Volume One: The Emperor’s Decree Chapter Thirty-One: The Five Monks Stirring the Imperial Court

To his surprise, instead of remaining in the comfort of his own spacious residence, the Fourth Prince had appeared here—clearly on guard against some impending event.

Shen Desan, shrewd and calculating, had sensed trouble brewing along the way ever since the incident in Changlecheng three days prior. The road had been far from peaceful; several groups from the capital had come out to greet him. What had become of those people—whether they had encountered Nie Xiang and if violence had broken out—remained unknown.

They were ushered into the main hall, where everyone took their seats as guests and hosts. Young monks served tea, and from the courtyard, the occasional sound of the wooden fish echoed softly.

“Master Shen, is the cargo in good condition?”

“It’s right here, Your Highness. Please inspect it.” Shen Desan presented the Night-Lit Flying Horse statue with both hands, setting it reverently upon the tea table. Though it had traveled far, the precious artifact was spotless.

The Fourth Prince stroked its smooth surface, his eyes alight with excitement. “Excellent! Excellent! Miss Xiao, have you brought the items from Everjoy Pavilion?”

He had paid dearly to enlist the aid of the famed thief, and only after hearing that Nie Xiang himself had left the capital to personally intervene in Changlecheng did he feel his investment justified. In all the land, those capable of dealing with Nie Xiang could be counted on one hand—the old master thief among them.

Xiao Le nodded and produced a small bundle from her bosom, handing it to the prince. Within were a letter and half a jade pendant; Shen Desan’s eyes nearly popped from their sockets. Rumors about the Crown Prince’s true identity abounded in the city, some downright fantastical—these two items, it seemed, were the Fourth Prince’s ace in the hole.

“Master Shen, you must be weary from your journey. Accommodations have been prepared in the side courtyard for all of you. Please rest awhile; once matters are settled in the coming days, I shall see you safely away.”

After verifying the goods, the Fourth Prince’s eyes gleamed, and his speech quickened. This was not a request but an unassailable condition. Since the prince had offered a face-saving way out, Shen Desan, however unwilling, had little choice but to accept.

The capital was fraught with hidden dangers. He was here both to complete this transaction and to return to his family. Until the money was in hand, he could not leave. Now, all he could do was pray for the prince’s swift success. Whatever earth-shattering deeds the prince intended, Shen Desan was now too deep to turn back.

“Then, Your Highness, we’ll take our leave for now. Please command us as you see fit!” Shen Desan bowed and withdrew from the hall.

The tea on the table remained warm—untouched by any.

Once the guests had gone, the Fourth Prince coughed twice. “Master Wisdom, everyone has left. Please come out.”

From behind the screen at the rear of the hall, an elderly monk with white beard and brows emerged, fingering a string of prayer beads. His eyes narrowed to slits as he smiled and seated himself beside the prince.

“Master Wisdom, though there were some setbacks, we managed to remedy them in time. Everything has been brought here safely.” The prince treated him with utmost respect; since birth, this old monk had been his staunchest supporter.

This time, the monk had called on his own network, summoning countless eminent monks and disciples from Western Waters and North Lean provinces, hiding them throughout the city.

Master Wisdom surveyed the items on the table, clearly satisfied.

“We may proceed to the next step. Tomorrow at court, the throne’s fate will be decided!” His final words were squeezed out between clenched teeth, exuding a venomous determination scarcely befitting a man of spiritual cultivation.

From this courtyard, young monks began darting out, cloaked in coarse mantles, carrying messages through the alleys.

Seeing the sudden bustle, Shen Desan realized that impatience would do him no good. After eating his fill, he retired early to his room. The others also settled into their quarters. In Liu Xiaoyi’s room, aside from Yu Wenwan, there was now an extra bald head.

It was none other than Jingkong, whom they hadn’t seen since departing from the Southern Wilds, now entering with a tray of food.

“I saw you as soon as you arrived! Master Liu, Miss Yu, you shouldn’t be here—it’s far too dangerous!” Jingkong’s face was full of worry. Upon seeing friends, he poured out his troubles at once. “All my senior brothers have been preparing for this night for dozens of days. The capital is about to become a slaughterhouse! You’d best leave quickly.”

Normally talkative, Jingkong spoke even faster in his anxiety. Liu Xiaoyi quickly handed him a cup of water to calm him.

“Jingkong, the capital’s about to fall into chaos? Are you saying monks are about to go on a killing spree?”

“My master never told me, but after the martial contest before the Buddha, my five senior brothers all appeared below the stage. Each is a force to reckon with—Arhats in mortal form, all at the tenth level of the Earth Soul realm!”

Jingkong’s fellow disciples numbered in the thousands, all from the Great Transformation Temple. The five strongest among them had formidable reputations in the martial world.

The Fourth Prince, considered the reincarnation of the Buddha at birth, owed this title to Master Wisdom’s machinations. Buddhism and Taoism were marginalized in the Iron Dynasty, where martial prowess was prized over scholarship. Refusing to languish in remote hinterlands, Master Wisdom had resorted to such desperate measures.

If the Fourth Prince succeeded, Buddhism would flourish, and Master Wisdom would rightfully become the Imperial Monk. Lately, the old monk had been so pleased he laughed even in his sleep. Despite his age, he was full of cunning; all vows and precepts turned to dust before the prospect of power.

Liu Xiaoyi was stunned; only after listening to Jingkong’s explanation did he realize that though monks ate vegetarian fare, their minds were anything but gentle.

“But can the five monks and thousands of disciples really stand against the prince’s regular army?”

Jingkong produced a wrinkled map from his robes, covered in marks. “The Crown Prince may have the Blue Plume Army, but the Fourth Prince commands the Red Tassel Cavalry. They’ve been stationed at the palace gates since morning, awaiting orders.”

Each prince possessed his own hidden resources. Though young, the Fourth Prince was deeply calculating and had cultivated his own force, wary even of the monks.

“Our mission is to storm the court once my five brothers cause a diversion. Once we occupy it, if the prince brings troops, he’ll be branded a traitor!” Jingkong spilled the entire plan to Liu Xiaoyi.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll run off and spread the word?” Liu Xiaoyi laughed as he ate.

Jingkong’s face shifted dramatically. “I only told you because I trust you—don’t betray me! Master put me in charge of the junior disciples, but I don’t want any trouble. I had no choice!”

The pressure had been too much for him. Always kind-hearted, Jingkong had been terrified upon learning he was involved in a coup, and it had taken him days to recover.

“What will you do when the time comes? Charge in with the rest?”

Jingkong was on the verge of tears. “Everyone is charging in—I have no other option. I can’t defy my master’s orders.”

Temple rules were strict; the hierarchy between master and disciple was absolute. No meant no.

Liu Xiaoyi pondered. His sword had been taken by the old master thief, who was now somewhere in the capital. There weren’t many guards here, so slipping out would be easy, but with Yu Wenwan in tow, moving about would be difficult.

After eating, Jingkong didn’t dare linger and left, leaving behind the courtyard map for Liu Xiaoyi.

Yu Wenwan, sensing his hesitation, sat beside him. “I’ll stay here in this room and wait for your return.”

“You know what I’m thinking?” Liu Xiaoyi looked up to find her gazing at him with utter trust—clear and unguarded as water.

“If I knew martial arts, I’d want to get involved, too. Besides, you don’t want anything to happen to that little monk, do you?”

Though Liu Xiaoyi hadn’t known Jingkong long, he appreciated his sincerity and candor—a rare friend indeed.

A trip to the palace was fraught with peril, but since they’d come this far, Liu Xiaoyi was loath to miss it. His father had said: the more you experience, the keener your sword.

His father himself had weathered countless storms as a swordsman—how else could he guard a royal token alone?

“Before I go, I’ll lock the door from outside. Don’t make a sound. If I’m not back by dawn, smash the window with this sword and find the Shen sisters.”

Just as he finished speaking, there was a loud knock at the door. “Brother Liu! Miss Yu! Do you have time to come over?” Shen Zhong called.

It turned out the others were also discussing going out for a look tonight. Shen Zhong had bribed a young monk outside for some information.

He Qingqing was the first to suggest joining the excitement. She’d picked up plenty of bad habits from the old master thief—danger only made her eyes light up.

“How fun! I want to go, too. Right, Senior Sister?” He Qingqing clung to Xiao Le’s arm, wheedling.

Xiao Le kicked her away. “When we get there, you can listen from outside. It’s dangerous inside.”

“I want to go, too. Brother Liu, shall we go together? Miss Yu and my sister can keep each other company.” Shen Zhong gave his sister a meaningful look, afraid Liu Xiaoyi would refuse.

Had Liu Xiaoyi declined, not even two oxen could have dragged Shen Zhong along. Sneaking into the palace, he’d have been paralyzed with fear.

Shen Xu glared at her brother. “What fool drags others into the fire with them?”

But when Liu Xiaoyi nodded, Yu Wenwan offered no objection, simply watching him with an amused smile.

Shen Xu was puzzled. “Miss Yu, this is extremely dangerous. Why do you agree?”

“Whatever he wants to do, I support him,” Yu Wenwan replied earnestly.

By day, the capital whirred like a finely-tuned machine, with news circulating at every turn.

That afternoon, the Crown Prince’s Blue Plume Army attempted to take charge of the city’s defenses, but the Imperial Guards, loyal only to the emperor’s command token, barred them from entering. The Red Tassel Cavalry stood ready at the palace gates; even the palace servants and eunuchs were forbidden to come and go freely.

Martial law remained in effect until nightfall. The seasoned palace staff sensed something amiss—those who went to report to the inner court and the Grand General’s residence never returned.

With no orders from above, the servants dared not speculate, instead preparing for the evening as usual.

Within the vast palace, three towering walls divided the outer courts into four layers. Several shadowy figures flitted over the walls from different directions, converging on the central palace.

All five wore coarse short robes and wide-brimmed hats that obscured their faces, their movements in the moonlight shrouded in mystery.

They moved swiftly and silently, toes barely touching the walls as if treading on cotton.

Below, palace maids and eunuchs bustled through the corridors, unaware of the figures racing above their heads.

With acrobatic agility, the five slipped from the outer palace into the inner court in a quarter of an hour.

“Who goes there! Assassins!”

During the emperor’s coma, countless elite guards stood watch. The moment the five entered, they were detected; torches flared to life, illuminating the palace like daylight.

Dozens of brocade-clad guards leapt to the rooftops, intent on forcing the intruders down. But the five showed no fear and engaged them directly.

A staff swept a swath clear, while a crescent-moon blade gleamed like a silver fish, shattering glazed tiles.

Each wielded a different weapon, and in a flash, they cleared the rooftops. One vanished without a trace, while the remaining four loosed signal arrows into the sky, drawing more defenders—who were all swiftly cut down.

Suddenly, a golden dart whizzed from the shadows, aimed at the four’s vital points. Fortunately, they dodged in time.

“Well done! The Five Monks of Western Waters—what brings you to storm the palace at night?” A short-haired, black-clad elder appeared, his body jangling with metal as though he’d just robbed a smithy.

These were the five senior brothers Jingkong had mentioned, each mastering one of the five elements.

He blocked their path with his five-metal staff.

“Xu Xing, the Thousand-Handed Daoist? Why are you here? Sent by the Crown Prince, perhaps?”

One recognized him—an unparalleled master of hidden weapons, formidable even against four at once.

“The Crown Prince couldn’t afford me. Today, I’d like to see just how skilled the Five Monks of Western Waters truly are!”

With that, Xu Xing swung his staff overhead, while his left foot shot back, launching plum-blossom darts into the air.

The move was masterful. His staff pressed down on the monk’s, nearly snapping it in two. True energy surged between them, forcing the monk to one knee, his face flushed.

Though both were at the tenth level of the Earth Soul realm, their techniques made all the difference.

Xu Xing’s energy was razor-sharp—like throwing darts, it pierced with precision.

The monk roared, thrusting upward and shaking Xu Xing off. Behind him, the crescent blade flashed at Xu Xing’s face. The Golden Monk’s twin-bladed crescent, forged by a master, could cleave gold and jade alike.

A golden dart blocked the main blade, but a hidden dagger within the hilt split off, evading the defense.

The blade’s secret was that a smaller knife was concealed within. When thrown, all eyes were on the main blade, leaving the small one unnoticed.

“Well done!” Xu Xing shrugged off the blow, firing a volley of short arrows that not only blocked the dagger but forced the two monks into peril.

Clang! A roll of coarse cloth swept in, blocking the arrows with a metallic clang.

The Water Monk’s cloth, infused with true energy, was as hard as steel.

Suddenly, from beneath the floor, hands seized Xu Xing’s ankles, dragging him downward.

“Trouble!” Xu Xing cursed, struggling as the floor turned to mire. The more he moved, the deeper he sank.

In desperation, he pressed his tongue to his jaw, channeling true energy outward through his pores. The heat liquefied the earth, turning it to sludge. He flailed with his staff, forcing the Earth Monk out of the wall.

Exhausted and drenched in sweat, Xu Xing laughed. “Worthy of your fame, monks. Daring to infiltrate the palace at night isn’t easy!”

“Daoist, in half an hour, the world will change. I advise you to be wise,” cautioned the Golden Monk.

Each of the five had mastered their elemental arts and spoke with conviction.

While they fought, the palace guards, alerted by the signal arrows, rushed to the scene. In the still of night, the alarm was impossible to miss.

Xu Xing, seeing reinforcements arrive, hefted his staff. “Now that the three Palace Generals are here, let’s have another round!”

The old emperor’s four Palace Generals were all renowned warriors. Seeing assassins infiltrate the palace, they could not contain their fury.

Weapons flashed, and eight men clashed in fierce combat.

In recent years, the Iron Dynasty had prospered, drawing countless talents to its court. The standards for palace guards had risen from the third to the fifth level of the Earth Soul realm. The generals were all at the eighth level—victory would not come easily for either side.

To reach the emperor’s chambers, one had to pass through the rear of the main hall and the imperial study.

The ruckus outside was inaudible here, lest the emperor’s rest be disturbed.

The Fire Monk crept along the gallery wall toward the sleeping quarters. The area was deathly quiet, save for the gentle murmur of a stream.

Reaching the central pavilion above the water, the Fire Monk produced a small vial from his robe, grinning. As long as he emptied it in the adjoining bedchamber, the deed would be done.

But as he rose, he saw a towering armored general barring the path, eyes glinting with grim amusement.

“Who goes there? State your name!” The iron-clad general hefted twin hammers. He stood over ten feet tall, with a face like the King of Hell, eyes glaring like copper bells, and a bristling mustache.

The Fire Monk was puzzled. He had used his five-element escape technique to mask his presence—how had he been detected?

He gave no answer, but spun and transformed into a ball of flame, darting for the bedchamber.

The general hurled a hammer, its head trailing fire as it flew.

Sensing the deadly threat behind him, the Fire Monk planted his feet in two fireballs atop the hammer, using its momentum to propel himself faster. He crashed into the sleeping quarters, smashed the vial, and a strange fragrance filled the room.

An ashen-faced old man lay unconscious on the imperial bed. Inhaling the scent, he immediately coughed blood, convulsed, and died.