Chapter Forty-One: Mountains Rise and Rivers Turn, Leaving One to Doubt There Is Any Way Ahead

Wu Yue gave a sullen grunt, tucked the key into his tunic, and silently repeated, "White Bone Mountain, Tiger Leap Ridge." This was the last message Lin Ya had transmitted to him; as for more details, Lin Ya had none to give.

"Boy, you will only learn once you have suffered a loss," Qing Yuzi said indifferently. "The world of cultivation is brutal to the extreme; it does not permit hesitation, nor does it allow for carelessness."

"Next time, then." Wu Yue found he did not want to strike; it was not that he couldn't, but simply that he didn't want to. "And you, why did you suddenly emerge? You haven't spoken in a long time."

"As you wish." Qing Yuzi did not answer the question and fell silent again. Wu Yue felt snubbed, though he knew Qing Yuzi’s words held truth. It was ironic—Wu Yue realized he disliked killing. That was true enough; most people disliked killing. But for him, it felt different. Who was he, really? At this moment, Wu Yue realized he didn't quite understand himself, though perhaps he would one day—he certainly would.

Mount Tai Hall.

Inside, everything remained unchanged. However, Qing Yuzi, who had always sat cross-legged like a withered husk, had undergone a drastic transformation. He lay sprawled on the ground with no regard for dignity, his face flushed with fanaticism. "Womanly benevolence, nothing more," he muttered coldly, no longer paying any attention to Wu Yue.

He had no desire to leave now, or at least, not for the time being. Lying on the floor, Qing Yuzi traced the tiles with his fingers, murmuring, "Good fortune. What immense good fortune."

Not long ago, Qing Yuzi, who had been nearly driven mad by boredom, had sensed that something was amiss with Wu Yue—and that it was likely raining outside. He didn't know exactly what had transpired, and he had no interest in knowing. But since that day, a multitude of characters had appeared in this strange palace, etched into the walls and floors.

They were all treasures! The moment Qing Yuzi saw these characters, his entire body began to boil, and his breathing grew uncontrollably ragged. He hadn't felt this sensation in years—not since he crossed into the Mortal Shedding realm fifty years ago. But even that paled in comparison to the intensity of this moment.

Many of the characters were unknown to him, but those he did recognize could only be described as infinitely beneficial. For instance, the Great Wish-Fulfilling Sutra inscribed on the floor—he had once been fortunate enough to read it briefly before the Great Buddha Mountain reclaimed it. Yet here, that precious sutra was inscribed in its entirety. There were also various divine techniques and records of Daoist arts, many of which he had never even heard of, yet he could sense their authenticity!

The feeling made him want to scream. He could feel the threshold of that lofty realm—the Great Realm of Fate-Severing, where one truly transcended the mortal world—and he had seen the dawn! If he could grasp it all—no, perhaps even just a tenth of it—he could make that leap.

If he could master it all... he might even go further. The Profound Life realm... the Dao-Mortal realm—these were no longer mere dreams! If he could understand every character here, he might even catch a glimpse of that realm which had not been seen for ten thousand years! The mere thought left his throat parched.

"How laughable that Wu Yue possesses a mountain of treasure and remains oblivious," Qing Yuzi breathed deeply. Whether Wu Yue lived or died, or what became of his own schemes, no longer mattered. What could be more important than reading and gaining knowledge?

Qing Yuzi tore off another strip of his robe, soaked it in lamp oil, and lit it. He began to read, tirelessly, night and day.

In the courtyard, only the Monkey remained.

The Monkey looked outside; the world seemed to have come back to life, with the sound of insects chirping. He looked inside; sunlight poured into the room, illuminating dancing motes of dust.

The Monkey gritted his teeth, a look of sanctity appearing in his eyes. He stepped into the room, forcing himself to think of other things. Slowly, a different light began to shine in his gaze.

The Monkey spoke softly, addressing the silence of the courtyard, the departed Lin Ya, and Brother Dao.

"I have no name or surname. 'Monkey' was given to me by someone I grew up with..." He hesitated, then said, "...a friend. Because he was called Fatty, and I didn't want to be called Skinny, I became the Monkey."

"People like me don't live more than two years. We might get beaten to death, or die of illness or hunger. That is fate. Just like the man who raised me—he kept me until I was seven, and just when he was ready to break my legs so I could go out and beg, he choked to death on his food. I survived. That was when I understood: that was fate." The expression on the Monkey's face grew increasingly somber. Who wanted to be a hoodlum? No one looked up to you; no one respected you...

The Monkey seemed to grow more emotional as he spoke. He didn't even realize that the fear and trepidation had vanished from his face; he was completely lost in memory, tears streaming down his cheeks before he knew it.

"When I was eight, I was chased for seven or eight streets just for a steamed bun. I told myself then that one day I would have lots of money and buy lots of buns..."

"When I was twelve, my friend, that Fatty, stole my money—thirty copper coins—and then I had no more friends..."

"I was lucky enough to grow up, though I can't remember how old I am now. But growing up didn't make things better. Children have their world, and adults have their own cruelty, until you appeared." The Monkey paused. "After you showed up, they started calling me Brother Hou, Master Hou."

"I know you killed several people to help me establish my status, even though you never said a word to me. I don't know why you were so good to me. Regardless of whether your intentions were kind, I owe you an apology..."

"But I should thank you." The Monkey found a piece of wood and used the sharp key from his tunic to begin carving.

*Lin Ya's...*

The Monkey's hand stopped. He didn't know how to write the character for "grave." After a moment of silence, he carved the words "Brother Dao" on the back. He held it high, placed it down gently, took two steps back, and kowtowed three times, his forehead striking the ground with a dull thud.

The Monkey stood up, looking at the disarray of the room. He seemed to see Brother Dao again, standing there writing in the air, or sitting in the back, where only two red eyes were visible.

The Monkey peered into the room. In the light, he could see it was utterly ordinary, covered in dust, with trash scattered across the floor.

Lin Ya had truly been like a gust of wind, passing through without leaving a trace.

Suddenly, the faint caw of a crow broke the silence—though it might have been an illusion.