Chapter 433: 224. Ask the Immortals Above: Was My Life, Lu Chen, Truly Splendid? (Final Part, Down)

Mount Zhongnan.

It was deep autumn.

The persimmons on the mountain had ripened, hanging sparse and scattered from the branches like tiny red lanterns, delighting the eye.

The slopes were carpeted with fallen golden leaves, while the fragrance of fruit trees filled the air.

The Three Truths Sect did not forbid pilgrims from picking fruit, so children played among the trees, often returning home laden with harvests, their laughter echoing through the woods.

The world was now at peace; the five states had submitted to Yan.

The incense offerings at Mount Zhongnan had grown even more vigorous; even in the dead of night, the main halls remained wreathed in smoke.

After Dalu Pass, no force in the world could resist Yan.

The Yan Northern Army, once the iron cavalry that shook all nations, now achieved a smooth transition under the banner of benevolence, sparing the land from wildfire and the people from bloodshed.

The Yan King's prestige shone like the midday sun; his grace reached the four seas.

The people of the world all praised his lofty virtue and revered his overwhelming authority.

After years of prolonged war, the masses had long yearned for unity.

May this age of peace endure forever, unbroken through ten thousand generations.

At noon.

Today, Mount Zhongnan welcomed many distinguished guests.

Princess Yüwen Liqian of Han, embraced by Yan and its people, ascended the throne as ruler of Han, breaking historical precedent as the kingdom's first female emperor.

Upon her coronation, she immediately enacted benevolent policies and granted a general amnesty.

Han had submitted to Great Yan; all military and political power within Han was now under the control of the Yan Prince's Mansion, governed through a Protectorate Office.

The state name was retained, but the Jianwu calendar was uniformly adopted.

Today marked the seventh day since her coronation, and she had come to Mount Zhongnan to pay homage.

Yet, regrettably, they failed to see the Yan King's face—a great disappointment.

At this moment!

Yüwen Liqian and her party were preparing to depart, slowly descending the mountain path, walking leisurely, unhurried.

They admired the grand scenery of Mount Zhongnan.

Autumn was harvest season, the busiest time for farmers; merchants and pilgrims continued to stream in and out.

What was once an obscure little hill had now become a famed destination across the land.

A mountain need not be high to be famed if it harbors immortals; water need not be deep to be spiritual if it holds dragons.

This place had both "immortal" traces and "dragon" might—truly deserving of its renown.

Among them was her teacher, Du Hui.

Du Hui had originally been from Great Chu; after Chu's surrender, Yüwen Liqian brought him back to Han, honored him with great ceremony, and appointed him Chancellor.

Also in the party was Yang Wenxian, the master who once taught at the White Deer Academy.

He had once sworn a solemn vow: after leaving Chu, he would "never offer strategy, never give counsel."

Yet when his nation faced peril, he stepped forward, placing his personal oath beneath the greater cause of state and people.

He deeply understood the way of the gentleman, the weight of a promise; yet in the hour of national survival, he had clearly weighed the stakes.

The party also included several members of Han's great noble families, all holding high court positions.

At this moment, their faces showed disappointment, their spirits low.

Not seeing the Yan King was the greatest regret of this journey.

Du Hui's admiration for Lu Chen ran especially deep.

When he taught at the academy, he had held Lu Chen's governance treatise, "Essentials of Governance in Zhenbei," in the highest esteem.

"All learning under heaven is stewed in one pot."

"Future scholars and officials reading this book need only kneel and bow!"

Yang Wenxian, however, was obsessed with the Yan King's military strategies.

Lu Chen, self-taught, had never lost a battle in his lifetime.

Yang Wenxian himself had written a military treatise; his greatest wish was to receive even one or two words of commentary from the Yan King—he would "drink himself into bliss for life."

Yet, regrettably!

On this visit, they had failed to see the Yan King in person.

Even Yüwen Liqian's face bore a rare expression of regret.

When she had once been sent as envoy to Yan, she had only glimpsed the Yan King's silhouette from afar during the Heaven-Worship Ceremony.

Yüwen Liqian's party slowed their pace.

Along the winding path down the mountain, they unexpectedly met an acquaintance.

A quiet, elegant pavilion stood still.

Zhou Jinyu of Great Qing was resting there with the young emperor Zhou Ji and three accompanying guards.

Among them was a familiar figure: Xie Mu, son of Xie Chunan.

Since Xie Chunan's beloved daughter Xie Lingxuan mysteriously "ascended" before all eyes, Xie Chunan had aged as if struck by time, his vigor drained overnight.

He had since withdrawn into seclusion, rarely leaving his mansion.

For this Qing imperial pilgrimage to Mount Zhongnan, Xie Mu had volunteered to accompany the emperor, serving as his bodyguard.

Given Xie Chunan's status as a three-dynasty elder statesman, there was no objection.

Xie Mu stood beneath the pavilion, his gaze crossing the layered mountain ridges, his heart stirred by ripples of memory.

Over twenty years had passed since he last set foot on Mount Zhongnan; this time, he was not sneaking back, but ascending openly and honorably.

The humiliation of his past, when he and the Demon Master had "slain the dragon" on this mountain, felt as if it had happened yesterday.

Now he stood alone.

The "Protector" of Mount Zhongnan—the figure Xie Mu had revered since childhood—had, with the world's peace, become an unrivaled hero in his heart.

Ending chaos, pacifying the land—how magnificent!

He had once eagerly planned to meet this hero, the "Protector," then bid farewell to his father and travel the world.

Failing to see the Yan King as he had hoped left him deeply disappointed.

At this moment, the two groups met by chance.

One side was Empress Dowager Zhou Jinyu of Great Qing; though she had transferred power to the emperor, she remained the true ruler behind the silk curtain of the inner palace.

Great Qing and Yan had maintained diplomatic relations for years; Yan's control over Qing was the most lenient among the five states.

Especially the southern aristocratic clans, who had wavered during the war between Qianyuan and Yan.

They were later purged by Yan, and Xie Chunan's retirement tipped the court decisively toward this mother-son pair.

The other side was the newly crowned female emperor of Han, Yüwen Liqian.

These two women were the most powerful in the world.

In the past, Zhou Jinyu might have harbored a touch of sarcasm toward this young princess who had "luckily" seized power.

Yet!

Since witnessing Xie Lingxuan's ascension from the watchtower at Dalu Pass, a strange sense of loss had welled within her.

A woman's heart is often this way: what she cannot have becomes the sharpest point of longing.

For this journey to Mount Zhongnan, Yüwen Liqian had dressed with great care, arrived early, and even fasted for half a month on the mountain, all to catch a glimpse of Lu Chen.

Even so, she had ultimately failed—her heart grew heavier still.

In the deep courtyards of Qing's inner palace, Zhou Jinyu had secretly built a "Prince's Hall," accessible only to her most trusted maids.

Inside stood a wooden effigy, carved to resemble the Yan King closely.

Zhou Jinyu often entered alone, dressing and undressing the "Lu Chen" effigy, spending hours in silence.

When the two women met beneath the pavilion, they exchanged only a brief glance; their ministers offered polite pleasantries.

Emperor Zhou Ji of Qing, however, looked curiously at the Han party, especially the female emperor.

Since his mother said nothing, he made no move to speak.

He watched them depart.

They prepared to pass by, continuing their separate paths.

At that moment!

Along another path down the mountain.

Tuoba Hongyan arrived with three others, descending the trail.

The three beside him were the advisors left to him by Tuoba Shu before his death.

They represented military, meritorious nobility, and imperial kinship—mutually balanced to ensure Beifeng's stability.

Yet sadly, since Yan absorbed Beifeng, these men had been effectively excluded from court; though nominally retaining their titles and authority, they were in truth powerless.

Tuoba Hongyan, seeing the pavilion, froze in surprise—Zhou Jinyu before him was his own aunt, now Empress Dowager of Great Qing.

He had encountered her here!

Time had turned him, once a hostage from a rival state, into the lord of Beifeng.

Fate is cruel—is it chance? Or destiny?

He straightened his robes and bowed deeply in respect to an elder.

"Your humble servant greets Auntie."

Zhou Jinyu smiled and nodded, her eyes revealing quiet satisfaction.

She had once written to Tuoba Shu urging surrender, but Beifeng's grudge against the Lu army ran too deep to yield easily.

Now that his qi has scattered and he is dead, dying by drinking double the amount of poison is still a way to preserve the Son of Heaven's dignity.

Fortune and misfortune have no fixed door; they are summoned by man alone.

Princess Zhou Jinyu of the Northern Wind, though outwardly aloof, still harbored a trace of warmth toward the Northern Wind.

Zhou Ji beside her also stepped forward to bow and said, "Zhou Ji, greetings to Cousin Hongyan."

Blood ties, after all, are hard to sever.

Tuoba Hongyan laughed heartily, gazing at his tall, southern-differentiated cousin, his face filled with delight.

He gestured for the three behind him to draw near.

Tuoba Hongyan's gaze caught sight of Yuwen Liqian's party.

The two sides exchanged greetings, but said no more.

Though five states still exist, actual governance has largely passed into the hands of Yan's appointed counselors and ministers.

The tide of the world is no longer what it once was; everyone carries their own calculations.

Former enemies of Yan, such as Qianyuan, and the earliest defectors, like Da Chu, now host Yan garrisons within their own capitals.

And the garrisons' expenses are borne entirely by these two states.

The Yan King did not slaughter their royal families but chose instead to relocate them, along with hundreds or even thousands of their clansmen, to new lands and regrant them titles.

Though the Yan King is famed for his benevolence, he is by no means foolish.

Yan's script and coinage have been imposed across the land; the textbooks used in private schools are all uniformly written by Yan.

Chariots run on the same tracks, writing shares the same script, conduct follows the same ethics!

These reforms began quietly, like dew nourishing unseen, yet behind them surged forward with the speed of thunder and torrential rain.

It was as if Yan had long sharpened its blade, waiting only for the right moment to achieve its grand unification.

Though Zhou Jinyu and Tuoba Hongyan still bore the nominal titles of sovereigns, they had long lost all real power.

Thus, there was no need for them to cultivate friendship.

On the contrary, excessive closeness might invite the Yan King's suspicion and bring disaster upon themselves.

At this moment, the nobles of Northern Wind and Daqing gathered together in the pavilion.

A group of people descended the mountain in orderly fashion.

Others on the descent paused, while some moved slowly downward.

Xie Mu watched the Han contingent vanish into the distance, then turned his gaze to the multicolored autumn hues of Mount Zhongnan, his heart brimming with complex thoughts.

The fates of these great figures of the states—or the fates of those gathered in this pavilion.

Even the future direction of the entire world.

All seemed tied to one man.

…

…

Mount Zhongnan: The Tomb of the Living Dead!

Yang Su carried a full basket of persimmons and pomegranates, gently placing them at the tomb's entrance.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with the sleeve of his Daoist robe.

He knocked on the ancient tomb's door, calling out with reverence and warmth:

"Uncle, the persimmons and pomegranates are ripe!"

"My fellow disciples and I picked some and left them at the door."

Yang Su gazed at the bright red persimmons and pomegranates in the basket, his eyes bright with joy.

Every year at this season, he brought them to his uncle.

His uncle would surely be pleased.

Yang Su took a pomegranate from the basket.

He waited a long time, but the tomb remained silent.

Yang Su grew puzzled and called again; his uncle usually responded promptly.

Why was today so still?

A premonition of ill fortune rose in Yang Su's heart; his chest tightened.

He hurriedly pushed open the tomb's door and rushed inside.

On the meditation bed in the left chamber sat an elderly man with a pale face, seated cross-legged.

His head hung deeply low!

Yang Su trembled as he reached out to feel the old man's breath—his body was icy cold.

"Plop!"

The pomegranate rolled to the ground!

"Uncle!"

He stared at the scene before him; grief overwhelmed him, and he collapsed to his knees, voice choked:

"Uncle!"

His eyes brimmed with tears.

Liu Jinchan, hearing the news, felt the world spin; his body staggered as if about to fall.

His three disciples rushed forward to support him, trembling, and entered the Tomb of the Living Dead.

Inside, the Seven Sons of Zhongnan knelt prostrate, faces grim with sorrow, their weeping rising and falling without end.

Liu Jinchan's gaze fell upon the frail disciple on the bed; his vision blurred, hot tears spilled forth.

"Shenzhou!"

Liu Jinchan could no longer contain his grief; he wept bitterly, heartbroken.

He had never married, regarding Lu Yu and Lu Chen as his own sons.

Yet now both were gone, leaving him alone in this world, walking alone.

After the Seven Sons of Zhongnan and Liu Jinchan had somewhat composed themselves, Yang Su remained lost in self-reproach, regretting he had not noticed the signs sooner.

The next morning arrived.

While Liu Jinchan was sorting through the deceased's belongings, he found three letters already prepared beside Lu Chen's side.

One was a family letter to his parents, one was a final edict addressed to the Wang Fu.

The last was left for Liu Jinchan.

Liu Jinchan quickly opened the letter meant for him and saw it was brief:

"To my Master, personally."

"Master, do not grieve; Fifth Brother, do not blame yourself."

"Only by breaking the old chains can one know the true self."

"Now, heaven is high, earth is wide—I roam freely."

"Lu Chen, how glorious!"

Liu Jinchan stared at the letter in his hands; tears fell, soaking the paper.

At that moment!

Yang Su noticed, beneath the old man's bowed head on the meditation bed, an inscription carved in bold, powerful strokes:

"Tell me, O celestial immortals—was my life, Lu Chen, truly splendid?"

Liu Jinchan stared blankly at these words!

…

…

【The third year of Jianwu, late autumn.】

【The Yan Emperor passed away; buried on Mount Zhongnan; the world wept.】

【Simulation ended!】

【Reward acquisition in progress…】

【End of Chapter】