Chapter 57: The Beautiful, Strong, and Tragic Cannon Fodder Villain—My Father Is a King (10)

White Horse Temple was a place of fervent incense offerings, its popularity unmatched; countless people came and went, burning their prayers. The enormous incense burner before the main hall was heaped with ash.

Among those who came to offer incense were common folk, wandering swordsmen, and even wealthy merchants with their families in tow.

Yet this was not the true mountain gate of White Horse Temple. The actual entrance lay higher up the mountain.

Qin Ye bypassed the incense-thick temple at the foot of the mountain, following a winding goat path straight up toward the heights.

“Amitabha, benefactor, we meet again.”

Without turning his head, Qin Ye flicked a dart back at the speaker. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

Years ago, Qin Ye had crossed paths with a young monk, who had later caused him to become the target of an elder monk’s ire. But now, calling him a young monk no longer seemed appropriate.

After all, six years had passed. The boy monk had grown into a man, now possessing a striking, almost ethereal elegance.

Fortunately, the passage of time had spared his features; now, as a monk, he looked more like the beloved young suitor of some sheltered maiden than a disciple of Buddha. With his hands pressed together, the monk smiled serenely:

“I have practiced the monastery’s forbidden art, the Six Senses Perception. I recognize people by their hearts, not their appearance. Thus, I recognized you, benefactor.”

Qin Ye gave a nonchalant grunt. “You bald lot are a nuisance.”

The monk, undisturbed, fell in step beside him. “You come to White Horse Temple, but I doubt you’re here for old times’ sake?”

“My family’s younger generation is about to venture out into the martial world. I’m here to make my presence known.”

The monk nodded, recalling their first meeting when Qin Ye had a child on his back and another in his arms.

“And you? As a cast-out disciple of White Horse Temple, you’re not here to beg for readmission, are you?”

The monk smiled. “I had a misunderstanding with my elders. My master, in a fit of anger, wanted to strip me of my martial skills. With no other choice, I resisted. For that, they expelled me and branded me a traitor.”

“Wasn’t it because you broke your monastic vows first, and your master tried to take your skills?”

The monk’s smile faded. “You’re well-informed. But if you know that much, perhaps you also know what vow I broke?”

In truth, Qin Ye did not. The reason why White Horse Temple’s former prodigy had been expelled was an internal secret, never spoken of outside the temple. The fact that Qin Ye even knew the monk had broken a vow was testament to his formidable intelligence network—especially given he had never specifically investigated the monk’s past.

While they spoke, the two arrived at the true mountain gate of White Horse Temple.

A monk sweeping by the gate looked up as they approached. He glanced at Qin Ye, whose attire was anything but orthodox, but had no strong reaction—until his eyes fell on the monk beside him. The sweeper jerked as if struck by lightning.

“Zhenyi… Senior Brother Zhenyi!”

“Zhenjing, it’s been a while. How have you been?”

The sweeper, looking as if he’d seen a ghost, turned and fled.

Zhenyi smiled. “Zhenjing is simply overwhelmed with nostalgia, hence his reaction.”

Qin Ye began to appreciate Zhenyi’s thick skin; few could match such shameless composure.

Thus, Qin Ye’s attempt to pay formal respects at the temple turned, thanks to Zhenyi’s presence, into a bystander’s role—an observer munching on the sidelines.

Just then, the elder monk who had once vented his anger on Qin Ye leapt out, a picture of wrathful indignation.

“Zhenyi, how dare you return?”

“Why wouldn’t I dare? But it’s you, Uncle Yuanjue, who should be ashamed!”

The elder, unable to bear the slight, immediately launched into a brawl with Zhenyi.

No one paid Qin Ye any mind, so he retreated to the roof of a temple building, settling in to watch the spectacle unfold from above. Before climbing the mountain, his subordinates had stuffed his pockets with sunflower seeds, which now proved their worth.

As he watched, Qin Ye ate his fill.

White Horse Temple’s prodigies followed a tradition: upon reaching a certain level of attainment, they would be sent down the mountain to temper themselves in the world, much like how Daoist cultivators sought to refine their hearts amidst the secular world.

But after Zhenyi descended the mountain, he met a young woman. Their hearts grew close, and Zhenyi was willing to renounce his status as a temple prodigy, becoming a secular disciple, for her sake.

His elders, however, could not bear to see their carefully nurtured disciple give up everything for a woman. They sought out the woman, persuading her to let Zhenyi go.

She took their advice to heart, severed her feelings, and promptly agreed to marry into a wealthy local family as a concubine.

At that point, the matter was essentially resolved. The woman let Zhenyi go of her own accord; he was never one to force a marriage. Though there would be a wound in his heart, time would heal it.

However, the young master she married turned out to be a monster. Within three days, she was dead by his hand.

Zhenyi, still unaware that the woman had decided to give him up, came seeking her after telling his sect of his decision. When he arrived, all he found was her battered, unrecognizable corpse.

Zhenyi’s prodigious talent and insight had always set him apart. His experiences in the martial world had shaped him, but his thoughts and actions were never bound by convention. Otherwise, Qin Ye would never have seen, on their first meeting, a strange little monk carrying his horse on his back because the animal was too slow.

Zhenyi’s martial arts were the most orthodox Buddhist techniques of the temple. But upon discovering his beloved’s gruesome death, he snapped and fell into madness.

The elders had never expected things to go this far, but they bore some responsibility for the woman’s fate.

Zhenyi avenged her by slaughtering the young master. The elders pursued him, claiming he had been possessed and needed to be brought back to contemplate his sins and suppress his inner demons.

After his revenge, Zhenyi obediently returned. But he felt no remorse.

Seeing this, the hot-tempered Yuanjue exploded with rage, revealing in his fury that the tragedy was largely the fault of both the temple and Zhenyi himself.

Hearing this, Zhenyi, who had been ready to surrender himself, began to resist.

His master, seeing him strike out at his elders, decided he had failed as a teacher and attempted to cripple Zhenyi’s martial arts. Instead, Zhenyi gravely injured him.

He then fought his way down the mountain, defeating his fellow disciples as he went, with the elders in hot pursuit—and this was when the innocent Qin Ye had been dragged into the fray.

By now, the sunflower seeds in Qin Ye’s hand were beginning to lose their flavor.

Yuanjue was a grandmaster, famed for practicing the Wrathful Vajra technique—fiery-tempered and currently the pillar of White Horse Temple. Zhenyi was merely a master, but his unorthodox skills allowed him to manipulate Yuanjue’s five senses, making the contest even.

Clapping the dust from his hands, Qin Ye restored the aura of a grandmaster and leapt into the fray, sending Yuanjue flying.

Yuanjue: …

I’m a grandmaster, and you send me flying with a single slap? What about my dignity?

“Enough. You won’t settle anything like this. Take my advice—step back, let it go. In the future, if your disciples can’t overcome emotional entanglements, let them leave gracefully. Who knows? Maybe if they marry, their wives will cuckold them and bring home another man’s child.”

These monks understand nothing about feelings.

Just look at the monks of Pure Heaven—they’re generous. If a disciple fails to overcome an emotional attachment, they simply allow him to marry and have children. No matter; they consider him dead to the sect, and he’s no longer a disciple. Such enlightenment!

Compared to them, White Horse Temple’s outlook is narrow.

“This is an internal affair of White Horse Temple. Your opinion is not required.”

Qin Ye snorted, clapping the bloodied Zhenyi on the shoulder. “I like you. From now on, you’ll follow me.”

Zhenyi pressed his palms together and nodded. “Very well. I overestimated myself.”

“Since you agree, take this poison.”

Zhenyi: …

He silently accepted the poison and swallowed it.

Yuanjue’s eyes bulged. “Zhenyi, he just told you it’s poison! After all these years, have you learned nothing?”

Zhenyi replied with a mocking smile. “Uncle Yuanjue, you’ve made it this far without a brain, haven’t you?”

Yuanjue was livid and charged again.

Qin Ye clicked his tongue, kicked the now powerless Zhenyi aside, and proceeded to pummel Yuanjue.

The kicked-aside Zhenyi: …

Perhaps joining Qin Ye so rashly was a mistake.

Qin Ye was no great villain—he had come merely to inform the temple that his young kin would soon venture into the martial world, and wanted them to keep an eye out and not trouble his family.

He hadn’t come to kill.

So after injuring Yuanjue, he stopped.

White Horse Temple might have been narrow-minded, but they were reasonable. Once Qin Ye explained his purpose, the abbot immediately assured him he would restrain the temple’s disciples, and that if they ever encountered Qin Ye’s juniors, they would help when possible and treat them amicably.

Such understanding sects were rare.

After thrashing Yuanjue, he beat up the old monks in closed-door cultivation, and after he was surrounded by monks wielding formation techniques, Qin Ye, who had nearly fought his way through the entire temple, could only sigh with emotion.

Zhenyi, at this point, appeared entirely at peace, exuding a faint aura of compassion—almost as if a radiant golden halo was about to rise behind his head, making him a living Buddha.

All thanks to Qin Ye’s presence.

The abbot, still calm and benevolent, sent off the black-robed, masked, and secretive Qin Ye with a gentle smile.

Qin Ye left with a new subordinate, having accomplished his goal and, on the whole, in high spirits.