So… this was not The Legend of the Condor Heroes.
This was history.
Chen Rong felt a chill crawl slowly up his spine.
This wasn't some staged drama, nor a hallucination. The shattered windshield of his pickup truck was real. The arrows embedded in the door were real. The Mongol cavalry still standing in the distance, wary and tense, were very real.
And the old Daoist standing before him—
Qiu Chuji - Master Changchun.
The historical figure who had traveled west to meet Genghis Khan and persuade him to reduce slaughter.
This wasn't fiction.
This was the early thirteenth century.
Chen Rong's breathing grew uneven.
"No… no… this kind of thing can't possibly happen to me…"
He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts spiraled uncontrollably.
He had parents—both retired and living comfortably back home. His family owned two apartments in the city, both fully paid for. No mortgage. No debt. They also owned two cars.
He himself had no loans, no financial pressure. His parents had saved nearly a million yuan for him.
And although he was not yet married, he still went on several blind dates every year.
His life was stable.
Comfortable.
Predictable.
Why would he want to travel through time?
Why him?
"I don't want this…" he muttered inwardly, his face pale.
"If this esteemed master is willing," Master Changchun said gently, stepping forward with measured calm, "you may accompany this poor Daoist westward to meet the Mongolian Khan. There need be no hostility between us."
Qiu Chuji's tone was courteous, but inwardly he remained cautious.
The steel beast before him had appeared suddenly and scattered more than a dozen Mongol cavalry in moments. The man who emerged wielded strange weapons capable of emitting brilliant light and thunder-like power.
Such methods were far beyond ordinary understanding.
If this man belonged to a Buddhist sect, then perhaps the Buddhists also sought to meet the Great Khan.
Qiu Chuji examined Chen Rong carefully.
Short hair… but not shaved.
Not quite a monk.
Still, the man's clothing was unfamiliar, his manner strange, and his weapons terrifying.
"As long as he is not a Buddhist monk," Qiu Chuji thought quietly, "this matter may yet be manageable."
Chen Rong hesitated.
He clung to a final thread of hope.
"…Who is your Khan?" he asked.
Qiu Chuji and Liu Zhonglu exchanged glances. After a moment's hesitation, Liu Zhonglu stepped forward and spoke carefully.
"The Great Khan's given name is Temujin. After the Kurultai assembly, he was honored as Genghis Khan. If you are willing, I can write to the Great Khan and recommend you."
He had been cautious, clearly wary of offending this mysterious monk.
Temujin.
Genghis Khan.
The final illusion shattered.
Chen Rong felt his heart sink.
So it really was the early Mongol Empire.
He lifted a hand unconsciously, brushing his short hair. It was only cut shorter than usual—nothing more. Yet in this era, where most men wore their hair long, it was enough to make him appear like some wandering ascetic.
"I am not a Buddhist monk," Chen Rong said after a brief pause.
He had nearly said "Buddhist disciple," but stopped himself. Claiming religious affiliation in this era might bring unnecessary complications.
Qiu Chuji quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
Not Buddhist.
That was good.
The rivalry between Daoism and Buddhism had intensified in recent years. His journey westward was politically sensitive. Bringing a powerful Buddhist figure into the matter could complicate everything.
Liu Zhonglu, however, studied Chen Rong's short hair with doubt.
If he wasn't Buddhist, why cut his hair so short?
Still, he did not dare question further.
"May I know your name, Master?" Liu Zhonglu asked respectfully, bowing slightly. "I will report it to the Great Khan."
"Chen Rong," he replied absently.
His attention had already shifted to his pickup truck.
The vehicle leaned slightly after the earlier rollover. The front bumper was badly deformed. Several arrows were still embedded in the doors and body.
The windshield was completely shattered.
Chen Rong clicked his tongue quietly.
"That was close…" he almost died.
He retrieved a jack from the back of the truck and began lifting the tilted vehicle.
Liu Zhonglu watched silently.
His eyes widened.
The iron cart was enormous, yet Chen Rong manipulated it alone using strange tools. Though Liu Zhonglu did not understand the mechanics, the act still appeared astonishing.
"One man lifting such a heavy iron beast…" Liu Zhonglu thought. "This person must possess the strength of a thousand jin."
He also wondered whether Chen Rong's silence signaled dissatisfaction.
After straightening the vehicle, Chen Rong climbed into the cab and turned the ignition.
The engine roared to life.
Relief washed over him.
At least it still ran.
That meant he could escape if necessary.
Meanwhile, the Mongol soldiers gathered cautiously nearby, watching the steel beast with unease.
Liu Zhonglu gave several orders in Mongolian. Soon, a group of cavalry mounted spare horses and rode off to retrieve the scattered mounts.
By nightfall, they returned, driving the recovered horses back toward camp.
The Mongols established camp roughly fifty meters away from Chen Rong's vehicle. A bonfire crackled against the cold wind, sparks drifting into the darkening sky.
Their horses were tied at a cautious distance.
Clearly, they feared the steel beast.
Inside his cab, Chen Rong sat quietly.
The fading light cast long shadows across the dashboard. His face appeared pale and drawn.
"So… I really traveled through time…"
No one would go to such lengths to trick him. Dozens of trained horses, authentic armor, unfamiliar accents—it was impossible to fake.
Across the fire sat the elderly Daoist- The man appeared frail, his hair white as frost, yet his posture remained upright, his bearing calm and composed.
Though clearly past seventy, there was a quiet strength about him, the kind that came from decades of cultivation and learning. This was no ordinary wanderer.
he should really be the legendary Master Changchun- Qiu Chuji.
Not the fictional martial arts master from novels. But a seventy-year-old Daoist scholar undertaking a dangerous journey westward.
Chen Rong recalled what he knew of history.
Qiu Chuji's western journey would become famous. His meeting with Genghis Khan—later called the "Dragon and Horse Meeting"—would persuade the conqueror, the Great Khan to reduce slaughter and show mercy to the people of the conquered lands.
Afterward, Genghis Khan would hold him in high esteem and order that he take charge of Daoist affairs across the empire.
From that moment, Daoism would flourish under Mongol rule. In the decades that followed, Daoist sects would expand rapidly, spreading across northern China and even into the Mongolian heartlands. For a time, Daoism would seem poised to become the dominant religious tradition under the Mongol Empire.
But history would not follow that path for long.
Chen Rong's gaze darkened slightly.
Decades later, the rise of Tibetan Buddhism would overturn everything.
A figure named Phagspa would emerge, backed by powerful Mongol rulers.
At the famous debate between Buddhism and Daoism, he would openly challenge Daoist doctrines, particularly the Transformation of the Barbarians Sutra, which claimed that Laozi had traveled west and become the Buddha.
The text would be denounced, and Daoism's legitimacy would suffer a devastating blow.
Afterward, Daoism would decline rapidly.
Many Daoist disciples would be forced to shave their heads and become Buddhist monks. Numerous Daoist temples would be converted into Buddhist monasteries. The influence Daoism had painstakingly built would crumble within a generation.
Later still, under Kublai Khan, Phagspa—still only in his twenties—would be appointed as Imperial Preceptor of the Mongol Empire. Tibetan Buddhism would rise to the position of state religion, its authority firmly established across Mongol territories.
Chen Rong exhaled slowly.
That future was still decades away.
Yet thinking about it, another memory surfaced—one far more tragic.
Decades later, the Southern Song Dynasty would collapse completely. The final resistance would end at the Battle of Yashan, where the last remnants of the Song court would fall into the sea.
That defeat would mark the end of Han Chinese rule and the full establishment of Mongol authority across the Central Plains.
Afterward, countless Han people would become subjects under Mongol rule, their status placed at the bottom of the empire's social hierarchy.
Even the Semu peoples—Central Asians, Uyghurs, and Arab merchants—would stand above them in rank.
During the Yuan dynasty, Han people would remain among the lowest social classes, burdened by restrictions and discrimination.
Chen Rong felt a faint heaviness in his chest.
But he quickly pushed the thoughts aside.
Right now, the most important matter was survival—how to stay alive in this unfamiliar era, and more importantly, how to live comfortably once he did.
One possibility crossed his mind: simply drive the off-road vehicle south and head straight for the Southern Song Dynasty.
But the idea quickly collapsed under closer thought.
Based on the terrain and what he remembered before his sudden journey through time, he was most likely still somewhere in the western regions—perhaps near the lands he had once crossed in Xinjiang.
That meant he remained thousands of kilometers from the Central Plains.
More importantly, fuel was a fatal limitation.
The gasoline in his vehicle was finite. Once it ran out, the iron beast he relied on would become nothing more than a useless shell. In this vast wilderness, there would be no place to replenish fuel, nor any means to refine it himself.
Even if, by some stroke of luck, the fuel was enough to carry him as far as the Southern Song territories, the journey itself would be perilous.
Vast stretches of desolate land lay between here and the Central Plains—true no-man's-lands where food and water were scarce, and a single mistake could prove fatal.
And even if he overcame all of those obstacles, there remained the greatest problem of all.
The Southern Song Dynasty was separated from him by several powerful states—Mongolia, Western Xia, and the Jin Dynasty.
At this moment in history, the entire region was engulfed in constant warfare. Mongolia clashed repeatedly with the Jin Dynasty, while smaller conflicts erupted across the borders.
Armies marched, cities fell, and the Central Plains had become a land of chaos and bloodshed.
Driving through such a war-torn region alive would be uncertain at best.
Chen Rong narrowed his eyes slightly.
Even if he reached the Southern Song safely, life there might not be any better.
The Southern Song court heavily favored civil officials over military generals.
The literati wielded enormous influence, while capable commanders were often restrained, mistrusted, or deliberately sidelined. Even figures of exceptional talent struggled to gain authority.
He recalled how even Meng Gong, one of the final pillars of the Southern Song military, had been mocked and belittled by scholars and officials. Such treatment reflected the broader climate of the court—one that suppressed military strength even in the face of existential threats.
If someone like him arrived in the Southern Song, an unknown outsider with neither background nor status, it would be nearly impossible to display his abilities, let alone influence the fate of the nation.
Chen Rong exhaled slowly.
If he truly wished to improve the future living conditions of the Han people… then the Southern Song might not be the best place to begin.
Instead, another possibility emerged in his mind.
Meeting Genghis Khan.
The thought lingered, heavy and dangerous.
The Mongol Empire was rising with unstoppable momentum. If he could gain influence at its source—if he could shape decisions at the highest level—then perhaps he could alter the course of history itself.
Chen Rong tightened his grip slightly.
Compared to fleeing south, this path was far more dangerous.
But it might also be the only path with real potential.