Chapter Fifty-Two: Lin Qingli’s Schemes

Lin Qingli immediately bent at the waist to dodge, a lock of hair by her temple sliced away. The man in the blue robe, missing his mark, pressed his attack, each move swifter and more threatening than the last, and in an instant Lin Qingli found herself in grave peril.

Fortunately, Li Chongyuan arrived just in time, leaping up with the Beidou Phantom Moon, sword flashing as he thrust at the man’s Baihui acupoint atop his head. The assailant was forced to abandon Lin Qingli, twisting away to dodge, but his felt hat was knocked off by the sword’s tip.

At the sight, Lin Qingli cried out in surprise, “Zhu Shitian!” It turned out that this man was actually Li Duozuo, who had assumed the alias Zhu Shitian. After narrowly escaping Black Stone Mountain that day, he had traveled here along remote paths, intending to cross the river. Unexpectedly, he had run into Lin Qingli’s group. Li Chongyuan and Lan Wutong did not recognize him, but Lin Qingli was an old acquaintance. Fearing exposure, he had resolved to steal a boat by night and slip away, but was discovered by Lin Qingli, which drove him to murderous intent.

Realizing the situation had turned against him, Li Duozuo was seized by panic. By now, the small boat had been carried by the river’s current to deeper waters. Gritting his teeth, he made a desperate leap for the boat. Li Chongyuan’s sword flashed, slashing open his chest, and something dropped out. Lin Qingli, quick-eyed, caught it.

It was a book, but in the heat of the moment she had no time to examine it and hurriedly stuffed it into her clothes. Li Duozuo, unable to retrieve it, twisted in midair and barely managed to land at the stern of the boat. When Li Chongyuan tried to pursue, the current had already swept the boat far downstream.

Li Duozuo grabbed the oar and paddled frantically, the little boat vanishing into the night within moments.

By the time Lan Wutong arrived to help, Li Chongyuan and the others had already started back.

The boatman, having just gotten dressed, was devastated. His livelihood depended on that small boat, and losing it was like losing his life. He sat on the ground and wailed uncontrollably. Lan Wutong, annoyed by the noise, casually tossed him a small gold ingot—more than enough to buy two boats. Overjoyed, the boatman kowtowed repeatedly in gratitude.

Lin Qingli laughed, “Don’t be in such a hurry to thank us. We spent half the night trying to get your boat back, and my sister here even gave you money for another one. Shouldn’t you at least give us a room to sleep in?”

The boatman agreed at once. Lan Wutong smiled, “This little girl was so frightened by my poison that she doesn’t dare sleep in the same room as me. Well, it’s just as well—I’ll sleep even better alone.” As she spoke, the boatman prepared a room, and Lin Qingli cheerfully went off by herself.

Once inside, Lin Qingli quickly shut the door and took out the book. It was extremely old, with “Classic of Changing Tendons” written on the cover. She was overjoyed. She had long heard from Li Qianfan that this scripture was the Shaolin sect’s greatest treasure, unseen by ordinary people for generations.

She recalled hearing from Huizhu that Zhu Shitian, under his alias Jia, had managed to steal a scripture from Shaolin. At the time, she had wondered what kind of scripture would be worth risking one’s life to steal from the temple—could it be the Classic of Changing Tendons? Now that she held it in her hands, she was certain. Otherwise, the Shaolin monks would not be searching so frantically for Zhu Shitian.

Clutching the scripture, Lin Qingli was filled with complicated emotions. Since learning of her father’s tragic death, she had been convinced Han Qinghua was the murderer and sworn to take his life. But Han Qinghua’s martial arts were supreme—even her master, Li Qianfan, was no match for him. Now, by a twist of fate, she possessed the world’s foremost martial arts manual. If she devoted herself to its study, she was sure she could master its secrets. Not only would she be able to avenge her father, but perhaps she could even dominate the martial world.

Suppressing her excitement, she opened the book. Each page depicted a monk in a strange posture, accompanied by annotations and explanations of the various methods of cultivation. After skimming a few pages, she closed it again. Lin Qingli was meticulous by nature. She knew Zhu Shitian would stop at nothing to retrieve the Classic, and that if word reached Shaolin, they would certainly come for it. The scripture was extremely profound—impossible to master in a short time.

After considering for a moment, she quietly opened her door. Seeing no one downstairs, she shut it tightly, took off her outer garments, untied her white silk undergarment, put her clothes back on, and lit the lamp. She laid the silk flat on the table and began copying the Classic onto it with a brush.

By the time she had finished copying every diagram and annotation, it was nearly noon. Li Chongyuan and Lan Wutong had come several times to call her for meals, but she had brushed them off, pretending she wasn’t hungry.

They assumed she was exhausted from the previous night’s fight with Li Duozuo and wanted to sleep in, so they let her be. After all, the boatman had gone to town early in the morning to buy a new boat—they wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon. When Lin Qingli finished copying, she carefully checked her work twice, then used her slender fingers to dab lamp oil onto the silk. Once saturated, the writing would not fade, even if soaked in water or stained with sweat.

Once it dried, she carefully put it on under her clothes. No one would ever suspect that a delicate young girl was wearing the world’s greatest martial arts secret against her skin.

She tucked the Classic into her bosom just as Lan Wutong came up to call her for lunch. The three of them sat at the table. Though it was only plain rice and braised salted fish, Lin Qingli found it incomparably delicious. Her mind was set on vengeance, but her enemy’s martial arts were so formidable that she had little hope of revenge on her own. But now, by some miracle, she had obtained the priceless Classic of Changing Tendons, and her heart soared with joy.

The others assumed she was simply famished after sleeping most of the day and thought nothing of it. After the meal, Lan Wutong idly returned to her room to play with Ning and Yu.

Lin Qingli, meanwhile, quietly pulled Li Chongyuan aside and stuffed the Classic into his hands. He opened it without thinking, and was shocked. “Ah! Where did you get this book?”

With a smile, Lin Qingli replied, “Last night, when Zhu Shitian was fighting you, it fell from his robes. I happened to see it and picked it up. But I was so tired I went straight to sleep and only just remembered it now.”

She kept her copying a secret. “So, what should we do with it now, Brother Chongyuan?” she asked.

Li Chongyuan sighed, “What else can we do? Return it to its rightful owner. The Shaolin monks are out in force looking for this very book. If we meet Huizhu, we’ll give it back to him.”

Lin Qingli said softly, “This Classic is a treasure beyond compare. For it to come into our hands is an unimaginable stroke of fate. Do you really want to simply hand it over?”

Li Chongyuan replied, “Qingli, you mustn’t think that way. This Classic rightfully belongs to the Shaolin sect. How can we keep it for ourselves? I know you’re determined to avenge your father. I promise, I’ll teach you everything I know and help you with all my strength. Even if I’m not strong enough, all our uncles and elders from Tianshan will help you.”

Lin Qingli said, “Do you know who my enemy is? It’s Han Qinghua, the Demon Sword. He and Master Zi Wuzhuo are both among the Four Great Swords; their skills are evenly matched. Even if I reach Master’s level, what good will it do? At best, I’ll fight him to a standstill—how will I get my revenge then? Besides, relying on others can never compare to relying on oneself. Even if I manage to avenge my father with help, I’ll owe a debt I can never repay. Wouldn’t it be far more satisfying to hunt my enemy down with my own hands, leaving him nowhere to run?”

Li Chongyuan shook his head. “How can you be so calculating at your age? Then what do you suggest we do?”

Lin Qingli said, “The two of us can leave the Central Plains. If Sister Lan Wutong is willing to take us to the Miao lands, all the better. Otherwise, we can find a secluded place and devote ourselves to studying the Classic for ten years. Once our skills are perfected, we’ll return to the Central Plains. At that point, we could rule the martial world with a single word. Wherever we go, all will bow down before us. Wouldn’t that be glorious, Brother Chongyuan? Don’t you want that?”

Her words did tempt Li Chongyuan for an instant, but he quickly regained his composure. He said sternly, “Qingli, you’re going too far. We are disciples of a respected sect. What you just said borders on heresy. I won’t listen to it.”

Lin Qingli sighed inwardly, “Good thing I anticipated this and made a copy in secret. Otherwise, I’d have let this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity slip by.” Li Chongyuan, realizing he’d spoken harshly, softened his tone. “Don’t be angry, Qingli. Remember, martial prowess can’t be concealed forever. Even if you hide away from the world, sooner or later you’ll have to return to the martial world. The moment you reveal your skills, people will notice, and then those with evil intentions will come to kill you for the Classic. If nothing else, the Shaolin experts will definitely come looking for trouble. It could even spark a great calamity in the martial world. Have you thought of that?”

Lin Qingli sneered, “Of course I have. By the time we return, our skills will be unrivaled. If anyone comes for trouble, they’ll just be made examples of. Even the Shaolin monks won’t be spared! Those bald donkeys always claim Shaolin martial arts were created by the Patriarch Bodhidharma, but did Bodhidharma ever say only Shaolin could practice them? Remember, Brother Chongyuan: rules are made by the strong and followed by the weak. In this life, I intend to be the one who makes the rules!”

Li Chongyuan stared at her, speechless for a long while before saying, “I can’t argue with you. But I can’t give you the Classic. I must return it to Shaolin. I’m sorry.” Lin Qingli suddenly smiled, “Brother Chongyuan, there’s no need to apologize. You saved my life, after all. Take the book as you wish. Everything I just said—just the foolish talk of a girl in a temper.”

Li Chongyuan breathed a long sigh of relief. “I was starting to wonder what had gotten into you. So it was just a fit of temper. Don’t let such thoughts cross your mind again. If word ever got out, it would cause no end of trouble.”

Lin Qingli seemed to murmur to herself, “There’s no trouble if the Classic is hidden away. But hand it over, and the trouble will never end.” Just as Li Chongyuan was about to ask what she meant, she turned and went back to her room.

That afternoon, the boatman returned, beaming, with a new boat. They all boarded and crossed the river. Watching the surging waters flow eastward, their spirits soared. The boatman, in high spirits, sang fishing songs at the top of his voice, making the three of them laugh heartily.

After more than an hour, the little boat finally reached the southern shore. They jumped ashore and bid the boatman farewell. On the bank, seven or eight monks were waiting to cross, among them Huizhu, whom they had met before. Li Chongyuan greeted him from afar, and Huizhu returned the gesture with a smile and a bow. “All has been well with you, I hope, benefactor?” After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Li Chongyuan took out the Classic from his robe and smiled. “Master Huizhu, is this the book you’re seeking?”