Chapter Ninety-Four: The False Core Ancestor

On the rear mountain, the cliff face rose sheer and steep. Beneath it lay a pool whose waters rippled with crystal clarity. By the pool stood a thatched cottage, and behind the cottage towered an ancient tree that seemed to thrust up to the heavens. Beneath that tree sat an old monk in meditation, his brows and eyes alike suffused with compassion.

“Patriarch!” The abbott and a host of elders knelt in unison before the monk.

Only after a long while did the old monk slowly open his eyes. In his dark pupils, the figures of the assembled monks were reflected. He looked for a long time, then let out a sudden, long sigh.

The sigh was soft, yet it seemed to ring directly in the hearts of all the monks, shaking them to their core.

“I already know everything you have said.”

With that lingering sigh, the old monk rose. When he looked at the crowd, his gaze was filled with deep sorrow, not for them, but more for himself, and for the martial world as a whole.

Then he said nothing more. Raising his eyes toward the foot of the mountain, he looked at the mist that had spread across the slopes and already covered more than half the peak. In his eyes flashed a look of profound astonishment.

“What formidable young people. Perhaps the future of the martial world lies with them.”

Though he had already felt this mist before and understood how fearsome it was, seeing it again still filled him with involuntary wonder.

“Go. Go,” the old monk said softly as he looked upon the sea of mist covering the mountain.

“Go?” The monks were immediately bewildered by his words. Go? What did that mean?

A trace of unease suddenly rose in their hearts. They exchanged glances for a long while before the abbott cautiously asked, “May I ask what the patriarch means?”

The old monk turned back to look at them and gave a faint, mournful sigh. “Do you know the origin of this mist?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

The crowd was stunned. They thought hard for a long time, yet still found no clue at all.

“Please enlighten us, Patriarch!” In the absence of an answer, it was still the abbott who spoke first.

“Do you remember what you most wanted before?”

“Was it them?”

“How could that be?”

“Could the source of this mist be them?”

“But how is that possible?”

At those words, the crowd erupted. How could it be possible? This mist stretching across the mountains, clearly no ordinary thing, how could it have been made by them?

Weren’t they said to be no more than innately gifted at best? Even if the estimate were off, and they were at most heavenly beings, how could they possibly have produced such a mist?

“Hm?”

The questions flashed through their minds. Only afterward did the crowd realize the most important point:

“They survived the pursuit of the entire martial world?”

They must have. Not only survived, but perhaps the process had exceeded even their imagination. Otherwise, they would not be here, and they would not have created such a vast expanse of mist.

The patriarch would never lie to them. Since he said so, then the two boys hunted by the entire martial world must have survived this calamity. Moreover, their strength might not be what they had imagined either.

Once they reached this point, the question they had asked earlier no longer needed an answer. The truth had already become clear.

Yet they still found it hard to believe.

“Patriarch?” The abbott looked at the old monk, hesitating to speak.

“You made that decision in the first place. Now they have come to settle the score.”

The old monk’s tone held not the slightest emotion. Calm as still water, it fell into their ears like thunder.

“Is that not only natural?”

“But, Patriarch...” The abbott opened his mouth, still wanting to say more.

“Go. Go.” The old monk turned away and would not look at them again. He waved a hand to cut the abbott off, repeating himself again and again.

“...”

“Yes.” After a moment of silence, the crowd pressed their palms together and departed.

Only after everyone had gone did the old monk turn back, looking at the mist that had already nearly occupied the entire mountain, and murmured to himself, “If you do not go, how can their resentment ever be soothed?”

“Fortunately, these two bear only resentment, and not killing intent. Otherwise, this would truly be difficult to handle.” Gazing at the white expanse of mist, the old monk sighed inwardly. “Such talent truly is astonishing.”

“If causing you a little suffering can dispel their anger, then in truth, it is worth it.”

“Face.” The old monk smiled and shook his head, but there was only bitterness in his smiling eyes. What face was there left in the martial world now? When even the martial world itself had no face, what face could a small sect within it possibly have?

“So long as the martial world can escape its present plight, even if there is only a sliver of hope left, that will be enough.”

So he thought. And in his mind, scenes from his years on the Isle of the Peerless came flashing back one after another, deepening the bitterness in his heart.

Time passed slowly, unseen yet undeniably real.

On the rear mountain, the old monk let out another faint sigh and began to walk, step by step, through the mist that had already enveloped the entire peak, passing one grand hall after another.

One monk after another stood frozen within the mist. Save for their eyes, there was not a single part of them that could move.

Step by step, the old monk walked on, looking as he went. The abbott, the elders, every monk he had ever met gradually appeared before him, all held fast by the mist like statues planted upon the ground.

Seeing all this, the old monk’s expression remained placid, his eyes as still as an ancient well. There was not the slightest trace of anger in his heart. Compared with the scenes he had imagined, what lay before him now seemed almost tranquil.

Step by step, he continued onward, following the mist-covered path down the mountain.

...

Crash.

In the small pavilion on the mountain, Zhou Yi seemed to notice something. With a sweep of his hand, he scattered the chessboard and rose to look toward the mountain above.

“You!” Song Hai said, furious. He had clearly already won; he was only one move from victory.

“Someone is coming,” Zhou Yi said without turning around, his expression solemn, as though the one who had done all that before was not him at all.

“You cheated!” Song Hai glared at him, cheeks puffed with anger. Seeing that stern look on his face, he wanted nothing more than to slap him.

“All right, stop fooling around.” Zhou Yi’s calm, indifferent words instantly drove Song Hai’s anger even higher.

“In the mist, the old monk appeared gradually and soon stood before them, palms pressed together, greeting them politely. “This old monk is a monk of the Bodhi Monastery. I understand your purpose, benefactor, and I shall not hinder what you do. Coming down the mountain this time, I have two intentions.”

“Two matters?” Zhou Yi muttered as he looked at the monk.

Song Hai no longer played around either. He studied the newly appeared old monk with great curiosity.

“The first is to meet the two young prodigies whom even the Isle of the Peerless has noticed at such a tender age,” the old monk said. As he spoke, he carefully examined the pair from head to toe. After a long moment, a trace of satisfaction flashed in his eyes, and his own excitement could not help but rise a little.

“And the second?” Zhou Yi asked quickly, feeling deeply uncomfortable under the old monk’s gaze.

“As for the second...”