Chapter 715: Chaos Stirs in the Mortal Realm—Every Moment Is Precious

After you removed the yin-cold from Madam Ruan, steam rose from her head; she held up a bronze mirror, peering left and right, her once-protruding bulging eyes gradually returning to normal size, filled with joy.

She laughed happily, imitating the servants’ way of bowing, and bowed to you.

“Thank you, Master!”

Wu Tong called you to meals; she darted excitedly between the kitchen and courtyard, carefully carrying steaming dishes to the stone table. Wu Tong had specially prepared a small stool and chopsticks for her, but she remained shy, too timid to sit across from you, instead settling beside Wu Tong.

Before, she had survived on river fish and shrimp—barely edible, but filling enough.

In recent days, Madam Ruan had sampled nearly every street-side delicacy in Bianjing with Wu Tong. At first, when Wu Tong held her hand through the bustling markets, she was awkward; now, she had grown accustomed to it.

Because of you, Wu Tong had always been shunned in the household; for years, only Lu Ya had been willing to be close to her. Now that you had offended Madam Zhao and Madam Yuan, not a single servant dared set foot in your courtyard.

With Madam Ruan now in the courtyard, Wu Tong was the happiest of all.

Watching the two of them, a faint smile touched your lips.

Another month slipped by!

It was the seventh month, the fiery heat waning, yet the entire Xie household was shrouded in an indescribable gloom.

In Daguan Garden, Grandmater Xie, upon hearing the news of Xie Ling’s death, had lain ill for days; the several Madams flew into rages over trivial matters; maids and servants tiptoed as they walked, spoke in whispers so faint they were like mosquito hums—the vast estate had grown so silent you could hear leaves falling.

This gloom extended far beyond the Xie household!

The entire city of Bianjing seemed shrouded in an invisible cloud. The most alarming news, however, came from the south—

After seizing Jiangnan Circuit, the Red-Eyed Army marched north within three days, directly targeting Shannan Circuit.

Along the way, recruits surged like a tide; they claimed an army of six hundred thousand. More terrifying still, imperial troops fled at the mere rumor of their approach—garrison commanders often abandoned their posts before the Red-Eyed Army even arrived.

Such swift momentum utterly surpassed the expectations of the court officials.

No one now believed this was merely a simple rebellion.

Minister Su had now decided in the Grand Secretariat: the Xue and Zhao clans would lead two elite forces totaling thirty thousand, joining the Mobei Army—sixty thousand troops in all, like a black cloud looming over the horizon.

An additional twenty thousand reinforcements from various circuits were marching in succession; altogether, eighty thousand mighty soldiers, banners blotting out the sun, war drums shaking the heavens, advancing straight toward Shannan.

More than half of the scholars and students of the Academy had also mobilized, preparing to confront the Red-Eyed Army in Shannan Circuit.

The Academy and the court of Da Qi, once entirely unrelated, had united once more.

Shannan Circuit’s thousand-li plains offered no natural defenses—this would be a brutal, head-on clash.

In contrast, the Red-Eyed Army consisted mostly of emaciated, starving peasants, clad in tattered clothes, armed with crude weapons. The imperial side, besides its eighty thousand troops, had elite martial masters from the Academy and the Nine Great Clans, all of the Upper Three Realms, standing guard.

Such a stark disparity made victory seem certain to any observer.

As news spread, the gloom that had hung over Bianjing for days finally lifted; laughter returned to the streets, and the Western Pavilion’s business surged once more.

Zhu Ge Jian and Zhang Shizai, acting on orders from Minister Su and the Academy, would depart for Jiangnan Circuit tomorrow.

Today, Zhu Ge Jian brought Xie Yuan, Zhang Shizai brought his beloved daughter Zhang Yunzhi, and the group entered this quiet little courtyard.

Bianjing had endured days of continuous rain and overcast skies; today, at last, the sun broke through.

In the courtyard, beneath the wutong tree!

“In just three months, the situation has unfolded exactly as Young Master Guan predicted,” Zhang Shizai sighed, stroking his beard. “The Red-Eyed Army has ignited a wildfire; the world trembles.”

When he returned from Zehu Lake, he had visited this courtyard; back then, he had listened to Xie Guan’s words on the matter with skepticism. Now, gazing at the wutong leaf drifting onto the stone table, he recalled the boy’s words—and saw them fulfilled: the Red-Eyed Army had become a great calamity.

“Ban Sheng was merely a lowly village head,” Zhu Ge Jian said gravely. “A minor official overseeing a hundred households—and yet he has stirred up such a colossal storm.”

“Times make heroes; heroes also shape times. In chaos, heroes emerge.”

“After capturing Jiangnan, Ban Sheng did not burn, kill, or loot—clearly, he commands great authority and enforces strict discipline.”

“He has purged powerful clans in Jiangnan, elevated the weak, and drawn in scholars and gentry from outside.”

“Purging the powerful, elevating the humble, bringing in outsiders to balance the locals, and stationing Red-Eyed veterans at the center,” Zhu Ge Jian murmured. “Such a strategy sounds simple, but is incredibly hard to execute—who could possibly achieve this? A mere village head? This is the hand of an emperor.”

Zhu Ge Jian was a disciple of the Third Master; though upright in character and conduct, he understood the rules of power intimately—his official conduct was flawless, and he deeply grasped the art of balance.

Zhang Shizai, by contrast, spoke bluntly—otherwise, how could a man of his lineage—born into the Zhang clan of the Nine Great Clans, with Academy backing, and exceptional talent—have been exiled to Zehu?

On any other day, Xie Yuan would have praised Ban Sheng as a true commoner hero, especially since this “Red-Eyed Heavenly King” was a supporter of Prince Yan.

Xie Yuan had once half-jokingly proposed to swear brotherhood with Ban Sheng.

Now, with his father Xie Ling defeated and missing, the Red-Eyed Army had instantly become his father’s killers.

In this past month, Xie Yuan had grown noticeably more composed and mature.

Zhu Ge Jian smiled. “This time, in Shannan, eighty thousand imperial troops will face sixty thousand Red-Eyed soldiers. Young Master Guan, what do you think? Among the Nine Great Clans and the Academy’s elite, there are no shortage of Yangshen cultivators and martial masters of the Ninth Realm.”

“Young Master Guan, do you still believe the Red-Eyed Army will capture Bianjing?”

Zhang Shizai also looked at you curiously—he now genuinely wished to hear your thoughts.

You thought for a moment, recalling what Dong Fuzi’s adopted son had said: Dong Fuzi had left Bianjing and gone to the Red-Eyed Army.

If you knew this, how could Minister Su, the Fourth Master of the court, or the Third Master of the Academy be unaware?

What was Minister Su truly plotting?

The Third Master had somehow reached an agreement with him, quietly pushing the situation forward!

You finally spoke: “Shannan will see many deaths. The Red-Eyed Army dares act so boldly—they must have a countermeasure.”

Zhu Ge Jian fell silent. The Red-Eyed Heavenly King was a master strategist—he could not be reckless.

Yet such a massive force advancing—could even the Great Sui muster its entire nation’s strength?

Where did the Red-Eyed Army get its confidence?

After three rounds of tea!

Zhang Shizai suddenly shifted the topic northward: “The Great Sui is now engulfed in war. The Sui Emperor ultimately underestimated the Three True Ones—”

“Though the Three True Ones do not interfere in court politics or forge weapons, their thousand-year-old Daoist heritage—”

“When the Zhongnan Mountains activated their protective array, the entire mountain range vanished before everyone’s eyes, as if swallowed by the ocean.”

He gazed toward the northern horizon. “Now, the Three True Ones’ Daoist troops and the Sui army face off at Enye. Whether the Liu imperial ancestral temple falls or the Three True Ones’ lineage declines, this battle will shake the world—and echo through history.”

Xie Yuan frowned. “Uncle, isn’t the Sui Emperor destroying his own great wall? And the Three True Ones never meddled in court affairs.”

Zhu Ge Jian smiled. “The Great Sui was founded by the Three True Ones themselves—yet now they rush to destroy them, and the world despises them. But there is a reason.”

“There is no free Golden Core, no free throne.”

“The Three True Ones’ lineage was left by that Prince Yan. Who was Lu Shenzhou? He was the ancestor revered by later Yan rulers. His book, ‘Essentials of Governance in Zhenbei,’ is the sacred scripture of the Three True Ones—but it has long been banned by Da Qi, Changsheng Tian, and the Buddhist Kingdom.”

“The Three True Ones are the state religion of the Great Sui; the popularity of this book in Sui is evident. Even if the Sui Emperor refused to adopt its policies, he could hardly ignore them.”

“Precisely because of this book’s policies, within a hundred years, the Great Sui’s strength had matched that of Da Qi, which had ruled for a thousand years.”

“But this book was written by Prince Yan—it is a book of public rule, not family rule.”

Zhu Ge Jian looked at Xie Yuan. “If you were the Sui Emperor, and all land became public property, the imperial examinations disregarded lineage, and even the emperor’s expenditures required joint approval from three ministries—”

“What kind of emperor would that be? Especially the Sui Emperor, famed for his grand vision, who dreamed of commanding ten thousand immortals in celestial realms.”

At this, your eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

Zhu Ge Jian also mentioned: “The struggle for the Khanate of Changsheng Tian in the north has reached its climax. The Huangjin family’s secret patronage of the Third Prince—now, across the grasslands, the banners of three royal tents obscure half the sky.”

Zhang Yunzhi added: “In the south, the Buddhist Kingdom’s Dongsheng Sect is holding its century-long selection of the Buddha Master.”

Zhang Shizai’s expression turned grave. He sighed: “Chaos stirs in the mortal realm. All four great powers face imminent collapse.”

After a brief chat, they each departed.

As Zhu Ge Jian was leaving: “Young Master Guan, have you ever divined where your father, Marquis Dingyuan, might be?”

You shook your head.

Zhu Ge Jian suddenly warned: “Beware your father!”

Your heart tightened. You paused, then replied: “In Shannan, it may be nine deaths and one life. Gentlemen, please be cautious.”

Zhu Ge Jian nodded. “The Master gave me the same warning today.”

Watching their retreating figures, you knew: the Red-Eyed Army will win. In this scheme, Zhu Ge Jian and Zhang Shizai may be in grave danger.

This farewell may be the last you hear of them—before the news of their death arrives.

As for Zhu Ge Jian’s warning—you had already memorized it. Your father, Xie Ling, the Master of the Xie household, was far from ordinary.

Like Xie Hong, he always gave the impression of being shrouded in mist.

After the Qunfang Banquet, you had already realized: Xie Hong was no pawn—he was one of the players in Bianjing’s game, equal to the Academy’s Four Masters.

For men like the Master, Minister Su, and the Third Master, their only goal was “Ascension.”

You turned and returned to the courtyard, resuming your cultivation.

It was the seventh month; your birthday and coming-of-age ceremony were less than a month away.

The Red-Eyed Army’s capture of Bianjing could not be far off—only months remain.

A sense of urgency surged within you—every moment was precious.

Though your Primordial Spirit cultivation had steadily improved, you still could not break through to the Yangshen realm—it was like gazing at the moon through gauze: close enough to see, yet impossibly distant.

Your martial cultivation had reached the peak of the Seventh Realm, “Snow Mountain.” Your true qi surged like glaciers beneath ice—ready to break through into “Viewing the Sea” in just half a month.

But then you thought of the long road ahead: the Nine Transmutations of the Xuan Dan. Even Lu Hua, a prodigy, had been trapped at the Yangshen threshold for two years. Gazing at the sword qi coalescing in your palm, you felt for the first time that time was sharper than any blade.

Each time you entered meditation, you sensed an elusive, mysterious energy stirring in heaven and earth—not just you, but the hidden qi of Bianjing’s recluses had recently begun observing the stars nightly.

Last night, at Zi hour, you noticed the spiritual energy had subtly increased—barely perceptible, yet undeniably real.

The spiritual energy of heaven and earth was rising again. The moment of Ascension was drawing near.

The day the Red-Eyed Army breaks the city will be the moment the First Master foretold—the moment of Ascension. This thought grew clearer in your mind.

Only when the Nine Transmutations of the Xuan Dan merge with Yangshen can one forge a True Core.

If you fail to forge your own True Core by then, how will you face the Grand Masters who rule the world—the Demon Master, the Lotus Master, Minister Su—and even the thousand-year-old Master?

You suddenly exhaled a long, turbid breath, suppressing the restlessness churning in your chest.

The path of cultivation is like rowing upstream—when the moment is most critical, you must press forward steadily.

You resumed summoning the sword-shadow figure to practice, then studied the Yangfu Scripture, methodically and without haste.

With a light lift of his finger, seven sword-intent figures materialized from empty air. Where the cold light flashed, the wutong leaves in the courtyard had not yet touched the ground before being sliced into more than ten pieces.

Afterwards, as you cultivated the Yang Fu Jing, golden seal-characters flowed around your body.

Madam Ruan buried her head deep into the water, sending ripples across the vat. She had been shaken by a stray thread of qi you accidentally released; even now, every strand of her hair trembled, every hair on her body standing on end.

“Master, this is utterly terrifying!”

Every day, Madam Ruan watched in the small courtyard as your cultivation speed surpassed even “a thousand li in a single day.” Within three days, your aura had risen another level; within five days, transformation had already begun.

What terrified her most was the solar molten essence you swallowed and exhaled each day—its blazing aura resembled fire; merely glancing at it made her eyes burn with pain.

She clearly remembered that only two weeks ago, your martial Snow Mountain realm had just reached perfection—yet now, the threshold of the Observing Sea realm was within reach. Others required years, even a decade, to achieve this—you had accomplished it in just one month?

Moreover, every day in the courtyard, as you faced the rising sun and swallowed the solar molten essence, the aura it emitted was so terrifying that even a moment’s gaze burned and stabbed her eyes.

Yet you seemed unsatisfied, occasionally murmuring, “Cultivation is still too slow.”

This is still slow—

Madam Ruan’s heart churned with conflicting emotions—if this was still slow, then every cultivator in the world who practiced martial arts or the Primordial Spirit ought to die of shame.

Still, she was curious: “Master, how long have you been cultivating?”

(End of Chapter)