The ruined temple at dawn was anything but peaceful.
Just last night, under the moonlight, a temporary truce of "mutual non-killing" had been made. At the break of dawn, Du He was already awake—thanks to the dog biting at his shoe heel.
Wuxin was sitting at the temple gate, brewing a bowl of "morning tea" with the leftover wine from last night. He sipped it, lips full of the wine's sharp taste.
Seeing Du He, he lifted his eyes lazily.
"Awake? The water jar's empty. Go fill it. Can't carry it? Fine, the dog can do it for you."
The dog yawned, disdainfully grabbed half a broken bamboo tube, and made a show of following him.
Du He was about to snap back when suddenly, outside the temple came a scholar-like shriek—
"Help! Someone's stealing my book chest—Master Monk, save me—!"
Before the cry died away, a figure in a scholar's robe barreled into the temple, kicking over half of Wuxin's wine jar in the process.
Wuxin: "…"
Du He: "…"
The dog stared at the spilled wine on the ground, growling low, as if it had just seen its sworn enemy.
---
The newcomer was a tall, skinny scholar.
His hat was askew, back empty, clutching only a ragged cloth bag, hair matted with dust.
Seeing Wuxin, he wept as if he'd lost his ancestral grave.
"Master! Save me! Those bandits stole my chest of books—ten years of studying—and even the love poems I wrote for my fiancée—wuwuwu—that was the only proof I had to trick her into marrying me!"
Wuxin raised a brow. "Fiancée? Love poems? Your mouth opens, and it reeks of scandal."
The scholar hadn't realized this crazy monk would break all decorum. He dropped to his knees with a thud.
"I've heard of Master Wuxin of Guixin Temple—wise and merciful—surely today you can save me from peril!"
Wuxin pointed at the spilled wine, then at the wreck of his shabby temple.
"See that? I can't even save half a jar of wine. And you want me to save your chest full of nonsense poems?"
The scholar was dumbfounded. "But… but you're a great monk!"
Wuxin sighed, patting the broken wine jar.
"The world always thinks monks are living Buddhas. But who knows—a living Buddha needs enough wine in him before he can persuade anyone to virtue."
Du He couldn't hold it in—he turned his head, coughed, and his shoulders shook uncontrollably.
The scholar flushed crimson with anxiety.
"Master! If you won't help, I've heard—there have been multiple disappearances in the village lately! Those bandits have been abducting people! If we don't wipe them out, they'll soon cause a rebellion in the hills—!"
Wuxin's eyes flickered. "Abducting people? How many?"
"Seven or eight… they say hunters from nearby villages, passing porters… and someone saw a white-robed swordsman with them once…"
Du He's face changed instantly. He fixed his stare on the scholar.
"White-robed swordsman? How old? Name?"
The scholar shrank back, trembling.
"I—I don't know… I only know they're hiding in the ruined pagoda in the back hills… Master, please, won't you help?"
Wuxin stood, patted the scholar's shoulder.
"Relax. I can't recover my wine jar, but your life—might be worth a bit of silver."
The scholar: "Ah?"
Du He looked at him and suddenly sneered.
"Congratulations. You've been swindled by this mad monk."
Wuxin turned to the dog.
"Let's go. Bring the water jar, borrow some rice on the way. Dog—tonight, make sure there's extra food for our new scholar guest—"
The dog barked happily, as if to promise there'd be meat tonight.
---
The mountain path outside Guixin Temple was desolate.
The dog led the way ahead, bamboo tube strapped on its back, swaggering like a little monk fetching water.
Du He carried the water jar, fuming inside. He didn't really want to follow Wuxin, but that "white-robed swordsman" was like a fishhook, snagging at his mind relentlessly.
Meanwhile, Wuxin strolled along—one hand carrying a fresh wine jug, the other tugging the scholar's ear as if he were out on a spring picnic.
"Master! Gently—my ear's going to fall off!" the scholar wailed.
Wuxin said unhurriedly,
"Next time, before you let bandits run off with your love poems, lock your brain in the book chest too."
The scholar: "…"
Du He couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.
---
The ruined pagoda sat atop the tallest back hill, solitary in the wind.
Its bricks were thick with moss; a corner of the roof was missing, as if struck by lightning.
The dog darted inside to scout, then ran out with a scrap of cloth in its mouth, tail wagging like a tattered flag.
"There's people inside—at least five," Du He muttered with a frown.
Wuxin instead hung his wine jug on the dog's neck.
"Guard this. Don't spill it."
Dog: Woof?
Wuxin patted its head.
"If you see people—bite them. Bite until they surrender."
Scholar: "Master! You're really going to set the dog on them? What if it kills someone—"
"If a dog kills a man, that's his bad luck. Blame the dog?" Wuxin arched an eyebrow. "If you don't want to die with them, find a rock and hide behind it."
He patted Du He's shoulder.
"Little He, lend me your blade."
Du He scowled. "Aren't you a monk?"
Wuxin replied lightly,
"A monk should put down killing intent. But a blade—one must carry it to belong to the Jianghu."
---
Inside the pagoda was indeed noisy.
By a few cracked pillars, some filthy bandits were tearing up steamed buns. A pot of meat soup bubbled on the fire, its sour stench so foul the scholar nearly fainted just peeking in.
Wuxin strolled in, blade propped on his shoulder, voice lazy.
"Good sirs, this humble monk has a small request."
Five or six bandits turned at once—next second, one drew his knife.
"Who's there—?!"
Before he could finish—
The dog sprang like an arrow, landed square between the man's legs, and bit down.
"Aaaaagh—!!"
The forest echoed with screams blending man and pig alike.
---
Du He booted over a fleeing bandit and pressed his blade to the man's throat.
"Speak! Where's the white-robed swordsman?"
The bandit sweated buckets.
"S-swordsman? What swordsman? We—we just rob travelers—no swordsman—!"
Wuxin propped his blade by the fire, flipped the meat out of the pot with it, took a bite, then spat it out with a frown.
"Rank. Dog, stop biting men. Bite this pot instead."
The dog turned, spat out a shredded piece of pants, then plopped by the pot to gnaw the meat happily.
The scholar trembled behind the door, rattling like a basket of beans.
"M-Master… are they not human traffickers?"
Wuxin picked his teeth.
"They did grab a few people, but couldn't even smuggle them out of the village—got beaten back and have been squatting here gnawing on rats ever since. As for the white-robed swordsman—he's probably out hunting someone."
Du He narrowed his eyes.
"Hunting who?"
Wuxin glanced at him, lazily sheathing the blade.
"You."
Du He froze. "Hunting me? What does that—"
Before he could finish, a cold laugh echoed from atop the pagoda.
"Here to settle accounts."
Everyone looked up—
There, under the moon, stood a lone figure clad in white as snow, sword at his back, blade glinting in the night.
The scholar shrieked, "Mother—!" and promptly fainted.
Wuxin shook his head and sighed.
"Ah… haven't even finished my wine, and trouble's here already."
The dog looked up, gave a single woof, then lowered its head, undisturbed, to gnaw the pot clean.