Chapter 3, turmoil and chaos reign.
"What the hell are you being so arrogant about, Guo Laer?" Peng the Monk struggled to stand up and shouted back, "If it weren't for me falling into your trap, what could the two hundred Guo brothers do to me? You bring the antidote, and once I take it, then we shall see who is truly formidable!"
The burly man with a dark face sneered, "Antidote? Very well. Please invite the master to return with us brothers, and ask Mr. Sun himself for it." Monk Peng's eyes blazed with fury as he said through gritted teeth, "That scoundrel Sun Chaozong, attacking from the shadows! I must go to Chaoyuan Temple and have his iron-hatted master judge this matter..."
A tall, thin monk, dressed in a yellow robe, had a sallow complexion that almost matched the color of his robe. He had a wound over a foot long on his right leg, bleeding profusely, with flesh exposed, which was quite terrifying. This monk was propping himself up with a piece of dry wood, stumbling and leaping, clearly making every effort to escape from his pursuers. Behind him were two similarly dressed men in blue, wearing red headscarves, wielding sharp blades, relentlessly pursuing him
The Qi people heard vague rumors that there seemed to be a conflict between Xu Shouhui, the Heavenly Emperor of Qishui, and Liu Futong of Yingzhou. When Liu Futong and the late Han Shantong, the leader of the White Lotus Sect in the Central Plains, planned to raise an army, a person claiming to be the sixth descendant of the Song general Liu Guangshi and another claiming to be a remnant of the Zhao Song dynasty emerged—of course, wise individuals understood that these were merely the nonsensical words of the ignorant.
The snow-covered wilderness stretches endlessly, blending seamlessly with the sky. A few withered trees stand solitary at the horizon, appearing so frail and helpless. A crow flaps its cold, stiff wings, gliding between the branches, occasionally emitting a few chilling, silent caws.
Master Peng shouted loudly, spitting out a large mouthful of black blood, and hoarsely said, "Thank you very much." His body went limp, and he collapsed onto the snow. He then sat cross-legged, one hand on his chest and the other on his abdomen, beginning to practice his breathing exercises.
"Yes, yes, you helped that Wang Baobao this morning. Are you trying to oppose Zhuang Yun from Luoshan? Or do you have a grudge against Sun Chaozong?" Suddenly, Monk Peng reached out, grabbed Qi Ren's collar, and with a strong shake, nearly lifted him off the ground. "Why do you want to save me again?"
The man from Qi took a step back, his face changing color: "What do you intend to do?"
As soon as his fingers touched the chest of Monk Peng, a sudden surge of warmth shot through from the tip of his middle finger, directly striking the Daling acupoint on his wrist. Qi Ren was taken aback and hurriedly withdrew his hand, exclaiming, "This is remarkable! I did not expect this monk to possess such exquisite internal skill!" With no other option, he could only retreat to the side, leaning against a withered tree, patiently waiting for Monk Peng to complete his cultivation.
***
Peng, despite his anger, remained undaunted and gritted his teeth to endure. The Qi person, unable to bear the sight any longer, hurriedly stepped forward and clasped his fists to mediate: "Please hold on... stop. Gentlemen, where it is possible to spare others, let us do so. Why must we force the issue relentlessly?"
Claiming the throne, claiming the throne, all they think about is becoming kings and emperors, causing great chaos in the world. The man from Qi, stoking the flames, sighed and said, "Who among them truly acts on behalf of heaven to restore order?" Hearing this, Monk Peng was furious, jumped up, and extinguished the fire with a stomp, saying resentfully, "Who? Are you talking about me? If I had any other intentions, would I not declare myself emperor? Isn't Xu Shouhui a man of impressive stature? What is he worth? Du Zunda is a Grand Preceptor, and Ni Wenjun is a general. What have I done? Are you talking about me? If I had any other intentions, would I not declare myself emperor? Isn't Xu Shouhui a man of impressive stature? What is he worth? Du Zunda is a Grand Preceptor, and Ni Wenjun is a general. What have I done?"
The Iron Crowned True Man has long since left the Chaoyuan Temple, so what are you shouting about?" The black-faced man interrupted him, raising his steel knife, "Mr. Sun does not wish to take your life. He has spoken with the city lord, stating that Monk Peng is indeed a remarkable figure, and if the scholars recognize the situation, they will protect King Han...
"This, how can this be..." Monk Peng could not continue his words, as a large piece of meat had already filled his mouth. Qi Ren finished gnawing on the crow's leg, licked his fingers, smacked his lips, and said with a smile: "Your skills are quite good, the cooking is just right"
The Qi people chuckled, listening to Monk Peng continue: "Yes, it is also October. The King of Bu rose in Xiangyang, calling himself the Northern Lock Red Army, while Meng Haima rose in the Han River, calling himself the Southern Lock Red Army. In February of this year, there were also Guo Zixing, Sun Deya, and others who occupied Haozhou, all rallying under the banner of the White Lotus Sect, calling themselves the Fragrant Army and the Red Turban Army. Ah, not just one faction, a mix of fish and dragons, there are many more..." In February of this year, there were also Guo Zixing, Sun Deya, and others who occupied Haozhou, all rallying under the banner of the White Lotus Sect, calling themselves the Fragrant Army and the Red Turban Army. Ah, not just one faction, a mix of fish and dragons, there are many more...
"Go to hell, Han Shantong!" Monk Peng shouted, "If I betray the Heavenly Emperor, I will never have peace in this life! Damn Liu Futong, I have preached in Jingxiang for twenty years; when have I ever regarded him? He is nothing but a worthless descendant of Liu Guangshi!"
This esteemed gentleman, the scar-faced man, still refused to leave, "Could I have a look at your knife?" The man from Qi smiled slightly and took out a knife from his bosom. "A kitchen knife!" The scar-faced man stammered for a moment and then turned to chase after his brother.
The man from Qi could only blink hard, concentrate his mind, and make an effort to see again. Before him, at a distance of about ten feet, stood a high-crowned Taoist, his features indistinct, vaguely resembling Chahan; further away were figures all dressed in black, among whom two seemed to resemble Li Siqi and Wang Baobao.
This fellow is useless," the Taoist sneered, "Just kill him." As soon as the words fell, a man in black brandished a strangely shaped weapon, shouted sharply, and charged directly at Qi Ren.
He carefully regulated his breathing, gradually feeling his limbs loosen a bit. His body was hot, and he was filled with great shock and fear, not understanding what had actually happened. He vaguely heard the person call out: "Bind Monk Peng and take him to the capital to request merit!"
"Same room, fighting each other?" Qi Ren scoffed, "What do you mean by fighting in the same room? If Xu Shouhui were not claiming the throne in Qishui, one could say it is a matter of the same room. But now, what connection does the current emperor have with the same room? At most, it is just an alliance of two nations." Hearing this, Monk Peng suddenly stood up: "If the name is not right, then the words will not be smooth. If he does not claim the title of emperor, who will know that I genuinely wish to expel the Tartars and save the people from fire and water? Heh heh, if Han Shantong had not died early, would he not have claimed the title of emperor? The ninth descendant of Emperor Huizong of Song, his intentions are clear, do you still not understand this?"
"To know is to know, to understand is to understand." Monk Peng grabbed a large handful of snow from the ground and stuffed it into his mouth. "It is said that he could perform magic, and for the sake of his friends in dire straits, he drew a door and entered the treasury to steal gold and silver; after being captured, he jumped into a porcelain jar; the Tartar emperor broke the jar and called out 'Leng Qian', and every shard of porcelain responded—could this really be true?"
The scar-faced man shouted, "Get lost!" Yet his subordinates showed no sign of stopping. With a move called "Plum Blossom Six Petals," another cut was made under Monk Peng's left rib. Seeing the situation was dire, Qi Ren realized that if he delayed any longer, Monk Peng would likely fall dead on the spot. He hurriedly stepped forward to block between the three.
That was in May of last year, and the Luoshan Xiangjun uprising occurred in June. Peng Heshang counted on his fingers, "In August, Zhima Li, Peng Da, and Zhao Jun used it in Xuzhou. I, along with Zou Pusheng and Xu Shouhui—who is today known as Emperor Tianwan—rose up in Qishui. Do you understand the meaning of Tianwan? It is meant to overshadow the words 'Great Yuan'.
"Who is the butcher? Who is the fish?" Qi Ren retorted sharply, "The Mongols and the Semu people have their own poor tenants; the Han people and the southerners rely on others for their fortunes, and there are not a few who enjoy wealth and glory. How do you intend to turn this upside down?" Peng the monk, enraged, had his eyes bulging, stamped his foot, and with his palm spread wide like a fan, shouted at Qi Ren: "Bring it here, bring your kitchen knife!"
What of the colors? What of the Han people? Listening to the words of Monk Peng, and recalling the conversation with Chahan at Li Siqi's estate during lunch today, Qi Ren felt an overwhelming sense of frustration. Even if there were some past grievances, it was the Mongolians who stirred up the division of people into ranks. Today, must we repay grievance with grievance, fighting to the death before we can rest? "Yes!" Monk Peng shouted loudly, nearly deafening Qi Ren, "People are the knives and the chopping boards, and I am the fish and the meat. After being sliced and diced for many years, can we not turn the world upside down now?" Even if there were some past grievances, it was the Mongolians who stirred up the division of people into ranks. Today, must we repay grievance with grievance, fighting to the death before we can rest? "Yes!" Monk Peng shouted loudly, nearly deafening Qi Ren, "People are the knives and the chopping boards, and I am the fish and the meat. After being sliced and diced for many years, can we not turn the world upside down now?
The burly man, upon hearing the words of Monk Peng, changed his expression and shouted, "Looking for death!" He raised his knife above his head, striking a pose reminiscent of "Mount Tai pressing down," and circled around Qi Ren, aiming directly at Monk Peng's bald head. Qi Ren shouted, "Hey, hey, why are we fighting again!" Eager to intervene, he suddenly felt a tightness around his waist, realizing he had been seized from behind by the scar-faced man.
The scar-faced man was left with only a knife handle in his hand, feeling somewhat discouraged. Gritting his teeth, he shouted, "Peng the Monk, how dare you teach outsiders to meddle in our Xiang army's internal affairs? I misjudged you! If you have the guts, don't hide behind others. Come out and let us exchange a few more moves, and we shall see the true skill beneath our hands!"
"That is, after wandering the rivers and lakes for several decades, these trivial matters..." Monk Peng made an effort to swallow the last piece of meat, "If there were some cold wine, it would be even better—by the way, just now you called out the name of Leng Qian in your dream, is he the well-known Xie Lulang Leng Qian from the capital?" Qi Ren nodded, "You know him too?"
The man from Qi walked aimlessly, his steps uneven, breathing in the cold air, and his mind gradually became hazy— "The peaks gather like a crowd, the waves surge like fury, the road through Tongguan lies between mountains and rivers. Looking towards the western capital, my thoughts are hesitant, sorrowful for the places where the Qin and Han dynasties once thrived, where the palaces and halls have all turned to dust. Prosperity brings suffering to the people, and decline brings suffering to the people..."
I have also guessed a few things," Qi Ren stood up, broke a few dry branches, and added them to the bonfire, laughing, "You have come here to recruit the Luo Mountain troops, haven't you? Sun Chaozong is also..." "Exactly," Peng the monk slapped his thigh, "Exactly. Originally, there are only a little over a thousand troops in Luo Mountain. If they do not have someone to rely on, how can they survive for long? Liu Futong is closer to here; it is only natural for them to attach themselves to Liu and not to honor the Heavenly Complete Emperor. What I resent is that Sun Chaozong hides a dagger behind his smile, trying to poison me in my drink! Liu Futong is closer to here; it is only natural for them to attach themselves to Liu and not to honor the Heavenly Complete Emperor. What I resent is that Sun Chaozong hides a dagger behind his smile, trying to poison me in my drink! Hmph, although everyone says they serve their own masters, ultimately they are all from the same lineage of the Xiang army; how can he be so ruthless against his own kind!
Two burly men leaped back simultaneously, their expressions filled with surprise and uncertainty. They clasped their hands and inquired, "Who are you, sir, to meddle in this matter?" Qi Ren Erbao had already tucked away his belongings and quickly bowed in greeting, saying, "I am surnamed Chen, known as Chen Qi Ren. I wonder what grievances Master Peng has with the two of you that he seeks to eliminate you so swiftly?"
Before he could finish humming a tune, he suddenly heard several loud shouts from behind, some filled with anger, others with excitement, each expressing different emotions and colors. Qi Ren turned around in a daze, and in the wilderness, he saw three figures rushing towards him, one in front and two behind. He rubbed his eyes, which were stinging from the reflection of the snowfield, and only then could he clearly see the faces of the three individuals.
The clash of blades resumed as another burly man with a black face arrived in pursuit. Monk Peng stepped back, and with a swift left punch, he sent his opponent tumbling. Just as the black-faced man fell, the scar-faced man had already closed in. Supporting himself with a withered tree with his right arm, Monk Peng unleashed a flurry of left punches, engaging in a fierce battle with the two men for several rounds in an instant
"Ge Ye," the scar-faced man tugged at his companion's collar, "What should we do?" The dark-faced man glared at him, then turned to Qi Ren: "Your Excellency, your swordsmanship is exquisite; my brothers are no match for you. However, if you have the guts, do not leave; we will return right away!" As he spoke, he angrily threw down the hilt of his sword, casually performed a bow, and turned to leave.
I have spent twenty years preaching in Jingxiang, merely to become a national master. What kind of official position is a national master? To gather a thousand people from Luoshan for such a trivial matter, I must travel a long distance to do it. Why don't I become an emperor? I am a fool, a great fool! His eyes were bright and piercing. For a moment, he stared at Qi Ren, his mustache bristling, his steel teeth gnashing. Qi Ren felt increasingly uneasy in his heart and could only lower his head, continuously gasping for breath.
Strangely, a waft of fragrance came from the flames. "Not good, the thief has released poison!" Qi Ren hurriedly held his breath, intending to find a way to escape, when suddenly, as if from beyond the vastness of the universe, a coarse voice rang out: "It's ready, would you like to eat some?"
"What about this one?" A man in black pointed at Qi Ren, "Iron Crown Daoist, how should we deal with him?" Upon hearing the words "Iron Crown," Qi Ren couldn't help but feel a jolt in his heart. He strained to look, as if the crown worn by that Daoist was indeed made of iron.
In the midst of his busy schedule, the man turned around a tree and beckoned over. Only then did he realize how he was able to move again, but that peculiar weapon had already followed him closely like a shadow.
Master Peng was busy yet composed. With a single move, "Taibai Drunkenly Reclines," he rolled to the ground, narrowly escaping a catastrophic disaster. The burly man with a black face missed his strike and changed to the move "Poisonous Dragon Draws Water," aiming to take his opponent's life. As the blade hung in the air, a sudden, dense, and prolonged sound of metal clashing reached his ears. Realizing the danger, he hurriedly stepped back, and upon focusing his gaze, he found that he was left with only the hilt of his knife.
He wanted to reach out to rub his eyes, but his entire body, aside from his eyelids being able to open and close and his breath still under control, felt as if it were under a thousand-pound weight, unable to move even an inch. He was terrified and wanted to call out, but his lips could only twitch slightly, unable to part widely; his throat made a gurgling sound, faint as a mosquito.
As soon as these words were spoken, the man in black seemed taken aback, deliberately feigning a flaw, and turned to leave. Qi Ren brandished his knife and pursued, only to suddenly see a scene of red light before him, with waves of heat rolling in. Looking around, he found no one in sight, and to his astonishment, he was actually in the midst of a great fire
Han Shantong claimed to be a descendant of the Song Emperor, but is that true? Such matters can be true if one says they are, or false if one says they are, so why bother with it? Peng He-shang looked up at the sky and said in a deep voice, "Who would have thought that the situation was not kept secret, and the Tartars found out, leading to the overnight capture and execution of Han Shantong. His followers, Liu Futong, Du Zundao, and others, launched an attack on Yingzhou in advance, thus the Red Turban movement began, also known as the Fragrant Army."
The man from Qi turned around once, wielding a kitchen knife, and struck down two lean crows. "Alas, in this end times, even the birds cannot be well-fed," he muttered to himself as he opened the birds' bodies, cleaned them up, wiped them with a handful of snow, and wrapped them in some mud, preparing to make a dish called "beggar's crow" to satisfy his hunger.
The man from Qi stood by, increasingly perplexed. It seemed that Monk Peng's punches lacked much strength; several times they struck the chests of the two burly men, at most knocking them over, and later only causing a stumble, without inflicting any harm. Although the knife techniques of the two burly men were not particularly exquisite, they were quite skilled. If they joined forces to fight, it was likely that Monk Peng would not fare well. After a moment, it was evident that Monk Peng's movements had slowed slightly, and immediately the enemy seized the opportunity. The dark-faced man slashed from the side, severing the dry wood that Monk Peng was leaning on with his right arm. Monk Peng's right leg bent, half-kneeling in the snow, and then his whole body trembled; it turned out that his right shoulder had been struck hard by the scar-faced man.
With the kitchen knife in hand, Qi Ren casually parried, and in an instant, he exchanged over twenty moves with the man in black, neither side gaining the upper hand. His mind slightly at ease, he focused his gaze on the opponent's face and was taken aback to see a long horse-like face, exclaiming in surprise: "Leng Qian, how could it be you!"
Is this what the world is like? So desolate, so lonely, it evokes in the anxious person an inexplicable sense of life's helplessness and the sorrow of impending death
The Qi man sheathed his knife and turned around, only to see Monk Peng leaning against a withered tree, his face ashen, gasping heavily. The Qi man took two quick steps forward, gathered strength in his right arm, and delivered a solid horse stance punch directly to the center of Monk Peng's chest.
The surroundings were silent and still, occasionally pierced by the lonely cries of a few cold crows, breaking the deathly atmosphere. Qi Ren only felt his eyelids growing heavier; as soon as he relaxed, he had already dozed off into a hazy dreamland.
As they slowed down, the two men behind had already caught up. One of them, a scarred man, rushed to the front, swinging a steel knife directly at the back of Monk Peng's head.
After laughing for a while, Qi Ren asked, "What is this all about? Aren't they all the fragrant army? Why do they want to hunt you down?" Monk Peng reined in his smile and sighed deeply, saying, "How would you know? Although they are called the fragrant army, they are actually different." He touched the wound on his leg that had already been bandaged, pondered for a moment, and continued, "To speak of it, the one who first raised the banner of righteousness was indeed Han Shantong from Yingzhou..."
The man from Qi remained unfazed by his roaring, not moving an inch. Once he had finished speaking, he cast a sidelong glance and coldly laughed, saying: "If you do not seize his property or drive away his family, he can live comfortably as a local landlord in Shenqiu. How pleasant that would be, far better than racking your brains and taking risks to plot against Luoshan?" "What are you saying?" Monk Peng attempted to grab the collar of the man from Qi, but he had already sidestepped to avoid it. "You speak for him like this, but he is a man of dubious character!"
His boxing technique was exquisite and unpredictable, with a single left fist countering two steel knives, soaring up and down, seizing the initiative. In the blink of an eye, the two burly men were successively knocked down by him, but after rolling a few times on the ground, they immediately got back up, once again pouncing forward, showing no signs of retreat, relentlessly clinging on.
In this way, both steel knives naturally fell into his hands. The Qi man moved like lightning, drawing the two treasures from his bosom. With the left hand, he blocked the black-faced brute's attack, "Poisonous Dragon Draws Water," with the cutting board, while in his right hand, he wielded a kitchen knife, producing a clanging sound as he shattered the scar-faced man's weapon into numerous pieces.
The scar-faced man hurriedly withdrew his hand and released Qi Ren, then performed a somersault and landed beside the black-faced man, thinking: "A knife is one thing, but if these two arms were to be chopped into seventeen or eighteen pieces, how could they ever be reassembled?"
It is unclear how much time has passed, when suddenly his heart began to race inexplicably, and he was jolted awake, opening his eyes. In a daze, he saw a dozen dark figures standing not far in front of him.
"Although the world is vast, where can one go?" The words of Chahan echoed in my ears. Indeed, where is his true home? This world resembles a rapidly spinning potter's wheel, and all the unfortunate souls are caught in its relentless rotation. When will they truly find peace?
"Let go, let go," Qi Ren grasped Monk Peng's wrist tightly, standing up with a hint of irritation in his heart. "Is it wrong for me to save you? Neither He Tushucha nor Wang Baobao are part of the official army. Everyone generally suffers under the oppression of the Mongols. If we are not united in our resistance, that would be one thing, but to turn against our own people and engage in violence against each other? Am I wrong to intervene?"
When it came time to start a fire, he suddenly remembered that the flint and steel he had on him had long since fallen somewhere along the road from Shenqiu to here. He couldn't help but shake his head and smile wryly, walking up to Monk Peng, intending to borrow a flint from him. However, seeing that Monk Peng was in the midst of a crucial moment of meditation, he felt it inappropriate to disturb him and simply reached into his monk's robe to search.
The man from Qi tore off a leg from the crow, and after chewing on it a couple of times, he looked up to see Monk Peng holding a pile of bird bones, gazing at his own mouth and swallowing saliva. Unable to contain his laughter, the man from Qi handed over the roasted crow missing a leg.
He shook his head, sighed, and said: "Liu Futong claims to be a descendant of the Song general Liu Guangshi. I have heard that he is searching everywhere for the lost son of Han Shantong, intending to make him his master. But what is so great about the Song Dynasty? There are so many Jurchens and Khitans in the Central Plains, and they certainly do not long for the fallen Song. It is all just nonsense from that bookworm Han Shantong. If Liu Futong were truly a hero, would he not declare himself emperor?"
"How absurd!" The man from Qi laughed so hard he nearly choked. "Such rumors are indeed quite amusing—he knows a few minor spells, but it is far from being so miraculous." Monk Peng also laughed: "I too do not believe it. If that were the case, wouldn't he be a living immortal descended to the mortal realm?"
The man from Qi opened his eyes in shock, only to see a vast expanse of snow, stretching endlessly. Where were the black-clad figures, and where was the great fire? Looking down, he saw a small pile of fire beneath him. Monk Peng sat cross-legged, holding two cracked clumps of dry mud, smiling as he looked at him
"This is a matter within our own ranks," the burly man replied coldly, "I advise you to refrain from meddling in it." Qi Ren glanced sideways at Monk Peng and said with a smile, "I am well aware that I do not have the qualifications to interfere in your affairs, but causing harm and creating misfortune ultimately leads to sin. If there are any grievances among you, it would be better to discuss them openly—I would be willing to act as a mediator for both sides."
"You are wrong, gravely wrong!" Monk Peng waved his hand, having expelled about seventy to eighty percent of the poison after a while of breathing exercises. His strength had long since returned, and he nearly knocked Qi Ren over. "How dare you compare me to the likes of Chahan? I come from a tenant farmer background. I lost my parents at the age of seven and was sent to a temple to become a novice monk, serving the masters. I have endured countless hardships. Xu Shouhui was a cloth merchant, and Ni Wenjun fished on the river. Everyone had no way to survive, which is why they raised the banner of rebellion. I come from a tenant farmer background. I lost my parents at the age of seven and was sent to a temple to become a novice monk, serving the masters. I have endured countless hardships. Xu Shouhui was a cloth merchant, and Ni Wenjun fished on the river. Everyone had no way to survive, which is why they raised the banner of rebellion. And what about Chahan? A vast estate, thousands of acres of fertile land, living a life of luxury, and now he schemes to destroy the Xiang army. He is in cahoots with the Mongolian Tartars, yet he claims that I am one of his own!"
Master Peng remained calm in the face of danger, swiftly turning his body to evade the incoming blade. With his left fist piercing through his right arm, he executed the move "Li Guang Shoots the Stone," striking the man's left chest. With a resounding "bang," he sent the man staggering back a full yard.
"Oh, Master Peng," Qi Ren stopped in his tracks and asked in surprise, "How come..." It turned out that the tall, thin monk was none other than Peng Yingyu, the monk Peng, with whom he had crossed paths earlier that morning at the hotel. Upon hearing someone call out, Monk Peng looked up and, upon seeing Qi Ren, was taken aback, stumbling slightly and nearly falling into the snow.
The man from Qi let out a long sigh, only to realize that what had just happened was merely a fleeting dream. He steadied his mind and leaned against a tree to sit down. Monk Peng broke the mud seal and peeled away the hard, dry feathers; immediately, a more intense fragrance wafted towards him. "Damn it, this is a good thing," he said, handing the man from Qi a roasted "crow" while he took another for himself and began to gnaw on it.