Chapter 431: Gu Qing Is Under Pressure, So He Took It First

In the thirtieth year of the Great Tang, Chang’an City, winter.

Hong Mansion.

“A madman sharpened his blade through the night; the imperial star trembled, Mars burned high.”

Hong Yi recited the lines, sensing the killing intent within them, and his heart trembled.

Everyone in the world knew the Tang throne had originally been granted through abdication; for the current emperor to compose such verses was clearly a declaration: no more pretense, the mask is off.

But that was only natural.

Hong Yi recalled the records in his notebook: when the Great Qian Dynasty first abdicated to the Tang, rebellions erupted across the land. Ninety-nine provinces claimed to be loyal to the throne, marching toward Chang’an. For seven years, the current emperor, Gu Qing, fought alone—crushing ancient clans, the Peach God Sect, the Great Luo Sect, and even princes. Wherever he went, he showed no mercy, slaughtering them all while seizing their lands and treasures, distributing them among the people. In an instant, the realm settled, and all praised him.

“The west wind fills the yard with chrysanthemums; their cold blooms, scentless, draw no butterflies. If I become the Green Emperor in time, I’ll make them bloom with peach blossoms together.”

Hong Yi recited this verse again.

This verse speaks of chrysanthemums—blooming in coldness, without butterflies to surround them. The last two lines declare that if he became the Green Emperor, he would make chrysanthemums bloom alongside peach blossoms; the chrysanthemum here symbolizes the common people.

“The emperor made it happen.”

Hong Yi murmured silently. If there was one person in this world he could truly admire, it was the current emperor.

Hong Yi’s mother and the current empress both came from brothels. The empress was deeply cherished by the emperor; for thirty years, no other concubine graced the palace—she was the sole favorite. Yet Hong Yi’s mother was despised within the Hong household, and died in gloom.

Hong Yi could never forget Hong Xuanji’s sneering face. Another reason he admired the emperor was that the emperor had completely subdued Hong Xuanji.

When the current emperor first ascended the throne, Hong Xuanji was among the rebel leaders. He fought the emperor, was captured seven times, and surrendered each time, until he finally submitted utterly.

It was said the emperor intended to release him for the eighth time, but Hong Xuanji refused. The emperor once told him, “Beating you is like whipping a spinning top—I’ve got you in my grip. Don’t be embarrassed.” After that, Hong Xuanji transformed his martial arts into the Wheel of Heaven and Death, embracing the role of the spinning top.

Hong Yi longed for such power—to utterly subdue Hong Xuanji and force him to kneel and apologize to his mother.

He copied down every verse in his hand, gathered the original book, and walked out.

It was now deep winter. In past years, the streets had been dark, and the capital nearly deserted. But in recent years, lanterns had been erected across the city—said to be powered by heavenly thunder—and even at night, the streets glowed as bright as day. Many shops once closed after dusk now burned brightly through the night, doing brisk business.

Hong Yi walked the streets, clutching the book, observing the changes around him.

In the final years of the Great Qian Dynasty, families had no food to last through the night, no clothes to ward off the cold; selling children was common. According to Tang records, during the twenty-ninth year of Qian, a single winter snowstorm left five hundred corpses lying in Jade Capital.

Back then, Qian’s medical care was abysmal—illnesses were easy to catch, hard to cure. Society was chaotic, corrupt officials ruled, local tyrants dominated, bullies ran rampant, rogues caused trouble, and martial cultivators from all sects roamed unchecked. The people had no safety. Now, the entire realm had transformed—entirely because of the current emperor, Gu Qing. For the common folk, the most tangible changes, besides the lanterns, were the pipes running through the city and the transformation of the capital’s environment.

To Hong Yi, these changes meant the realm was truly at peace.

Entering the official Tang Bookstore, Hong Yi returned the book and asked again about the *Martial Scripture* and the *Dao Scripture*.

During the Great Qian Dynasty, the *Martial Scripture* and the *Dao Scripture* had been compiled as the foundational texts for all cultivation. After the Tang’s rise, the current emperor recompiled both texts—each containing essence far superior by a hundredfold to the old versions, becoming the true root of cultivation.