"Defying fate?" That phrase is so last decade. Ten years ago, it might've made a teenager's heart race, but now it's just shorthand for melodrama. Even the web novel world has ditched it—so you can imagine how unpopular it is. No one knows how old the Silver Priest really is, but his inner teenager is almost extinct. He didn't rush to deny Gavin Guo's words, but his tone was full of skepticism and disdain: "Defy how, change what?"
Gavin Guo seemed totally unfazed by the Silver Priest's reaction, as if he'd seen it coming. Calm and collected, he explained, "Everyone has their fate. Some start at the bottom and end up making it big, some dream big but trip at the finish line. Some build up slowly and bloom late, some are child prodigies who flop as adults. Luck is fickle, but in the end, it's all just 'destiny.' Take you, for example—became a top master while still young, but for the past twenty years, no matter how hard you work, you haven't moved an inch closer to the true peak of martial arts. Wherever fate draws the line, it's almost impossible to cross it."
Gavin Guo didn’t even flinch at the Silver Priest’s threatening presence. He stayed haughty: "I'm just a humble fortune-teller, lucky enough to get the Khan's attention. Sure, I can't move mountains, but when it comes to reading faces—well, that's my party trick."
Gavin Guo didn't flinch at the Silver Priest's menacing aura. He stayed haughty: "I'm just a humble fortune-teller, lucky enough to get the Khan's attention. Sure, I can't move mountains, but when it comes to reading faces—well, that's my party trick."
"Reading faces?" The Silver Priest wore a mask, so you couldn't see his expression—but you could bet he looked pretty funny right then.
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Maybe this guy wasn't just a con artist after all.
"Catch!" Gavin Guo suddenly tossed a stone, spinning through the air toward the Silver Priest.
Gavin Guo’s voice was full of passion, painting an inspiring picture. But then he switched gears, suddenly sarcastic: "Too bad his fate wasn’t tough enough. The Grandmaster of the Manichaean Sect couldn’t stand up to the Song Dynasty’s luck. Destiny struck—Tong Guan led the army south and cut him off. Frank Fang rose and fell at Overturned Boat Mountain. His great drama barely started before it ended. In the end, it was a lose-lose fight. The Song crushed Frank Fang, but the Manichaean Sect cursed Zhao Ji. In peacetime, the emperor was captured by the Jin. The Jingkang Disaster: concubines disgraced, Zhao Ji’s corpse turned to lamp oil. The Song was shattered, forced to flee south. If not for a few Confucian masters fixing the feng shui, they’d never have lasted this long."
Gavin Guo watched the faint glow, his gaze flickering with unknown thoughts, then continued, "This Stormstone can help break through the limits of fate. Like a carp turning into a dragon, leaping into the sky. For you, it’s a ladder to the next level."
The Silver Priest studied the stone in his hand. He wasn't as resistant as before, but after a moment, he still shook his head: "Gavin Guo, what you're saying makes no sense. You yourself said every sect knows about it, so clearly it's been around for ages. If it really could change fate, the stone would've switched hands a thousand times by now, and the world would be crawling with powerhouses. Things would be very different around here."
"Fair point," Gavin Guo nodded, then shook his head. "But the Stormstone isn't for just anyone—there are two major limitations."
"Limitations?"
"Exactly. The first limitation: it only works for someone who carries the weight of thousands of beliefs—literally has 'ten thousand thoughts upon them'—and wears it directly on their body."
"Ten thousand thoughts upon them? What does that mean?"
"It means being someone believed in by countless followers," Gavin Guo explained smoothly. "From what I know, the Stormstone has been around for ages, but it didn’t originate in the Central Plains. It was brought in from the Persian West by a foreign sect during the Tang Dynasty. It was their sacred relic, used to gather faith. The more believers, the stronger the faith, the thicker the spiritual energy—then, the person at the center of all that belief becomes imbued with it. 'Gathering faith to become a god,' as they say. Normally, all that faith is useless, but the Stormstone can sense it. It turns that wishy-washy devotion into a blade to cut through destiny. So for me, it’s pointless—but for you, it’s a genuine treasure."
"So that's how it is..." The Eternal Sky Cult was the top sect on the steppes, and while not everyone knew about the seven High Priests, plenty of people were aware of their existence. As the Silver Priest, one of the seven, it was no surprise he was carrying the weight of ten thousand thoughts.
Holding the Stormstone, its faint glow shining on him, the Silver Priest could already feel something different. The bottleneck that had plagued him for so long seemed to loosen—just a smidge, but enough to make him seriously excited. His eyes flashed as he started plotting how to get his hands on more of these stones.
The translation accurately conveys the historical events and sarcasm. However, the names 'Tong Guan' and 'Zhao Ji' for '童贯' and '赵佶' are more recognizable. If not standardized, use these transliterations: 'Tong Guan' and 'Zhao Ji'.
If this stone really could defy fate, then...
"The second big limitation is all about luck—or, to put it bluntly, whether your fate is tough enough," Gavin Guo interrupted the Silver Priest’s daydreaming. "It’s called the Stormstone, not the Fortune Stone, because it doesn’t just hand out blessings—it brings a storm. Like a cultivator facing a tribulation: if you survive, you ascend; if you fail, you’re toast, wiped out for good."
Gavin Guo’s words made the Silver Priest’s eyes narrow. He couldn’t help but ask, "What does it mean to have a tough fate? What if your fate isn’t tough? Whose fate is tough enough?"
"Tough or not, it’s all relative. Wood’s stronger than dirt, but weaker than stone. Ever heard of Frank Fang?"
"Frank Fang? The outlaw crushed by the Song Dynasty a hundred years ago? Wait—did he get his hands on the Stormstone?"
"Get his hands on it? Ha! He was the Grandmaster of the Manichaean Sect—the Stormstone was brought to the Central Plains by his sect. There were only six Stormstones in all of China, and every single one was in Frank Fang’s hands! The more stones, the more magic. Back then, he had all six!"
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"All of them?" Even the Silver Priest was shocked. One Stormstone had already made him feel different—imagine having all six!
"He came from nothing, but he was a true hero—smart and strong. Young as he was, Frank Fang became the Grandmaster of the Manichaean Sect. He preached, rallied believers, and had a crew of talent and muscle. Then he schemed for the throne, plotting to rise up by the Eastern Sea. When he called, a million followers answered. If things had gone his way, the thirty-eight southern provinces would've fallen in one thunderous sweep, splitting China in two, rivaling the Song Dynasty. If he'd kept building his base, ten years tops and he'd rule the land."
Gavin Guo’s voice was full of passion, painting an inspiring picture. But then he switched gears, suddenly sarcastic: "Too bad his fate wasn’t tough enough. The Grandmaster of the Manichaean Sect couldn’t stand up to the Song Dynasty’s luck. Destiny struck—Thomas Tung led the army south and cut him off. Frank Fang rose and fell at Overturned Boat Mountain. His great drama barely started before it ended. In the end, it was a lose-lose fight. The Song crushed Frank Fang, but the Manichaean Sect cursed Edward Zhao. In peacetime, the emperor was captured by the Jin. The Jingkang Disaster: concubines disgraced, Edward Zhao’s corpse turned to lamp oil. The Song was shattered, forced to flee south. If not for a few Confucian masters fixing the feng shui, they’d never have lasted this long."
Stuff like this—history, dynasties rising and falling—usually bored a martial artist like the Silver Priest. But today, hearing Gavin Guo talk about it as a battle of fate, he was genuinely moved. Suddenly, he realized the Stormstone wasn’t just a treasure—it was dangerously unpredictable.
Who says kings and nobles are born to rule?
The Silver Priest’s heart skipped a beat, and he gripped the stone tighter. His intel was way better than Gavin Guo’s, and he’d heard the rumors about Shaolin’s massacre. Apparently, those monks got all hyped over some opportunity—someone even rushed from the West to deliver something to Mount Song. But just hours after they got it, everyone was slaughtered. Gavin Guo was miles away, yet he described it like he’d seen it himself. Freaky.
And this stone could bring such disaster to its holder... The Silver Priest wondered: was his fate tough enough? If it was, maybe he should...
Gavin Guo seemed not to notice his inner struggle and kept talking calmly: "Fate struggles are complicated. You killed Chester Chu and wiped out Shaolin Temple—that’s all about luck. The Almanac of Twelve Spirits, the Dream Brook Essays, all those things I sent you searching for—they’re tied to fate too. When a king takes a wife, when a minister is promoted or demoted—every move matters. Famous mountains, great rivers, renowned scholars—they all influence fate. That’s why emperors climbed Mount Tai for rituals, to gather luck. Destiny is hard to grasp. The Stormstone is just a small part of it; don’t put all your faith in it."
As Gavin Guo kept one eye on the Armillary Sphere, he continued, "Anyone truly blessed by fate doesn’t need this thing. The Great Khan has the momentum to swallow the world—his luck soars sky-high, so he shouldn’t care about the unpredictable Stormstone. But with the Metal Calamity: White Tiger’s Ascendancy, the stars are in chaos, fate is scrambled. The Confucians won’t miss a chance like this—they’ll do everything to help the Song Dynasty get the Vermilion Bird’s luck. With so many hands in play, fate’s unstable. Who’s tough, who’s weak? Hard to say. So don’t let your guard down."
The Silver Priest was silent for a moment, then suddenly looked up. "There’s news about the White Tiger." Normally, he wouldn’t have bothered telling Gavin Guo, but now he genuinely believed this guy had some kind of uncanny power. He was starting to understand why the Great Khan valued him so much. "According to secret reports, Ari Bukha’s eldest son, Mingli Temur, had a strange illness as a boy—a white patch appeared on his chest, shaped like a battle blade. Now he’s grown up, strong as an ox, and even the toughest soldiers can’t beat him."
Ari Bukha was Kublai Khan’s brother. After Möngke died at Xiangyang, the two turned on each other. Ari Bukha got support from the Chagatai Khanate and other Mongol states, splitting the empire with Kublai. Their feud drained the Yuan’s strength for years.
West side, pale skin, strong body, eldest son of a sworn enemy—he fit every clue. Even Gavin Guo nodded, "Better to kill by mistake than let him go. If you wait, trouble will brew. Kill him quickly."
"Of course we get it. The White Tiger’s handled—what about the Azure Dragon?"
"Azure Dragon rules the east, wood element, nurturing all life. Like a giant tree—most of it hidden underground, best at hiding fate, roots spreading endlessly. The Manichaean Sect came to China in the Tang, worshipped the Holy Fire, believed light would break the darkness, and acted radical. Take Frank Fang: always causing trouble, but his sect survived. Even the Song Dynasty and Thomas Tung couldn’t wipe them out. Their legacy lingers. No one knows where they are now, but since the Stormstone was theirs, someone in their ranks must have it. So, the Azure Dragon’s luck is probably still with the Manichaean Sect." Gavin Guo concluded after some thought.
"The Manichaean Sect?" Sect wars were ruthless—especially now that he knew the Stormstone was powered by faith. The Silver Priest’s eyes flashed murderously: "I’ll hunt down those Manichaean bastards myself! The Almanac of Twelve Spirits, too—I’ll get it for you within a month! But this Stormstone..." He didn’t want to give it back, but had no idea how to keep it. Killing Gavin Guo was out of the question—the fallout would be huge. If word got out, he’d lose his title and all the faith that came with it.
After all, the believers worship Eternal Heaven—they just give the priest a little faith on the side, but it’s the title "Silver Priest" they believe in, not the man himself.
The Stormstone was so powerful, no doubt Kublai Khan wanted it for himself. The Silver Priest wanted to take it, but if it meant going up against Kublai Khan... He didn’t dabble in fate, but he knew his luck couldn’t beat Kublai’s. He was at least that self-aware.
And if the Golden Priest came after him, he’d be dead meat—no escape, no matter where he ran. Just thinking of that guy made the Silver Priest shudder.
In the end, much as he hated it, he had no choice but to give the stone back.
But Gavin Guo surprised him: "Take the Stormstone with you."
"Take it?" The Silver Priest was stunned, and asked again, "I can really take it?"
"I can’t use it. Even in my hand, it’s just a rock. You can keep it—carry it with you to help your martial arts. Plus, the six Stormstones might resonate with each other; maybe they’ll help you find the Azure Dragon and White Tiger. Take it if you want—no one will stop you. As long as..." Gavin Guo suddenly smiled, and the room seemed to darken: "As long as you’re not afraid of being cursed to death."
The Silver Priest fell silent. He looked at Gavin Guo, then at the Stormstone in his hand. After a long pause, he said nothing—just pocketed the stone and left. Defying fate—when it’s impossible, everyone scoffs. But when it becomes possible, almost no one can resist the temptation.
Everyone has ambition.
Why not kings and nobles too?