Chapter 55

Wang Fuhai was recounting what he had just seen and heard, a hint of envy slipping into his expression, but Cang Luo asked: “Confucius Academy? What’s that? A school opened by Confucius?”

Cang Luo had unintentionally heard another familiar name—Confucius, the great Master Kong—and naturally had to ask.

But the moment he spoke, he realized his mistake; everyone stared at him as if they’d seen a ghost.

Cang Luo felt awkward. Clearly, Confucius Academy was famous—extremely famous—but he wasn’t from the Yuanwu Continent; how could he be expected to know?

“Uh...” Cang Luo paused, then explained: “Before I came to Profound Heaven Sect, I lived in a remote place, deep in the mountains—I knew little of the world. I truly never heard of Confucius Academy, though I do know Confucius.”

“No way, Brother Cang? You’ve never heard of Confucius Academy?” Wang Fuhai was curious—what kind of place had Cang Luo come from to be unaware of Confucius Academy?

Cang Luo spread his hands, signaling he truly didn’t know, then glanced at Gan Lei beside him, hoping he’d explain what Confucius Academy was.

Gan Lei understood at once and whispered: “Confucius Academy was founded by Confucius’s descendants, just like our Profound Heaven Sect—it’s an Imperial-level sect.”

“But it’s stronger than Profound Heaven Sect—the most powerful force in Chu State after the Xiang imperial clan. Its main hall stands in the capital, facing the imperial palace across the distance.”

He took a sip of wine and continued: “Confucius Academy possesses five supreme sect arts: the Heaven-grade upper-tier cultivation method, ‘The Spring and Autumn of Confucius’; the Heaven-grade upper-tier martial arts, ‘Spring and Autumn Sword Art,’ ‘Spring and Autumn Palm Art,’ and ‘Spring and Autumn Brush Art’;

and the Heaven-grade upper-tier formation, ‘Spring and Autumn Interpretation.’ Our Profound Heaven Sect has only three supreme arts...”

Cang Luo understood, nodding: “So it’s a martial sect...”

He hadn’t expected Confucianism from Earth to have flourished on the Yuanwu Continent—and as an Imperial-level sect, no less.

What did “Imperial-level sect” even mean?

Cang Luo wondered—if on Earth, would the sect master of such a place hold status equal to a national leader?

On Earth??

Wait—didn’t Confucius on Earth have descendants?

Cang Luo suddenly realized something, his head spinning—he needed to sort his thoughts.

Based on his speculation, the Yuanwu Continent and Earth were likely parallel worlds, sharing identical histories until 2,491 years ago.

That is, the first year of the Yuanwu Continent and 475 B.C. on Earth were the same point in time—before the two diverged.

That was the moment when nine strange stars appeared on the Yuanwu Continent, generating Yuan Qi, allowing its people to cultivate.

Confucius, he recalled, died in 479 B.C. on Earth—four years before the nine stars appeared and Yuan Qi emerged on the Yuanwu Continent.

If this logic holds, then the descendants of Confucius from Huaxia on Earth and those on the Yuanwu Continent must share the same ancestral origin.

Even—could they have produced identical descendants!?

Though after 475 B.C., the two worlds took divergent paths—one developing martial arts, the other technology—

their genetic lineage remained connected; it was entirely possible that identical or nearly identical descendants could arise.

“Damn!”

Cang Luo couldn’t help exclaiming—he felt he had uncovered a monumental secret and suddenly felt immense envy for the descendants of Confucius from Huaxia on Earth.

Because once the two worlds connected, the Confucius descendants from Huaxia on Earth would surely receive special favor from the Confucius Academy on the Yuanwu Continent, rising to greatness, with their entire clan embarking on the path of cultivation...

Sigh—what can you do? They had a great ancestor.

One man attains the Dao, even his dogs and chickens ascend—every dynasty’s emperors revered Confucianism, lavishing titles and rewards, ensuring the Confucius bloodline endured.

Wang Fuhai noticed Cang Luo’s troubled expression and asked: “Brother Cang, what’s wrong? Why so gloomy?”

Cang Luo smiled bitterly: “Uh... nothing. I just didn’t realize there were sects stronger than our Profound Heaven Sect.”

“Though I hate to admit it, it’s true.”

Wang Fuhai picked up his wine flask and drank with Cang Luo, then added: “Moreover, the current Sect Master of Confucius Academy, Master Kong, is at the sixth layer of Wu Di cultivation—said to be second only to the Retired Emperor. And Confucius Academy has more than one Wu Di. You can imagine how powerful they are.”

Cang Luo nodded, then suddenly remembered something Gan Lei had said.

The Emperor of Chu was surnamed Xiang?

Xiang... Xiang...

Xiang Yu!!

Cang Luo sifted through historical figures with the surname Xiang—and only one came to mind: Xiang Yu.

Was the Chu Emperor a descendant of Xiang Yu?

But on Earth, during the Warring States period, the kings of Chu bore the surname Mi...

Had Xiang Yu usurped the Chu throne on the Yuanwu Continent?

Cang Luo nodded to himself. The Xiang clan were Chu nobles, warlords; Xiang Yu himself was one of history’s greatest warriors, strong enough to lift a cauldron.

In a world where martial strength reigned supreme, he must have been terrifyingly powerful—seizing an imperial throne would’ve been easy for the Xiang clan.

Forget it—I’ll learn more later. Ask too many questions and I’ll raise suspicion.

Cang Luo raised his wine to Wang Fuhai again and asked: “Brother Wang, why are the people from Confucius Academy here at Profound Heaven Sect?”

All the other disciples wanted to know too—how could Confucius Academy, thousands of miles away, suddenly appear? No martial tournament had been announced between sects.

“I don’t know.”

Wang Fuhai shook his head, then suddenly stiffened, pointing with his double chin toward the direction of Tianzhen and frowning: “They’re coming—looks like... they’re heading this way?”

Everyone turned to look. Thirty-odd youths in silver-white martial attire, haughty and proud, approached the barbecue site under the guidance of two Profound Heaven Sect inner-disciples and a striking black-clothed young man.

Behind them trailed a group of Profound Heaven Sect outer-disciples, mostly female.

The two inner-disciples leading them Cang Luo recognized: one was the Sect Master’s daughter, Xuan Qingqing; the other was inner-disciple elite Li Haoran. They’d been assigned to host the Confucius Academy disciples.

The black-clothed young man was Murong Ye, an elite inner-disciple of Confucius Academy; the group of teenagers behind him were Confucius Academy’s outer-disciples.

Murong Ye stood tall and lean, handsome, with star-like eyes and sword-like brows. In his black robes, he radiated icy coolness—and from the moment his feet touched Profound Heaven Sect grounds, he drew the gaze of countless female disciples.

These girls, at the age of first love, cared less about improving their own cultivation than having a handsome, powerful man to protect them.

Murong Ye, an elite inner-disciple from Confucius Academy, perfectly fit that ideal—though Li Haoran did too.

But Li Haoran was already well-known to them; Murong Ye was new, exotic—and so now every girl was whispering about him, even comparing him to Li Haoran.

This annoyed Li Haoran intensely. If not for the sect’s orders to accompany Xuan Qingqing, he’d never have come.

Li Haoran stared straight ahead, ignoring Murong Ye: “When do you plan to depart, Brother Murong?”

Murong Ye held his sword with both hands, not even glancing at him: “We came to deliver our Sect Master’s invitation, and to bring our junior brothers and sisters to train in the beast forests of Tongzhou. We’ll leave tomorrow.”

Li Haoran nodded, fell silent—he wished Murong Ye would leave sooner.

Both were arrogant; neither spoke, and so they walked in silence.

But Xuan Qingqing, walking between them, felt awkward—she sensed their mutual dislike.

She shifted the topic: “Smells delicious—there’s barbecue over there by the southwest corner of the training ground. Shall we go take a look?”

“Of course, whatever Sister Qingqing decides.”

Murong Ye smiled faintly, but inwardly lowered his estimation of Profound Heaven Sect—wasn’t the training ground meant for cultivation? How could they drink and feast here? And no one stopped them?

If the lower levels are corrupt, the upper levels are worse. Before arriving, his master had told him the chief elder of Profound Heaven Sect, a Wu Di, still hadn’t recovered from old injuries. Now it seemed true.

Hmph. Profound Heaven Sect is declining.

Murong Ye silently shook his head—he’d leave as soon as possible, lest his junior disciples pick up these bad habits.

As they walked, Murong Ye suddenly stopped, staring fixedly at a Profound Heaven Sect disciple roasting meat, murmuring in confusion: “Cang Huangwu?”

“Brother Murong?” Xuan Qingqing looked at him, puzzled by his sudden halt.

“Oh, nothing—I mistook someone. There’s a man who looks just like one of our elite disciples.”

He pointed toward the crowd, where Cang Luo was eating a chicken wing...