drift aimlessly with the turbulent stream, yet hear the green mountain weep for the bitter river... It cannot be gathered back... it cannot be gathered back..."

Hui'an offered a self-deprecating smile. "I have no face to see my Senior Brother. Go back now, young Priest. It's time I took my leave as well."

With that, he turned and walked away.

The young Priest watched him quietly. After all that had been said, he didn't try to persuade him any further.

With a heavy sigh under the night sky, he made his way back to Liuyun Temple.

But when he returned to the grave...

...he was surprised to find three fresh peaches resting in front of it. Beside them lay a long Sword, securely sheathed in a scabbard carved with gold lacquer.

"Who was here?"

Stunned, the young Priest looked around, but there was no movement and no sign of anyone.

He glanced at the peaches by the headstone before reaching out to pick up the Sword.

Drawing the blade, he found a five-clawed golden dragon engraved along the steel. Beside it was another engraving—the character 'Xiao'.

The young Priest's mind reeled in confusion.

This Sword was clearly not something an ordinary person could wield. No commoner would dare engrave a five-clawed golden dragon onto their weapon. The owner was either the Human Sovereign himself, or someone who didn't fear death.

"But why is this Sword here...?"

He just didn't understand. Staring down at his Master's grave, he murmured, "Master... just how much were you hiding from me?"

He was intensely curious about his Master's past. He had often asked around, but no one could ever give him a straight answer.

"And who left this here...?"

As the young Priest pondered the mystery, his thoughts suddenly shifted to his other two martial elders.

"Could it have been them?"

But he didn't understand why they would refuse to show themselves.

Did they share the same unspeakable burdens as Martial Uncle Hui'an?

All of his martial elders, it seemed, were shrouded in mystery.

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