Chapter Twenty-Three: The Emergence of a Formidable Foe

With your brother’s skills, there’s no place on Earth he can’t reach—whether burrowing through the skies, diving beneath the sea, or venturing into the deepest forests. As long as that female city exists somewhere on this planet, he will find a way to locate it,” Ding Jun said.

Fang Qianqi, known as the Mountain King of Asia, is proficient in martial arts, agility, swordsmanship, and spear techniques. Among global explorers, he ranks within the top ten in terms of ability.

Yet, despite traversing the mountain ranges bordering Tibet, journeying south to Nepal, north to Xinjiang, and even crossing borders westward into the heart of West Asia, his efforts yielded nothing. The celestial beauty—an ethereal goddess among goddesses—had only flashed past him once, never to appear again. Poor my sister-in-law, a princess of her clan, left without the concern of her husband and unable to return to her people, weeping day after day. I wanted to help but didn’t know where to start. Choosing to practice esoteric Buddhism at Tuo Lin Monastery was partly selfish, hoping to find a way westward and assist my brother in finding that city…

Ding Jun lowered his head and smiled wryly. Even Fang Qianqi, the king of explorers, failed to find the female city, all efforts in vain. Given Fang Qing’s abilities, the hope was even more remote.

“Are you laughing at me, Mr. Ding?” Fang Qing asked.

Ding Jun hurriedly shook his head. “No, no, no. I just think that if even your brother is at a loss, perhaps only Mr. Luo Kai—the ‘Eagle of Asia’—can help him. Others likely lack the strength despite their will.”

Fang Qing pondered this, then suddenly frowned and muttered, “A goddess among goddesses… Does such a woman truly exist in this world?”

Ding Jun smiled. “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder. I guess your brother’s remarkable words stem from his deep love for that woman.”

Fang Qing sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Ding, for listening to my trivial stories. Though many reside at Tuo Lin Monastery, Master Chisang Jiacuo is a senior figure in Buddhism. I cannot bring myself to speak before him. As for others…”

She suddenly stopped, stood up abruptly, and exclaimed, “That person—that person I’ve never seen before. No, no, Tuo Lin Monastery has never had such a person!”

Ding Jun was puzzled but rose with her.

“Follow me to the Sutra Pavilion. The monk we saw was an impostor!” Fang Qing called out.

They dashed out of the courtyard, and Fang Qing continued, “I know everyone at Tuo Lin Monastery, from the reclusive masters to the kitchen helpers, but I don’t know that person. He wore the robes of a mid-level monk—there are nineteen such monks here, and I know them all.”

Midway through their run, a green firework rocket suddenly shot into the pitch-black night sky, launching from a point one kilometer north of the red brick tower at the monastery’s northwest corner. The rocket silently exploded at about twenty meters, scattering brilliant green fireworks.

“Something’s happening. I’ll circle north. Be careful!” Ding Jun immediately assessed the situation. In combat, seizing the initiative and disrupting the enemy’s plan is key to victory.

He connected the green firework, the fake monk, Zhu Ye, the Ten Eagles, and other seemingly unrelated clues, instantly finding direction and decisively turning north.

“Watch out!” Fang Qing shouted from behind.

Within minutes, Ding Jun exited Tuo Lin Monastery, skirted the earthen forest, and arrived within twenty paces of the firework’s launch site. When he spotted a white-clad figure fluttering atop a high slope ahead, he concealed himself, revealing only half his face as he intently watched.

The night sky was dim and ominous, the figure’s robes fluttering ceaselessly in the biting wind.

Suddenly, the sound of clapping echoed from all sides—some thrice, some five times in succession—and four gray-clad men appeared, standing below the slope.

“Ouch!” one gray-clad man bent over and threw someone off his shoulder, who crashed to the ground with a miserable cry.

It was Zhu Ye, Ding Jun recognized.

“Snow Maiden, the monastery’s situation has changed. That one named Shi is injured and missing, two elder monks are unconscious, and together with the pregnant woman, they’ve been moved to another meditation room for rest. I believe another faction struck first, throwing our plans into chaos,” one gray-clad man reported.

The white-clad figure remained silent, gazing skyward.

Ding Jun silently crept forward another ten paces, ready to strike instantly to rescue Zhu Ye.

“Snow Maiden, the enemy situation has shifted. Should we change plans and act early to capture the pregnant woman and extract her from Tuo Lin? This time, that Shi called in some formidable reinforcements—if I’m not mistaken, that’s Old Jin, who has crossed blades with you before,” another said.

The white-clad figure slowly raised her right hand, and the gray-clad men fell silent, awaiting orders. Yet she said nothing, only breathing deeply and calmly.

Ding Jun circled to the side, discerning that the figure was a slender-waisted woman. Though her face was obscured, her demeanor exuded noble elegance, refined aloofness, like a rare orchid in a deep valley, faintly fragrant and distant.

“See through the illusions; do not lose sight of the essence. Our target is only three people. No matter how many troops there are beyond that, what concern is it of ours? You are too fixated on appearances, altering plans because of illusions. Does that serve any purpose?” The woman’s voice was crisp and cold, reminiscent of icicles hanging from eaves on a winter morning.

Old Jin bowed his head in agreement. “Understood, Snow Maiden.”

“What about this one?” another asked.

“That one is a one-legged bandit from the Tianshan region, interested in treasures deep within the snowy mountains. Like a fly drawn to blood, he came straight to Tuo Lin. But he lacks backing and is a mere insignificant shrimp compared to Ding Jun, Fang Qing, or Ruan Feng,” Old Jin explained.

“Old Jin, handle these minor matters at your discretion,” the Snow Maiden said.

Old Jin and his men bowed and retreated with Zhu Ye.

Ding Jun knew: to capture the thief, first capture the king. As long as they seized the Snow Maiden, all the Shi family’s calamities would be resolved. At this close range, any slight lapse from her would allow him to strike like lightning.

He surveyed the situation and circled right again, arriving at a point forty-five degrees behind and to the left of the Snow Maiden—an optimal angle for a surprise attack, validated by thousands of tests by American combat experts.

No more than three minutes after he concealed himself, someone crept up from behind, right hand gripping a long spear—it was the Fire God of the Five Poison Sect, He Jia.

Fire God approached without detecting Ding Jun, then lay flat and braced his spear, aiming at the Snow Maiden.

Seeing Fire God’s actions, Ding Jun couldn’t help but think the young man was underestimating the enemy. Clearly, the spear’s effective range was between fifty and two hundred paces. There was no need to close within fifty paces of the enemy—such proximity did nothing for accuracy but risked alerting the target and courting death.

Suddenly, the Snow Maiden leapt gracefully, drifting toward Tuo Lin Monastery.

Ding Jun swiftly moved beside Fire God and whispered a warning: “The enemy’s too strong. Withdraw quickly. Don’t stir trouble or you’ll lose your life.”

He held no fondness for the Five Poison Sect. If this were He Wuqiu or He Xiangjun, he wouldn’t bother warning them. Fire God was young and naive, still teachable.

“Hey, Mr. Ding, I’ve placed a curse inside the bullet. If I hit her, I can capture her and learn all secrets,” Fire God said.

“If you hit her, the curse won’t have time to activate, and she’ll kill you. Listen to me—go back and join your comrades,” Ding Jun said, then shadowed the Snow Maiden.

The Snow Maiden did not return to the monastery but instead reached a high slope southwest of Tuo Lin, overlooking the temple from above.

Ding Jun followed closely, hiding in the shadows of the earthen forest to continue watching.

Soon after, someone scaled the monastery wall and knelt before the Snow Maiden, reporting, “Snow Maiden, you foresaw everything; all problems unfolded as you predicted. Now, the infant is guarded by many and no outsider can enter. No one knows the baby’s condition.”

This man was the fake monk Ding Jun had first seen outside the Sutra Pavilion—apparently another subordinate of the Snow Maiden.

“Simple—substitution, deception, and sleight of hand. Such tricks might fool monks who practice daily, but they won’t fool me,” the Snow Maiden said.

“Snow Maiden, I discovered some strange writings in the Sutra Pavilion, quite worthy of study. Also, Shi Miaoshou’s choice of Tuo Lin as a sanctuary seems significant. Should we investigate further?” the fake monk asked.

The Snow Maiden waved her hand. “You continue the investigation; I’m heading to Zhada County. Remember, although Tuo Lin appears calm, countless masters lurk secretly. Act low-key, avoid rushing for glory, and above all, do not engage that young man named Ding. He is a formidable enemy.”

The fake monk nodded. “Understood, I will remember.”

The Snow Maiden leapt down the slope and moved eastward.

Ding Jun did not pursue but circled ahead, hiding in the shadows along the fake monk’s return route.

Minutes later, as the fake monk passed, Ding Jun suddenly appeared, blocking his path.

“It’s you?” The fake monk smiled, his voluminous robes billowing in the wind.

“You must know everything that happened in the Sutra Pavilion. Perhaps we can sit down and talk peacefully, without resorting to weapons. Understand that moments ago, I had many ways to end you without a sound,” Ding Jun said. He was confident enough to confront his opponent openly, hence no surprise attack.

“Life is cheap; what matters are the secrets in one’s mind. I know you—the Delta Force’s hand-to-hand combat king, ‘Hunter King’ Ding Jun. You shouldn’t be meddling in Tuo Lin’s affairs because you don’t understand what’s really going on or what everyone is pursuing. Leave now, return to Hong Kong, and be a celebrated young man. You’re still too inexperienced for the Tibetan border,” the fake monk said, shaking his head with a laugh.

“That’s no fun,” Ding Jun’s face darkened.

“Then what do you find interesting? Is Fang Qing’s life interesting? Dare you harm a single hair on her head, and she will have no burial place,” the fake monk said coldly.

Ding Jun was silent, weighing the words in his heart. If Fang Qing were captured, it would indeed be a troubled matter.

“Where is she?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Leave, and I promise she’s safe,” the fake monk replied.

“Return her to me, and I guarantee nothing will happen to you,” Ding Jun said.

The fake monk chuckled awkwardly. “You’re amusing to threaten me like that.”

Ding Jun sighed deeply, then completely changed his tone: “I’ve only known Fang Qing for two days. If she dies, you’ll have angered Tuo Lin Monastery and the Mountain King of Asia, Fang Qianqi. I’m not involved. Forget it, no need for negotiations. Just tell me—what exactly is hidden inside the Sutra Pavilion?”