Rest at Plum Blossom Village · Meeting at the Pavilion · Storm over Ruiguang Temple
After the fierce battle, the Chief Escort Chen Hao of the Capital Escort Bureau straightened his robe, led his dozen armed escorts forward, and bowed deeply to Wu Tong, his tone solemn and sincere.
"Many thanks, Lord Wu of the Loyal and Righteous Hall, for drawing your blade in justice. I, Chen Hao, will never forget this debt of honor."
Wu Tong gazed at the famed escort chief before him, his eyes filled with both admiration and amusement.
"Chief Chen, this escort you've undertaken will be remembered through the ages. There are many who guard caravans, but to escort the daughters of ministers and face a Western prince head-on—only you could manage such a task!"
Chen Hao threw back his head and laughed, though his eyes carried a trace of melancholy.
"These ten young ladies are daughters of noble families from Chang'an and Luoyang. Were it not for An Qingxu's usurpation—his decadence and lust plunging the realm into chaos—would the world have fallen into such turmoil? The people's hearts still belong to the Tang, yet the times are cruel. So many homes destroyed, so many virtuous women forced from their families… Some of these girls are even daughters of court officials. How could I stand by and watch them be sent westward to humiliation?"
Wu Tong sighed lightly, his voice steady and grave.
"All we can do is our part, leaving the rest to Heaven's will. The Tang army is preparing to strike back. When victory comes and the rebels fall, the people will once again know peace."
Chen Hao nodded firmly.
"May that day come swiftly! Lord Wu, it grows late. I must escort these ladies back to Chang'an and Luoyang—their families must be anxious beyond words. I shall take my leave now. Until we meet again."
They exchanged a knowing smile—two men of the rivers and lakes, aware that the storm had merely paused, not passed. Bowing in mutual respect, they parted ways. Chen Hao and his men mounted their horses and rode off, escorting the young women safely homeward.
Wu Tong stood upon the open road, watching their figures vanish into the distance. The long wind tugged at his cloak. Between heaven and earth stretched the vast world of heroes—uncertain, perilous, yet brimming with honor. This day's battle had bought the common people a fragile moment of hope.
The setting sun burned red, casting its glow upon the wandering knights of the realm. The storm had not yet ended, but tomorrow would bring another meeting under Heaven.
Plum Blossom Village – Meeting at the Pavilion – The Storm at Ruiguang Temple
Wu Tong and his four companions rode onward, their steeds galloping across the rolling plains. By dusk they reached Plum Blossom Village, where April's harvest of green plums was at its height. Hills shimmered with verdant leaves, heavy branches sagging under the weight of ripe fruit. Farmers bustled to and fro, baskets on their backs, laughter mingling with the crisp scent of plums that perfumed the air.
Wu Tong reined in his horse, eyes softening at the tranquil sight.
"Were it not for these years of chaos," he murmured, "how prosperous the Great Tang would still be."
For a year he had wandered through storms of blood and battle, walking the razor's edge between life and death. Now, in this moment of peace, the simple harmony of the countryside felt almost like another world.
As the sun sank, lamps flickered to life in the village inn. The group found lodging there, tasting the local specialties—plum-braised chicken and other fragrant dishes steeped in tart sweetness. For a while, the clamor of the jianghu faded; there was only warm light, good wine, and the comfort of a peaceful meal.
At dawn the next day, the five mounted again and continued toward Xuzhou. Near the outskirts of Luoyang, a wayside pavilion appeared beside the road. Within sat an elderly Taoist with silver hair and childlike features, garbed in a gray-green robe, seated cross-legged in silent meditation. His hands folded upon his chest, his stillness so deep he seemed carved from stone.
Li Qian's sharp eyes lit up first.
"Isn't that Master Xuanzhen?"
Liu Yun smiled softly.
"Let's go greet him."
They dismounted and entered the pavilion. The old Taoist slowly opened his eyes, surprise and joy flickering within them.
"Lord Wu of the Loyal and Righteous Hall, and Lady Wu! To meet you again—what good fortune indeed."
Wu Tong returned the bow with a laugh.
"Master Xuanzhen, you truly live up to your immortal bearing. Heaven and earth are vast, yet fate allows us to cross paths again—surely destiny itself arranged this meeting."
Xuanzhen chuckled gently.
"And where might Lord Wu be journeying today?"
"We travel toward Xuzhou," Wu Tong replied. "Passing through, we stopped to rest in this fine pavilion. May I ask why you meditate here, Master?"
The Taoist smiled.
"I await the abbot of Ruiguang Temple. Yet instead I've found you first—an unexpected blessing."
Even as he spoke, a deep voice sounded from outside:
"Master Xuanzhen!"
A tall monk approached, clad in gray robes, face calm yet commanding, his every step firm and deliberate.
"This humble monk's name is Liaofan," he said with a respectful bow.
Xuanzhen stepped forward, introducing him warmly.
"Abbot Liaofan, this is the young hero of our age—Lord Wu Tong, master of the Loyal and Righteous Hall."
The monk's eyes widened with recognition.
"So it is the famed Lord Wu! Forgive my ignorance. To meet the defender of justice himself—what an honor."
Wu Tong bowed deeply in return.
"The honor is mine, Master. Please instruct me, if you will."
"Come," said Xuanzhen, gesturing toward the seats. "Let us sit and talk."
They settled inside the pavilion, the mountain breeze whispering softly among the trees. After a moment's silence, Xuanzhen turned to Liaofan, his tone carrying a subtle weight.
"Abbot Liaofan, regarding the matter of the Flying Eagle Gang extorting your temple, I believe only Lord Wu can truly resolve this injustice."
Wu Tong frowned slightly but remained composed.
"If there is need of me, speak freely. I shall do whatever lies within my power."
Liaofan's face brightened with hope.
"The Flying Eagle Gang has lately demanded a hundred taels of silver each month as 'protection.' We monks live apart from worldly strife, yet none here possess the skill to resist such tyranny. I sought Master Xuanzhen to mediate, but he advised that if Lord Wu were present, justice could indeed be restored."
Wu Tong nodded, decision already forming in his heart.
"If they dare extort the Buddha's house, they insult both Heaven and man. Since you ask, I shall see this matter ended."
Liaofan's eyes glistened with gratitude.
"Lord Wu's righteousness shines like the morning sun. Ruiguang Temple will forever pray for your peace and blessing."
"No need for ceremony," Wu Tong replied briskly. "Lead the way."
Thus the group—Wu Tong, his companions, Xuanzhen the Taoist, and Abbot Liaofan—set off together along the winding mountain road toward Ruiguang Temple.
Nestled amid the lush hills outside Luoyang, Ruiguang Temple rose from a sea of ancient pines. Its golden roofs gleamed beneath the waning sun, incense smoke curling through the evening mist, the solemn chime of bells echoing across the valleys. Though dusk had fallen, streams of pilgrims still climbed the stone steps, murmuring prayers as the monks intoned sutras in rhythm with wooden fish. Yet beneath their calm faces lingered unease—proof of the fear the Flying Eagle Gang had sown.
"Let us enter and speak within," said Liaofan gravely. "We must decide our course before nightfall."
They stepped through the temple gates—into the heart of another brewing storm.
The Buddha's Birthday and the Challenge of the Flying Eagle Gang
The next morning dawned bright and clear—the eighth day of the fourth lunar month, the Birthday of the Buddha, also called the Bathing Festival. The temple was alive with pilgrims and worshippers from every direction. Monks bustled about arranging offerings and decorations.
Then came a clamor from beyond the gate—a crowd of rough-clad men swaggering up the mountain path, their laughter coarse and loud. It was none other than the Flying Eagle Gang, come to make trouble.
Their leader bellowed, "Business seems good, monks! So many pilgrims bringing incense and silver—looks like a hundred taels a month is too cheap!"
The crowd gasped as the outlaws pushed their way into the courtyard, their words dripping with arrogance.
Thus, amid golden light and chanting prayers, the peace of Ruiguang Temple trembled—for another storm in the world of rivers and lakes was about to break.