A sudden wave of pity rose in the old Grand Preceptor's heart as he looked at Xiao Shaojin.
"Actually, you are just a child," the old man sighed. "Why live such a hard life? Your father is a supreme minister, yet you walk on thin ice every step. Why not just be an ordinary person?"
"Many times, we don't get to choose," Xiao Shaojin replied. "If you don't choose, others choose for you. If they don't, the situation will. I never regret my actions. Save your breath, Grand Preceptor."
Xiao paused, thinking of a friend in the Capital. "I have a friend. Born under the gaze of thousands, parents with heavenly power. He just wants to be ordinary. But his fate denies it. His life is even harder than mine."
The old man didn't argue further. He picked up the divination bones and yarrow sticks brought by the guards, toying with them slowly.
"Since Your Highness is the sole heir of the Dongqi Prince, a disciple of the Four Sages, and the inheritor of Ghost Valley... your friend must be extraordinary."
"Indeed," Xiao smiled. "Why don't you divine his fortune? If it's good, I'll reward you. I can write to him about the amusing things happening at the border."
"Let me guess first," the old man said.
Xiao Shaojin took a sip of milk tea and shook his head vigorously. "Disgusting. Truly disgusting. Like drinking straight oil."
"You know nothing," the old man scolded. "In the bitter cold of the North, without butter tea, you wouldn't last half a winter."
"Yell all you want," Xiao shrugged, not angry this time. "There are less than three people in the world who dare speak to me in that tone. But you're dying anyway."
"May I ask who the three are?" the old man smiled.
"The Emperor, the Empress, and my Dad. Obviously." (Xiao Shaojin omitted the little tigress in the Palace to save face.)
The old man stopped his hands. "So your friend was born in the Capital?"
"Yes."
"Parents with heavenly power... the Emperor and Empress. Since he is your age, it must be the Ninth Prince, Yuwen."
Xiao's eyes flashed with killing intent. "You are too smart, Old Man. Pity you are the Wu Grand Preceptor, not the Yuwen Grand Preceptor. You would have been a legend."
"Don't worry," the old man smiled weakly. "I won't survive the night. I have already divined the fate of the Wu Tribe. As long as they rest in the North, they will have peace and longevity. No destiny to conquer the dragon, but a fate of safety. Please keep your promise, Your Highness."
"Five years," Xiao confirmed. "As long as the Wu do not attack, the Border Army will not kill a single one. I keep my word."
"Good. I also divined for the Ninth Prince."
"And?"
"The Modesty Hexagram (Qian). Mountain under Earth. It means high character, humility, and caution. Whatever he wishes will come true. It is the most perfect of the sixty-four hexagrams. Rare indeed!"
"Really?" Xiao grinned. "I must write to tease him."
The old man rearranged the bones. "One last divination. For you, Your Highness. I have met countless people, but never one like you. Pity we met on a battlefield."
He drank the rest of the tea like fine wine. "A toast to Your Highness."
He began casting the bones. Xiao Shaojin sighed and walked aside. He didn't believe in fate. If Heaven blocked him, he would break Heaven.
Suddenly, a scream came from the tent. Objects crashed to the floor.
A guard drew his sword. Another rushed in.
"Panic for what?" Xiao said. "What chaos can a dying old man cause?" He walked in.
The old man was vomiting blood, collapsing on the floor.
"Grand Preceptor?" Xiao rushed over. "I promised you dignity. Why this?"
The old man struggled up, supported by the guards. "Xiao Shaojin! If you listen to me... shave your head immediately! Find a small temple with no incense and become a monk!"
Xiao was furious. "What nonsense is this? I try to send you off peacefully, and you tell me to be a monk?"
The old man pointed at the bones with a trembling hand.
"I have cast ten thousand lots, but never one like this! It started as the Great Possession Hexagram (Da You)—Fire over Heaven. A sign of supreme leadership."
"So? That's good."
"Then it changed!" the old man gritted his teeth in horror. "It transformed into Splitting Apart (Bo)—Mountain resting on Earth. Extreme danger! The holder will commit a grave error and only learn through self-reflection!"
"And then... a third change! The Creative (Qian)—Heaven over Heaven! Pure Yang! It symbolizes the absolute highest power in the world! But it also represents... Death."
Xiao Shaojin frowned.
"A Triple Transformation is an omen of great catastrophe!" the old man gasped. "Your life will be filled with suffering. If you walk this path, you are destined for a short life. Only by cutting off all ties with the Nine Realms of Dust and converting to Buddhism can you survive!"
Xiao Shaojin's face shifted. Death? Suffering? He was twelve. But could he hide? Could he ignore the mystery of his family's separation?
He bowed to the old man. "I believe you. But my path is not decided by hexagrams. If men block me, I kill men. If ghosts block me, I kill ghosts. If gods descend, I kill gods. If Heaven blocks me... I will overturn the Sky."
"Still won't let go?" the old man asked weakly.
"I won't. I can't," the boy in the white robe replied.
"The road is hard," the old man beckoned. "Since you bowed to me sincerely, let me return the favor. Come closer."
Xiao knelt on one knee.
The Grand Preceptor raised two fingers. "I have no fate with Buddha. But I followed Celestial Master Zhang of Mount Qingcheng for sixty years. I give you my Daoist Cultivation. One day, when you hold high power, please ensure the Wu bloodline does not end. If you can't... well, you might be a mud bodhisattva crossing a river—unable to save even yourself. Hahahaha."
TAP.
The old man's fingers touched a spot below Xiao's right ear. The guards drew swords, but Xiao stopped them. "Wait. I feel nothing wrong."
"I have transferred a cycle of cultivation into your Mystic Gate," the old man whispered. "When you condense your Spirit, you will feel it."
"Thank you, Grand Preceptor." Xiao bowed.
"Bury me on the hill southwest of Wood Sheep Lake," the old man requested. "Feng Shui is good there."
"Not back to the North?"
"I have my selfish reasons. Can you promise?"
"Naturally."
"But actually... you will send me back to the North, right?" the old man asked slyly.
"Correct," Xiao admitted. He wouldn't bury a Barbarian hero in strategic Border lands. It would invite pilgrimages and trouble.
"Such depth. Such ruthlessness. You remind me of an old friend," the old man laughed, gasping for air. "Oh Heaven! Why give birth to Xiao Shaojin? Is it to destroy the Ten Thousand Year Kingdom of the Divine Land?"
With that, the Grand Preceptor of the Wu Tribe breathed his last.
"He is gone, Your Highness," a guard confirmed.
"Send his body back to the Wu Tribe," Xiao ordered. "Reward the bearers 1,000 taels. Give them silk and velvet. Bury him with the rites of an Imperial Grand Preceptor."
Xiao Shaojin walked out of the tent, wandering aimlessly through the valley. Soldiers saluted, but he ignored them.
"Xiao Jin! What are you doing?"
General Zhu Yu's voice snapped him back. The general had taken off his armor, wearing only a cotton robe.
"Uncle Zhu Yu," Xiao smiled weakly. "How are your wounds?"
"Just scratches. But Brother Han Zhong... he took a saber to the chest and arm to catch the old man."
"You are amazing, Xiao Jin!" Zhu Yu laughed. "How did you trick the old man into giving you the Tiger Tally and the Surrender Letter? We got 40,000 elite Barbarians! Over 10,000 cavalry!"
"Just the usual tricks. Where is Han Zhong? Take me to him."
"You asked too late," Zhu Yu scratched his head. "He left an incense stick of time ago."
Xiao Shaojin froze.
"WHAT?! HAN ZHONG IS GONE?!"
His face twisted in rage. "SOMEONE! BURY THOSE 40,000 BARBARIANS ALIVE! CHOP THAT OLD DOG'S CORPSE AND FEED IT TO THE DOGS!"
"Where is Han Zhong's body?!" Xiao screamed, tears welling up. "Tell my father to promote him five ranks posthumously! I will write to the Emperor to give his three-year-old son a hereditary dukedom!"
Zhu Yu grabbed the thrashing boy. "Stop jumping! The battlefield isn't clean! You'll step on a spike!"
"LET GO!" Xiao bit Zhu Yu's arm.
"Ouch! Why are you crazy? Han Zhong isn't dead!" Zhu Yu yelled. "We ran out of medicine, so he went back to the main camp to find a doctor! That's what I meant by 'left'!"
Xiao Shaojin stopped struggling. "Next time... speak clearly!"
He kicked Zhu Yu twice. "Put me down!"
Generals Yun Luo and Xia Bin walked over, laughing. "Zhu Yu, how did you make the Heir so mad?"
"He misunderstood me," Zhu Yu explained.
"Old Zhu always speaks like he's out of breath," Xia Bin laughed. "Last time he told me General Qing ran away. I thought he defected! Turns out he ran into the desert to chase the enemy."
Xiao rolled his eyes.
Suddenly, a messenger ran up and knelt.
"Your Highness! Burying them alive takes too long. Should we burn them? And the Grand Preceptor's body is already gone... should we chase it back?"
Xiao Shaojin waved his hand tiredly. "Forget it. Cancel the order."
The messenger stood up and shouted to the soldiers behind him.
"HEY! BROTHERS! THE HEIR SAYS BURYING THEM ALIVE IS BETTER! START DIGGING!"