The long, quiet winter was the happiest time Mu Dishi and Ma Jingguo had ever known. When spring finally arrived, they put their long-delayed plans into motion. After returning The Spirit Sword Manual to the Tianshan Sect, they stopped at the inn to give their friend Wang Niu some money to care for their home.
With their morning breakfast finished, and a few gifts dropped off, the two men began their journey south, leaving the peaceful, green mountains of Tianshan far behind.
Early that morning, Liu Fu's path was blocked by a large chest sitting squarely in the middle of the welcome gate. He quickly returned to the house, where he found Liu Xiu, and the two of them walked together to the chest. Liu Xiu threw open the lid, revealing a gleaming hoard of gold and silver coins.
A small note lay on top of the riches. Inscribed with a simple elegance, it read:
For the two bowls of noodles and the destroyed welcome gate.
Liu Xiu looked at Liu Fu, her face alight with a brilliant smile.
"Grandfather," she exclaimed, "it must be Mu ge and Ma ge!"
After the annual martial arts competition for young disciples concluded, leaders from the six sects and four clans gathered in the guest hall of Shaolin Temple.
"Has any of you heard of a wanderer xia named xiao shushu?" Tang Jianyu asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"I have also heard of it," Monk Ling replied, a solemn look on his face.
Tang Jianyu continued, his voice a low growl of frustration. "People will talk endlessly about all the praise and respect he's earned, but the moment I ask where to find him, they shut down completely. They instantly treat me like an enemy."
Yong Gui nodded slowly, his expression serious. "I've heard the same. This xiao shushu has made a lot of contributions to the people. My sources tell me that when the government refused to help, this man put food on the poor people's table."
He continued, his voice growing more solemn. "Last year, after a drought ruined the rice fields, the villagers miraculously received over a thousand bags of rice from him. And in another case, when Huang Village was flooded, the survivors had to set up camp outside of Tong Village. The very next morning, a bag of money appeared next to each and every family."
"It sounds like this xiao shushu has immense wealth," Kuo Ju said, "and he doesn't seem to fear being robbed."
"Mother, do you think he could be a government official?" Kuo Wenqian asked.
"I don't think so," Kuo Ju replied. "A government official cannot travel so freely, but it appears this xiao shushu can."
Yong Gui shook his head. "That, we don't know for sure. But what I've learned is that this xiao shushu is highly skilled. It isn't that robbers don't want to rob him—it's that they simply don't dare. Any who have tried have ended up dead."
"May I speak?" Kuo Changchang asked, her voice quiet but firm.
Monk Ling nodded solemnly. "Nun Ziyou, you may speak freely."
Kuo Changchang's gaze swept across the gathered leaders, and she delivered her words with chilling clarity. "The only person I know who uses the word 'xiao shushu' is Ma Jingguo."
A collective gasp swept through the hall. All color drained from the elders' faces as the true identity of the mysterious benefactor was revealed, leaving them stunned and speechless.
In a small town on the northern edge of the Gobi Desert, where the Song Dynasty met the Mongolian steppes, a young man stood on the city wall, watching the wind whip across the endless yellow sands. He was lost in thought when a hand patted his shoulder twice.
"Ah Lok," a familiar voice called out.
Kuo Lok turned to find his elder brother, Kuo Heng, standing there with a reassuring smile. "Da ge," he replied, a grin spreading across his face. "What is it?"
"Mother sent a letter for you," Kuo Heng said simply. "She wants you to return home."
Kuo Lok's smile faded slightly. "What about you?" he asked, a note of worry in his voice.
Kuo Heng's smile grew warmer, but his eyes held a hint of sadness. "I'll be okay. I'm more worried about your journey back home."
Kuo Lok looked away, his gaze dropping to his feet. He mumbled, "I... I..."
Kuo Heng placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You have to go. It's already been three years since you left home, and you can't keep acting like a nobody that no one knows." Kuo Heng's voice grew more earnest. "You are the son of a great shifu, but so few people even know that you are his son."
He gave Kuo Lok a gentle look. "Is that why you decided to stay here with me? Don't you miss mother?"
Kuo Lok looked up, a new resolve shining in his eyes. "Da ge," he said, his voice firm, "I will go to Central Plains the day after tomorrow."
"Ah Lok," Kuo Heng sighed, a weary sadness in his voice. "Sometimes, it's good to yell back at those who yell at you. You can't just stand there, looking at the ground and enduring their insults."
He placed a firm, gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "Da ge needs you to listen. Do you understand?
uo Lok's gaze fell to the ground. He stood there for a moment, a wave of shame washing over his face before he finally looked up at his brother. "I... I will try, da ge," he stammered, the words a difficult promise.
The late afternoon sun was warm as Mu Dishi and Ma Jingguo made their way back from the Mu family graves. But the peaceful atmosphere was quickly replaced by a somber one. The road was lined with countless people who had fled from war and natural disasters, their faces gaunt, their clothes tattered. They huddled near inns, begging for scraps of food or a few coins.
As Mu Dishi walked past a family of four, a familiar ache tightened in his chest. A memory, long suppressed, flickered in his eyes—a young, helpless family, just like his own.
A little girl, no older than his sister would have been, reached out and took his left hand. Her voice was thin and weak, but the desperation in her eyes was profound. "Ge ge, please give us some money," she pleaded. "We are so hungry. We haven't eaten in days."
The greeter at the inn walked over and roughly pulled the child's hand from Mu Dishi. "Go away!" he snapped at the girl. "Don't disturb our customers!" He then immediately plastered on a professional smile and turned to Mu Dishi. "My apologies, please come in."
As the waiter brought their food to the table, Ma Jingguo watched the crowds of weary people outside. "Why are there so many people here?" he asked the waiter.
The waiter sighed, his face etched with sadness. "It's because of the war up north," he began, "and the others are from a nearby village that was flooded. The government refuses to help them, claiming they're saving all their resources for the war." He shook his head slowly, a look of profound weariness on his face. "The emperors fight for land, and the officials fight for power, but those who suffer the most are citizens like us." With that, he turned and walked away.
Mu Dishi hesitated. "Jingguo, I..."
Ma Jingguo turned to him, an impatient yet affectionate look on his face. "What is it? Xiao shushu, if you don't complete your sentence, I won't understand your thoughts."
"I want to travel," Mu Dishi said, his voice filled with a quiet purpose, "and give away the Mu's treasure to help those who are in need."
Ma Jingguo's initial surprise gave way to a gentle smile. "Xiao shushu, are you sure?"
"Mm." Mu Dishi looked at him, his gaze soft but intense. "Will you help me?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Ma Jingguo took a step closer, his eyes reflecting absolute loyalty. "Xiao shushu, wherever you want to go, I will be right beside you."
After the two men had finished eating, they walked out of the inn. Mu Dishi's eyes immediately found the terrified little girl still huddled on the ground. He walked toward her and, with a gentle expression, carefully placed a large gold ingot into her small, trembling hand.
"Take this," Mu Dishi said softly.
At the same time, Ma Jingguo handed her a steamed bun. "You said you were hungry, little one?"
The little girl stared at the gold in her hand, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked up at her mother, then back at Mu Dishi, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. "Thank you, da ge," she whispered.
A small smile touched Mu Dishi's lips. "You're welcome."
Ma Jingguo's eyes lit up. "Xiao shushu, you're smiling!" he said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "You should do it more often, but not too much, because it's hard to resist."
Mu Dishi's smile vanished. "If you keep teasing me, I will stop."
"Please don't do that!" Ma Jingguo pleaded, holding onto Mu Dishi's left arm. "I truly want you to smile every day. Mother always said my smile could help relieve your pain, but did you know that seeing your smile makes me so happy I feel like I could fly?"
Just then, a small voice called out from behind them. "Thank you, xiao shushu!"
Mu Dishi's face flushed with embarrassment, and he angrily pulled his arm away. Ma Jingguo quickly caught his hand again, however, and began to playfully scold him for his reaction. The two men walked on, their voices and laughter fading as they disappeared into the bustling crowd.
The afternoon sun glittered on the river's surface, making it shine as if millions of diamonds were dancing from the depths. The current rushed against the shore with a steady roar as an old man stood on the edge of a sailing boat, lost in contemplation.
A quiet footstep broke the silence, and a figure approached from behind.
The man bowed respectfully. "Chief Wang, we will arrive in two days."
A wistful smile crossed the old man's face. "It's been fifteen years," he murmured, his gaze sweeping over the horizon. "I've finally returned to where it all began."
The man hesitated for a moment before continuing. "The young master sent a message. The Central Plains martial arts world is suffering severely due to the treasure map. But there is good news: Mingzhu has obtained the key, and the person you wanted her to save has been saved." He stood silently; his eyes fixed on the old man's back.
A smile of quiet satisfaction spread across the old man's face. "Very well," he murmured. "Everything went according to plan."
He let out a long, slow sigh, his smile deepening as he took a deep, deliberate breath. "Did you know there is no air in Tibet that smells as sweet as the air in Central Plains?" he said, his eyes filled with a wistful longing. He then closed them, his face tilted towards the rising sun, simply enjoying the moment.