Chapter 159: The Elixir of Immortality, the War That Commands All Under Heaven

Above, it cuts through floating clouds; below, it severs the earth's axis.

It unites the feudal lords, and all under heaven submits.

Ji Yanzhong lived in an era when the imperial house of Zhongzhou still held its final dignity; he still remembered how the Emperor once sacrificed to Heaven and Earth and the altars of soil and grain, how all the feudal lords and kings came to pay homage beneath the Emperor's coronet—back then, the entire world was orderly. But then came the scramble for dominance among all sides.

Heroes and warlords came pouring in.

Three generations of monarchs entrusted with hope all lacked the boldness to wield the sword and chastise all under heaven.

Now, in this generation's Emperor, he lacked even the courage to draw his sword, instead seeking sorcerers to seal away Chixiao Sword. Ji Yanzhong had once felt a flicker of pity and even approval for him—but when these words fell, they shattered Ji Yanzhong's Dao heart outright.

A thought rose in his heart.

Ah, indeed!

Compared to this, the Emperor of Zhongzhou truly is inadequate.

After this thought surfaced, Ji Yanzhong realized he had become no different from the imperial clan members he had once secretly despised when he first came to Chen State—but soon he sensed the overwhelming intensity of the emotion surging within him.

He did not merely wish for Chixiao Sword to roam all under heaven.

He even wanted to drag that shameful Emperor from his imperial throne.

The gap was so vast it made him want to cover his face and flee.

Who is this person?

Who?!

But the next moment, Chixiao Sword fell silent. Ji Yanzhong widened his eyes as the white-haired elder hurriedly said: "Ancestor Chixiao, stop pretending ignorance—tell us plainly, who is it?!" But the divine blade sank back into silence, refusing to answer.

"What comes after?"

"Why won't you speak of what comes next—the even more astonishing part?"

"Speak!"

Today, Ji Yanzhong lay wide-eyed in the chamber prepared by the Chen royal family, staring at the wood grain of the palace rafters, counting them over and over again, unable to sleep—his mind turned endlessly on just one thought.

Who?

Who exactly?!

And tonight, another person could not sleep either.

After bathing, the Emperor of Chen wore only a black everyday robe, his jade crown binding his hair; before him, Chen Yuyun's corpse lay upon a large slab of Kunlun ice jade, surrounded by sorcerers and Daoist Priests, who had laid out an array using jade tablets and talismans.

The Emperor of Chen held a string of jade beads, calmly moving them as he pondered Chen Yuyun's death.

Was it the Yuwen clan—or the power behind the Crown Prince?

Yuwen Lie—or Dan Tai Xianming?

The greatest beneficiary is the Crown Prince's faction. If Dan Tai Xianming learned Chen Yuyun was his illegitimate son, he would know the future throne must belong to Chen Yuyun—and thus, eliminating him would serve his interests perfectly.

But Yuwen Lie also fits.

To destabilize Chen's court, he framed Dan Tai.

Others had neither motive nor benefit large enough to match theirs.

The Emperor of Chen personally examined the wounds: the piercing wound to the neck could only have been inflicted by a top-tier assassin—or one wielding a divine weapon. Later, he went alone to view Chen Yuyun's corpse and noticed something abnormal about the internal organs.

The decay of the organs and certain acupoints was far too rapid.

Exceeding the norm.

After death, organs naturally decay; the speed is usually ignored.

The Emperor of Chen had placed Chen Yuyun's body atop Kunlun ice jade to preserve it from decay, then attended the banquet. Upon returning, he found the corpse—supposedly preserved—still showing signs of internal organ corruption, indicating a special internal Qi effect.

The Emperor of Chen moved his jade beads slowly and calmly as the Grand Eunuch returned.

The Emperor opened his eyes and said softly: "Well?"

The Grand Eunuch replied: "Si Qing has vanished. Several days have passed."

The Emperor's fingers paused slightly; the air froze. He said calmly: "Dan Tai Xianming's subordinate—the tenth-ranked assassin under heaven, Si Tu Deqing—I deliberately kept him within sight, yet he disappeared."

"What do you think?"

The Grand Eunuch knelt, forehead pressed to the ground, trembling: "Your servant does not know."

The Emperor said softly: "Is Dan Tai Xianming growing old, making such a mistake?"

"Or is someone deliberately using Si Tu Deqing to frame Dan Tai Xianming, to sow discord between me and him, to drive a wedge between Emperor and Empress, to pit the Imperial Chancellor against the throne—and plunge all under heaven into chaos?"

"Those with such intent—"

"Either a madman yearning for chaos and conquest, or the State of Ying."

"Which do you think it is? Dan Tai—or a frame-up?"

The Grand Eunuch pressed his forehead hard against the floor, convinced the Emperor who had so calmly hosted Ji Yanzhong now resembled a dragon about to erupt—yet he could only say: "Your servant does not know."

The Emperor said softly: "I say—it is a frame-up."

"Dan Tai would never use such a crude scheme."

"There is a third party."

At that moment, a white-haired Daoist Priest stepped forward and said:

"Your Majesty has ordered me to investigate this death."

"Though difficult, I can use Yuan Guang Art to see the final scene he witnessed. I beg Your Majesty's permission."

The Emperor of Chen nodded, expression calm.

"Granted."

The Daoist Priest, as if in ill temper, dismissed the other sorcerers, leaving only himself. He then activated Yuan Guang Art. The air grew deathly silent. The Grand Eunuch's forehead broke into cold sweat; he kept his head bowed, daring not to look.

Within the massive bronze mirror, only blurred images appeared—endless rain fell.

As if disturbed by some Yin-Yang art.

Yet even in the gloom, one figure remained sharply clear: the final scene Chen Yuyun saw before death—dark ink-colored storm clouds, rain falling, an obsidian mask, one side stained with blood, cold and indifferent, like the God of Death itself.

The scene vanished; the Daoist priest knelt on the ground.

Emperor Chen watched this scene; he knew that the Tenth Killer, Situ Deqing, possessed this armor.

This armor had once been bestowed by him upon Dantai Xianming.

As spoils of war from that affair ten years ago, among the co-conspirators.

"Good, good…"

"Before this, I thought someone had conspired against you, Dantai Xianming—or did you guess even my thoughts?"

"Truly terrifying, my chancellor."

"You understand my heart."

"Yet I am also relieved—if someone truly plotted to ensnare you, me, and Yuwen Lie in one scheme, even from the shadows, what manner of monster would that be?"

The Emperor sighed, fell silent; the jade beads in his hand suddenly scattered, falling everywhere. The Daoist's face turned deathly pale as he knelt. The Grand Eunuch's body stiffened slightly—he had already bowed his head, yet he still knew this news.

Emperor Chen gazed at the old Daoist with white hair and spoke softly:

"You knew?"

"You had already suspected—sending everyone away was to protect them."

"Old sly Daoist, stop pretending…"

The Emperor stared at the Daoist, his expression shifting between dark and light, a glint of killing intent in his eyes—but finally he raised his hand and tossed the remaining beads into the Daoist's hands. He looked weary, and said softly: "Go."

"I know your nature—you won't spread this news."

"I should have killed you to silence you, but you've guarded me since childhood—I simply couldn't bring myself to do it. Take these jade beads, leave the palace at once—before I change my mind, go, go as far away as you can."

"Never return, in this life or any other."

Emperor Chen closed his eyes, leaning back against his chair.

He waved his hand wearily.

The old Daoist remained silent; he knelt and struck his forehead hard against the ground.

Then he turned and walked away step by step, leaving the palace. No assassins came to kill him. Looking up at the sky, he finally exhaled in relief—his back was drenched in cold sweat. He hurried away. Emperor Chen rose and said softly: "Grand Eunuch."

The Grand Eunuch bowed his head: "Your servant is here."

"Send the palace's finest to find where Si Qing is."

"Yes."

"Dantai Xianming… Empress…"

"I will make you pay."

Emperor Chen walked alone, watching his son's death, watching the old Daoist who had accompanied him since childhood depart—even he felt a pang of sorrow. No supreme divine art could dispel the fear of life and death. Unconsciously, he arrived at the Fire Qilin Palace.

After a moment of silence, he pushed open the palace gate.

Inside the Fire Qilin Palace, a new, higher-rank Daoist had replaced Hou Zhongyu and taken charge: the Nanshan Daoist, who claimed to be three hundred years old, having witnessed Wu Di, and seen the Grand Master Siming expelled, and witnessed the rift between Wu Di and Siming.

He claimed he could refine Jin Dan, yet although Hou Zhongyu's realm was inferior, he had long immersed himself in the arts of the sorcerer and seemed connected to the legendary Qingpao Ke—thus he had long held the Fire Qilin Palace. This Daoist resided elsewhere; Emperor Chen spent a million coins to build him a palace.

He was assigned one hundred twenty young boys and one hundred twenty young girls as attendants, his rank equivalent to Third Rank; he constantly employed thousands, costing tens of millions. He claimed Jin Dan required shidan and shisui, and had ordered stone workers to excavate dozens of shafts, each a hundred feet deep into Mount Songgao—already for six full years.

The Daoist, who appeared only middle-aged, did not know the Emperor had arrived; he hurried to bow and offer tea.

Emperor Chen inquired about the elixir of immortality.

The Daoist knelt and said: "Just a little more."

"The mountain marrow of Nanshan—no one knows where it went. I asked, and it seems the Empress's people took it. Common folk say, 'May fortune be as boundless as the Eastern Sea, may life be as long as Nanshan.' This Nanshan mountain marrow naturally prolongs life. I wonder who the Empress gave it to."

Empress… Dantai…

A flicker of fury deepened in Emperor Chen's eyes. He held the tea and said:

"Speak—without Nanshan mountain marrow, what other methods are there?"

The Daoist smiled faintly: "There is one."

"Without shidan or shisui, if one obtains three hu and six dou of marrow and gall from young boys and girls, it can substitute!"

Emperor Chen was stunned: "What?"

The Daoist said: "The marrow and gall of young boys and girls—this can serve!"

"At least three hundred years of life."

"Like me!"

"But Siming—that man is different…"

When the Daoist mentioned the supreme Grand Master Siming of the Yin-Yang School, his eyes held only awe and reverence.

"His talent and boldness—he is truly a celestial being."

Emperor Chen's expression twisted through several grimaces—immortality's temptation warred with the cost of young boys and girls' marrow and gall. Finally, he closed his eyes, his face calming, and said: "Good."

The Daoist rejoiced.

A flash of swordlight—Emperor Chen's blade pierced the Daoist's protective aura, driving through his mouth and pinning him to a bronze pillar. The Emperor's face turned deathly pale, half lit by candlelight, half in shadow; he gasped heavily, his gaze struggling, then hardened into ice.

He pulled out his sword and stared at the Daoist.

The Daoist, not dead from one strike, his three hundred years of cultivation severed in an instant, spat blood, stunned—then burst into laughter:

"This is the Son of Heaven's lack of fortune. My time for bodily liberation has come—I shall be reborn in the Brahma Heaven."

Emperor Chen struck again, cleaving him to death.

"I send you there."

"Guards! Dissect his corpse into ten thousand pieces! Scrape him alive! His bones and flesh into wooden boxes—nail them beneath ten thousand rivers and mountains!"

He threw down his sword, stared at the dead Daoist, and fell silent for a long while. Then he swept his sleeve, using Imperial Fire to burn all surrounding objects to ash. He took the Daoist's Juan Sect scrolls, reading claims that human blood and hearts prolonged life—and glimpsing faint references to Qingpao Ke.

Emperor Chen burned all the Daoist's elixirs of immortality to ash, slaughtered all his disciples without mercy. After issuing this order, he drew his sword and stepped out—when a female official approached: a maid of Xue Imperial Consort and the Empress, who said both noble ladies had prepared banquets awaiting His Majesty.

It was the struggle of the inner palace.

The Emperor, who had just slain the heretic Daoist, wore his sword and had lost all interest in dealing with the harem.

He said gently, "Good."

After dismissing the two female attendants, Emperor Chen held his sword and gazed at the palace; suddenly, he understood his brother's heart—the famed Crown Prince, when he ruled as Regent, had watched the sun set from the rooftop, sitting there like an old, limping wolf, arms propped behind his head, basking in the light.

He ignored court affairs, refused to meet ministers, and simply watched the sun slowly sink.

Emperor Chen gripped his sword and said softly:

"Second brother… Wanli."

"This position is truly lonely."

"I'm beginning to regret it."

"But I cannot turn back."

When he stepped out, the Chief Eunuch asked how to handle the Fire Qilin Palace; under the night sky, Emperor Chen was finally weary—his son's death, the search for traces, the autopsy, the harem's intrigues, the struggle between Emperor and Chancellor, the Ying State, Zhongzhou, the Daoists.

From Hou Zhongyu to this three-hundred-year-old Daoist Priest.

Emperor Chen, exhausted, waved his sleeve and said: "... Seal it for now. No other Daoists may enter."

"Let the Fire Qilin Palace remain vacant for now."

"I will decide later."

"Yes, Your Majesty!"

Inside the Fire Qilin Pavilion, the Fire Qilin's ears twitched slightly.

A flicker of golden light seemed to pass through the Fire Qilin's eyes.

The Daoists and priests had all been removed—that meant—

The Fire Qilin Palace now held only basic guards?

The opportunity had come.

Only a few days remained until the Great Sacrifice; the Fire Qilin closed its eyes, its golden-red flame slowly flowing—the chains binding it had long since become mere ornaments, capable of being shattered in an instant.

Only a few days left—wait for the Great Sacrifice, when the boy appears…

The Fire Qilin flame flowed.

…………

When the sun rose the next day, the Emperor awoke; he gazed at the world beyond and his mood returned to its usual depth and coldness—the sentiments of yesterday vanished like ripples on water.

He began to regret.

He regretted why he had slashed that Daoist Priest to death with one sword, the one who claimed immortality!

He should have kept him imprisoned—why burn the Juan Sect scrolls?

Emperor Chen stared at his reflection in the mirror, gripping his own wrist: "Is the young me still alive inside this body? I know myself—if I struggled long enough, I would inevitably succumb to the temptation and make the Elixir of Immortality."

"So I burned his scrolls and killed his disciples—eliminating any future chance of regret."

"Once seated on the Emperor's throne, no one wishes to step down. It is tiring, but never wearying. So what if it is lonely? No one in the world is worthy to stand beside me—that is the Emperor!"

He walked out again, composed, to face the final match before the Great Sacrifice—a crucial event. The Emperor declared it a celebration with the people, so crowds were enormous; every seat in the surrounding towers had been sold.

Li Guanyi wore a brand-new battle robe over a simple inner armor.

After thinking, he tied the Young Lady's red hairband around his left arm, gripped his battle halberd in his right hand, and walked forward; when people saw him, they cheered—not just commoners, but martial artists from the Central Plains and heroes from Jiangnan all applauded him.

Li Guanyi raised his hand in response, calm and carefree.

Yet as he passed, his pupils contracted slightly; his gaze shifted to one direction—amid the martial artists stood a towering monk, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, holding a single iron staff in one hand, barefoot, chanting sutras.

That was—

Yan Xuanji?!

That mighty general who left Chen State and entered the Buddhist martial world—how had he infiltrated?

Li Guanyi instantly thought of Marshal Yue's case; had he not seen the portrait last night, had he not learned the method of disguising aura and spirit from the second layer of "Twelve Layers of Jiangnan Mist and Rain," he would never have recognized him—the monk now radiated no trace of murderous aura, only a deep, pure Buddhist presence.

Yet that iron staff, thick as a wrist, still carried the same formidable presence as the old Black Iron Battle Staff.

The towering monk blended into the surging crowd.

In the blink of an eye, Yan Xuanji vanished.

Meanwhile, Li Guanyi was swept forward by the crowd toward the arena.

Li Guanyi lowered his gaze and saw Yuwen Hua already waiting on the arena; their eyes met, and Yuwen Hua grinned.

Li Guanyi lifted his halberd and stepped slowly onto the arena.

Around him, martial artists, commoners, and noble families cheered; seeing Yan Xuanji, Li Guanyi realized—the Great Sacrifice was beginning. The court struggles of Ying State, Chen State, and the Turkic tribes; martial artists seeking to rescue Marshal Yue; himself aiming to seize the Fire Qilin; escape after the Great Sacrifice.

And the Empress and Imperial Concubine, the Emperor's illegitimate son, the Crown Prince and Second Imperial Prince of Ying State.

The vortex was immense—now impossible to escape.

Po Jun's scheme advanced steadily, while the Fire Qilin Palace now had no guards; the world was in chaos.

Li Guanyi stepped onto the arena.

The boy raised his halberd, then hesitated slightly.

Li Guanyi's gaze instinctively flicked upward to the high platform—where a new old man now stood.

Strange—

Li Guanyi frowned.

He felt something there—calling to him?

What was it?

And at that moment, within the sword case, the Chi Xiao Sword faintly glowed.