Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Betrothal by Proxy

As the dust settled, a man and a dog emerged, completely unscathed.

Within the Hall of Arhats, hundreds bore silent witness; not a sound could be heard, some even holding their breath. A few were stunned, unable to process what had just transpired. For centuries, no one had ever succeeded in this endeavor—everyone had long since accepted it as an impossible feat. It was as if people believed a sow could never climb a tree, only to one day wake and find her singing in the branches. What kind of feeling would that be?

Just an hour ago, when that young monk had entered the Hall and declared his intention to challenge the trial, they had all treated it as a jest, nothing more than a bit of amusement to pass the time. Yet today, the young monk had proven to them that it could, in fact, be done, laying out each step before their eyes. From the very beginning, when he lured the Arhats together with a feigned retreat, to hiding excrement in the lime, and poison within the excrement—no one could laugh at these antics anymore. Then, using the celestial hound and even factoring in the abbot himself…

You might call him devious, but you could not deny the effectiveness. This had nothing to do with Elder Huiming’s talk of searching for the formation’s weak point, yet he had succeeded.

It was not until the young monk strode cheerfully out of the challenge platform and asked a question that everyone snapped back to themselves.

“Elder Huiren, may I leave the mountain now?”

Elder Huiren was caught off guard. He turned to look at the platform. The thick mist had cleared; the stage was in chaos, and the eighteen monks lay scattered, not one able to rise.

He glanced at Xiao Yan, hesitation clouding his face. “This… this…” Elder Huiren began to stammer, as if the words were lodged in his throat.

“Allow me,” the abbot interjected, stepping forward from below the platform. His gaze on Xiao Yan was still tinged with resentment, yet he regained his usual authority as he faced the crowd.

“Xiao Yan, on your one hundred and ninth attempt at the Eighteen Arhat Formation… yes… you have succeeded!”

The abbot’s voice was firm and carried clearly to every ear. The words “challenge succeeded” rang out, echoing off the distant mountains.

Still, the crowd remained silent.

It was not until half an incense stick’s time had passed that scattered whispers began to rise.

“He did it? Why does it feel…”

“That useless one actually succeeded?”

“Yes… the abbot just said so…”

The murmurs spread, growing louder. The process had seemed so simple, yet it commanded respect.

Elder Huiren frowned in thought, staring dazedly at the challenge record book in his hands. A gentle breeze rustled the pages—old and yellowed, yet the writing remained clear.

As the wind flipped the pages, the records came into view:

“Thirty-fourth generation abbot: Faxian. Internal strength: thirty levels. Failed the challenge!

Forty-fifth generation elder: Mingkong. Internal strength: thirty levels. Failed the challenge!

...

Eighty-eighth generation abbot: Dewu. Internal strength: twenty-five levels. Failed the challenge!

...

Eighty-eighth generation chief disciple: Yuantong. Internal strength: thirteen levels. Failed the challenge.

Renowned swordsman outside the temple: Sword Immortal Li Bai. Internal strength: thirty levels. Failed the challenge!”

Elder Huiren pressed his hand down on the record book to keep it from being blown about. The abbot turned to him and nodded emphatically.

Understanding, Huiren fetched a brush. As he prepared to write, he realized his hand was trembling. The brush made a soft swishing sound across the page. At last, the sound ceased. On the newest page, a line of characters appeared—awkward, but clear, and strikingly out of place among the rest.

“Eighty-eighth generation disciple: secular name, Xiao Yan. Internal strength: five levels. Challenge succeeded!”

A monk without even a Buddhist name…

“Everyone, please quiet down!” the abbot called out, raising a hand for silence. Only then did he speak: “Xiao Yan, since you have succeeded in the challenge, according to the monastery’s rules, you may be granted the honorary title of elder.”

“Huh? Wait… what did you say? I must have misheard…” Xiao Yan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Wasn’t the rule that success meant I could leave the mountain and return to secular life?”

“Well… it’s just that no one has ever succeeded, so perhaps the rule was misremembered over the years?” The abbot paused, unable to suppress a secret smile as he lowered his head, then continued, “You may become an honorary elder of Golden Mountain Temple and begin taking disciples, imparting teachings.”

“Abbot, did you just laugh?” Xiao Yan asked blankly, ignoring his words.

“Of course not,” replied the abbot, then smiled right at him.

He looked at Xiao Yan, his smile gentle and kindly.

“Damn it! I want to leave the mountain. What use is some honorary elder title…”

Just then, a commotion stirred below the platform.

“Master Xiao Yan.”

A petite figure slowly stood and, under everyone’s gaze, stepped up onto the platform.

The voice was tender, distinctly girlish, though the speaker was dressed in men’s clothes.

The youth spoke softly, “Master Xiao Yan, I’ve finally found you.”

Xiao Yan glanced at the boy who had come up, frowning, clearly in no mood to engage—he wanted only to leave the monastery, return to secular life, and visit that famed house of pleasure…

“Master, I am a servant of the Jiang family… no, I am a manservant. Today I have come to deliver a letter on behalf of my lady,” the youth said, cheeks blushing.

“So you’re a maid, then?”

“Ah… how did you know?”

“May I ask you a question? If you look down, can you see the ground?”

“Hmm… no, I can’t… why?”

“Well, the mountain peak is too high—it blocks your view, doesn’t it?”

“Ah…” The girl hastily clutched her chest. “Scoundrel!”

Ah, a woman disguised as a man—Xiao Yan’s favorite kind. Judging by her looks, she’d be quite beautiful in women’s dress. Most importantly, that mountain peak was very high indeed…

“The letter!” The girl, puffing with indignation, handed over an envelope.

Xiao Yan hurriedly tore it open and glanced through it, again and again…

As it turned out, the archaic script was a little hard to decipher…

“Oh…” Xiao Yan finally gave up. Even if he could read it, he wasn’t sure what it meant. But with a rough look, and drawing on his pre-reincarnation experience of failing reading comprehension, he quickly got the gist.

“Betrothal at birth!”

For those were the only four characters he recognized.

“Heh heh… Is your lady beautiful? Are her peaks as high as yours? Is she a match for someone as dashing as myself?” Xiao Yan whispered.

“You… ptooey (yes)!”

“Ha ha ha ha… Good enough… Sorry, I’m drooling—did I get any on you?”

Indeed, a transmigrated protagonist was fated to win a beautiful, wealthy bride. Xiao Yan grew excited at the thought. After more than a year in this world, was romantic luck finally coming his way?

“…My lady is wonderful—eight feet tall,” the girl said, recalling her mistress’s instructions.

“Ah, I do like tall women…”

“Her waist is also eight feet…”

“Oh… what? Eight feet?” Xiao Yan’s eyes widened, hands gesturing as he muttered, “She’s a perfect square? That’s even fatter than Zhuge Yixiu. No, fatter than five Zhuge Yixius… This…”

He glanced at Zhuge Yixiu, shuddering.

“What?” The girl hadn’t caught his words. “Sorry?”

Xiao Yan suddenly straightened. “Sorry to trouble you, but I am now an honorary elder at Golden Mountain Temple. Leaving the order is quite impossible…”

“…,” the girl replied.

“…,” the abbot replied.

“But… this was arranged by our families. How can you go back on it?” the girl protested.

“Amitabha. Apologies, benefactor. I have devoted myself to Buddha; matters of the heart are not for me…” Xiao Yan intoned with a pious face.

“You… you just wait…”