By now, dusk had fallen. Evening shadows deepened, and the crimson glow of the setting sun stained half the sky. The Grand Patriarch Aros turned toward Wu Tong, cupping his hands in salute. His voice carried both gratitude and solemn expectation.
"Young hero Wu Tong, I am deeply indebted to you for your aid today. The Black Dragon Sect has allied with all manner of demons and villains, seeking to block the righteous from aiding the imperial army. As for the East Heaven King's whereabouts now, I cannot say. This matter concerns the fate of the Tang itself—may you remain watchful in days to come. I have pressing business and must part ways with you two here."
His tone was deep and weighty, full of praise for Wu Tong's chivalry. Without another word, the Patriarch turned and walked away, his figure receding into the dusk until it vanished.
Wu Tong watched him go, a swell of emotion rising in his chest—it was as if he were seeing again the moment when "Fearless" Lü Qiang had departed. One was a high patriarch of the Nestorian Faith, the other a legendary hero of the jianghu. Different in path, yet alike in spirit, both bore the same lofty resolve to aid the world in its time of peril.
When Aros's figure had disappeared completely into the twilight, Zhao Rou spoke softly.
"The Patriarch's cultivation runs deep—he is a man of great compassion. Just now, he said: 'The Buddha is never far; human life is one's own to guide; good deeds bring good fortune.' Young Master, you have long done good—this is the fruit of your kindness."
Her voice was gentle, clearly meant to comfort him.
Hearing this, Wu Tong felt a faint warmth in his heart. He knew she spoke to ease his burden. Though he had slain three villains for the good of the people, the act still weighed heavily on him. He sighed.
"Sister Rou, do not call me 'Young Master' any longer. All lives are equal—there is no master and servant between us. Come, it grows late. Let's find an inn and rest for the night."
With that, the two mounted lightly, riding off into the evening. Hooves struck softly on the earth, raising no dust; in moments, their figures were gone into the darkening landscape.
Several days later, they reached the Wuyi Mountains. Wu Tong had always loved great mountains and rivers—this time, he would not miss such a famed scenic land. Peaks rose in countless shapes, valleys and cliffs stretched endlessly, and the sights filled one's heart with joy. Following the mountain paths upward, they admired numerous cliffside inscriptions—characters in seal, clerical, regular, cursive, and running scripts—each carved by ancients into the living rock, silent witnesses to the ages and to the depth of the region's culture.
They came at last to Zhi Zhi An ("The Stop-Stop Hermitage"). On either side of the gate hung couplets. The right read: Sixteen blessed grottoes lift the true to transcendence, delivering all beings. The left read: Ancestral seat of the Southern Sect, its golden elixir nourishes life and blesses the world. The calligraphy was bold and vigorous, exuding solemn majesty. Within, Daoist priests cultivated the Way, refining essence and nurturing spirit; the two travelers did not disturb them and took another path.
By now, the clouds were aglow, the birds returning to their nests, and darkness creeping in. They thought to seek lodging for the night and were fortunate to find a temple ahead—the White Cloud Temple. Entering, they met a young novice sweeping the entryway.
Wu Tong stepped forward and saluted.
"Little Master, we have been traveling in search of scenic places and the Way, but tarried too long. Night has fallen. Might we lodge here for the night?"
The novice pressed his palms together.
"I must first ask the abbot. Please wait."
Before long, he returned.
"The abbot says there is a guest room available."
Wu Tong expressed thanks.
"I have the means—allow me to offer some incense money."
He took from his robe a banknote for one hundred taels of silver and handed it to the novice, who accepted it and went inside again. Soon, an elderly monk with white beard emerged, his steps light, his smile warm.
"Honored guests, please come in. I have brewed a fine pot of tea for two refined gentlemen such as yourselves."
His voice was kind and gentle, like a spring breeze.
Seated inside, the elder addressed the novice.
"Huiguo, these gentlemen will lodge here tonight. Clean the guest room and prepare vegetarian dishes."
The boy obeyed and left.
"I am the abbot of this temple, Dharma name Weijue. The world calls me Master Moonlight. To meet you here today is fate. There are many temples and monasteries in Wuyi, yet if there were no such karma, why would you come to ours?"
His tone was warm and wise, lending the quiet night an added sense of peace.
Wu Tong felt moved.
"I am Wu Tong. Today, with Zhao Gongzi, I roamed these sacred mountains. We lingered till late, the paths are steep, and we chanced upon your temple. I am a disciple of the White Cloud Immortal of Mount Baiyun—surely this is no small Buddhist affinity."
Master Moonlight smiled.
"So, a high disciple of the White Cloud Immortal—truly, this is both Daoist and Buddhist fate. Drink your tea; I must attend to my evening devotions and will not keep you with idle talk."
With a bow, he departed, his steps merging with the night.
When they had finished their tea, they stepped outside. Before long, the novice returned.
"Honored guests, the room and meal are ready. Please follow me."
The guest room was bright and spotless; on the table lay a vegetarian meal, simple yet fragrant and flavorful. After setting down their packs and eating, they strolled into the temple courtyard to practice breathing and forms until the hour of the Dog. Just as they were about to retire, the night was cool as water, the woods alive with the chirp of insects and the sigh of the wind.
Suddenly—a swish of robes through the air. The two exchanged glances and silently followed the sound.
Outside the temple stood three men—the notorious Three Evils of the Black Wind. The leader, in his forties, of medium build, spoke in a cold, shadowed voice.
"Master Moonlight, rumor has it you have recently completed the ultimate elixir, the Bee Resin Pill. They say that one who takes it gains ten years' worth of cultivation. The Three Evils of the Black Wind have come to 'borrow' three such pills."
Master Moonlight sighed, his expression calm.
"You have come too late. Of the five Bee Resin Pills, I gave the King of Kings among them to 'Fearless' Lü Qiang two months ago. I have taken one myself. Only three remain."
He paused.
"It took ten full years of labor—gathering wild honey from the Wuyi bees, along with poria, lingzhi, fritillary, polygonum multiflorum, and other rare treasures—to make these five pills. One, the King of Pills, equals thirty years of hard cultivation for an adept."
Wu Tong's heart gave a start. Could it be… the 'Sobering Pill' Lü Qiang gave me that day was in fact this King of the Bee Resin Pills? The thought shook him to the core, though he kept his face unreadable, watching in silence.
Poem:
Lodging in a mountain temple,
Only then I learned the pill's true power.
They say the pill can sober wine—
Yet it was the King of Elixirs all along.