Chapter 158: Transmitting the Art, Bestowing Treasures: The Twenty-Four Generals

Standing beside Li Guanyi's courtyard was Chen Qingyan.

White hair at her temples, her aura cold and crisp, her gaze calm as she walked, frost and snow scattering before her; seeing Li Guanyi's obedient demeanor, she merely nodded faintly.

Li Guanyi tossed aside the branch in his hand, utterly obedient:

"Auntie, you've come."

"Would Auntie like something to drink? I'll get it."

The boy hurried back, fetched water and brewed tea, then took out a small box and retrieved Yao Guang's secret stash of pastries, placed them on the table, carried them out, and set them beneath the willow tree by the lotus pond; Chen Qingyan gave a calm nod, sat beside him, and looked at the obedient Li Guanyi, saying:

"You used Xu Huiyang's Heart Sword today."

"Even if your insight is excellent, you could not possibly master Gongyang Su Wang's Heart Sword in such a short time."

"The essence of that move should be the 'Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain,' but to achieve this effect with your soul-force exiting the body, besides the Mysterious Pass at your third eye, you must have brought this art to Reach Third Layer."

"Has your cultivation broken through?"

Li Guanyi finally understood why the Princess had come: "Yes, Auntie sees clearly."

"Because I resolved a mental knot."

The boy smiled gently as he poured tea for the Princess:

"Someone risked their own life to help me break through this knot."

"And then I broke through."

"I am deeply grateful to him."

Chen Qingyan said coolly: "Given Murong Xiao Niang's nature, she would teach you the art layer by layer; you've only just mastered the Second Layer, so she surely didn't tell you how to break through to the Third Layer—that's why you used only the surface of the Heart Sword today."

Li Guanyi's mind turned, and he offered tea obediently: "Please, Auntie, guide me."

Chen Qingyan took the tea and said: "This art was originally taught to me by her; since you carry the blood of the Murong Clan, teaching it to you is only natural. That day, time was too short—she only managed to tell me the first six layers, but this is one of the Ten Great Divine Arts of the Central Plains, and even the first six layers are profoundly mysterious."

Chen Qingyan made no movement.

Suddenly the willow tree trembled; its leaves peeled off, floated into the air, then danced gracefully, turning frost-white in an instant, accelerating sharply; Li Guanyi, without opening his soul's gate, could not track the leaves' speed—only endless afterimages remained, piercing the air with lethal sharpness.

The willow leaves flew like swords.

The water in the pond suddenly churned, its sound dull as thunder.

Li Guanyi turned and saw the pond's water boiling together, then forming a water dragon that leapt out, fangs and claws bared, vivid and lifelike; mist from the water rose like clouds and auroras, the dragon moving within, faintly radiating a terrifying pressure that sent a chill down Li Guanyi's spine.

After soaring through the air for a long while, it suddenly dispersed.

Then all the water fell back into the pond in unison.

The sound should have roared like thunder, yet it fell utterly silent.

Such effortless mastery revealed that Chen Qingyan had not even used her true strength—she was merely demonstrating casually—but even this was an astonishing spectacle beyond the imagination of a cultivator at Li Guanyi's level.

Chen Qingyan said calmly: "This is the first six layers of the 'Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain.'"

"Of course, when I wield it, it differs from Murong Xiao Niang's; I lean toward martial arts, she toward soul-force. In terms of realm, she surpasses me greatly, but in combat, I surpass her; at first, I thought this art merely allowed the cultivator's soul-force to become misty and elusive as rain."

"Later, I realized the name 'Jiangnan Mist and Rain' likely refers to the ability to command rain with soul-force, drenching all of Jiangnan."

"You've played the qin for ten years—equivalent to ten years of unbroken cultivation of this art."

"The Third Layer is enough to reveal subtle wonders."

Chen Qingyan spoke, imparting the later incantations of this supreme divine art to Li Guanyi; the Third Layer could be practiced immediately, but the next three layers were vague and unclear—obviously, they could not yet be practiced.

Chen Qingyan said: "Soul-force manipulating objects has existed since ancient times."

"The Daoist art of sword control also includes this; one of the Two Primordial Masters of the Daoist Sect could control his sword with soul-force and sever a head from a thousand li away; compared to the Murong Clan's methods, each has its strengths, neither clearly superior—but unfortunately, I do not know the martial arts that complement the Murong Clan's art."

"Murong Xiao Niang excels in soul-force and qi, not martial arts."

"She cannot guide you in this regard; if you wish to learn the corresponding divine arts, you must go to the Murong Clan."

"For now, I've devised some application methods myself—you may listen."

Chen Qingyan recited the incantation; a fallen leaf spiraled beside her hand, incredibly agile. Li Guanyi tried as well, but far less fluidly; her gaze calm, she said: "Your cultivation is still insufficient; truly, commanding the natural world demands too much of you."

"What makes humans human is their ability to use tools."

"Weapons of the Sharp Grade, forged with rare materials, can conduct qi and endow various properties; even rarer materials, infused with soul-force and internal qi, become artifacts that can be activated by soul-force—these are called Treasure Weapons."

"Compared to Sharp Weapons, Treasure Weapons are often lighter."

"In pure hardness, sharpness, or qi transmission, Treasure Weapons may not surpass top-tier Sharp Weapons—but they often possess abilities beyond ordinary understanding."

Chen Qingyan felt words alone could not fully describe it.

She placed the sword in her hand on the table and said calmly: "Try drawing it."

Li Guanyi, curious, grasped the sword and drew it—the blade was light; Li Guanyi froze, seeing the sword was entirely formed of ice, clear and transparent, radiating a chilling aura that made his body feel his blood stagnate.

Li Guanyi said: "This is a Treasure Weapon?"

Chen Qingyan sheathed the sword; Li Guanyi's blood flowed rapidly again, dispelling the sensation; Chen Qingyan said calmly: "Mystic Weapon."

Li Guanyi whistled.

Mystic Weapons and Divine Weapons are similar in material.

There are rumors that top-tier Mystic Weapons, having accompanied heroes of the mortal world to accomplish great deeds, become sentient and ascend into Divine Weapons, acquiring unimaginable marvels.

In other words, the sword in Chen Qingyan's hand is akin to a nascent Divine Weapon.

Chen Qingyan said calmly: "But Treasure Weapons also possess similar traits—for example, forged entirely of ice, ordinary touch causes blood to congeal; or, for a short time, causing an opponent to lose balance, making it hard even to stand firm."

"Some can slow an opponent's movements to the pace of an ancient elder; dull their internal qi, stripping away their edge; even cause the weapons in their hands to rapidly decay."

"All such abilities, countless in variety, are why they are called Treasure Weapons."

Li Guanyi understood.

And immediately realized one thing.

This stuff sounded extremely expensive.

Even Chen Yuyun's crossbow cost five hundred taels of gold.

Chen Qingyan said coolly, "If you have the opportunity, find someone to forge a treasure weapon, and wield it with your Nascent Soul. According to the mysteries of 'Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain,' it can become a perfect hidden strike."

"Don't look at me."

"I was born into the imperial family; the imperial court knows every treasure weapon I've ever used in the martial world."

"Today I came only because men from Zhongzhou arrived and the palace held a banquet, giving me free time. If they discover you possess a weapon I once used, your identity will be exposed immediately—you'll die without doubt."

Chen Qingyan finished her tea and rose coolly.

Li Guanyi thought for a moment.

He gritted his teeth, lowered his gaze, and assumed just the right look of pitiable helplessness.

Like a stray cat abandoned in the rain, shivering on the street.

He said nothing, only stood there obediently.

Chen Qingyan paused.

As if sighing, she reached out and took out an object—a wooden box—and placed it on the table. "This was acquired by me during my youth while traveling outside. Because its yang essence is pure, it never suited my body's foundation, so I never used it."

"Today I drank one cup of your tea."

"This is yours."

Unexpectedly receiving such a gift, Li Guanyi was overjoyed and said:

"Auntie Qingyan, you're the greatest in the world!"

Flowery words poured out like bulk goods; Chen Qingyan shook her head helplessly and said coolly, "Your father, back then, never spoke as smoothly as you."

"You've clearly picked up Murong Xiao Niang's nature."

"Sharp-tongued."

Li Guanyi opened the box. Inside was ice jade, radiating a faint chill. Upon it lay a needle, entirely crimson, as if burning with flame. Chen Qingyan raised her hand slightly—the crimson needle boiled, spinning swiftly and nimbly through the air, then came to rest on her shoulder.

"During our exploration of a martial world ruin, we discovered the death-closure chamber of a Daoist cultivator from six hundred years ago. We buried that Daoist elder and took his personal box. Inside was a material suitable for forging a treasure weapon—but it was too small."

"Later, we took it to the Divine Weapon Valley of the Murong Clan and had their master swordsmith forge it. It looks like a needle, but is in truth a sword—named 'Crimson Flame Lesser Yang Sword.' Though small, it perfectly matches your current foundation."

Chen Qingyan had said she wouldn't give Li Guanyi a treasure weapon.

Yet she had produced one perfectly suited to his foundation.

It seemed she had prepared it long ago.

Chen Qingyan passed the sword to Li Guanyi. After a moment's trial, under her guidance, he learned to control the weapon. In the night, the Lesser Yang Sword whirled and shifted rapidly, nearly becoming a crimson streak—faster than Li Guanyi's arrows.

Li Guanyi wielded it using the technique of 'Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain.' Gradually, it became as responsive as an extension of his arm. Suddenly, he shifted his intent—the sword shot straight into the pond, churning the water, then flew out. He thought for a moment, drew the sword, and struck with upright, righteous motion.

Where the sword could not reach, his Nascent Soul used the Lesser Yang Sword to compensate.

Though one man fought, it seemed as if two warriors wielded twin blades in perfect harmony, alternating and interweaving—its power was profound and mysterious. Then he sheathed the sword and drew the Frost Spear, executing spear techniques with wide, sweeping motions, while the Lesser Yang Sword hid beneath the spear, striking unexpectedly.

Chen Qingyan gave a slight nod and said coolly, "This will do."

"When you leave this place, you'll be safer. But remember—Wu cultivators of the Fourth Heaven have begun condensing their Nascent Souls; they are no longer mere wielders of physical force. If you face such opponents, be cautious—your Nascent Soul's control of the sword may be detected."

Li Guanyi said:

"So, before the Fourth Heaven, most cultivators can't resist this technique?"

"Thank you so much, Auntie Qingyan!"

The Princess turned her back to him and gave a faint "Mm." Suddenly, Li Guanyi saw cold air disperse—her figure dissolved into a cloud of frost, then plummeted downward and vanished, already gone.

Such a technique left Li Guanyi awestruck.

With this Lesser Yang Sword, the martial art of the Murong Clan—the one he had spent ten years practicing on the qin—finally had its purpose. Li Guanyi became deeply interested, continuously guiding the Lesser Yang Sword to fly back and forth within ten zhang of his body.

Suddenly, the Lesser Yang Sword's crimson glow halted and dropped downward.

Li Guanyi stepped forward, shifting his body technique, and caught the needle-sword firmly.

Then a powerful, dizzying sensation struck him—like motion sickness compounded by having to solve math problems—his vision darkened. He clung to the wall, and after a long while, slowly recovered.

"It seems Nascent Soul energy has limits, like muscles."

"Too much exertion makes muscles ache to death; too much mental strain makes you nauseous and want to vomit."

Li Guanyi sat on the ground for a long while before regaining his composure. He shifted his mind—the Lesser Yang Sword flew into his sleeve, resting quietly against his wrist guard, emitting only a faint warmth. Suddenly, he sensed a soft hum—it was the Ghost Market's wooden token.

On it, twisted characters appeared.

The information Li Guanyi requested had been completed.

Seeing the sky was still early, and recalling Chen Qingyan's words about the imperial banquet, Li Guanyi changed his attire, donned a mask, and went to the Ghost Market. The Ghost Market's task handover required no intermediary like Bu Ye Hou—he could retrieve it himself.

Li Guanyi arrived before a wall and saw a box bearing his mark emerge.

A voice on the other side of the wall was hoarse.

"Thirty taels of gold."

Li Guanyi's eyebrow twitched.

He reached into his robe and pulled out the gold left over from killing Chen Yuyun—just enough. The gold had been scrambled by the Black Tortoise's aura disruption and was ordinary enough to use. Other items, like the crossbow, had been handed over to Po Jun.

Thank you, Chen Yuyun.

Though you were hateful when alive.

But dead, you were actually a good person.

Li Guanyi thought silently.

Selling stolen goods at the Ghost Market was common—it asked no questions about origins, only about transactions. Soon, Li Guanyi's box landed in his hands. He left the Ghost Market, moving carefully, letting the Black Tortoise perch on his shoulder. Only after returning to the Xue residence did he reopen the box.

Inside were only a few sheets of paper. Li Guanyi's heart clenched again.

These papers were worth more than gold.

On the white paper were the locations of the officers he had written down. Li Guanyi skimmed quickly, his gaze settling on two of Tai Ping Gong's war generals among them. The thirty taels of gold had been well spent—there were even portraits.

Li Guanyi saw a towering, burly man.

His beard and hair bristled, his face was like a leopard's, his eyes ringed, his physique powerful and radiating ferocity.

Yan Xuanji, from beyond the northern border, roamed the land twenty years ago as a mighty hero, wielding a massive iron-gold staff capable of splitting mountains and shattering rocks, possessing the strength of a tiger's bones, leopard's skin, and a raging bull—the second-greatest physique since ancient times. Tai Ping Gong endured twenty of his punches without stepping back, and thus, deeply moved, pledged himself to Yan's service.

As a general under Tai Ping Gong, he bore the battle standard through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, never retreating.

He once bore thirty-six wounds, shed his armor, and charged into battle, roaring as he fought, landing one punch that halted a charging Tie Futu, holding up a city gate and turning the tide of battle. When Tai Ping Gong died, he wept bitterly, hung up his seal, and departed, entering the central plains' martial world, removed from the List of Divine Generals, and took refuge under Master Wu Yin of the Central Plains' Buddhist sect.

His dharma name was Zhige, and then he vanished.

Another was a middle-aged man with a cold expression, eyes like a hawk's.

Wang Shunchen, commander of Tai Ping Gong's mounted archers.

He once held a city alone, firing three thousand arrows in a single day, killing two thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven men, halting the enemy's charge. The Qiang rebels camped on the mountains outside the city. Wang Shunchen drew his bow from the city wall; the arrow pierced the air and drove three inches into the mountain rock, even piercing through the rock to kill men beyond.

The bandits trembled in fear, crying out, "God-Archer General!"

The rebellion was quelled.

He was Tai Ping Gong's foremost divine archer.

When Tai Ping Gong died, Wang Shunchen removed his bow and shot three arrows into the city gate, then walked away in plain clothes, bow in hand. Though a thousand troops stood before him, none dared to stop him.

Later, he entered the Xiyuda Sect's Great Flag Camp.

Every day he drank wine, drowned in the songs and dances of beauties.

He remained so for ten years.

He no longer held a bow.

When Qiang envoys came to pay respects, they trembled in fear; after leaving, they sighed deeply and said, "Is the God-Archer General dead? His heart is dead."

Li Guanyi read the records of these two men, seeing their sorrow and rage, and exhaled.

"The standard-bearer, and the commander of the mounted archers."

He recorded both of them.

…………

At this moment, in the imperial palace of Chen, the banquet ended. Ji Yanzhong returned to his lodging; his attendants withdrew. He stood alone, lucid and sorrowful, sighed, paced beneath the moonlight, turned, and walked to the sword case, placing his hand upon the Chixiao Sword.

"Chixiao… Chixiao…"

"Can you truly find a new master?"

He spoke softly. He had not come to Chen for the first time; last time, he had met a rough young warrior, impressed by his boldness, who had imparted some Chi Long Qi to him. Only recently had he learned that the boy had become a famed general and betrayed Chen.

Things remain, but people have changed.

Ji Yanzhong gave a self-deprecating laugh: "Even if Chixiao wanders outside, can it truly find a wise and worthy sovereign? Must my Zhongzhou's Emperor, raised since childhood in luxury, be inferior to a man of the wild?!"

"Sī Wēi, madman! Vulgar fool!"

"The imperial clan? Even more foolish! Foolish!"

"They have not an ounce of principle."

He still carried the pride and haughtiness of his royal blood, and the desolation of watching familiar things crumble. At that very moment, a thread of shimmering light suddenly flickered from the Chixiao Sword. As its lifelong wielder, Ji Yanzhong was startled.

He suddenly saw a glimmer reflected in the Chixiao.

A figure seemed to be within.

The form was indistinct; the voice, unclear.

Yet he heard the voice speak: "The Son of Heaven's sword takes the border city as its point, Shanhe as its edge, the state as its spine… forged by the Five Phases, judged by punishment and virtue; opened by Yin and Yang, held by Spring and Autumn, wielded by Winter and Autumn."

"This sword, when thrust forward, meets no obstacle; when raised, reaches no height above; when lowered, meets no depth below; when moved, knows no side. It cleaves floating clouds above, severs the earth's axis below."

"When this sword is used, the feudal lords are corrected, and all under heaven submits!"

The voice was ethereal.

Yet to his ears, it struck like a great hammer on empty air!

Ji Yanzhong's expression slowly froze.

The Son of Heaven's sword?!