Chapter Fifteen: Matters of the Past, Turmoil Beyond Jiayuguan Pass
Though Zhu Jinzhen’s prestige had grown stronger in recent years, he still held firmly in his heart the memory of that brutal war long ago.
The sudden siege by the Mongol-Liao alliance had struck like a thunderclap, almost the entire nation mobilized against them.
At Jiayuguan Pass, the thirteen guards of Shaanxi were powerless to resist.
Before the fall of the nation, Zhu Jinzhen had stepped forward, leading the Tiance and Cangyun armies to repel the Mongols and Liao forces. In the midst of battle, he single-handedly faced three foes, decisively crushing the three great pillars of the Mongol-Liao alliance, forging an unparalleled reputation.
But that victory came at a tremendous cost: Tiance soldiers fought recklessly with no regard for their lives; the Cangyun armored warriors charged without hesitation; the thirteen guards of Shaanxi bled their hearts out.
Countless corpses piled beyond Jiayuguan’s walls.
After the battle, both the Tiance headquarters and the Cangyun army were severely battered; less than half of their elite forces survived. Almost every household in Shaanxi was draped in mourning. That victory was forged by the sacrifice of countless heroic souls, yet it was also a bloodstained, painful lesson.
Zhu Jinzhen vowed never to let such tragedy repeat.
Just then, a Tiance soldier came to report.
“Your Highness, new battle reports from Cangyun have arrived.”
“Oh?” Zhu Jinzhen took the intelligence from Cangyun.
“Such a pity,” he murmured.
“I overestimated the Mongol determination. I thought Princess Shao Min could catch a big fish, but it turned out to be just a few small shrimps. The Mongols have produced many new masters in recent years; why didn’t they send any to test us?”
Reading the Cangyun report, disappointment filled Zhu Jinzhen’s eyes.
If only the Mongols had sent a land deity instead.
That morning, when he left the mansion, he and Changsun Wuqing had prepared a grand surprise for the scout parties, various factions, and Mongol forces now appearing throughout Shaanxi.
Yet all they sent was a Grandmaster?
Did they truly not care about Princess Shao Min’s fate, or did they simply underestimate Zhu Jinzhen?
His gaze narrowed as he looked toward the distant horizon.
“I wonder how many more will be drawn into this this time.”
...
Elsewhere, outside Jiayuguan Pass.
Clad in black armor, wielding a strange saber and a dark shield, Yan Yimei pursued a figure in red for over ten miles before finally blocking the path of the would-be fugitive, crossing her blade to stop him.
“Since you’re here, why rush to run?”
“Amitabha, benefactor, you mistake me,” the red-robed figure clasped his hands in a Buddhist gesture, his expression fierce and merciless, devoid of any compassion, instead radiating killing intent. “The mistake lies in following.”
Swish! Swish! Swish!
As his voice fell, several uninvited figures appeared around Yan Yimei.
“Just a few of them?”
Yan Yimei’s expression remained unchanged, her tone cold.
“A few shaved monks—though they wield some dark arts, they’re still just a handful of corpses. Including you, Red Sun Dharma King.”
“Amitabha, does Benefactor recognize this humble monk?” The red-robed monk looked surprised Yan Yimei knew him.
“Though you did not appear on the battlefield years ago, I killed your junior disciple—the one with the wheel,” Yan Yimei nodded. “Later I learned his name was the Wheel Dharma King, from the Tibetan Vajrayana sect. He had an elder brother, known as the Red Sun Dharma King, the Vajrayana’s top master, whose ‘Immortal Technique’ and Nine-Character Mantra Hand Seals are peerless.”
“That master of Yogini Tantra is said to possess a Buddha-like presence, having reached the celestial realm years ago.”
Yan Yimei spoke the facts as if reciting treasured knowledge.
Not out of curiosity, but because after she killed the wheel-wielding monk on the battlefield, her lord had been surprised and mentioned the matter casually; she had since committed it to memory.
The Red Sun Dharma King pressed his palms together and intoned a Buddhist chant.
“Amitabha. Thank you, benefactor, for still remembering this old monk. After today, there will be no need to remember me further.”
His meaning was clear: the dead need no remembrance.
Coincidentally, Yan Yimei shared the same thought.
“I do not have the habit of remembering the names of the dead,” she agreed.
The Red Sun Dharma King was not angered by this. As a monk, though his hands were stained with blood, his cultivation of character was strong—he would not flare up over a few words.
He smiled and, as if guided by some spirit, asked, “Have you ever heard of the Vajra Demon Suppression Formation?”
“Vajra Demon Suppression?” Yan Yimei’s brows knit with surprise for the first time. She glanced at the monks around her, each wielding dark arts.
“You are not from the Vajrayana, but from Shaolin?”
Now not only the Red Sun Dharma King but also the elderly monks dressed in lama garb were shocked.
The Vajra Demon Circle was a secret formation painstakingly developed by Shaolin monks over many years, originally intended to counter the former Ming Cult leader Yang Dingtian, and had never before been used publicly.
How did this Cangyun female general come to know of it?
Yan Yimei’s expression cooled.
“Seems I guessed right.”
This information was in the secret archives of the Black Armor Guard.
It had been personally compiled by her lord Zhu Jinzhen over the years. As deputy commander of the Black Armor Guard, she had naturally read through it multiple times.
She was not surprised that the Vajrayana monks sought revenge, but the Prince’s Mansion and Cangyun Army had never interfered with Shaolin affairs.
These shaved monks stirring trouble clearly intended to make things difficult for the Prince’s Mansion.
Then...
Yan Yimei’s expression turned icy, murderous intent blazing in her eyes.
Swish!
...
The urgent sound of galloping hooves approached from afar like roaring thunder, and within moments, the riders appeared just behind Yan Yimei.
“Damn it, this is bad.”
The Red Sun Dharma King’s face changed, realizing this was a trap.
Yan Yimei had not been lured out—they had followed her.
Immediately, without hesitation, he turned to flee.
“Ching!”
Yan Yimei’s blade sliced through the air toward the Red Sun Dharma King with overwhelming force—swift, domineering, and weighty like a mountain. Her technique was flawless, her intent manifest before the blade struck.
One slash cut through the sky like a heavenly chasm.
Without a thought, the Red Sun Dharma King countered with a palm strike combining the Immortal Technique and the Nine-Character Mantra Hand Seal.
Clang!
Blade edge shattered; palm seal dispersed.
The residual energy stirred dust and smoke into the air.
Both fighters staggered back three paces.
“The blade leads, but intent precedes.”
“You are a grandmaster of the blade?”
The Red Sun Dharma King’s expression darkened severely.
Though the duel seemed even, the situation was extremely unfavorable for him: behind Yan Yimei lay Jiayuguan Pass; ahead awaited an apparent ambush of Cangyun armored cavalry.
He could not flee far with that strike, or he would be caught in a pincer attack.
“Too late to realize that now,” Yan Yimei said coldly, pointing her blade.
“Hahaha, General Yan, why not leave this old monk to me?” A robust man clad in blood-red armor, bald-headed and laughing heartily, charged swiftly from the side.
The Red Sun Dharma King’s heart sank.
That sound wave, this movement—it was another grandmaster?
From the previous fight, he knew Yan Yimei was nearly as strong as himself; with another celestial grandmaster blocking his path, he would have to pay a heavy price to escape today.
But when his gaze fell upon the newcomer, intending to size up this new opponent, the first thought that struck him was disbelief.
He had heard of monks calling others shaved monks in insult, but never a monk calling another monk a shaved monk.
Indeed, the newcomer was the Cangyun Breakthrough Camp commander—the Red-Clothed Buddha, Wang Bukong.
A monk.