Chapter 39: Is It Truly Qiu Chuji?!

Fang Xu did not hesitate. Once he confirmed the location of the Daoist temple, he hurriedly led his guards there at once. Qin Suwen found herself both amused and exasperated, but it was clear Fang Xu found life in the palace dreadfully dull. If she were in his place, she imagined she would be bored out of her mind as well.

Fortunately, Fang Xu’s presence had indeed eased the monotony of her days; she had to admit, his arrival had brought a vibrant splash of color to her otherwise drab life. At the very least, she now wore a genuine smile more often—something unheard of to those outside the palace. Yet, as she watched Fang Xu’s departing figure, an unexpected reluctance welled in her heart.

She had to coax herself into acceptance, reminding herself repeatedly that Fang Xu was leaving to make explosives for her—so they could resist the barbarian tribes together. She needed to understand his purpose. If she hadn’t convinced herself of this, she might not have let him go at all.

When Fang Xu finally left, the previously bustling rear palace returned to an eerie stillness. Qin Suwen shivered involuntarily, only now realizing how cold the palace truly was. If she were left alone in this place, she wondered if she might eventually lose her mind.

Even she failed to notice that she was now pondering questions she would never have considered before. Perhaps this was simply the power of love—drawing her in so deeply, she was helpless to escape.

Meanwhile, as Fang Xu left the palace, he too was plagued by uncertainty. He couldn’t quite name his feelings, except that everything he was doing was for Qin Suwen. With this thought, he made a silent vow: if he could not create the explosives, he would rather die than return empty-handed.

Escorted by his guards, Fang Xu soon arrived at the Daoist temple Qin Suwen had finally remembered—perched atop Qiong Mountain in the northern reaches of Great Qin, the temple was called the Quanzhen Temple.

This involuntarily reminded Fang Xu of the Quanzhen Sect from “The Return of the Condor Heroes.” He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, wondering, “I wonder if I’ll meet Qiu Chuji here?”

He had barely taken a few steps when it seemed someone called out to him. Turning around, he saw a young Daoist sweeping the grounds, who pressed his hands together and offered a polite bow.

“It was indeed I,” the young Daoist replied with a smile. Only then did Fang Xu notice the boy’s skin was as smooth and delicate as his own—a rare sight among Daoist novices.

“And what guidance does the Daoist have for me?” Fang Xu returned the greeting and asked with a smile. For some inexplicable reason, he felt an immediate warmth toward this young Daoist—perhaps because they shared the same fine complexion.

“But wasn’t it you who called out to me first?” the young Daoist asked, scratching at his small green cap, a look of confusion on his face.

“I’ve never met you before; how could I know your name? Surely you must have misheard,” Fang Xu replied with a laugh, amused by the boy’s puzzled gesture.

“But… but you definitely called me just now!” The young Daoist’s stubborn insistence made Fang Xu want to laugh all the more. It seemed there was simply no way to clear up this misunderstanding.

The guards grew impatient at this exchange, and if not for a warning glance from Fang Xu, they might have taken action against the young Daoist already.

“Daoist, why are you so insistent about whether I called you?” Fang Xu asked with genuine curiosity, unable to fathom the boy’s persistence. Was it truly so important?

The young Daoist shook his head earnestly. “Here in the Quanzhen Sect, if one sincerely follows the Dao, one must hold true to one’s Daoist name. If someone calls it, one cannot pretend not to hear—it would be a disgrace to the Dao itself.”

Fang Xu found this terribly amusing—a child of only seven or eight, dressed in robes a touch too large for him, speaking with the gravity of an elder. It was hard not to smile.

“Then, may I ask your Daoist name?” Fang Xu inquired, barely containing his laughter. Since the boy claimed he had called him by name, Fang Xu was curious to see what he would say.

“I am Qiu Chuji,” the young Daoist replied, bowing with hands pressed together. Fang Xu, who had been pondering, was struck dumb by the answer.

“What?! You’re Qiu Chuji?” Fang Xu stared in disbelief at the Daoist before him, as if he had seen a ghost.

“Is there something wrong, sir? My Daoist name is indeed Qiu Chuji,” the young Daoist replied, blinking his large, innocent eyes in confusion. Why was Fang Xu looking at him as if he had seen a specter? Was there something amiss with his name?

“Are you truly Qiu Chuji?” Fang Xu couldn’t quite believe it. He had only mentioned the name in passing—could it be true?

“I have had only one Daoist name since childhood—Qiu Chuji. Why should there be anything wrong with that?” Qiu Chuji asked, genuinely perplexed by Fang Xu’s reaction. Even if there were an issue, it was his own concern, so why was Fang Xu so agitated?

Once Fang Xu was sure this was indeed Qiu Chuji, he felt as if a pillow had been delivered just as he grew tired. Earlier, he had been disappointed at not finding Sun Simiao, but now, with Qiu Chuji before him, that disappointment vanished in an instant.

After all, Sun Simiao’s alchemical arts could not compare to those of Qiu Chuji, a prodigy in his own right. If previously Fang Xu had only a thirty percent chance of success in making explosives, now, with Qiu Chuji’s help, his confidence soared to eighty percent—thanks to those three words: Qiu Chuji.