The Three-Eyed Buddha

On the road from Kaifeng to Luoyang, Yujingwang's face glowed with joy.

At last, the sun is shining on my life.

Because of his father's disgraceful deed, Yujingwang had lived every moment cautiously, crushed under the pressure of having to prove himself.

Even while drowning himself in gambling, he knew it wouldn't change his future. He repeated words of hope only to keep himself from collapsing, but in truth, a part of his heart was always festering.

But now, as if by some miracle, luck had come to him. Not some small stroke of fortune, but the kind of immense luck one might never meet in a lifetime.

And what was more, that immense luck had drawn in other fortunes—so naturally, Yujingwang's expression was full of hope as he looked at Tang Mujin and Hong Geolgae.

I just need to succeed one more time.

When he met the Lord of Ten Thousand Gold, he would have to roll the dice at least twice. Each win would double the money, which meant his fortune would grow fourfold.

Yujingwang weighed the money soon to be in his hands against the debts of the Jeomchang Sect. Even after paying off all debts and interest, there would be a great deal left.

If things went as planned, the Jeomchang Sect wouldn't need to worry about funds for the foreseeable future.

For the first time, the sect members would taste abundance, and their hearts would surely swell with goodwill toward Yujingwang. His father's honor would be restored, and his own life as a disgraced burden would be over.

The possibility of losing to the Lord of Ten Thousand Gold had long vanished from his mind. Yujingwang already believed himself to be riding upon the dragon that was Tang Mujin's party, soaring to the heavens. No mere dice could block a dragon's path.

Once the debt is cleared and we return to Yunnan, will they try to make me the next Sect Leader?

It might have sounded excessive, but it was certainly within the realm of possibility.

With a genial smile, Yujingwang said to Tang Mujin,

"If I had known things would turn out like this, I wouldn't have said anything about lodging fees or the like. Instead, I should have held out money myself to keep you here. To think I failed to recognize the nobleman carrying great fortune…"

But Tang Mujin thought differently. Hong Geolgae's luck might be unusual, but his own wasn't anything special.

And after this much good fortune, it was about time for misfortune to follow. In fact, something had already been weighing on his mind.

"This isn't the time to relax."

"Is something wrong?"

"Do you remember the trading caravan that passed us three days ago?"

Yujingwang tried to recall, but there were so many caravans traveling between Kaifeng and Luoyang that he couldn't easily pinpoint which one.

"I'm not sure which caravan you mean."

"The one with no mules at all, only four packhorses."

Now he remembered.

A small caravan usually relied on cheap mules or donkeys rather than costly horses. But this caravan of fewer than ten people had four packhorses, and Yujingwang remembered noticing it for that reason—though he hadn't thought further about it.

"What about them?"

"One of them was someone we saw at the tavern in Nanchang, where the cockfights were held. Do you recall the man who looked down on us from the upper floor?"

"…I might, vaguely. But it doesn't seem worth much concern."

Coincidences weren't impossible. When traveling the world, you were bound to run into familiar faces here and there. For long-distance traders, it was even more common.

Tang Mujin shook his head.

"The problem is, the same man was also with the caravan we passed the next day, and again with the one we passed on the third day. And not just him—our path has repeatedly crossed with familiar faces, mixed into different caravans."

Yujingwang's expression grew grave. If what Tang Mujin said was true, then this went beyond coincidence.

And Yujingwang knew very well who would send such watchers.

"The Assassins' Net has caught on?"

"Nine times out of ten, yes."

"Did they show themselves again today?"

"No. And that's what troubles me most."

If the watchers who had always appeared suddenly disappeared, it meant one of two things.

Either they had lost the trail… or they were preparing to strike.

And to Tang Mujin, the latter seemed far more likely.

Yujingwang relayed the matter to the Wei brothers, Weiying and Weihuan, who spread the word to the others.

The party shifted course slightly, climbing a nearby hill.

In the distance, they spotted a caravan stopped along the road they would soon take.

That, in itself, wasn't unusual. But the problem was that the sun was already sinking into the youshi hour (5–7 p.m.).

By now, a caravan halting for the night should have been busy gathering firewood, building fires, and preparing food.

But the distant figures did none of those things. They simply sat still, as though waiting.

"Suspicious," Yujingwang muttered.

"What do you want to do?"

"Could we shake them off?"

"Impossible."

"Then we'll have to strike before they do."

The party advanced toward the suspicious caravan.

There were only seven men, and the wagons carried nothing but straw to make them look full.

Halting, Yujingwang gave instructions.

"Hold position and observe for now. Lady Dan, Physician Chu—no matter what happens, do not approach."

Dan Seolyung nodded, handing Tang Mujin two small bamboo tubes. The others didn't recognize them, but Tang Mujin immediately did. They were Heavenly King Needle Tubes—smaller and more refined than before.

"You said they worked well last time, right? This time I put in even more effort. They may be small, but they're far more powerful."

Tang Mujin tucked them into his robes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Just carrying such a hidden ace was reassuring.

"I'll be back soon."

The ones who moved forward were five: Tang Mujin, Namgungmyeong, Yujingwang, and the Wei brothers.

When they closed to about a hundred paces, they were sure. Not a single one of the seven was a real merchant—they were all martial artists, and worse, every one of them had surpassed the wall of mastery.

Weihuan muttered,

"This won't be easy."

"Should we fall back?"

"No. If we retreat here, they'll catch us from behind. That would be worse."

Tang Mujin thought of the Jeomchang Sect warriors waiting behind. About a dozen of them, all first-rate. Even if trouble broke out, they had the strength to fight.

At last, the two groups closed to within twenty paces. Yujingwang stepped forward with a polite greeting.

"Greetings."

The others only stared, until one man stepped ahead to answer with a mocking smile.

"Well met. What brings you here?"

He wore loose, flowing robes, his eyes narrow, his lips curled in a smile that looked more like a sneer.

"Our path just happens to lie this way, and since you'd set up camp first, we came to take a look."

"If that alone concerned you, why not bring along the rest of your party from behind?"

Tang Mujin scowled.

"So you know exactly how many we are."

"Of course. You've been dragging Jeomchang Sect warriors around, stirring up our branch. Did you think the Assassins' Net wouldn't take count of your numbers? Our reputation is not so cheap."

Something in their words didn't quite match, but before Tang Mujin could press further, Yujingwang spoke.

"I hear you've been shadowing us for days. What's your purpose?"

"No need to wonder. By nightfall, you'll no longer be wondering about anything."

So they had planned to strike tonight. Yujingwang laughed loudly.

In the same breath, his sword flashed, too fast for the eye.

There was no need to ask what style—it was unmistakably the Light-Splitting Sword Art, swift enough to cleave the air.

But his opponent was also a master. The smiling man crossed two short blades and caught the strike.

"If you were truly a righteous hero, wouldn't you at least announce yourself and exchange salutes before drawing your sword? To launch a sneak attack at once—how disappointing."

"I don't bother with empty formalities. And if you're going to say such things, at least try putting on an angry face."

"Hah!"

Weiying and Weihuan gestured, and the Jeomchang warriors and Hong Geolgae rushed forward to join Yujingwang and Tang Mujin.

Seven enemy masters. Four of their own had reached mastery, plus thirteen first-rate warriors. Not an easy fight, but not hopeless either.

Yujingwang said,

"Let's wipe them out so we can sleep easy tonight."

At his words, the Jeomchang warriors charged.

Steel clashed and rang across the hillside.

The Jeomchang Sect's martial arts were unique.

Unlike Wudang's flowing defensive swordplay, Shaolin's steady, balanced fists, or Qingcheng's persistent yet supple sword forms, the Jeomchang style utterly discarded defense, unleashing lightning-fast strikes aimed to kill in a single blow.

Their defense was simple: kill the enemy before you yourself could be killed.

It was instantly clear why the Jeomchang Sect had suffered so heavily in the Great Righteous–Evil War—and equally clear why even their fringe sect was still counted among the Nine Great Schools. Their sword arts were terrifyingly potent.

The first clash left casualties at once. Two Jeomchang first-rates fell dead, and two more were too badly wounded to fight further.

On the other side, one of the enemy masters had his belly and thigh pierced, blood pouring down in a mortal wound—he would surely die without immediate aid.

The smiling man murmured,

"As expected, such extreme swordplay. How can you throw away your lives without a moment's hesitation? Don't you value life?"

Yujingwang gave a thin smile.

"Of course life is precious. But when you train long enough, you learn to swing before you hesitate."

"A fine method."

Once more, the two sides clashed.

The Jeomchang swordsmen struck with reckless abandon, but this time no one died—the enemy had shifted into fully defensive stances.

Tang Mujin fought with his sword, but often pulled back to flick his needles. Unlike at Mt. Nogunsan, there was no rain to mask his weapons, and the opponents managed to spot and deflect most at the last instant.

Now and then a needle struck home, but none of them allowed enough hits to weave the deadly poisons together.

"Not easy."

At that moment, a voice transmission brushed against Tang Mujin's ear. It was Yu Jingwang's voice.

—They're not all practitioners of killing intent.

But Tang Mujin lacked the cultivation to reply through voice transmission.

"Huh?"

—No need to answer. I'm just telling you in case. Among the living enemies, three use killing intent. The other three wield different martial arts. I can't be sure, but they're either dark-path martial artists or disciples from the Demonic Sect.

A troubling revelation. If they were merely dark-path rogues, it was one thing. But if the Demonic Sect was involved, the situation was grave. Unlike the scattered dark-path strays, the Demonic Sect's warriors had order and hierarchy.

Why would the Demonic Sect be entangled here? …No, think later. First, survive this fight.

Tang Mujin slid his sword back into its scabbard and gripped his needles with both hands.

Back in the battle at Nogunsan, he could only scatter needles one-handed, and at best bend their trajectory once.

But now, he could cast them with both hands—and even curve them twice midair. The needles he scattered streaked for the enemy's nape, back, and thighs—angles hard to defend.

Though still blocked at the wall of the Supreme Peak realm, Tang Mujin's martial skill had clearly advanced since Nogunsan.

At first, the effort seemed wasted. But as he pressed his attacks, his venomous needles finally pierced through their defense, carving small openings.

The warriors of Mount Jian (Zhenchang Sect) lunged in at those cracks. The enemy, however, only crouched like turtles, wholly absorbed in defense.

Why so defensive?

Tang Mujin's mind churned. It made no sense.

They'd had time to gauge the group's strength.

Why gather only a middling force, barely enough to stalemate? If these were truly assassins of Killing Intent Hall, surely they could have summoned far more.

And why stall for so long instead of pressing the attack? Were they waiting for something?

Tang Mujin had no answers.

Blood spread further across the ground. The sun sank, setting hill and field ablaze with crimson light.

And from afar, a lone figure approached, framed by the sunset. His stride alone marked him as one who had trained in martial arts.

Tang Mujin narrowed his eyes at the man's appearance: a clean-shaven head, gray kasaya robes.

If he was a Shaolin monk, surely he was an ally. Tang Mujin shouted:

"A revered monk of Shaolin has come to aid us!"

"Excellent!"

But when the monk drew closer, Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, and the warriors of Zhenchang all felt the same unease.

It was as though an unseen weight pressed down, making battle itself hard to continue. The monk exuded an eerie aura.

The killers of Killing Intent Hall smirked and stepped back.

Now all eyes locked upon the approaching monk.

He was massive in build, his skin a dark, ashen gray. What showed beneath his robes was riddled with scars.

Not "covered in scars" as exaggeration, but truly—his entire body seemed nothing but scar tissue.

Among them, one scar stood out: a sword cut that split his forehead wide across.

It had healed grotesquely, leaving a thick ridge as wide as half a finger.

It resembled a third eye, gazing half-open at all around.

None of them—Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, nor even the Zhenchang warriors—had seen him before. Yet there was only one monk in the world with such a visage.

Namgung Myeong muttered grimly:

"The Three-Eyed Buddha…"

The Three-Eyed Buddha. Once a Shaolin monk, cast out and defected to the Demonic Sect.

Not of the Orthodox Six Lords, but known to have stepped into the realm of transcendent grandmasters twenty years ago.

The assassins and their cohorts dragged the corpses of their fallen comrades, laying them behind, then lowered their heads before the Three-Eyed Buddha.

Many things were now clear.

Those accompanying the assassins were not rogues but true demon lords.

And the reason they had circled, delaying battle, rather than striking immediately—

The Three-Eyed Buddha had been what they awaited.

He spoke:

"This will leave enough alive."

He looked upon Tang Mujin's group and the Zhenchang warriors not as opponents, but as prey.

And prey meant a hunt. A crushing fear seized Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, and Hong Geolgae alike.

Even if all of them rushed him at once, they could not prevail against the Three-Eyed Buddha. Worse, six Supreme Peak experts still remained at his side.

There was no chance, no matter how one framed it.

"D–damn it! Run!"

Hong Geolgae roared, voice cracking with terror so loud it startled nearby doves into flight.

But the Zhenchang warriors did not retreat. And so neither Tang Mujin nor Namgung Myeong could flee.

Have our legs frozen?

No. One Zhenchang warrior bent low, then suddenly sprinted forward, thrusting his sword.

"Uaaaaah!"

The Three-Eyed Buddha, amused, simply reached out with a massive hand and seized the man's head.

It looked almost as if the warrior had willingly thrust his skull into that grip.

A squeeze. The warrior's head burst. A grotesque death. Bile rose in Tang Mujin's throat.

"Run, damn you!"

Hong Geolgae cried again. Fortune's dice meant nothing before overwhelming power.

But the Zhenchang warriors did not fall back. Slowly, one by one, they advanced. Not a single man broke ranks.

"Run?"

Yu Jingwang stared at the sunset. At the Three-Eyed Buddha.

"Mount Jian follows Hou Yi. We are martial men, but we pledged ourselves to be Hou Yi's arrows."

"You'll all die!" Hong Geolgae screamed again.

Yu Jingwang replied with a smile.

"And what of it?"

He laughed.

"Is there such a thing as an arrow too afraid of breaking to leave the bow?"

At his words, every Zhenchang warrior raised their blades and charged the Three-Eyed Buddha as one.

Their steps did not waver.

"Hahaha!"

A dull crash. Blood spattered. Bones broke.

Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, Hong Geolgae—their legs shook. They could not cast off their fear like the Zhenchang men.

But in the end, neither could they flee.

Resigned, they too charged the Three-Eyed Buddha.

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