Volume One: The Young Monk Returns to Secular Life Chapter Fifty-Nine: Strategies for Disaster Relief

“Your master?”

Lin Chen suddenly remembered the changes in Lin Dong. Whether it was his battle with the two martial artists at the latrine door or the swordsmanship he displayed against Chen Budiao, his skills were exquisite.

“Yes, my master’s name is Xiao Yan.”

Whenever Lin Dong spoke of his master, his face radiated with a joyful smile.

He had indeed learned much from this teacher.

“Xiao Yan?” Lin Chen murmured the name, convinced he had heard it somewhere before.

“Then your master must be a martial arts expert… If there’s a chance, I’d like to meet him,” Lin Chen said slowly.

“No, his internal strength is only at the seventh level now,” Lin Dong shook his head.

“What? Is he in the temple?” Lin Chen’s face was filled with disbelief.

Lin Dong sighed deeply. “No, I expect he’s nearly at the northern disaster area by now…”

…

A dozen days later…

Life sometimes passed quietly, sometimes in raging waves…

…

Jinshan Temple returned to its tranquil state, save for the recent event when Chen Buqun suddenly ascended the mountain to become a monk and joined Elder Xiao Yan.

Nothing else of note happened.

That troublemaker Xiao Yan seemed to have vanished into thin air; his whereabouts were unknown.

The abbot once again told the monks the fib that “Xiao Yan went up the mountain and was eaten by a tiger.”

But few truly believed it.

On the contrary, many monks whispered that Xiao Yan had taken the money and gone to the pleasure houses…

Because some incense patrons claimed to have seen a strangely dressed monk at a certain “blue” establishment, whom the temple monks believed to be Xiao Yan.

…

Far away, a thousand kilometers distant, the wind blew stronger than usual.

Elder Hui Ren had long since converted all the temple’s money into grain in Jinshan City, hiring a dozen sturdy men to pack and transport it toward the disaster zone.

There was no alternative—grain prices in the disaster area were more than thirty times the usual rate, so the money wouldn’t buy much. The only option was to haul the grain in directly.

Through dust and wind, eating and sleeping on the road, Elder Hui Ren was in surprisingly good spirits.

For this shipment could save tens of thousands of lives.

On the morning they arrived at the disaster area, as dawn broke, a young bald head emerged from a carriage.

He looked like a monk from Jinshan Temple, but his robes were oddly colored, dyed in a riot of hues.

It was clear he was not a proper monk.

“Hey! Where did you come from, you wild monk?” One of the grain-handling men dutifully approached, patting the young monk’s shoulder. “Don’t cause any trouble—this food is for disaster relief, and if you try anything, you’ll bring down divine wrath!”

The little monk turned, a mischievous grin on his face.

The man’s expression darkened, and he raised a fist threateningly. “Keep away from the grain, or don’t blame me for being rough.”

“Hey, brother, relax, I don’t plan on doing anything bad,” the monk replied with a lazy, offhand tone.

Just then, the man felt someone tap his shoulder.

He spun around and respectfully said, “Master Hui Ren!”

“Hmm, what’s going on?” Elder Hui Ren frowned.

“This monk seems to be eyeing the grain!” The man jerked his head toward the little monk.

Elder Hui Ren turned and saw a familiar bald head.

“Ah… Elder Hui Ren… Long time no see…” The little monk grinned.

“You… how did you follow us here?” Elder Hui Ren asked, incredulous.

After a moment, Elder Hui Ren signaled the man not to worry and to go about his work; he would handle things.

Still, the man glanced warily at the monk, uneasily telling Hui Ren, “This monk looks like trouble. If you need help, just shout and we’ll come running.”

Elder Hui Ren chuckled and nodded, and the man finally departed.

The little monk was none other than Xiao Yan.

He cheerfully pulled out a small booklet from his robes and handed it to Elder Hui Ren. “Here… when you see the Minister of Revenue, give him this.”

“Hm?” Hui Ren frowned, eyeing Xiao Yan’s pronounced dark circles, puzzled.

He didn’t ask further, just glanced at the booklet.

The cover bore a few decently neat characters, ugly but legible.

“Disaster Relief Strategies.”

“This… did you write this?” Hui Ren frowned, unable to believe it.

After all, he regarded Xiao Yan as someone barely literate, only skilled in shady tricks.

How could such a person produce something like “Disaster Relief Strategies?”

But Xiao Yan’s obvious dark circles showed he had likely worked through the night to write it.

As expected, Xiao Yan grinned and said, “Actually, I didn’t write most of it—I copied it and just organized the content.”

He was telling the truth. Xiao Yan had indeed copied much of it, but he combined practical scientific methods from the world before he crossed over.

This small booklet had cost Xiao Yan much time. In his previous life, he had volunteered in disaster zones—earthquakes, floods, and other natural calamities. Though different from the current famine, there were many similarities.

Additionally, Xiao Yan borrowed many books from the temple’s library, allowing him to blend modern methods with ancient realities.

He spent over ten days and several nights working nonstop to produce this booklet.

Of course, Elder Hui Ren couldn’t have known any of this. He flipped through it absentmindedly.

He didn’t really understand it; glancing at the contents, he thought it similar to the one the Minister of Revenue already had. He was about to refuse, but seeing Xiao Yan’s two dark circles, he felt a pang of pity and replied, somewhat perfunctorily, “Alright, settle down for today and prepare. We should reach the disaster area tomorrow, and I’ll hand it in for you then.”

“Ah… then I’m going back to sleep…” Xiao Yan yawned, exhausted, and turned to climb back into the carriage.

“But the Minister may not be interested in this, so…” Elder Hui Ren added behind him.

“Got it,” Xiao Yan waved, dismissing the concern.

He had done all he could; if the Minister failed to recognize its value, there was nothing more he could do.

“Oh… and tell the driver to go slow and steady, so it doesn’t disturb my sleep…” Xiao Yan called without looking back.

Elder Hui Ren shook his head and sighed.

He wasn’t sure if Xiao Yan’s presence was good or bad—this fellow was always causing trouble.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t make a mess of things. This was not like Jinshan Temple; this disaster relief involved the imperial court, and any mishap could mean prison or even death.

…

The next day.

Dozens of carts laden with grain entered the disaster area.

Elder Hui Ren hurried into the conference hall, clutching a letter from the abbot.

But the Minister of Revenue, Qin Shirong, was absent. Instead, Hui Ren saw a familiar figure.

The man was tall, with a hint of stubble. His face was broad and square, his white clothing lent a heroic air, and his eyes were strikingly sharp—as if they could see through all things.

Elder Hui Ren approached and greeted him, “Master Chen, this humble monk pays his respects.”

He was none other than the head of the Chen Sword Sect, Chen Bufan.

Chen Bufan nodded with a smile, though his steps were hurried. “Master Hui Ren, I’ve heard from Lord Qin that you’ve delivered a steady stream of supplies… Just now, I saw you bring fifty carts of grain—quite a substantial amount.”

“Master Chen, you flatter me. These were donated by the less accomplished disciples of Jinshan Temple; the temple itself could never afford so much,” Elder Hui Ren replied with a wry smile.

“Oh? Jinshan Temple has such disciples?” Chen Bufan asked with genuine interest and curiosity.