Chapter 173

Xiao Wuliang and General Yue Qianfeng were battling within the imperial palace.

The Kui Niu and the Crimson Dragon clashed, their Lei Ting and flame intertwining constantly; the Fire Qilin roared, its fire merging with the Crimson Dragon's fire, barely suppressing the much younger divine general Xiao Wuliang.

Yue Qianfeng spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

Feeling his battle halberd slipping in his grip, he looked down and saw his own blood had soaked the haft; still he clung to it, his tiger-like eyes fixed on Xiao Wuliang, frantically wiping the bloody gore from his mouth and nose.

"Xiao Wuliang!"

"Come again!"

Xiao Wuliang regarded this general—who had fought him three times in two months—Yue Qianfeng was badly wounded, yet Xiao Wuliang remained calm and composed; abandoning the value of military formations on the battlefield, in pure martial arts, Xiao Wuliang was peerless.

Yue Qianfeng was among the world's elite, yet still could not match such a supreme pinnacle of the realm.

Only his blood boiled fiercely, his battle spirit soaring, refusing to retreat even in death.

Just as he prepared to die, he suddenly heard a sword's cry.

Both divine generals looked down together.

Among the ruins of the forbidden palace lay an extraordinary array, protecting a single place: a black platform, upon which rested an ancient box with simple carvings, wrapped in loops of red rope—now stirring without wind.

The next instant, the box, forged at great cost by the Central State imperial clan specifically to seal the Chi Xiao Sword, cracked into fragments—and then shattered outright!

A fierce sword cry surged into the heavens.

Crimson light shattered the great array the Emperor of Chen had laid here!

Emperor Chen Dingye had painstakingly concealed this scene: using the palace as bait and trap to crush enemies here, while hiding the true state of the palace—the very symbol of Chen royal dignity.

But now, all his schemes shattered because of the Chi Xiao Sword's uprising.

Like a beam of light shooting skyward, ripples surged violently through the night, spreading layer upon layer; the next instant, with a crisp cracking sound, the entire array collapsed—the crimson flames, the coiling Crimson Dragon, the Kui Niu summoning thunder—all revealed before everyone's eyes.

The Emperor had been drinking, his expression calm and unhurried, even magnanimous.

Now his face froze slightly, pupils contracting sharply.

His two-birds-with-one-stone plan had shattered.

The silence and panic within the secondary palace went unmentioned; Xiao Wuliang stared at the Chi Xiao Sword hovering and singing in midair, his heavy hammer lowering slightly, gazing at the Fire Qilin, Yue Qianfeng, and the Crimson Dragon: "You awakened the Chi Xiao Sword?"

Yue Qianfeng's tiger eyes flickered with hesitation.

Then he roared: "I awakened the Chi Xiao Sword?"

"Are you stupid? I'm a bandit by origin!"

Xiao Wuliang spoke succinctly:

"The Chi Xiao Sword and the Crimson Dragon are both here, and the Chi Xiao Sword has not flown elsewhere."

Yue Qianfeng felt a crushing sense of injustice.

Flames seemed ready to burst from his forehead.

He cursed twice at whoever had thrown this blame, raised his halberd, and prepared to resume the death struggle—when suddenly he heard a long howl, dragon-like and tiger-like, piercing metal and splitting stone; his heart jolted, he turned—and saw a massive Buddhist golden body rising, one palm sweeping horizontally, sending dozens or even hundreds of imperial guards flying.

A rugged monk in a gray robe, bloodstained at the collar, held a long staff of mixed golden-black iron in his right hand, swinging it like a storm; on his shoulder he carried a man, alive or dead—he was Yan Xuanji!

Yan Xuanji, carrying the still-breathing Yue Pengwu, fought, killed, and retreated, roaring:

"Go!!!"

The voice carried far; surviving martial artists who had stormed the palace, hearing it, knew the mission was accomplished—whether successful or not, they must flee; all abandoned their foes, yet Yue Qianfeng saw the man on Yan Xuanji's back still lived.

He was overjoyed, as if boundless strength surged within him, laughing loudly several times.

"Xiao Wuliang, I've no time to fight you!"

"We'll meet again on the battlefield!"

He roared again, the Crimson Dragon howling as it charged fiercely toward Xiao Wuliang; then Yue Qianfeng vanished instantly, the Fire Qilin likewise—yet this divine general, still possessing ample strength, made no move to pursue, only raised his hammer, gazing at the sky and the chaos of Jiangzhou.

Ji Yanzhong detected the Chi Xiao Sword's anomaly and shot toward it like lightning.

The imperial palace, where dragon and tiger manifestations clashed, blazed skyward; the people awoke, rose, and saw the heavens as if set alight—in the night, they beheld golden-red skies and clouds, the black night's clouds vast and monstrous, like the hands of gods of apocalypse.

The city began to panic; Xiao Wuliang raised his heavy hammer.

On both hammers, blue-purple Lei Ting crackled and scattered.

The palace, previously parched and tense from arrows, Mo Family devices, the Crimson Dragon, and the Fire Qilin, suddenly changed—the golden-red glow in the heavens faded bit by bit; people felt difficulty breathing, as if some invisible, boundless, majestic force pressed down from above.

Torches and lanterns flickered; animals in Jiangzhou city whimpered; people froze, hearts panicked, unsure why—but the entire city fell silent for an instant.

Then—

【Crack—】

Someone noticed their weapon suddenly tingling; a blue arc of light leapt from the sword's edge—this change occurred on everyone; even touching clothing produced a sharp snap, hair stood on end.

Xiao Wuliang's right hammer struck empty air.

"Boom!!!"

The heavens split open with a terrifying Lei Ting.

Continuous thunder nearly shook people's skulls white.

The next instant, Lei Ting filled the entire sky—endless thunder surged upward, striking the heavens, above which loomed the fire threatening to swallow Jiangzhou, below which blazed white lightning; intense fire and thunder collided, unleashing gales that swept across Jiangzhou, the wind raging.

Clouds were violently dragged down, finally becoming a torrential rain covering all of Jiangzhou; the rain warped vision, concealing the palace's true state—this was the true method of supreme martial experts, who scorned sorcerer arts.

Every gesture, every movement, was like a god or demon.

This rain calmed hearts, the thunder quelled panic; the falling rain gradually doused the palace fires, preventing further spread.

A single hammer blow, so terrifying.

This seemed to mark the end of battle and slaughter; within the library pavilion, the two imperial elder masters, whose Wu Gong attainments were already profound, never stepped out—no one knew if they refused, could not, or whether Chen Dingye's weight was less than that of this young woman, Chen Qingyan, who already possessed such power.

The candle flame in Chen Qingyan's palm burned out; she placed the candle on a stone shelf beside the library, then said calmly: "Then, farewell."

She picked up her sword and walked down step by step, her expression cold and serene, white strands at her temples fluttering slightly.

Yet once she descended, sweat began to bead on her forehead.

Just from that standoff, her internal Qi had already been drained by more than half!

…………

Boom!!!

Chen Chengbi was slammed into the mountain rock, the solid range shattered through its center; the old man's white hair was disheveled, utterly broken, his blue robes soaked in blood, sitting there, spitting blood uncontrollably, his body riddled with sword and knife wounds.

A horrific, grotesque puncture wound still gaped in his chest.

The flesh around the wound was still healing, marked by scorching traces left by some extraordinary martial art.

But Chen Chengbi only laughed loudly: "Pleasant! Interesting! Interesting!"

He raised his hand and threw something.

It was an arm!

The palm was long and powerful, gripping a longsword that continuously radiated intense energy; the fingers still trembled slightly, and at the severed end, grotesque, blinding bone spurs were visible, along with blood vessels and meridians stretched to their limit, snapped, then curled backward like beads.

The Sixth Master of Tianxia Sect, Qu Zai Shi, knelt half-broken on the ground.

His left hand gripped a cold-emitting treasure blade, supporting his weight against the earth.

Aside from the severed arm, he looked far more composed than Chen Chengbi—his robes bore few injuries, his bearing that of a true Grandmaster—yet this peerless warrior of the realm had just been forcibly breached by the old man's ultimate technique, then had his arm torn off alive.

As the stone shattered, the old man stepped forward slowly, his white hair stirring slightly.

Blood dripped down, and behind him, a twisted, ink-black spiritual form rose.

Wings burst open, ink-black feathers falling, and its true form was none other than a grotesque, terrifying black tiger, growling low and deep; Li Guanyi had always wondered why Chen Chengbi and Chen Qingyan, both high-level martialists, had no spiritual form.

Now, Chen Chengbi's spiritual form appeared.

Qu Zai Shi gritted his teeth, staring at the grotesque, fearsome entity, each word deliberate: "In the northwest dwells a beast, shaped like a tiger, with wings capable of flight. Among all monstrous spiritual forms of the realm, it ranks second—utterly evil: Qiongqi."

"Legend says five hundred years ago, the Duke of Chen killed the last Qiongqi to obtain the Fire Qilin; drenched in Qiongqi blood, his descendants—those of astonishing talent and piercing insight—may awaken the Qiongqi qi within their veins, manifesting the Qiongqi spiritual form."

"The legend is true…"

He stared at the old man walking slowly toward him, eyes ink-black and tinged red.

Chen Chengbi's white hair stirred slightly; behind him, the ink-black-winged tiger paced, a chilling aura of killing intent radiating.

At this moment, Qu Zai Shi could think of only two words.

【Mad King】!

Qu Zai Shi exhaled heavily—Chen Chengbi, lost in his frenzy, had finally unleashed the Qiongqi spiritual form he had suppressed; and despite Qu Zai Shi's immense strength, he had been caught off-guard, his arm torn off by the mad old man.

Qu Zai Shi stopped the bleeding from his arm, stepped back half a pace, and said:

"This matter is not over."

"Mad King."

"One day, let us settle our life-and-death struggle once more!"

He held his blade in his left hand, broke free from the mad old man, and fled swiftly.

Everyone was locked in their own battles; Li Guanyi, suppressing the world's rare poison within him with the Azure Phoenix, burst out from the fissure created by Yue Pengwu, then raced toward the rendezvous point agreed upon with Po Jun—yet the situation was worse than he'd anticipated.

There were still pursuers.

They were under Gu Dao Hui's command—the famed general who had murdered his three comrades to earn the title of Wu Hou and the rank of Second-Rank Grand General; even if no one had discovered Li Guanyi's connection to the Fire Qilin, Gu Dao Hui had personally witnessed Yan Xuanji protecting Li Guanyi.

"These famed generals—all of them think faster than anyone else."

Li Guanyi cursed inwardly, wielding his halberd through several battles, breaking through each one; though the poison corroded his flesh and bones, causing excruciating pain, his rage and heroic spirit now surged together—this agony, like fiery liquor down his throat, scraped his insides, yet stirred his inner energy, making his strikes heavier, crueler.

He shook off his pursuers once more, nearing the Imperial Road, when he heard a whistling through the air.

It was crossbow bolts—but Li Guanyi did not dodge, for the bolts had struck the ground before him, most embedded deep, cracking the bricks and stones; he slowly lifted his gaze and saw the man approaching ahead on the Imperial Road.

It was Ye Buyi.

The young military officer gripped his battle sword tightly, still bearing wounds, staring fixedly at Li Guanyi, his right hand clenched so hard his knuckles protruded; by now, he had deduced part of Li Guanyi's origins, gritting his teeth to keep his voice from trembling.

Yet his voice still came like a low wind, certain, each word deliberate:

"You… are of Marshal Yue's line."

"You know Yue Qianfeng."

"The Crimson Dragon Qi never needed the Wang Yang Qi to control it—he would never betray you, right…?"

"You've been lying to us all along."

Ye Buyi stared at his comrade, his friend; he had been knocked unconscious, yet woken through his martial art's struggle, carried his comrades to safety, then limped, weapon in hand, searching for someone to rescue his friend.

But in the end, he discovered the truth.

Ye Buyi gritted his teeth, staring at the boy holding the halberd; Ye Buyi was the legitimate son of the true commander of the Night Gallop Cavalry, and he held the means to communicate with them; now, he raised his sword, pointing it at Li Guanyi.

Past memories flashed before his eyes—the betrayal, piercing to the bone.

Yet Marshal Yue's injustice weighed even heavier.

Ye Buyi suddenly spun his sword, driving the blade straight into his own chest; his eyes red, he let blood stream down: "To not fight is disloyalty to my country; to fight is betrayal of righteousness. Today, Imperial Guard Ye Buyi cannot resist the rebel Li Guanyi."

"I… cannot… stop… him!"

The young officer's eyes glowed red; Li Guanyi moved to support him.

Ye Buyi slapped his hand away:

"Go!"

Li Guanyi clenched his fist, then placed his last pill on the ground and turned, striding away; soon, Imperial Troops arrived, asking for Li Guanyi's direction; Ye Buyi raised his hand and pointed the opposite way—so the troops hurried off in pursuit.

The boy, clutching his wound, staggered to his feet, then suddenly laughed.

His smile was complex.

Then he threw all the medicine Li Guanyi had given him into the lake, raised his sword, slashed off his battle robe, and hurled it away.

"Li Guanyi!"

He shouted: "We are no longer brothers."

Youth have their own homeland and their own fervor.

Back then, everyone saw it as unjust, beat each other black and blue, but one flask of wine was enough to make them speak.

We are friends now.

Now he says we are no longer brothers.

Ye Buyi leaned on his sword, steadying himself on wounded legs; Zhou Liuying carried his battle halberd, behind them came the young military officers—they charged forward. Zhou Liuying steadied Ye Buyi and asked, "Where's the boss?"

"Where's Li Guanyi!"

Ye Buyi did not answer; his nose grew sharp with ache. The quietest among all the young officers clenched his teeth, lifted his head, and blood and tears fell together.

……………………

Li Guanyi burst out of the imperial palace; the Fire Qilin became a flame that settled upon him. The immense divine beast, now freed, had shrunk into nothing more than a lump—small enough to hold in his arms. When the flames faded, it looked merely like a strange little lion-cat.

Li Guanyi pressed his chest as he ran forward, gripping his weapon, his blood surging—whether from poison or something else, the boy felt a piercing agony in his chest. Without knowing why, he suddenly understood the words Gudao Hui and Yan Xuanji had exchanged in their struggle.

"How absurd."

"In chaotic times, people are always pushed toward opposition."

"What logic is there to begin with?"

It was only because both sides were young and fiery, both carried hearts for their homeland.

Li Guanyi rushed out, when suddenly a powerful wind struck. He spun and swept his halberd—but it did not budge. A shadow stepped forward slowly, eyes calm as a tiger's, white hair faintly lifting—it was Xue Daoyong.

"Xue Lao."

Li Guanyi exhaled in relief.

The elder looked at the boy before him and said, "You've endured much. I was held back by Yuwen Lie; the Chi Xiao Sword shattered the great array, exposing the palace's affairs to all, disrupting the situation—only now could I break free."

Li Guanyi's spirit surged with emotion; he had many words to say, yet could not find one. Xue Daoyong reached out and stroked the boy's head, paused, then whispered, "Go."

A carriage arrived; the driver was Zhao Da Bing.

Xue Daoyong smiled faintly: "I've brought Shuangtao out. You take her back to Yicheng. Leave her there. You and your aunt leave this place—go to the Eighteen States of Jiangnan. Go there."

Li Guanyi's body trembled violently.

"Xue Lao, you know…"

Xue Daoyong laughed. He stood a little away from the carriage, his voice low: "Why do I know your identity? Of course I must know. Your age should have made you forget—when you fled back then, did you hear the roar of a tiger?"

Li Guanyi's body stiffened. The boy suddenly remembered that dream—he had dreamed it for so long, so long.

Dark clouds slowly covered the sky, leaving only faint starlight. Rain fell on the armor of the Night Riders, spraying fine droplets. His aunt fled with the infant; the sound of hooves shattered.

Then that sound was torn apart by a piercing, whistling rush—before his eyes appeared the shape of a Bai Hu.

Li Guanyi's voice was rough: "Xue Lao?!"

Xue Daoyong said: "I've always kept Shuangtao by my side. Changqing thought of her as his own elder sister, believed her father was a merchant in the Western Regions—but it was all a lie."

"My other son—Shuangtao's biological father—after saving you, went into the palace."

"He never came out."

"Why did I forget?"

Li Guanyi's body remained rigid. The elder said: "But I only deduced your identity ten days ago. How absurd—could events from ten years ago still resurface here? In these past months, I've spoken to you often."

"You've learned many things—but many you haven't yet understood. Don't fear. When you see the world, you'll understand. The road ahead after Yicheng won't be harder than this. More storms and dangers lie ahead—but don't be afraid."

"Don't be afraid—what does it matter if the wind and rain darken the sky?"

"The rest of the path—you must walk alone."

"I must now go to the battlefield of my generation."

The elder smiled faintly, then said:

"Li Guanyi."

"Goodbye, world."

Zhao Da Bing helped Li Guanyi onto the carriage. Xue Shuangtao, brought out from the palace, had her sleep point pressed—she still slept deeply. The white-haired elder stood still, calm as a tiger. Zhao Da Bing nodded, cracked his whip.

The carriage neighed, galloping—its hooves thundered like Lei Ting, a top-tier divine beast.

Even in this terrible weather, it could reach distant Yicheng within two hours.

Xue Daoyong watched them leave, then looked up at the sky.

"Children, be brave."

"This world is yours now."

"They always say the emperor is chosen by Heaven's will—destiny and fortune decide all, so the noble are noble, the kneeling forever kneel; but—"

The wild tiger of chaos turned, walking away from the youths. Beside him, the Bai Hu paced, vast as Rushan. The elder extended his right hand; the Bai Hu's divine form stepped forward, merged, and became an ancient, primordial battle bow.

The elder gripped the bow, whispering:

"I, too, do not believe in fate."

?? In dreams, the Bai Hu—see Chapter One for details~