Chapter 88: The Peerless Under Heaven

Sun Chaoen slowly regained consciousness; when he opened his eyes, he found himself back in the county government office. He tried to sit up, but his entire body was weak, and as he rose halfway, searing pain flared in his chest and back, sending him crashing back onto the bed.

Beside him sat Assistant County Magistrate Ren Youwei, who hurriedly said: “My lord, don’t move! If you move again, your wounds will reopen!”

“Has anyone been sent to General Li?”

“My lord, rest assured—a messenger was dispatched first thing this morning.”

“Has Lieutenant Liao ordered troops to advance?”

Ren Youwei hesitated, then said: “He refused to mobilize. But that was expected.”

Sun Chaoen struggled to sit up, screaming hoarsely: “Liao Jingwu! I’ll execute you before long! Help me up!”

“My lord, no! You’re no match for him now! Killing a court official carries the penalty of clan extermination!” Ren Youwei cried out in alarm, desperately pleading.

Seeing the assistant magistrate wouldn’t help him rise, Sun Chaoen gasped: “Even if I wanted to go, I can’t. I remember there’s a signal arrow in the ancestral hall—did you bring it back?”

“It’s right below the hall.”

“Fire it. Now!”

Ren Youwei rushed out; moments later, the signal arrow exploded in midair, its glow lingering long after. The message within read: Xiang Weiyuan headed north—urgent reinforcement needed.

Sun Chaoen sensed the spiritual force ripple from the arrow, his mind eased, and he fainted again. All human effort was spent; now, only fate remained.

In the military encampment, Liao Jingwu held another banquet in the back hall, but the atmosphere was heavy; all sat with troubled thoughts. One captain ventured: “General, the county has sent three messengers urging us to march. If we don’t move, we’ll answer to both the imperial court and Tai Chu Palace. Shouldn’t we send a token force?”

Liao Jingwu slammed his fist on the table: “That Sun is a nobody with no backing. He killed Wang Delu—let him try touching me! Just killing Wang Delu is enough to warrant his clan’s extermination! If he dares enter my camp, I’ll seize and behead him myself—no blame, only merit!”

Another man said: “But the Liao barbarian Snow Eagle Riders passed right before our encampment—we gave no warning to the county…”

Liao Jingwu glared fiercely; the man shuddered and fell silent. Liao spat: “The county hasn’t fallen—so it’s not our responsibility. Look at you all, trembling like cowards! What’s there to fear? I promised that man Fang would die mysteriously—didn’t I deliver? As for Sun Chaoen? Pfft! I’m of the Xu family. What can a poor scholar do to me?”

Thinking of Liao Jingwu’s fearsome, bear-like wife, the men exhaled slightly.

Suddenly, the door swung open and several figures entered; at their head was Li Zhi. He glanced around the room and smiled: “General Liao, you’re clearly in high spirits!”

Li Zhi, born of an immortal sect and the most prominent noble in the region, had never met Liao Jingwu—but Liao had seen his portrait and recognized him. Behind Li Zhi stood several others, each radiating distinct, formidable aura—clearly not ordinary cultivators.

Liao Jingwu forced down his unease and rose: “So it’s General Li! Why wasn’t I notified?”

Li Zhi said: “It’s a small matter—I’ll say what I need and leave. No need for formalities.”

“What does General Li require?”

Li Zhi said: “Two small matters. First, I ask you to mobilize troops northward to support my brother, Xiang Weiyuan.”

Liao Jingwu immediately shook his head: “I cannot comply! My duty is to protect the entire county’s people—I cannot act rashly, nor can I mobilize an army for a single man!”

Li Zhi placed a military token on the table, then laid a letter beside it, his voice calm: “This is Provincial Military Commander Zhang’s authority seal. This is a personal letter from your father-in-law. The letter’s tone may be harsh—you may read it later. General Liao, reconsider?”

Seeing the two items, Liao Jingwu broke into cold sweat. Zhang was his direct superior; his father-in-law was his only shield. He understood instantly what this meant.

Liao Jingwu suddenly knelt and bowed his head: “Your humble subordinate failed to recognize your greatness! I beg your pardon, Lord Li! If you’ll accept me, I swear to serve you faithfully, through fire and water!”

Li Zhi offered a faint smile: “You’re a wise man. Serve me well henceforth, and you’ll have no cause to fear. Now—muster your troops immediately.”

Liao Jingwu roared: “Muster the troops! All men report within half a censer’s burn—not one left behind! Fifty stay to guard camp! Latecomers beheaded!”

Several captains hurried out to rally the troops, each bowing respectfully to Li Zhi as they left.

Moments later, horns blared across the encampment; iron cavalry surged forth, followed by waves of elite border infantry—entire forces marched north.

In the column, Liao Jingwu rode beside Li Zhi, uneasy: “Lord Li, we left only fifty men in camp—what if…”

Li Zhi said calmly: “There is no ‘what if.’”

Liao Jingwu’s heart tightened. He understood: in Li Zhi’s eyes, the county’s people meant nothing compared to Xiang Weiyuan. Yet he grew more fearful, whispering: “Lord Li, I’ve made many enemies… including Lord Xiang. I wonder…”

Li Zhi understood his thoughts perfectly: “If you serve me sincerely from now on, I’ll protect you. But past misdeeds must end. Understood?”

Liao Jingwu nodded frantically, nearly bending in two: “I understand! I understand!”

One hundred fifty li east of Quyang County, a flying vessel slowly ascended, towing a downed vessel, drifting southward.

In the central tower of the fortress, Bao Yun sat at the head of the table, surrounded by young talents from various clans—each of noble lineage, dignified in bearing. They laughed and chatted, commenting on the politics of the Western Jin, the current war, each speaking with remarkable insight—clearly well-read and sharp-witted.

Bao Yun needed say nothing; the talents vied to speak, but how they spoke mattered greatly. They had to perceive the situation, be incisive and concise, avoid verbosity, ideally crafting every word like a pearl—each phrase, if written down, would be unalterable. Thus, each strained to outdo the other; this banquet taxed them more than a sect examination.

Suddenly, an old servant entered, approached Bao Yun, and whispered something.

Bao Yun’s expression changed; she rose at once, apologizing: “Brothers, I’m deeply sorry—a friend is in trouble. I must go to assist. Please continue your feast—I must take my leave.”

All rose at once: “We each brought troops! If your friend is in danger, it’s our duty! We’ll accompany you!”

Bao Yun hesitated: “But this will take us deep into Liao territory—extremely perilous. I’ll go alone. You needn’t risk yourselves.”

“What nonsense! Your matter is our matter!”

“We came here—how could any of us be cowards?”

“Hah! If we don’t venture deep into Liao territory, won’t our Dao foundation be stained?”

Bao Yun bowed lightly: “Then I thank you all. The military situation is urgent—follow my army.”

Moments later, the fortress gates opened; thousands of armored crossbowmen marched out, forming a vast column toward Liao territory. A flying vessel followed overhead. Behind Bao’s army, countless smaller groups—varied in form and size—joined the march, totaling over three thousand.

With powerful formation arts enhancing their advance, the column moved swiftly despite its slow pace; within half an hour, they reached the Liao border. The flying vessel entered Liao territory, its surface shimmering with a delicate treasure tree, its leaves swaying, scattering clear light that repelled the surrounding yellow mist.

After advancing several dozen li into Liao territory, an unmatched sword intent surged from the south—a flying sword approached at lightning speed! The yellow mist parted like waves before it.

Standing atop the flying sword was Zhang Sheng—not empty-handed now, but gripping a long blue blade, its lethal aura unhidden, spreading a thousand zhang wide.

Zhang Sheng flashed past Bao Yun’s army, cast a single glance, then vanished northward in an instant.

On the flying vessel, a mournful horn sounded—the command for full-speed advance. All armored crossbowmen broke into a run; the treasure tree on the vessel suddenly doubled in size, radiating blinding light that enveloped the entire army, doubling their speed.

Not far ahead, Zhang Sheng stood motionless in midair, as if waiting. The vessel’s horn sounded again; thousands of armored crossbowmen spread sideways into battle formation, advancing slowly.

On the distant horizon, a black, riderless warhorse galloped southward like the wind.

As it neared, they saw a figure slumped on its back, pierced by multiple arrows, life or death unknown. The ground trembled; a wall of yellow dust rose on the horizon, swelling higher and rolling closer—countless Liao cavalry surged within, whipping their mounts, chasing the black horse. Within moments, the dust towered dozens of zhang high.

Behind the towering dust wall, a colossal white Snow Eagle soared, its wings—half-feathered—beating furiously as it pursued. Its wingtips trailed threads of rain, and flickering black mist rose and vanished.

The black horse galloped on, then let out a final, long neigh, exhaling its last thin mist. Its hooves’ last embers died. Its front legs buckled; it collapsed, flinging its rider far into the air.

As Xiang Weiyuan fell toward the earth, a swirl of blue sword qi caught him, cleanly severing all arrow shafts, then gently cradled him in an unusually warm, yet seemingly frail, arm.

Zhang Sheng knelt on one knee, holding Xiang Weiyuan, yet lifted his gaze to the towering Snow Eagle now hovering above—and saw the faint rain threads still clinging to its feathers. The dust cloud had reached a thousand zhang away; the leading Liao cavalry, seeing Bao Yun’s battle-ready army, slowed their charge. The front line halted; those behind pressed forward, numbering at least several thousand.

From the west, horns blared; a thousand-strong force appeared, forming a disciplined line, marching forward. Though not the famed armored crossbowmen, they were elite Western Jin border troops—battle-hardened veterans. The two forces formed a pincer, forcing the pursuing Liao cavalry to halt.

The giant eagle hovered high, gazing down at Zhang Sheng like an ant, coldly declaring: “Hand over the man in your arms. In respect for your master, I’ll spare your life!”

Zhang Sheng said: “What are you?”

The eagle was about to rage—when Zhang Sheng slashed!

A curved, faint, delicate blade of light appeared in the heavens—rising from lower left to upper right, connecting earth and sky. It held no sharp edge, yet evoked unbearable sorrow—as if a woman beneath the moon waited for a man, year after year, lifetime after lifetime, from black hair to silver temples, and he never came.

Beneath the blade, wind and sand dimmed—as if heaven and earth mourned.

Immortal Sword: Li Shang!

The eagle’s massive claw recoiled as if struck by lightning; feathers fell in great clumps. It let out a mournful cry, turned north without looking back, and vanished into the sky.

Zhang Sheng sheathed his sword, thrusting the blade point-down into the earth, its gleaming edge mere half an inch from Xiang Weiyuan’s face.

“What happened?” Zhang Sheng’s gaze sharpened, his voice low and commanding.

!.

Xiang Weiyuan weakly raised his hand, showing the satchel clutched tightly: “Brother’s head was taken by the Liao barbarians. I went to retrieve it.”

Xiang Weiyuan expected rebuke—but Zhang Sheng said: “Next time, call your master. I’ll go with you.”

Xiang Weiyuan stared at Zhang Sheng’s paper-white face and colorless lips, hesitating. If alone, he’d flee without thought if the odds turned. But his master? No matter the enemy, he’d always fight first.

Zhang Sheng knew his thoughts instantly: “With me here, even a Dharma Body poses no threat. That Snow Eagle of Liao—talked up as invincible—was driven off by my single strike.”

Xiang Weiyuan nodded weakly: “He’s weak. I took three hits from him—he didn’t kill me.”

Zhang Sheng’s face remained expressionless; his left hand moved slightly, pinching an arrowhead and yanking it out, sealing the wound with sword qi. The extraction was brutal; the sword qi’s sealing was excruciating—Xiang Weiyuan screamed in pain!

Zhang Sheng said softly: “Disciple, if you don’t wish to speak, you may remain silent.”

Xiang Weiyuan gasped in pain, turning his gaze away from Zhang Sheng’s unnervingly bright eyes. His eyes fell on Zhang Sheng’s right hand—and froze.

Zhang Sheng’s right hand gripped the sword hilt tightly—not out of style, but to support his body, lest he collapse. Between his slender fingers, blood continuously welled, dripping down the blade’s edge.

Zhang Sheng noticed Xiang Weiyuan’s stare and hurriedly said: “This sword of mine has a great origin…”

Before he finished, the blade suddenly cracked with a sharp snap—then shattered into fragments, leaving only the hilt in his hand. With no support, both Zhang Sheng and Xiang Weiyuan nearly fell.

Zhang Sheng stared at the hilt, momentarily speechless. Had the sword qi embedded in Xiang Weiyuan’s mind not instinctively protected him, causing Zhang Sheng’s primordial spirit to be annihilated, his injuries wouldn’t be this severe. Seven-tenths of his wounds came from that qi—but such details could only be understood by Xiang Weiyuan himself. The bare hilt, however, was hard to explain.

Fortunately, the jolt triggered violent coughing in Xiang Weiyuan; blood spurted from mouth and nose, his eyes dimming.

Zhang Sheng was stunned; he abandoned all dignity, frantically checking Xiang Weiyuan’s condition. The worse he looked, the heavier his heart sank. Xiang Weiyuan’s body was riddled with hidden injuries—how could he survive three strikes from a Dharma Body? Zhang Sheng knew no healing arts; he was helpless.

At that moment, a hand suddenly appeared before Zhang Sheng’s eyes, palm upholding a yellow fruit—round, translucent, seeming real yet illusory. Zhang Sheng looked up—it was Bao Yun.

“This is the first fruit my tree bore. It can save a life,” Bao Yun said.

Zhang Sheng immediately pried open Xiang Weiyuan’s mouth; Bao Yun slipped the fruit inside.

The fruit dissolved instantly; a tender sprout emerged from Xiang Weiyuan’s third eye, growing rapidly into a sapling, then sinking into his mind. A torrent of vitality erupted within him—hidden injuries healed swiftly, his breathing steadied, color returned to his face.

Zhang Sheng exhaled, his emotions swinging between heaven and earth—he realized, drenched in cold sweat. He looked at Bao Yun, wrestled internally for a long moment, then said: “Thank you. I’ll repay you in time. Also… I owe you an apology. I pushed you away back then. I’m sorry.”

Bao Yun didn’t understand at first—then her face turned to shock, her mouth opening wide enough to swallow a pigeon egg.

“You—you…” Even Bao Yun, hardened by human treachery, was speechless. She had suspected everyone—but never Zhang Sheng. He’d even gone with Ji Liuli to beat up Xu Henshui. Now, recalling it, the truth was chilling.

At that moment, Xiang Weiyuan slowly opened his eyes, interrupting Bao Yun’s shock. Still dazed, he saw familiar faces—but couldn’t place them.

“Brother Xiang! You’re safe—thank heaven!”

Xiang Weiyuan turned his head; after a breath, he recognized Li Zhi. As his mind cleared, he recalled everyone present. Yet it felt surreal—just moments ago, he’d been fleeing a thousand li, collapsing into his master’s arms. Now, he was surrounded by so many.

Within him, vitality surged like a spiritual spring, pouring forth life and spiritual power. His strength and energy restored rapidly; he struggled to stand. He now understood—these people had come to rescue him.

Xiang Weiyuan was about to thank Li Zhi—when his eyes locked onto a familiar figure behind him: Liao Jingwu!

Xiang Weiyuan had already reconstructed the entire sequence: five hundred Liao cavalry, especially the hundred Snow Eagle Riders, could never have hidden their movement. To attack Quyang, they must pass the encampment. Yet when they struck, the county was unprepared—forcing Fang He Tong to sacrifice himself. Meaning: the encampment didn’t intercept, didn’t send reinforcements, didn’t even raise beacon fires!

Xiang Weiyuan leapt to his feet, silent, and strode toward Liao Jingwu.

Liao Jingwu’s face turned ashen as he scrambled backward, shouting: “What are you doing? I’m a court official, a Seventh-Rank Assistant Regional Commander! Don’t you fear the extermination of your nine clans? General Li, my lord Li, you swore to protect me! Save—”

Li Zhi had not anticipated such a turn—he stepped forward to block Xiang Weiyuan. But before his foot could land, Bao Yun appeared at his side, standing shoulder to shoulder, her voice soft: “Brother Li, why so impatient? Just watch for now.”

The moment Bao Yun appeared, an invisible barrier rose before Li Zhi, halting him in place.

Xiang Weiyuan took a few strides and stood before Liao Jingwu. He reached out—his hand seized the spear, which rose from the corpse of the fallen steed like a dragon leaping from the abyss, instantly appearing in his grasp!

Liao Jingwu, paralyzed with terror, instinctively drew his sword and held it before him.

Li Zhi could not move; in desperation, he shouted: “General Liao has defected to the righteous side! Give—”

The words “give me, Li Zhi, some face” never left his lips.

Xiang Weiyuan swept his spear horizontally—Liao Jingwu froze in place. A fine line appeared along his sword, his arm, and his neck. Then the sword split in two, the arm severed, and his head shot skyward. Blood gushed like a fountain, spattering over a yard high.

Several Captains, seeing their commander dead, instinctively stepped back—after all, those truly unafraid of death would not have survived this long in this force. Among Li Zhi’s elite, several gripped their sword hilts, knowing they were no match, yet ready to strike, waiting only for Li Zhi’s command.

Xiang Weiyuan stood still, spear in hand, blood dripping drop by drop from its tip, forming tiny, round beads on the ground. In his heart, countless thoughts surged and intertwined—all he had ever seen and heard rose at once. He suddenly looked up at the sky and saw clusters of yellow qi, each teeming with countless pairs of eyes, every pair brimming with murderous intent.

Xiang Weiyuan turned abruptly to Zhang Sheng: “Master, you said Heaven and Earth hold great love—then why does Heaven and Earth here seek only to kill us?”

“Then change Heaven and Earth!” Zhang Sheng declared with iron resolve.

“Indeed it must…” Xiang Weiyuan slowly closed his eyes.

At this moment, three years of early education, ten years of arduous cultivation, ten thousand Foundation Establishments dissolving into star-rivers, his father in the Wei family home and the toiling peasants, the refugees, the blood, the flames, Fang Hetong’s severed head, the sweeping rise and fall of humanity recorded in history over hundreds of thousands of years, the Liao prince who sought to turn him into a hound, the colossal claw descending from the sky, the first spear of rebellion against Heaven and Earth, martyrdom, the heads of Wang Delu and Liao Jingwu, the soldiers here worthy only of command, Li Zhi’s shock, the aristocrats’ astonishment, the pure lands of humanity, the yellow qi of the Liao frontier, the celestial fate beyond Heaven, the madmen of Heaven and Earth, Bao Yun’s first fruit, and Zhang Sheng’s kneeling figure in the Skyblue Palace—all merged into one.

Heaven and Earth fell utterly silent. Then the rolling yellow qi retreated like a receding tide, fleeing in haste. Within a hundred li, the sky cleared and the earth brightened. Threads of primordial qi emerged from nowhere, streaming into Xiang Weiyuan’s body. The qi from the void grew ever more abundant—soon forming a colossal storm of primordial energy. Xiang Weiyuan stood at its eye, drawing in the endless flow like an abyss with no bottom.

In his mind-sea, the Jade Toad suddenly leapt up, swallowed the full moon whole, then lay still, its body gradually dissolving into the great stone and the ground. The ground itself extended endlessly, as if without limit.

Suddenly, a golden light rose above Li Zhi’s head—within it, the ancient Four Symbols, Three-Legged Cauldron floated, heavy with antiquity. The cauldron trembled, emitting several trembling chimes. This cauldron was a relic of the ancient Emperor’s rites to Heaven—yet now, shaken by Xiang Weiyuan’s aura, it seemed afraid, forcing Li Zhi to stagger backward several steps, his face as white as paper.

Tai Chu Palace, Wan Xiang Hall.

The sapphire-blue hall suddenly shook—every sect member was startled. Instantly, streaks of light pierced the sky, arriving one after another; the True Ones and True Persons still within the sect rushed to the scene, unaware of what had occurred.

Before all eyes, Wan Xiang Hall suddenly doubled in height and expanded manyfold, towering with majestic grandeur!

Several True Ones struck at once, pointing at the hall—the Wan Xiang Hall instantly became void, revealing its interior.

The star-river formed of ten thousand Foundation Establishments remained, but now beneath it lay a vast continent, supporting the entire river. The star-river stretched across the heavens, beginning at one end of the continent and ending at the other.

That night, Emperor Tang Su was startled repeatedly, dying at dawn. Emperor Xuan ascended the throne at age eleven, changing the era name to Tianqi.

In the first year of Tianqi, Xiang Weiyuan forged his Foundation Establishment: [Ten Thousand Li of Rivers and Mountains], peerless under Heaven.

Volume One: The Age of Struggle Ends

(End of Chapter)