Chapter 455: The Young Man, the Slap, and the Secret of the Five Radiance Body, Secret Bargains

In the 297th year of Cai Qiu, the tenth day of the tenth month, dawn had just broken.

“Ha… enough, it’s time to go back!”

After spending four days in the commandant’s library, Xia Hong let out a soft yawn, stretched his limbs, returned the book *Records of the Four Fiefs of Mo’ao River* to its shelf, glanced around, shook his head, and walked straight downstairs.

More than enough—this visit to the library yielded tremendous gains!

“Six martial arts: one mutilated version of the Tai Zhan Fist, plus three sword forms and two blade techniques—all improved by me after secretly studying them here. They offer at most a forty percent power boost. Giving them away won’t hurt.”

Books, on a small scale, are knowledge, the accumulated experience of predecessors; on a grand scale, they are the ladder of human progress—everywhere, they are priceless.

This three-story library in Cai Qiu holds at least ten thousand volumes, covering geography, agriculture, foraging, hunting, martial arts, cultivation, cold beasts, and even strange phenomena—virtually every subject imaginable.

From these ten thousand volumes alone, one can see the deep foundation of this fiefdom.

As a transmigrator, Xia Hong naturally understood the value of books: before the first year of Daxia, he had ordered Xia Chuan to compile the *Cold Beast Annals*, later assigned Yue Feng to compile the *Daxia Chronology*, and personally participated in drafting and editing the *Rites of Xia*. Under his lord’s emphasis, Daxia had cultivated a strong culture of writing—from the Eight Ministries down to the common folk.

Even so, by now, Daxia had only compiled four hundred or so books worthy of preservation.

If only all these ten thousand volumes could be brought back to Daxia!

Though this thought had surged countless times in Xia Hong’s mind over the past five days, he would never act on it.

Though faint, he could sense at least ten Yang-level qi signatures hidden within this three-story building, a few of which were nearly equal to his own.

Whether he could steal the books under their noses was one thing—but even if he did, could he walk out of this commandant’s mansion unharmed afterward?

Of course, all that was idle talk. In short, this library embodied nearly three hundred years of Cai Qiu’s accumulated wisdom and housed over a thousand precious martial texts—no one would let him stroll in so easily.

The six martial arts were Xia Hong’s fee for entry.

To Xia Hong, these six arts were hardly precious; to Cai Qiu, they were entirely different.

When he first clashed with Cai Yunzhou earlier this year, Xia Hong had suspected that Cai Qiu’s martial arts were inferior to Daxia’s.

Cai Yunzhou was the lord of Qinghuacheng, a direct third-generation descendant of the Fangbo—his status spoke for itself, and the martial arts he practiced must be the pinnacle of Cai Qiu.

On the day they fought at the city gate, his *Heaven-Seizing Sword Art* only boosted his power by a little over thirty percent—proving that Cai Qiu’s top martial arts were roughly at this level.

His months of experience in Cai Qiu had since confirmed Xia Hong’s suspicion.

“Before my skills achieved transcendence, mastering the Long Fist’s power mechanics to perfection granted a thirty percent boost; combined with martial techniques, it could reach a staggering fifty percent.

After achieving transcendence, with the ability to mimic and deconstruct law-level martial arts, my understanding deepened further. Once the fiefdom matters are settled, I’ll raise that boost even higher when I return…”

Xia Hong’s eyes gleamed faintly as he continued walking downstairs.

In short, six martial arts capable of up to a forty percent power boost were priceless to Cai Qiu—and thus earned him five days of library access.

“A two-for-one deal: not only did I gain library access, but by giving away these six arts, my identity as the Prince of Da Qin gains greater credibility—they’re reinforcing my background even more.”

A faint smile curled Xia Hong’s lips as he descended to the first floor and headed toward the exit.

The commandant’s mansion alone housed over a thousand Cai clan members, not counting maids and retainers—totaling at least twenty thousand people. The library saw constant traffic.

Though Xia Hong wore only a simple black silk robe, with no ornaments on his head or waist, everyone who saw him descend the stairs dared not underestimate him—only a few curious glances were cast his way.

Soon, he reached the entrance.

At the library’s entrance sat a reclining chair, where an old man with white hair, wrinkled face, and a plain green cotton robe lay motionless, eyes shut, breathing shallowly—clearly on the brink of death.

Those entering or leaving largely ignored the old man—except Xia Hong, who, as he passed, gave him a slight nod.

“This green-robed elder’s base strength exceeds fifty jun—stronger than the eldest prince, Cai Yunlan. He’s the most powerful person I’ve encountered in nearly four months since entering the mansion—and none of the Cai clan members entering or leaving the library recognize him!”

Xia Hong couldn’t help but sigh inwardly. He didn’t believe the mansion’s heirs were all fools; the fact that no one knew the old man proved the Cai clan’s core elite hid their strength too deeply—most clan members had no idea how many powerful figures lurked within their own family.

After all, they were a noble house spanning nearly three centuries—it wasn’t excessive.

“Young Master, all the Young Lords, the library has arrived—please!”

As Xia Hong stepped out the gate, a large human-drawn carriage halted before the building. A steward pulled back the curtain and spoke.

A young man, about eighteen or nineteen, dressed in jade-green brocade, wearing a silver crown and full ornaments, stepped down briskly—he was clearly the “young master” the steward mentioned.

For some reason, this young master’s face remained dark throughout.

After he stood firm, five men and three women followed him out of the carriage—each wore the same ornaments as the young master, except none wore the silver crown.

But Xia Hong had no interest in the other eight. The moment he saw the young master’s face, his eyes flickered with surprise.

Nothing else—because he had seen this young master before.

This dark-faced young master was none other than Cai Shiqi, whom Xia Hong had personally witnessed last August 25 at the northern entrance of Shigu Dao’s Nine Towns.

Xia Hong remembered clearly: the escort for Cai Shiqi’s party had been a Yang-level officer they called Zuo Canjun.

During his four months in Qinghuacheng, Xia Hong had gathered useful information: the title “Canjun” was not low in Cai Qiu—only four commandant offices could appoint them, serving as the commandant’s trusted advisors with authority to mobilize elite garrison troops.

Each commandant office had only three Canjuns—meaning Cai Qiu had exactly twelve in total. After discreet inquiries, Xia Hong had already confirmed Zuo Canjun’s identity.

Zuo Canjun Zhu Yan, late Yang-level, 19 jun strength.

It made sense: Shigu Dao lay within Changqing Valley, which fell under Qinghuacheng’s jurisdiction, and Qinghuacheng belonged to Baishui County. Logically, Zhu Yan was from Baishui.

By extension, this young master named Cai Shiqi was almost certainly from the Baishui commandant’s branch—Cai Qiu’s Cai Qiuhong.

If he’d met him in Qinghuacheng or Baishui’s capital, Xia Hong wouldn’t have reacted—but meeting him here in Linchu’s capital? That was no mere coincidence.

Yet the coincidences were not over.

The eight young men and women behind him, seeing Cai Shiqi’s dark face, exchanged glances, then began comforting him.

“Third brother, don’t worry—your severed finger has been reattached. Minor meridian damage isn’t serious. A month’s rest will fix it.”

“Exactly! Young Master, the Blood Miasma Plain trial doesn’t begin until November—there’s still twenty days. It won’t affect you.”

“Third brother, don’t be angry. After the trial, next year we’ll take men to the southern foothills, kill that bitch, and avenge…”

“Kill?”

Hearing his sister Cai Mengya’s words, Cai Shiqi turned sharply, cutting her off with a sharp question. His face flushed with boundless hatred as he snarled: “Killing her would be too kind! Next year, I’ll take men to cripple her, then drag her and every single Daxia official back to Cai Qiu—reduce them all to slave status. The men will serve as dogs in our Baishui mansion for generations; the women will be sent to the army as camp prostitutes. I will…”

Before Cai Shiqi finished, he suddenly sensed something. He looked up toward the library entrance and saw a young man in black silk staring at his severed finger. His fury exploded—he turned crimson, his pupils nearly blazing.

He pointed directly at the black-robed youth and roared: “You lowly scum! What are you staring at? Do you think I won’t have your eyes gouged out right now?”

………………

Cai Shiqi’s voice was loud. Everyone near the entrance froze in shock.

No one noticed that the green-robed elder, who had been lying motionless as if asleep, had opened one eye slightly, glanced at Cai Shiqi, shook his head, and closed his eyes again.

Yet the object of everyone’s attention—Xia Hong, the youth being scolded—slowly raised his head. He stared at the finger, once severed, now pointing at him. His face showed no expression—only silent observation.

“Whose scum is this? Come kneel and apologize to the Young Master!”

“This is Young Master Cai Shiqi of Baishui! Come bow and beg forgiveness!”

“Third brother isn’t a killer—he’s just in a bad mood today. Kneel and apologize. He won’t harm you.”

………………

Cai Shiqi’s eight companions clearly thought Xia Hong was stunned. They joined in shouting insults, and the woman even feigned compassion, offering advice to Xia Hong on behalf of Cai Shiqi.

Even within their own mansion, they dared treat someone without asking his origin or reason—these Cai clan heirs were truly arrogant!

Though Xia Hong had already sentenced Cai Shiqi to death in his mind, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

When Cai Shiqi mentioned Daxia’s high officials, Xia Hong had already suspected something. After examining the wound on his finger, he was certain.

Though arrogant, Cai Shiqi was indeed talented—no more than twenty years old, yet his base strength reached 56 jun.

From the scar on his finger, it was clearly a sword wound—clean, precise, not from a prolonged battle. Not even in Daxia, among the entire Nine Towns, was there a single woman capable of such a strike.

“The men will serve as dogs in our Baishui mansion for generations; the women will be sent to the army as camp prostitutes…”

Recalling Cai Shiqi’s unfinished words, Xia Hong lost all desire to be angry. A slow smile spread across his face.

“Scum…”

The moment Xia Hong smiled, Cai Shiqi realized he wasn’t frightened—he could no longer contain his rage. He drew his sword and stepped toward Xia Hong.

*Slap…*

But he had taken only two steps when a green-brocade-clad elder suddenly appeared and slapped him across the face, sending him flying over ten meters.

*Slap! Slap! Slap!*

Not done, the elder stepped forward and slapped each of the other eight youths who had spoken up.

His blows were heavy. After the barrage, all nine were stunned.

Their faces burned with rage—but when they looked up and saw who had struck them, they shuddered and immediately knelt.

“We bow to Uncle Yunqing!”

“We bow to Ancestor Yunqing!”

The Cai clan had endured nearly three centuries, now spanning at least ten generations. Interestingly, except for second- and third-generation members, whose names strictly included “Qiu” or “Yun,” the rest were named arbitrarily—suggesting Fangbo Cai Qianshan cared only for the second and third generations.

Yet the four commandant houses had a rule: regardless of generation, any heir granted the title of “Shizi” could change the middle character of his name to “Shi”; females changed it to “Shi.” This was both an honor and a distinction.

Xia Hong had inquired in Qinghuacheng: Cai Shiqi’s real name was Cai Ziqi. His father, Cai Yunsheng, was one of Baishui’s three Canjuns, like Zhu Yan. Cai Yunsheng had his son late in life—at over a hundred years old—so though Cai Shiqi was young, his lineage rank was high. As a fourth-generation member, he called Cai Yunqing “uncle.”

Of the other eight youths, only one woman called him “uncle”; the remaining seven called him “grand-ancestor”—they were fifth-generation or later from the Baishui branch.

“Who gave you the courage to disrespect the Grand Prince’s guest? First, slap your own faces ten times. Then apologize to Elder Hong. Hurry!”

Elder Hong?

Hearing this, Cai Shiqi and the others realized they’d stepped on iron. They stared at Xia Hong’s unnaturally young face and his plainly dressed attire—first stunned for several seconds.

*Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!*

But they quickly understood. They raised their hands and slapped their own faces ten times, then stood and bowed before Xia Hong:

“We were ignorant and offended Elder. We beg your forgiveness!”

Xia Hong had no intention of wasting words on a dead man. He smiled warmly and waved his hand with the demeanor of an elder: “No need. Hong is no petty man. Ignorance is no crime. Go.”

Seeing his anger had passed, Cai Yunqing smiled and waved to Cai Shiqi and the others to leave. Then he bowed to Xia Hong: “My young clan members spoke foolishly to Prince Hong. My apologies. Let me make amends—I’ll grant you two extra days to read any book in the library. How?”

Xia Hong waved his hand: “Canjun, no need. I’m new here—only came to learn about the customs of the Four Fiefs of Mo’ao River. Five days are enough. The six martial arts I promised are already left in the library. I’ll return to the guest quarters now.”

He bowed and walked directly toward the guest quarters.

“Prince Hong, take care!”

Cai Yunqing watched Xia Hong with a smile until he was out of sight, then his expression instantly vanished as he glanced at the elderly man in blue robes by the library entrance.

Though his eyes were tightly shut, the old man clearly noticed Cai Yunqing’s gaze; he said nothing, only reclined slightly and shook his head gently.

Seeing the old man’s shake of the head, Cai Yunqing’s brow dipped slightly.

“If Master Nie can’t detect any flaw, then this Hong Prince’s identity is at least sixty to seventy percent credible—we’ll have to wait until year’s end to take him to the Blood Miasma Plain and let the County Lord verify him…”

“Great Qin… Great Qin… This Great Qin Fanzhen, and just one prince has such strength—how many experts must dwell within the town?”

“But at this critical moment, why send a prince of such power? Is it merely a show of force, or does he harbor designs against the Four Fanzhen?”