Chapter Nineteen: Gossip in the Mountains

The conversation began with Zhou Yi’s sudden assault on Nagakawa Yuji. In a flash, Zhou Yi darted behind Yuji and threw a punch at him. Yet Yuji, being a cultivator, was naturally sharp of sense. He sidestepped swiftly, evading the attack, and retreated several paces to put distance between them.

Zhou Yi pressed forward once more, his fist aimed squarely at Yuji’s face. Yuji inclined his head slightly to avoid the blow, seized Zhou Yi’s wrist, and with a sudden tug, slammed his shoulder into Zhou Yi’s chest. Yet Yuji did not pursue the attack further, again widening the distance between them.

“So, is this what you Chinese call fate, Mr. Zhou?” Yuji remarked with a smile, his tone so amiable that anyone unaware might have thought they were old friends meeting after a long separation.

Zhou Yi rubbed his chest where it ached, fixing Yuji with a cold stare. “Why did you come to my house?” Zhou Yi had no intention of discussing fate with Yuji and cut straight to the point.

“My apologies, Mr. Zhou,” Yuji replied courteously. “I did not know this was your home. If I have offended, I beg your forgiveness. I have great admiration for China’s ancient culture, and when I saw this Taoist temple, I simply wished to have a look. I assure you, I mean no harm.” Yuji’s demeanor was that of a perfect gentleman.

Zhou Yi’s lip twitched, clearly exasperated by Yuji’s shamelessness. “You’ve seen enough. Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

Yuji bowed again. “Mr. Zhou, I would like to discuss something with you. Would you consider selling me this temple? I can offer you a generous sum, enough for you to purchase a grand estate in Shenyang or Harbin. What do you say?”

Seeing Zhou Yi silent, Yuji thought he had piqued his interest and smiled even more broadly. In his mind, in China, money could buy anything—even sons sent to kill their own fathers. What, then, could not be bought?

In truth, Zhou Yi bore Yuji no particular ill will—Yuji had always been polite in their encounters. Zhou Yi’s silence was not hesitation, but puzzlement at Yuji’s eagerness to ingratiate himself.

Unable to discern Yuji’s true intent, Zhou Yi replied coldly, “It’s not for sale. Leave.”

Seeing Zhou Yi refuse to yield, Suzuki Yuichi lost patience. “Don’t be so ungrateful. My patience is limited,” he barked, playing the bad cop to Yuji’s good.

Zhou Yi sneered. “What, are you planning to take it by force?” He squared his stance, making it clear that any further disrespect from Suzuki would be met with violence.

Yuji, frustrated by Zhou Yi’s unyielding nature, gave a few instructions in Japanese. Suzuki, unbothered that Zhou Yi could hear, said in Chinese, “Nagakawa, I disagree. This man stands in our way—eliminate him, and the path is clear. Your hesitation will achieve nothing.”

Amused by their disagreement, Zhou Yi said, “If you two can’t agree, take it up elsewhere. I’m going home. Surely you won’t block my own doorway?”

Yuji smiled. “Mr. Zhou, forgive us for disturbing you. We’ll leave now, and I apologize for today’s events.”

Zhou Yi waved them off. “No need. Just leave. If you come again, don’t blame me for being less civil.”

At that moment, another Japanese man stepped out from the house and said something to Yuji in Japanese. Yuji, who had been about to leave, turned and went back inside.

Though Zhou Yi didn’t understand the words, it did not prevent him from following Yuji in to see what was afoot. As he approached, Suzuki blocked his path. “I’m sorry, you can’t go in.”

Zhou Yi disliked Suzuki on sight and wasted no words. He brushed aside the restraining arm and moved to enter. Suzuki tried to block him again.

Without warning, Zhou Yi kicked Suzuki hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling. “Try to stop me again, and I won’t be so gentle.” Zhou Yi had not held back—Suzuki lay on the ground, winded and unable to rise.

Zhou Yi stepped inside. In the main hall of the temple, the statue at the altar had been moved aside, revealing a hidden door behind it. Yuji was nowhere to be seen—clearly, he had already entered.

Four Japanese men stood before the secret door, gripping samurai swords and blocking Zhou Yi’s way. Zhou Yi had searched the temple for over a month, only leaving the space behind the statue unexplored. He hadn’t been able to move the statue alone, nor did he wish to offend the figure who had taught him his cultivation methods. Who would have thought Yuji and his men would find it so quickly?

Zhou Yi would not let Yuji get ahead. Without a word, he advanced. No longer the novice he once was, Zhou Yi’s strikes were ruthless, each punch aimed at vital points. In four swift blows, he felled the four Japanese men.

He then passed through the secret door into a downward-sloping passageway. Oil lamps lined the walls, their flames already lit, clearly by Yuji. On the ground lay two broken arrows without fletching—traps that Yuji had triggered and cut down.

As soon as Zhou Yi entered, a fierce wind rose within the passage, forcing him to shield his face and squint as he pressed forward. Strangely, the oil lamps along the walls, though flickering wildly, did not go out.

There were no forks in the passage, and once the traps had been triggered, they would not spring again. With Yuji leading the way, moving cautiously for fear of further traps, Zhou Yi quickened his own pace to catch up. Only one thought filled his mind: if there was treasure hidden here, he would rather risk his life than let Yuji claim it.

Yet after hurrying along, Zhou Yi still saw no sign of Yuji. At last, he reached a large chamber. The floor was painted with a Bagua diagram, and set into the ceiling was a luminous pearl the size of a goose egg, casting a soft light across the hall. As Zhou Yi entered, the wind abruptly ceased.

Around the chamber were seven more passageways, making eight altogether including the one Zhou Yi had entered. Since the oil lamps in every passage were burning, Zhou Yi was momentarily at a loss. According to the principles of Bagua, the passage he had entered was the Xun Gate, associated with wind—which explained the gale he had encountered. Since learning from the altar’s spirit, Zhou Yi had studied much about Bagua. If Xun was the entry, then Kun was the Gate of Life, and Qian the Gate of Death.

Naturally, Zhou Yi would not choose the Gate of Death. He turned and entered the Kun Gate. The moment he did, the green bricks beneath his feet began to sink. He hurried forward, glancing back to see the bricks already swallowed by the earth—his retreat cut off, leaving him only one way forward. Had he hesitated for even a moment, he too would have been swallowed up.

Intent on escaping, Zhou Yi did not notice that after he entered the Kun Gate, the Bagua diagram on the floor began to rotate slowly, the eight gates shifting positions. The Gate of Life could become the Gate of Death at any moment.