Chapter 725: The Master

South of Bianjing, the Red-Eye Army’s encampment.

Dozens of stern faces filled the tent.

The air reeked of rust and leather, punctuated occasionally by the crisp clank of armor.

“Heavenly King, the brothers can’t hold back any longer!”

A armored general stepped forward, his waist saber clanging with his movement.

His burning gaze locked onto the figure seated at the head of the tent: “The walls of Bianjing lie right before us—when will you order the assault?”

The Red-Eye Army had surged forward, smashing through resistance like a storm, defeating Bianjing’s imperial forces with near-invincible force.

Ban Sheng crushed Xie Ling’s forces at Yunyue Marsh in Jiangnan Circuit, then fought three advances and three retreats across Jiangnan, finally shattering the Great Qi’s five-hundred-thousand-strong army in one decisive blow.

His prestige had reached its zenith.

From the mud of the Yellow River, they unearthed a bronze statue, its head wrapped in red cloth, eyes bulging in furious horror.

Ban Sheng rose and shouted, “We’re going to die anyway—why not storm Bianjing and topple the Nine Surnames?”

“Heroes aren’t born of bloodline—who dares call himself a man?”

Thus, followers flocked to him… and now, barely a year had passed.

Sixty thousand Red-Eye troops stood before the city gates.

At the high seats within the tent sat two men: one a burly middle-aged man in plain hemp robes, unarmored;

his weathered face still radiated an aura of silent authority—this was the Red-Eye Heavenly King, Ban Sheng.

One step lower sat another chair, occupied by a middle-aged scholar in ink-black brocade robes—the Red-Eye Army’s strategist, Wu Wan.

The entire Red-Eye Army revered Ban Sheng with near-fanatical devotion.

Since rising in Jiangnan Circuit, every battle had been like divine troops descending from heaven, unstoppable and victorious.

His military genius had long been hailed as peerless in this age.

Wu Wan, though bearing the title “strategist,” was no mere fan-waving advisor.

He had once ridden alone through enemy ranks to rescue a general, led death squads to breach enemy lines, and turned the tide of battle from certain defeat on multiple occasions.

He had saved the Red-Eye Army from peril countless times.

No one in the Red-Eye Army failed to respect him.

All the generals’ eyes turned to Ban Sheng.

Ban Sheng’s expression remained calm, but his gaze passed through the parted tent flap, fixed on the sky—its celestial pattern was unnatural: stars and moon vanished, split into two stark halves, as if foretelling an approaching storm.

He drew his gaze back and spoke in a low voice:

“Attack the city tomorrow.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” The generals roared in unison, their eyes ablaze with battle-lust.

Ban Sheng waved his hand; the men bowed and withdrew in silence.

The tent fell still, leaving only two: Strategist Wu Wan, and a silent, shadow-like general whose face was covered by an iron mask.

Wu Wan rose slowly, brushing his sleeve with a smile:

“Heavenly King, you seem troubled?”

“In half a year of rebellion, you’ve captured eighty-two cities and slain over three hundred thousand enemies.”

“Tomorrow, when Bianjing falls, Your Majesty will etch your name in history with bold strokes!”

“Like thunder shaking the heavens!”

As the Red-Eye Army advanced on Bianjing, the strategist’s complexion had improved daily—he smiled constantly.

Ban Sheng, however, remained silent as iron, murmuring softly: “Will my name, Ban Sheng, ever deserve a place in the annals?”

Wu Wan chuckled, “In the vast ocean of history, how many have ever toppled the world? Fewer than a handful.”

“If you speak of drama, Your Majesty lacks the twists and turns—the people love tales of repeated defeat, then miraculous survival. But your campaign has been a relentless tide—too smooth, too lacking in drama. To the storytellers, it’s not a good tale.”

Wu Wan gazed beyond the tent, where the heavens above had cleaved into two distinct halves.

“But then again, Your Majesty still has a chance—if ‘Red-Eye Heavenly King Ban Sheng’ is followed by the words ‘Ascended,’ you’ll become an immortal figure, unavoidable for a thousand years.”

Ban Sheng slowly lifted his eyes—but said nothing.

Wu Wan lowered his gaze. “Of course, I know what you’re worried about.”

“These slaves and bondsmen pulled from the Yellow River’s mud—once they followed you out of Jiangnan only to survive, to eat. But now…”

“You’ve placed the entire world before them. Their ambition has shifted from mere survival to living like a human being.”

“Or even further—to become masters, like the lords of Bianjing.”

Ban Sheng finally looked up at Wu Wan. “Do you think that’s right?”

Wu Wan shook his head.

“Wrong—and yet right.”

“When Bianjing falls, what will they do? Facing the splendor of the empire’s capital, they’ve risked their lives on the blade’s edge—for what?”

Ban Sheng fell silent, closing his eyes slowly.

Wu Wan gave a light laugh. “They’ll be like prisoners starved for three days, suddenly presented with a banquet—”

“Gold, wealth, beauty—they’ll believe it’s theirs by right, earned in blood.”

“Even if you stop them, what then? The rebel armies flocking to you number over half a million.”

“They’ve followed you, shedding blood and sweat—what did they fight for? Now that we’re here, history shows that to calm the masses, you slaughter for three days. Even if you order restraint, you can’t suppress the hearts of half a million men.”

“Heavenly King, haven’t you already made your decision? Why torment yourself?”

Before he finished, distant cheers erupted from the camp.

It seemed the generals had just spread the news of “tomorrow’s assault,” sparking wild celebration.

Ban Sheng said, “How did Prince Yan manage it? Why?”

Wu Wan rubbed his brow and shook his head. “Why compare yourself to Lu Shenzhou? That’s pointless.”

Ban Sheng finally smiled. “Wu Wan, you’ve always looked down on everyone—yet you’re unusually gentle when speaking of Prince Yan?”

Wu Wan shrugged, a rare note of resignation in his voice: “I can’t deny it. He’s done what I haven’t. If I still pretend otherwise, I’m lying to myself.”

Wu Wan turned to the other man in the tent—the masked general.

“Xie Ling, what is your decision?”

The masked general lifted his iron face.

Revealing a handsome, scholarly visage—yet his sharp eyebrows carried a chilling, lethal aura that shattered any hint of weakness.

No one expected the Dingyuan Marquis, crushed by the Red-Eye Army in Jiangnan with thirty thousand dead, would appear here among them.

Ban Sheng sat on his throne, eyes half-lidded, scanning the two men—yet showed no surprise.

Xie Ling paused, then spoke quietly: “I wish to lead a force back to Jiangnan Circuit.”

Wu Wan smiled lightly. “At this moment, you won’t even go to Bianjing? Not to see the Nine Surnames—or your own Xie family?”

“Or perhaps you’ve heard of the chance for Ascension in three thousand years? Won’t you risk it?”

He added with meaning: “I know—you, like your younger brother, are skilled at hiding your true strength. You’ve already reached Yangshen Realm, just one step from forming your True Core.”

Xie Ling shook his head, voice calm: “A man must know his limits. Once the Ascension Platform in Bianjing opens, those who fail to Ascend will be trapped inside.”

“As for Ascension—it was never meant for men like me.”

“As for Xie Hong… my younger brother fell into a lake, caught a fever, recovered—and suddenly, the once-stupid boy became brilliant. He learned poetry, rites, classics, and martial cultivation with astonishing speed. My mother thought it was ancestral virtue, smoke rising from the family altar.”

“But I know my brother died in that lake.”

Wu Wan sighed softly: “Foreign souls are masters of usurpation. How many mediocre men, long forgotten, suddenly rose with grand ambition—whose soul truly dwells in that skin?”

“The Jiangnan mission is approved.”

Xie Ling bowed, turned, and left with the clang of iron armor—no hesitation, no delay.

Now, only two remained in the vast tent.

Ban Sheng asked, “You’re letting him go? That’s not your style.”

Wu Wan settled back into his chair. “True. I never leave threats. Xie Ling is clever—so he must be eliminated.”

“Even now, when he’s one step away, caution grows even sharper.”

“I spared him because of an old matter.”

Ban Sheng’s interest stirred. “What matter could make the Strategist remember?”

He used a different title: “Or rather—what could make the Master, you, remember?”

Wu Wan smiled. “Call me Strategist. Calling me Master makes me feel like a ghost possessing a corpse.”

“When did you find out?”

Ban Sheng said, “At first, I guessed you came from Mount Zhongnan—how else could you mobilize so much grain and troops, or suddenly produce a band of warriors who knew tactics, possessed deep cultivation, and matched our spirit so perfectly?”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh: “Surely not because Ban Sheng was truly destined—so all heroes bowed before me? If that were true, I wouldn’t be a bachelor.”

“Later, I learned there was indeed a Wu Wan, an ancestor of Mount Zhongnan—but his age didn’t match.”

Ban Sheng’s gaze deepened. “Then when Xie Ling appeared in Jiangnan, setting ambushes at Yunyue Marsh—given his lifelong caution, he’d never have fallen for it. That’s when your identity became clear.”

He rose, staring at Wu Wan, each word deliberate: “You are the Master—the one who founded Confucianism and established the academies under the Great Qi.”

Wu Wan smiled. “There was indeed a Wu Wan—a man sent by the Three Truths Sect. I killed him. Pretending to be an old man grew tiresome—I simply resumed my true face.”

He shifted back to the previous topic.

“Why did I spare Xie Ling?”

“When Emperor Xianhe colluded with the Xie and Wang families to overthrow Su Jing’s chancellorship, Xie Ling secretly warned Su Jing—leading to their failure.”

“Of course, that’s the Nine Surnames’ version. In truth, I manipulated the Wang family, and Su Jing knew from the start.”

“Xie Ling didn’t warn Su Jing—he exchanged two secrets with me.”

"First, Xie Hong is no longer Xie Hong."

"Second, he fathered an extraordinary son."

Wu Wan smiled. "So I secretly intervened to save the Xie family, abandoned the Wang family and Emperor Xianhe as mere pawns, and settled down peacefully on Changning Street."

Ban Sheng’s gaze flickered. "But how does that relate to your sparing Xie Ling?"

Wu Wan chuckled. "At the time, Xie Ling was still young. He couldn’t fathom my identity, feared I might renege later, and made me swear an oath."

"I casually replied: 'If I deceive you, may I fail in all great endeavors.'"

"Now, the Ascension Platform is about to open. Though I’ve never believed in fate or oaths," Wu Wan paused, "but as one grows old, such superstitions creep in. Letting him live and return is merely for good fortune."

Ban Sheng fell silent for a moment, then turned and sat back on the high seat inside the tent. Suddenly he asked: "Then why didn’t you kill me?"

Wu Wan looked up at him, his eyes calm. "Why would I kill you? You have no desire to ascend, no wish to dominate—only to be an old farmer in the fields."

He smiled faintly. "Of course, it would be best if you could find a wife."

"Though I’ve betrayed the world, I still wish to leave something behind. I spared Xie Ling—why not spare the Red-Eyed Heavenly King?"

Ban Sheng was taken aback, about to speak.

At that moment!

Outside the tent, chaos erupted—shouts of shock, cries of prostration, clashing armor and weapons.

Wu Wan, usually so composed, hurried out of the tent.

All looked up at the vast heavens.

There, the sky split clearly on both sides.

Suddenly, a blinding beam of sunlight pierced through heaven and earth. Amidst ten thousand rays of radiance, four golden pillars stood tall. Clouds churned like surging waves, filling the world with an indescribable aura of majesty.

"After a thousand years... I’ve finally waited for this." Wu Wan opened his arms, bathed in sunlight, his face alight with uncontainable joy.

Ban Sheng stepped out as well. Though it was afternoon, the light blazed as if at noon.

Most striking were the four golden pillars, slowly descending. At the zenith of the heavens, upon each pillar, four magnificent gates appeared.

Where sky met clouds, countless brilliant rays cascaded down—breathtaking in beauty!

In the camp, none had ever witnessed such a wonder. All cheered, ran to spread the news, convinced this was an auspicious omen—tomorrow’s assault on the city would surely succeed.

Ban Sheng gazed at the four heavenly gates, sighing softly.

How many lives had been buried far from home, all for these four gates?

How many souls had been lost!

～

～

The Changsheng Heaven camp stretched for dozens of li, banners snapping in the wind, blotting out sky and sun.

Three hundred thousand troops stood in formation, iron armor glinting coldly.

Among them, elite cavalry stood like a forest, while beast troops of tigers, leopards, and wolves roared within the ranks.

Most awe-inspiring were the rows of armored war elephants, their heavy footsteps shaking the earth.

The lead elephant was especially majestic, its body pure white, crowned with a jade headdress inlaid with jewels.

Upon its back rested a gilded palanquin, its curtains embroidered with the family crest—this honor reserved solely for the Golden Clan of Changsheng Heaven.

"So this is the Ascension Gate? The calamity of heaven and earth seems swallowed whole by it."

In the palanquin sat a middle-aged man, dark-skinned, of average build, dressed in a short tunic, gazing upward.

He rubbed his bald head, where only a few inches of hair had grown back.

His simple face suddenly broke into a grin. "Do you think there are fairy maidens behind that gate?"

A resonant voice beside him replied: "You’re a devout Buddhist. Shouldn’t you expect bodhisattvas and monks chanting sutras behind it?"

The speaker had streaks of gray at his temples, a tall frame, and a blue robe that enhanced his scholarly grace.

If Xie Guan were here, he would recognize this man as Xu Jiangxian—one of the Ten Great Sects, the Demon Master, who had appeared at the Gathering of Beauties.

The man quickly waved his hands. "Don’t scare me—if ascending means paradise like this, I’d rather not go."

This middle-aged man was Du Gu Sheng, the Earthly Dragon, one of the Ten Great Sects.

Xu Jiangxian turned his head. "You won’t go? Others will."

He stood with hands behind his back. "Four gates—only four slots?"

(End of Chapter)