Chapter Sixty-Six: The Restoration of the Qing Dynasty

"Wait a moment." Zhou Yi saw that Xuhua was about to make a move without hesitation and hurriedly called out to stop him.

"I wonder what further instructions Master Zhou might have?" Xuhua halted immediately at Zhou Yi's words.

"Before we fight, may I ask Master for your Dharma name?" Zhou Yi was now only thinking of finding an opportunity to escape. Both of them had survived the Heavenly Tribulation—such a battle could drag on endlessly. Fleeing was the wisest course.

Xuhua pressed his palms together and recited a Buddhist phrase. "Amitabha. This humble monk's Dharma name is Xuhua." When monks announced their Dharma names, they always lowered their eyes and bowed their heads, to show devotion to the Tathagata and respect for the master who bestowed the name.

This, too, was an unspoken rule in Buddhism.

Yet before Xuhua had finished stating his name, Zhou Yi turned on his heel and ran, abandoning the fight.

In truth, Xuhua had been careless in letting Zhou Yi escape. After all, Zhou Yi had already weathered the Heavenly Tribulation. For Buddhist monks and Daoist masters who had reached this level, their reputation meant more to them than life itself. Even knowing they would lose, they would never flee—there was simply no precedent. But Xuhua's miscalculation lay exactly here: Zhou Yi did not play by the rules.

"Master Zhou, how can you flee without a fight? Are you not concerned for your reputation?" Xuhua gave chase, his voice booming forth with the Lion's Roar Technique of Buddhism.

"Bald monk, you're far too troublesome! I have no grievance with you—going home and sleeping would be much more comfortable!" Zhou Yi shouted as he ran. Though Lu Ya's transmission of Daoist skills was not particularly powerful, after passing the Heavenly Tribulation, the technique known as "Swift Wind Step" proved exceedingly useful.

Xuhua used the Buddhist art "Cloud Ladder Vault," a superior movement technique, but even so, he could not catch up with Zhou Yi at full speed.

Thus, the chase began at midday and continued into the night, with Xuhua tirelessly pursuing Zhou Yi.

"Boss, bring me a jin of strong liquor, quickly." By the time they reached Shenyang, it was already evening. Zhou Yi glanced back—Xuhua was nowhere in sight—so he slipped into a tavern. There was no time to eat; he simply ordered a jin of liquor to drink on the go.

"Amitabha, Master Zhou, it would be best if you returned to Mount Wutai with me and awaited the abbot's decision," Xuhua's voice rang out again in the near distance.

Zhou Yi had just taken a swig of liquor when he turned to see Xuhua—truly a relentless ghost, chasing him from midday till night, from Changbai Mountain all the way to Shenyang.

Seeing Xuhua, Zhou Yi gulped down the mouthful of liquor. "Bald monk, care for a drink?" he called, tossing the wine jug to Xuhua.

Xuhua smiled faintly. "Thank you, Master Zhou." With a flick of hidden strength, he caught the jug and took a deep swig, the liquor gurgling down his throat. But when he finished, Zhou Yi was nowhere to be seen. Ignoring how strange his own movements might seem to bystanders, Xuhua threw himself into the chase again.

By midnight, Zhou Yi had passed the city gates. After so long flying through the air, even someone who had survived the Heavenly Tribulation was running low on spiritual energy. Glancing back, Zhou Yi saw Xuhua less than half a mile behind.

He felt no regret for having slain Zhang Zuozheng—Zhang deserved to die. But with Xuhua so relentless in pursuit, it was impossible to shake him. Zhou Yi had tried slipping into crowds, but Xuhua always found him with unerring accuracy.

Could Xuhua possess a tracking technique?

Zhou Yi furrowed his brow in thought as he ran. If such a technique existed, he could use a formation to mask his aura. With this in mind, he quickly changed course, heading east.

To the east lay a forest, sparsely populated. Once there, Zhou Yi suppressed his spiritual energy and proceeded on foot, hiding his presence. Surely, it would take Xuhua some time to find him now.

Suppressing his spiritual power made it harder for Zhou Yi to see in the dark, and the forest was full of thorns, making the trek miserable. "Damn bald monk," he muttered, "one day, when I can defeat you, I’ll chase you for three days and three nights so you can taste what it’s like."

As he whispered, he startled a flock of birds, which fluttered eastward. Zhou Yi cursed his carelessness.

Without a second thought, he gathered his energy and leapt northward, using all the spiritual power he could muster. At full strength, he could cover nearly a mile with a single leap. Midway through, he abruptly withdrew his energy, causing himself to plummet rapidly.

Moments later, Xuhua's silhouette flashed overhead. Zhou Yi covered his mouth to stifle a laugh. "Foolish monk, you want to play? I’ll play you to death," he muttered to Xuhua’s retreating figure, then turned and headed south.

A short distance ahead lay Qinhuangdao. Zhou Yi planned to make a stop there before heading straight for the capital. Shaking off Xuhua, he would then retrieve the three keys from Zhang Xun.

Exhausted, he could not force himself to travel any farther. He entered Qinhuangdao on foot, but the inns were already closed for the night, so he had no choice but to sleep outdoors.

“Heh, let’s see you find me now,” Zhou Yi chuckled. On his way into town, he had passed an abandoned temple. At first, he’d avoided it because it looked filthy, but now, with nowhere else to go, it seemed the perfect refuge.

The temple was dilapidated, its roof long since fallen in. Inside stood statues of Maitreya Buddha and Guanyin; the paint had long peeled away, exposing the yellow clay beneath.

The temple offered little shelter from wind or rain, but Zhou Yi noticed Maitreya’s enormous belly. Circling behind the statue, he used a fire talisman to burn open a hole in its back, then slipped inside.

“Go ahead and look for me, bald monk. I’m going to sleep.” Leaning against Maitreya’s belly from within, Zhou Yi quickly drifted off.

Xuhua, having been left a dozen miles behind, finally lost Zhou Yi’s trail in Qinhuangdao. He pressed his palms together, flipped his wrists, and produced a string of prayer beads made of pearls—eighteen in all, perfectly round and matched, clearly of the highest quality. According to the Sutra on the Merits of Bead-Counting, beads made from different materials provided varying benefits in cultivation: iron gave fivefold merit, red copper tenfold, pearls and coral a hundredfold, wood seeds a thousandfold, lotus seeds ten thousandfold, Indra’s beads a millionfold, diamond seeds ten millionfold, crystal a hundred millionfold, while bodhi seeds brought immeasurable merit.

Lowering his head, Xuhua recited the “Ten Thousand Mile Pursuit Incantation.” When he finished, a trace of doubt crept into his eyes. This tracking technique had never failed him before, not even if his quarry was hidden among water or fire, but today, it was useless.

Resigned, he gave up the search and found a graveyard where he sat cross-legged, chanting the Rebirth Mantra to ease the souls of the departed.

The night passed without incident. At dawn, Zhou Yi woke, emerged from the ruined temple, and saw that the streets and alleys of Qinhuangdao were decked out with the plain dragon banners of the Qing Dynasty. People bustled about, excitedly spreading the news: the Qing Dynasty had been restored.

Zhou Yi looked south, no longer daring to linger, and hurried towards the capital.

This is the final chapter—no more drafts in reserve. Back to writing, time to build up a stockpile.