Chapter 174: In My Prime, I Rode Spears and Ma Pi, My Spirit Swallowed Ten Thousand Li Like a Tiger!

Zhao Da Bing swung a special long whip in his hand, its surface layered with overlapping scales; each strike through the air caused the scales to unfold and close in sequence, like a dragon or serpent gliding through empty space, emitting a low hissing sound.

The beast wrapped in Lei Ting became even more obedient.

Clearly a cultivator who hadn't even entered the realm, he now held both beasts with Kui-dragon blood in one hand, his arm muscles taut and clearly defined; Li Guanyi sat inside the carriage, watching the Young Lady asleep in silence.

"Little Brother Li, in the end, it's still me who sees you off."

"There's salt-baked peanuts inside the carriage, and a pot of strong black tea; you know the place—help yourself, don't be polite."

Zhao Da Bing grinned, his eyes locked firmly ahead, speed truly like thunder racing.

He drove the beasts out of Jiangzhou City.

Then, on the open flat ground, Zhao Da Bing exhaled sharply, and thunder exploded from both beasts' bodies—their speed surged violently; Li Guanyi was pressed hard against the carriage wall by the sudden acceleration, the carriage almost wrapped in Lei Ting, racing at a speed far exceeding what a carriage ought to possess.

Yicheng and Jiangzhou are hundreds of li apart.

Considering the winding, twisting, serpentine roads, it might be nearly a thousand li.

A horse would normally take a full day to cover it.

But Li Guanyi felt that these beasts pulling them, racing through wind and rain, might even return before dawn; in Jiangzhou City, the Imperial Guards who had finally spotted Li Guanyi's direction mounted their steeds—all capable of traveling a thousand li by day and eight hundred by night, steeds bearing a trace of beast blood.

They spurred their warhorses into battle formation and galloped down the road.

Dressed in battle armor, raindrops struck the armor and splashed into tiny sprays reflecting Lei Ting and moonlight; the warhorses' hooves struck the blue stone pavement, booming like thunder!

But the commanding general suddenly changed expression, yanked hard on his reins, and shouted:

"Stop!!!"

"Everyone, stop!!!"

He yanked the reins with such force that the warhorse, while galloping at full speed, turned sharply; the general clenched his legs hard against the horse's flanks—the warhorse let out a thunderous neigh and reared up, its front hooves pawing the air.

The warhorse's hooves slammed down hard on the ground.

The soldiers behind nearly collided into a heap; such a disruption during a charge was tantamount to suicide, punishable by military law—but the general no longer cared; his left hand gripped the reins tightly, his tiger-like eyes fixed ahead.

It was civilians.

Each civilian wore only simple clothing.

They looked like ordinary folk—vegetable sellers, daily laborers, residents from remote areas—who had all come out; the boy sat in front of the carriage, and when Zhao Da Bing galloped past, the Shopkeeper of the teahouse, startled awake by the thunder, spotted him.

The news spread like fire.

Civilians had their own ways of spreading word; now, standing in the rain before them, they watched the Imperial Guards in silent stillness, yet formed a chasm blocking the path between the guards and the boy.

The Imperial Guard general suddenly understood something—he turned his gaze to the city gate.

"... Originally, the Ghost Market's gate... these people, all of them..."

"Li Guanyi broke the Ghost Market, slew nearly a hundred, saved nearly a thousand..."

A thousand people—how many households does that mean?

He looked at these civilians and found himself speechless; though he held a sword and wore armor, he felt a suffocating pressure, like the downpour itself descending upon him.

It wasn't only those high above who understood benevolence and righteousness; these civilians in the rain didn't know what "righteousness" or "virtue" meant—but they knew the simple truth: repay kindness. When their benefactor needed help, even if they had no food to eat, they'd pull on their clothes and step out.

You saved my son. You avenged my grandson.

I must help you—otherwise, I won't be able to sleep soundly.

This is the most basic truth, just like "life for a life," "debt must be repaid."

Today, the imperial palace is in chaos; if the Imperial Guards trample these civilians now, the prestige of the Chen royal house will truly crumble. The Imperial Guard commander raised his sword several times, then lowered it again; there were only a hundred or two hundred nearby—but farther off, more civilians approached slowly, holding torches and lanterns.

Weak, insignificant, easily crushed by a single blade—these civilians, flickering and gathering together, became like—

Like, the Crimson Dragon!

The fire in their hands, the light in their eyes—these were the scales of the Crimson Dragon; standing together, merging into one mass, unarmed, they faced the Imperial Guards—the Shopkeeper who had poured tea for Li Guanyi stood at the front.

He remembered the words he'd spoken to that boy that day.

"People like us are weeds in chaotic times; as long as our roots aren't pulled out, we survive—eat grass, eat bark, we must survive, right?"

"Survive—even if buried in mud, even if trampled underfoot, we must survive."

"As long as we live, one day we'll see a time of peace and prosperity."

"Aren't I right?"

He whispered: "But even weeds don't want this."

"Even weeds can ignite a vast blaze."

"We are people too."

……………………

When Prince Ji Yanzhong rushed into the palace, General Yue Qianfeng had already left; when they first met, General Yue Qianfeng was just a rough bandit with spirit—he'd failed to raid villages multiple times, even ended up helping villagers with chores and losing three chickens, making him jump with rage and howl from hunger.

Prince Ji Yanzhong found it amusing, taught him basic Wu Gong, and discovered he had superior innate talent.

Now, decades later, the once-wealthy Ji Yanzhong was an old man with white hair; the once-bold youth had become a famed general of the realm, his strength no weaker than Ji Yanzhong's—yet now, as he departed, Ji Yanzhong caught not a single trace of him.

But could it truly be him?

Prince Ji Yanzhong returned Chixiao Sword to its new scabbard, his face twisted in doubt.

Though the Red Emperor had once been idle and carefree, a wandering hero in his youth, now, after eight hundred years of ruling the realm, who didn't know the Red Emperor's grandeur? Chixiao Sword, Chixiao Sword—don't you truly have chosen a bandit or mountain robber?

He was torn—hoping General Yue Qianfeng was the one Chixiao Sword had chosen.

And yet, not hoping he was.

At this moment, Xiao Wu Liang had already extinguished the raging fires throughout the palace; General Yue Qianfeng and Yan Xuanji had withdrawn; palace guards and the Gold Guard began tallying casualties and handling affairs.

At the imperial pavilion banquet, Crown Prince Jiang Gao of the Yan state made no mention of the towering flames rising from the palace; he drank as usual, toasted the Chen Huang, refined as jade, preserving the Emperor's dignity—yet Mu Zi Yi said:

"I've always wondered why Your Majesty invited us here to feast—only to put on such a grand fireworks display for us."

"Hahaha, truly beautiful!"

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!"

Chen Dingye drank slowly, sipping calmly, and said, "If your nephew finds joy and satisfaction, that's all that matters."

Jiang Yuan said, "Indeed, I am joyful and satisfied."

"Excellent with wine."

"But now that we've seen such a grand fireworks display, I wonder how tomorrow's grand sacrifice will be conducted? If I recall correctly, the grand sacrifice must begin before sunrise."

"It seems there are only a few hours left."

Chen Dingye said coolly, "Since you're so interested, come with me and see it."

Such calmness left Jiang Yuan baffled; his thoughts raced, yet he sat back down and smiled, "I was merely worried for Your Majesty—yet now I see all is under Your Majesty's control. Let me toast Your Majesty first."

"Afterward, we'll go together."

He raised his cup and drank heartily.

Thus, music and dance resumed as before—the qin's melody was clear and exquisite, the qin player a coldly beautiful woman, the dancers each strikingly lovely; meanwhile, within the palace, imperial guards and eunuchs came and went, carrying away wounded guards to other locations for rest.

The earlier commotion had been too great; even though General Yue Qianfeng and his men had done their utmost to rescue their own, some martial artists had been left behind and trapped.

Those severely wounded but unnoticed by their companions.

When such martial artists were found, three or five imperial guards would raise their halberds and thrust them forward in unison, then twist violently—their blades and hooks would pierce and shred the five viscera into a bloody pulp.

There were also martial artists and imperial guards lying piled atop one another.

All were dead.

Their corpses had dried blood; one died for loyalty to the nation, the other for duty fulfilled—yet these two sides had been forced to slaughter each other within the palace, blades drawn, while eunuchs shouted, "Hurry, hurry!"

"These corpses and such—just toss them all into the ditches, cover them with wooden planks, don't let anything show."

One imperial guard gritted his teeth: "But these are our fallen comrades."

"To treat them like this, their bodies may be unrecognizable after the grand sacrifice."

His words were cut short as a eunuch's flywhisk struck him across the head; the young eunuch snarled, "You filthy soldier, dare to talk back here?"

"Why are you still gripping your sword?"

"I act on the Emperor's decree. You must swiftly clear away these corpses and blood—two more hours, and it's our Chen state's grand sacrifice, once every ten years. I don't care what your reasons are, whether they're comrades' remains."

"Delay the Emperor's great matter, and you won't have enough heads to lose."

The vast palace glowed with light; the warriors of battle withdrew.

Then eunuchs and attendants stepped forward; the still-warm corpses of the slain were dragged away, water from the Jianghe River washed the blood clean, thick brocades were laid out to conceal the stains, and incense trees and flowers were placed in pots one by one.

The shattered palaces were demolished and rebuilt anew with divine arts and techniques.

The palace quickly restored its former appearance; imperial guards tossed together the corpses of martial artists and their own comrades into the ditches—their bodies, still stained with blood, now lay side by side, enemies turned to companions, eyes wide open, reflecting the sky's light.

The sun on the horizon was about to rise; dawnlight fell into their eyes, casting a glow of fire.

The lantern flames flickered.

Suddenly they spread, transforming into the swirling hem and skirt of a woman.

Voices rose in chorus, swelling louder—nobles drank, beauties danced, ribbons clasped in their arms spun like fire, bronze bells rang, qin melodies drifted sweetly—truly the grandeur of a golden age.

When the first sliver of light appeared on the horizon, the Emperor of Chen set down his final cup and, accompanied by ministers and princes, boarded his carriage.

The carriage, adorned with feathered guards, raced along the imperial road, the sky and clouds clear and serene.

Yesterday's storm had left the air crisp; commoners had already resumed daily life. The palace gates opened, and crowds of commoners and martial artists surged toward the palace to witness the once-in-a-decade grand sacrifice. Crown Prince Jiang Yuan of Ying arrived at the palace and saw once again the familiar Chen imperial palace.

Majestic, silent, luxurious and splendid.

Imperial guards, eunuchs, and maids moved with perfect order.

Emperor Chen Dingye walked among them, calm and composed.

Jiang Yuan's eyes widened in awe and shock; he sighed involuntarily: "Is this the power of the Son of Heaven? One outburst brings death to all under heaven—here, slaughter; there, calm feasting. After drinking, he returns, and all remains unchanged."

"As if he can do anything."

"A true man should be like this."

At that moment, Jiang Yuan suddenly saw Chen Wenmian, the Crown Prince of Chen, standing before the palace, clad in armor, his body stained black—as if he had crawled from a fire. The normally cold, proud, noble, and valiant crown prince of the rival state now looked utterly shattered.

Chen Dingye frowned slightly, then relaxed his brow: "Wenmian, today is a great occasion. Why aren't you wearing court robes and ceremonial finery? This appearance undermines imperial dignity."

"If this continues, how can I entrust the state to you?"

Yet Chen Wenmian still managed to contain his overwhelming grief.

He gritted his teeth and replied yes; then, as the Emperor changed his crown, he said, "Father."

"Mother… she's dead…"

When Chen Wenmian spoke these words, it was as if his bones had been pulled from his body.

A boy of seventeen, his parents' deaths like the sky collapsing—he instinctively sought his father's aid. The Emperor's expression did not change; he merely said, "She was always beyond the Buddha. The Buddha says death leads to the Western Paradise."

"She died within the imperial household."

"It is fitting. She has no further needs."

The last spark of fire in Chen Wenmian's eyes went out.

Chen Dingye rose, swept his sleeve, and said, "Go change into your court robes at once."

"Do not delay the state's great matter."

"The Empress's death is to be kept secret—do not bring ill omen to the state."

Soon, the first part of Chen's grand sacrifice was complete; the imperial road had been cleared, and commoners were permitted to watch. Many thronged in, restrained yet excited, gazing at this rare spectacle once every ten years.

Martial artists came too—but this time, all had been disarmed. Some withdrew, but others didn't care—they truly came for the spectacle, like Tu Shengyuan, guest advisor of the Number One Tower.

This Mr. entered with only a brush in hand, glanced around, sensed the stench of blood, thought of the turbulent martial world, and sighed, "The martial world, the world at large—so chaotic, so chaotic."

The Emperor of Chen changed into his court robes.

They were the twelve-symbol dragon robe, twelve-beaded crown, black upper garment, yellow lower robe, white silk sash, yellow knee-cover, plain white inner tunic, red sandals—the black upper garment embroidered with sun, moon, and dragon motifs on the shoulders; stars and mountains on the back; fire, pheasant, and ancestral vessels on the sleeves; intricate patterns along the collar and cuffs—every detail radiated imperial majesty.

The palace's splendid treasures illuminated land and river; imperial guards of the Feathered Forest held their weapons.

Behind Chen Dingye stood thirty-six thousand yellow banners, flags obscuring the fields, along with carriages, palanquins, the Empress's ceremonial procession, and the attire of hundreds of officials—all arranged in dazzling splendor; the common people had never seen such a spectacle and stood dazed, as if they had beheld divine spirits from heaven.

Yet a timid, trembling fear rose within them.

Chen Dingye was utterly satisfied.

At that moment, one of his most trusted generals, Gu DaoHui, stepped forward carrying a box, knelt respectfully before him, and raised it high: "Your Majesty, I humbly present to you a treasure I discovered in the underground tomb—the severed head of your greatest enemy."

"I have brought it to you."

"At the height of our nation's glory, the head of such a foe is the greatest tribute a subject can offer—may Your Majesty live ten thousand years without end!"

Chen Dingye smiled and nodded, reaching out to take it.

The box opened—empty.

Even the Emperor himself froze for an instant; the next moment, Gu DaoHui's aura erupted violently—he suddenly held a short sword, cold and sharp as a mad tiger, lunging straight at the Emperor.

No one anticipated this change; no one imagined Gu DaoHui would do such a thing—he had personally killed his three comrades and used their heads to secure the position of Commander of the Golden Guard.

Among Tai Ping Gong's twenty-four generals, who had fought side by side through life and death, even such a man could betray—how could anyone trust him?

He had become an absolute, solitary minister.

That was why Chen Dingye trusted him.

That was why he made him commander of the Golden Guard—and now, after ten years of buildup, it exploded in an instant: Gu DaoHui charged without regard for his life, and within five steps, his short sword pierced straight through the Emperor's chest and abdomen. The scene he had never forgotten reappeared before his eyes.

'Only by becoming a solitary minister can one hope for revenge.'

'Master Zhuge, you want me to kill the Emperor?'

'No, not…'

The man said gently:

'You must stab him before the eyes of the people, and tell all the common folk.'

'The Emperor is not a god!'

'Only then will you avenge the Great General. What we seek is not a struggle between one family or one surname—we must kill the idea of the Emperor in the hearts of all under heaven. But DaoHui… it will be hard on you…'

'The living suffer more than the dead.'

On that day, Gu DaoHui drank his wine, carried his brothers' heads, and became the traitor cursed by all under heaven; now, with his sword, he pierced through the Emperor's destiny and the armor that could repel all attacks.

The Emperor had no guard against him—this was the one flaw in the armor.

A dog who killed his brothers and elder kin to wag his tail for favor—what was there to fear?

'Foolish monarch!! You underestimated the people!'

Gu DaoHui's sword pierced through—then the armor activated, snapping his blade; imperial experts immediately moved to subdue him. Gu DaoHui was violently repelled by the Emperor's overwhelming cultivation foundation, spat blood, and was pinned to the ground by multiple masters.

Yet Chen Dingye's foundation, though unbroken, had been shattered—he turned pale.

Gu DaoHui was forced to kneel on the ground.

Yet he seemed to stand as tall as heaven and earth.

'Hahaha! Even the Emperor can be wounded!'

'The Son of Heaven can be wounded, can spit blood!'

He laughed aloud—ten years of torment and suppressed rage were finally expelled in an instant!

The people erupted in chaos, terrified; the imperial guards rushed frantically, someone shouting:

'Save the Emperor! Save the Emperor!'

'Where are the frontier troops! Come out, come out!'

Such a massive upheaval stunned everyone—but the next moment, another aura appeared. Amid Gu DaoHui's roaring laughter, the sound of hooves rang clearly—the palace gates swung open, and a chestnut-colored horse stepped forward, one slow step after another.

Chen Dingye had chosen elite frontier troops to suppress the palace—they immediately formed ranks in response—but this time, these battle-hardened soldiers changed expression. They gripped their spears, stepped back slowly, their faces filled with disbelief and trembling excitement.

The frontier troops withdrew like flowing mercury.

The man wore Black Weight armor, riding his old horse as he arrived.

His full armor stood silent, black as a cloud crushing the heavens; his great cloak draped down to the horse's back. He was an old, limping man—he raised his spear, slung his sword, and looked at the warriors: 'What's wrong? Don't you remember your King?'

Then the elite frontier soldiers laid down their weapons and knelt halfway.

Like ink-colored mist dispersing, the clashing armor rang with grim, lethal precision.

Chen Dingye rose, staring at the man who rode alone to this place.

He had spent thirteen years—nearly five thousand days and nights—plotting, strategizing, subduing, wooing, dividing these elite frontier troops—and now, this man appeared, and in an instant, they knelt, lowering their eyes and heads.

He returned—and a million troops returned with him.

The old horse bore the aged hero to the gates of this splendid palace. The old, limping Yu Langwang pulled his reins, raised his head, and laughed at the Emperor:

'Brother, you've made a poor Emperor!'

Chen Dingye turned pale.

What is a hero?

He appears at the most impossible moment, in the most impossible place, with an aura surpassing all—such a man is a hero of the world, meant to die on the battlefield. How could such an arrogant, violent, self-willed man ever use sly, petty schemes?

He would only appear when the enemy's momentum was at its peak—and crush it head-on!

Never retreat. Never evade!

The old limping man reached out, patted his horse's mane, sat upright, pulled the reins, his eyes calm, his armor still reeking of bloody slaughter.

He squinted, murmured softly: 'All under heaven…'

'I am back.'