# 68
Chapter 68: A Gathering of Winds and Clouds
Shangjing City.
Night Watch Training Office.
“What? This year’s rookie training is set for Cangnan? Where even is Cangnan?” Yuan Gang stared at the document in disbelief.
In front of him, a man lounging in a recliner behind the desk stretched lazily, cracked open his eyes, and sat up. A cross-shaped scar marked his temple.
He was Shao Pingge—captain of Night Watch Team 006, stationed in Shangjing City.
“Small city in the southeast, next to Huaihai City,” Shao Pingge answered after a moment’s thought.
“But… every previous training has been held here in Shangjing. Why the sudden move to Cangnan?” Yuan Gang frowned.
“Who knows what the higher-ups are thinking.” Shao Pingge stood, filled a glass from the kettle, and leisurely reclined again. “We—well, you—just follow orders. You’re the vice-captain of Team 006 and head instructor for every rookie intake. You’ve trained so many classes; surely a change of scenery won’t break you?”
“Of course not.” Yuan Gang shook his head repeatedly. “I just don’t get the sudden relocation. We’ve got facilities, grounds, equipment all ready here—now we’re hauling everything to Cangnan… Isn’t that asking for trouble?”
“The brass must have their reasons. Execute the order; don’t poke into what we’re not meant to know.”
“…Fine.” Yuan Gang sighed.
“With Logistics’ efficiency, they’ll have a full training base up in Cangnan before dawn. Round up your people and get moving,” Shao Pingge said, sipping tea.
“Yes, sir.” Yuan Gang paused. “While I’m away, Captain, can you keep Shangjing in one piece and not stir up chaos?”
Whoosh—!
A slipper flew from behind the desk. Yuan Gang sidestepped it neatly, and Shao Pingge’s curses followed.
“Hey, Yuan Gang, you doubting me? I’m the damn captain of Shangjing’s garrison—do I look like dead weight?”
Yuan Gang chuckled, flung the slipper out the window, and swaggered out.
Shao Pingge kept swearing after him.
…
Guangshen City.
An upscale private club.
“Cangnan? Where’s that?” In a lavish VIP massage room, a chubby kid in a bathrobe lay on a sofa, staring at the notice in surprise.
Behind the door, five burly bodyguards stood expressionless. In front of them, a butler with a monocle bowed politely.
“Young master, Cangnan is a small city in the southeast.”
“Used t’be in Shangjing every year, right?”
“Policy seems to have changed this year. Your itinerary will need adjusting; I’ll arrange it at once.”
The boy set his grapes back in the bowl and waved a pudgy hand.
“Book tomorrow’s flight—I’m off then!”
The butler blinked. “Young master, tomorrow might be rushed. As for quarters, we’ve already asked Night Watch to reserve the best dorm for you—they’ll oblige us.”
“Guangshen’s too dull; I wanna meet new mates!”
“…Once there, please try to speak Mandarin, or they may not understand.”
“Mandarin?” The boy pondered. “Right—if we can’t talk, I won’t make real friends!”
He patted the young woman massaging his feet. “Alright, off you rest. I’ve indulged for ten-odd years—time for a new life…”
He stood, stretched, and his layers of fat quivered.
“Cangnan, huh? Young master’s comin’!”
…
Mount Jiuhua.
Buddhist chants drifted amid sandalwood haze.
An old monk in kasaya paced along a wooden corridor, prayer beads turning, eyes tranquil.
He halted at a meditation cell and tapped twice before entering.
Inside: one bed, one table, one prayer mat. On the largest wall, bold black strokes spelled “Stillness”—the strokes elegant yet seeming to hide killing intent.
The black-haired youth on the mat opened his eyes.
“Donor Cao Yuan, your letter.” The monk bowed, producing an envelope.
Cao Yuan rose, accepted it, and read for a long while.
“Cangnan…” he murmured, then looked up. “Master, do you think… I should go?”
“You’ve sat five years in this temple, suppressing the demon within. I believe it is time.”
“But my sins…”
“Killing is sin; saving is merit. When merit offsets sin, freedom follows.” The old monk’s eyes were fathomless, palms joined. “Stay here decades more, and sin remains sin. Donor, it’s time to let go.”
Cao Yuan bowed deeply, palms together.
“Thank you, Master, for your guidance.”
“One more thing, Donor.”
“Please speak.”
“In Cangnan you may meet a noble one. Seize that chance, and you may wash away your sins and even attain enlightenment.”
“A noble one?” Cao Yuan frowned. “Any sign to know him?”
“Two trees stand, eight gods minus one; ten years through night, to ferry the world.” The monk intoned, eyes closed, voice like an ancient bell—“Amitabha.”
Puzzled, Cao Yuan memorized the lines and bowed again.
“Then…” He gazed at the sea of clouds beyond the cell, palms joined. “I go.”
…
In the van.
Lin Qiye glanced at the silent group and shrank a little.
The atmosphere—awkward.
“Ahem…” Wen Qimo cleared his throat. “Qiye, the train tickets couldn’t be refunded—that’s not your fault, don’t dwell on it.”
In the passenger seat, Chen Muye’s face was green.
“Look on the bright side!” Wen Qimo tried. “Cangnan’s close—we can visit anytime!”
“Training’s closed camp; we can’t get in,” driver Wu Xiangnan said flatly.
“…Well, at least we bought everything—down jackets, thick blankets, heat pads, big scarves…”
“Qimo… Cangnan winters don’t need those,” Hongying whispered.
“Shut it!” Chen Muye glared, heart bleeding.
He hesitated, then turned to Lin Qiye pitifully.
“Qiye…
how about you go see
if any of that stuff can be returned?”