Chapter 183: The Winds and Clouds of the World, at Last, Reveal Yao Guang

"Yan Xuanji? I've never heard such a name…"

"Mr. has so many friends too, but after all, he is Mr." Yao Lianrong sighed; he came from poverty, came here to do things for Mr., to eavesdrop on his lectures, and in his eyes, Mr. was the most extraordinary person in the world.

Ten years ago, in that heavy rain, Mr. suddenly appeared in this Hui Nan City, then opened a private school with only a dozen students; Mr. clearly possessed wisdom rivaling heaven and earth, yet he taught nothing profound—just basic literacy, then sent them off to other private schools.

Yao Lianrong had also attended other private schools, but found that even the so-called learned Confucian masters, who strained to expound their texts, occasionally said less than what Mr. casually uttered during basic lessons; Yao Lianrong knew this was a fundamental difference.

Even a single hint dropped by the Phoenix would be beyond the reach of those Confucians squabbling over who was the true disciple of the Master.

So he returned once more to Mr.'s side.

Only now, after Mr. taught him the arts of literature and martial skill, did he truly understand what supreme talent meant.

Today, while tidying up, Yao Lianrong carefully tucked away the letter, then helped the mistress sweep the courtyard, fed the chickens, crouched down and reached into the nest with both arms—after great effort, he pulled out two eggs, only to be pecked until his arms were bruised purple and blue.

His mistress asked why he had come so early today; the boy bowed respectfully and replied:

"I remember Mr. arrived on these very days ten years ago."

"I saved up some money from odd jobs and bought wine and meat to give to Mr."

"Then I'll go back."

The woman, whose temples were now white, saw the name on the letter; her face froze for a long, long moment, then she raised her eyes, gazing around at the familiar grass and trees, feeling a sudden disorientation, and finally smiled gently and said: "He's a good child."

"But your Mr., though he dislikes these times, will still praise your filial heart; today, don't leave."

"Let's have a meal together."

"Ah, won't that be too much of an intrusion on Mr. and Mistress?"

The woman only smiled gently and asked, intrusion?

She did not set the letter aside, but placed it on the table.

Yao Lianrong scratched his head and grinned sheepishly, slightly embarrassed, when he heard footsteps and turned to see a man in his early fifties, a tutor, holding a fishing rod, dressed in a blue robe, his basket brimming with fish.

Yao Lianrong looked—indeed, many plump fish.

Chen State controlled the south of the river, rich in water sources and abundant in aquatic harvests; the people all knew some fishing techniques, yet precisely because of this, the fattest fish grew ever more elusive, avoiding even the most skilled anglers, extremely cunning and hard to catch.

Yet Mr. always brought back many.

Every time, exactly six—never more, never less.

At first, some thought Mr. fished merely for amusement; but after months of this, every fisherman came to revere him deeply, realizing he was no mere bookish scholar without strength—he could teach, drink, fish, plant rice, and chop firewood with equal skill.

He could read tomorrow's weather from the stars.

He never got lost, and could predict water levels and wind strength.

Yao Lianrong felt that, vast as the world was, no one could surpass his Mr.; seeing all the fish, he beamed: "Master Pang, let me handle them!"

"Hehe, today one red-braised, one charcoal-grilled, one steamed."

"The rest hung in the water—they'll last another day."

Pang Shuiyun smiled: "As you say." The boy took the fish away; Pang Shuiyun wiped his hands and noticed several letters on the table—the first few were invitations from friends over the years, urging him to travel and sightsee; Pang Shuiyun replied to each one.

He agreed warmly to each invitation.

Then he turned to the last letter, and saw the name upon it.

Yan Xuanji.

In an instant, the fish still wriggling, the chickens and ducks and geese angrily chasing Yao Lianrong, the cicadas shrilling in the summer trees—all fell utterly silent.

As if plunged into ice!

Pang Shuiyun held the letter, veins bulging in his palm; the sound of battle cries and sword shrieks seemed to ring in his ears; he lifted his gaze, then simply set the letter down without opening it, and went to eat with his disciple.

Pang Shuiyun remained as usual.

Only after watching the boy depart did he slowly return, his mind calm.

He opened the letter.

Scanning the words, Pang Shuiyun's calm shattered again; Yan Xuanji's style meant he never wrote with flowery language—his letters were starkly direct, and thus struck with immense force.

Yan Xuanji recounted events in Jiangzhou City.

He added: "We escorted Marshal Yue out of Jiangzhou City, reached the border; though our lord exhausted his Qi to protect Marshal Yue's heart-meridian, Marshal Yue still lies in feigned death, unawakened—we do not know whether to stay here or leave Chen State."

"Some brothers argue that though the Emperor of Chen is hateful, what fault do the people bear?"

"If we leave, the defenses open wide, countless will die; others argue that as long as Marshal Yue remains here, he remains unsafe, still vulnerable to disturbance."

"Yue Qianfeng arrived—he said that when he first broke into the palace and escaped, a young strategist found him lodging, and gave him three silk pouches, saying: when Marshal Yue is rescued, open the first."

"We opened it—the young strategist."

"He offered a third path."

"Some brothers remain here to guard the border passes; a core elite heavy cavalry unit, all specialized assault formations, will protect Marshal Yue, pierce through both nations' defenses, and strike straight beyond the passes!"

Pang Shuiyun's hand trembled violently.

His eyes sharpened instantly.

He exclaimed repeatedly:

"Good, good, good!"

"A lone rebel force, purely offensive—neither Chen nor Ying will fight to the death against such a unit; beyond the passes, hey—Xue Tianxing and Yuan Shitong, those two bastards, have raised the banner of the Taiping Army and are locked in bloody warfare; they've truly ignited their hatred."

"But as long as they claim the name Taiping Army."

"They must protect the lone force escorting Marshal Yue."

"Then beyond the passes, it becomes a three-way stalemate, freezing their conflict—brilliant strategy; had I devised it, I'd have done the same."

"Yet leaving the Yue Army behind—is that true benevolence?"

Pang Shuiyun read the next part of the letter: "Our lord has now withdrawn from the front; I and Yue Qianfeng wish to return to aid him, but only after securing Marshal Yue; therefore, Shuiyun, you must leave the mountains—the young strategist has gone to Ying State and is no longer by our lord's side."

"Our lord is a hero in the making, yet still young; since ancient times, great lords have always needed strategists to flank them left and right; if you are not there, we can never rest easy."

"Also, the strategist instructed us to deliver one silk pouch to you."

"The letter has been sent along."

Pang Shuiyun noticed a small silk pouch tied to the last page of the letter with a fine thread.

He traced the pouch with his fingers; the white-haired strategist pondered: if it were himself, why would he leave Li Guanyi to go to Ying State, or ally with the Seven Kings of the Turkic? The old man lowered his gaze and murmured: "To help the Seven Kings of the Turkic gain independence, and split the steppe?"

"Then let the rift between Ying State's Crown Prince and Second Imperial Prince erupt into a war of succession, chaos tearing through Ying State's court—but why? To give Da Chen time to grow? But Chen State is already in chaos. What use is this?"

Pang Shuiyun sat in deep thought for a long while; he did not know what the young strategist was thinking.

He opened the pouch.

The young strategist's handwriting was elegant:

"Lord, go to Longyou. The winds of the world shift—lie low. But there is one demand."

Pang Shuiyun felt as if he sat face-to-face with the young strategist; he seemed to see the man smile faintly, and write four characters.

【Only be a guest general】.

The clear, calm script carried within those four characters the might of dragons roaring and tigers howling, swallowing the world.

Like Lei Ting, Pang Shuiyun's pupils contracted sharply.

In that instant, the young strategist's plan transformed in his eyes—not merely a fine scheme to protect Yue Pengwu anymore.

Leave behind the defensive battalions of the Yue Army to counterbalance Ying State.

Send the offensive force to escort Yue Pengwu beyond the pass, using Yue Pengwu to counterbalance the one general among the world's top ten beyond the pass, and also to balance the other two Tai Ping Armies, waiting for the true heir of Tai Ping Gong to return.

And remove the unbending Yue Pengwu directly from Chen State's frontlines.

Yet the Yue Army left behind would not be as unbending as their commander; their presence here—was it truly to defend Ying State?

Or to wait until another rises, then charge straight in?

Thus, weaken Chen State, fracture the Turkic, destabilize Ying State, balance all four directions—every player who could sway the grand scheme, enemy or ally, had been arranged.

Pang Shuiyun whispered softly: "Only be a guest general."

Four characters, plain and unadorned—but before the surging tide of the world, they carried the bearing of a dragon lurking in water, a tiger walking alone. For to Pang Shuiyun, Dan Tai Xianming, and Po Jun, these four characters held another meaning.

【All my life, I will not serve beneath another】.

The young strategist who wrote this letter must be both arrogant and self-assured, with eyes that saw far—he knew only those who could see the whole world would understand these four characters, only they could glimpse the storm behind them.

If you cannot understand, you are not worthy to be here.

"What an arrogant man..."

Pang Shuiyun laughed.

【All my life, I will not serve beneath another】

This restrained, yet audacious script.

It could instantly ignite the heart of an old man long spent, whose fire had burned out in the last age—he stared at the pouch as if seeing the world as a chessboard.

The young strategist's gaze burned as he laid each move; Dan Tai Xianming's self-sacrificing scheme had, in mere moments, been absorbed, learned, grown, and instantly reshaped by the young strategist into another plan.

The young strategist placed this plan before Pang Shuiyun.

Then he extended an invitation.

What had been a fine strategy became, with the addition of those four characters—【Only be a guest general】—a peerless grand strategy. Pang Shuiyun smiled lightly, then burst into loud laughter; he did not even glance at the signature beneath the letter, only flung it away, saying:

"To scheme for the world, to calculate all living beings."

"No wonder you're Po Jun—you're far stronger than your master and your master's master."

……………………

Pang Shuiyun turned and saw his wife standing at the door—a woman with entirely white hair and wrinkles on her face, watching him, seemingly without intent to dissuade. The once-brilliant woman merely turned, clasped a box in her arms, and gently placed it on the table.

She whispered:

"When I saw that letter, I knew you would leave."

"Wherever you go, I will go with you."

Her voice paused, then she whispered: "Actually... these ten years of seclusion here, I was happy."

The box bore a lock—locking the box, locking the heart.

But the lock was already rusted through.

No key was needed; just a touch, and it shattered, crumbling to the ground in a pile of rusted powder. Such a lock was worth a few copper coins—a man with modest strength could snap it clean. Such a lock could never hold anything.

He slowly extended his hand and opened the box.

Inside the large box lay but one sword, and one waist token.

He gripped the sword, slowly drawing it from its scabbard.

The sword, sealed for ten years, bore not a single speck of rust; the draw rang clear and pure. With eyes closed, he could still hear the roars, the bellowing, the shrieking of blades—sounds mingled with the wind, making his aged heart pound wildly once more.

"Tai Ping Army—"

He opened his eyes.

The blade reflected his pupils—slanted phoenix eyes lifted, gaze sharp and piercing.

He saw it again.

Yan Xuanji's banner!

With a sharp chime, the sword returned to its sheath; as the sword qi swept past, the trees outside trembled, willow leaves spiraling down—finally severing ten years of seclusion. He reached out, seized the tiger tally, and fastened it to his waist.

One of the Twenty-Four Generals of the Tai Ping Army.

One of the Five Great Strategists of the Previous Generation.

Fei Feng, Pang Shuiyun.

Leave the mountains.

The next day, the Master resumed teaching the children their basics, then announced his departure. He gave his chickens and ducks to the neighbors, his scrolls to Yao Lianrong, and left in only a blue robe, with his wife.

Yao Lianrong pleaded: "Mr., where are you going?"

Pang Shuiyun said:

"Go where I must go. Focus on your studies. Perhaps one day you may come find me."

The boy left reluctantly; his wife asked Pang Shuiyun where she was going.

Pang Shuiyun said: "He won't head toward the Murong family's border after fleeing Chen State. The most suitable path is to instantly reach another city, then turn away. So, he won't go to the Eighteenth State Pass of Jiangnan."

"It's here."

"【Beicheng】!"

"And yes—the troop under Yue Jia's command will pass through this very place!"

Pang Shuiyun chuckled softly: "While rescuing Yue Pengwu, he must also draw the border garrisons' attention, creating sufficient opportunity for the young master's escape."

"Truly, a cunning strategist."

……………………

Li Guanyi learned of the Jianghu's Great Qilin Hunt but had no interest in joining the frenzy. He only wanted to reunite with his aunt and Yao Guang. Too many troubles already—he had no intention of rushing into more.

He patted the Fire Qilin and asked casually:

"Fire Qilin, Fire Qilin, when will you recover?"

The Fire Qilin hesitated, then said: "A few more meals."

Li Guanyi frowned: "Huh???"

The Fire Qilin immediately corrected itself in his mind: "I mean, three meals a day, a few more meals, and I'll likely recover in three to five days—enough to fight once more."

Li Guanyi eyed the long-haired lion-cat form of the Fire Qilin skeptically; the creature angrily turned its head away.

Li Guanyi merely smiled carefreely, not caring much. He wore a divine armor, wielded a divine weapon, and had the Fire Qilin as his ultimate trump card. At the very least, riding the Fire Qilin would let him escape from masters like Yue Da or Xue Lao.

Besides, there was also the talisman Chen Yuyun had given him.

Within three sticks of incense, he would become as strong as Hou Zhongyu—impervious to blades and spears.

Chen Yuyun, Hou Zhongyu—they were good people after all, even in death.

The boy smiled, tipped back a sip of rice wine from his gourd. It was low-alcohol, sweet, refreshing in summer. Arriving at a satellite town near 【Beicheng】, Li Guanyi drove inside, climbed the stairs, and ordered a meal.

Just as he was about to eat his noodles, he suddenly heard a shout from outside.

"Hey hey hey, Master Daoist, we're an open shop serving all, but we truly can't accommodate you anymore…"

The voice came from outside. Li Guanyi paused his noodles and looked down.

Outside the door stood a Daoist Priest, dressed in ancient, worn robes—evidently being thrown out for lack of silver. Li Guanyi saw the man's face was gaunt with hunger and thirst. He thought for a moment and said: "Waiter!"

The waiter looked up. "Yes, yes, yes!"

"Master Daoist, what do you require?"

Li Guanyi said: "Let this Daoist friend come in. I'll treat him."

The waiter paused, then stepped aside, bowing politely to the Daoist Priest he'd just barred: "Alright then, since someone's paying, you're lucky, sir. Guest, Master Daoist, please come in!"

The Daoist Priest stepped forward.

Li Guanyi said: "Bring another bowl of noodles for this Daoist friend."

The Daoist Priest said: "Thank you, young friend."

Li Guanyi noticed the Daoist's weathered face and dignified bearing. The waiter swiftly brought a bowl of fried sauce noodles. The Daoist glanced at it and said coolly: "Too plain and humble."

The waiter snapped:

"There's meat, noodles, and vegetables! Premium pork lard fried sauce! What are you talking about, Daoist?"

Li Guanyi, still eating, raised an eyebrow and stopped the waiter. "Oh."

"What do you want?"

The Daoist said coolly: "No meat, no joy. No wine, no satisfaction. Meat must be the Three Sacrificial Animals and Five Offerings. Wine must be aged over twenty years, not a single sediment. Only then is it fit to wet the throat."

Li Guanyi laughed. "Anything else?"

"Master Daoist, say it all at once."

The Daoist looked at the boy and said: "Also, a fine Daoist robe—gold-threaded jade silk, Jiangnan silk fabric. A good fly-whisk—thunder-struck wood, silver-threaded. A pair of lotus-silk shoes, rhinoceros-horn belt. That'll do."

The waiter stared, dumbfounded.

Li Guanyi smiled. "Waiter, take this away."

The waiter panicked: "Master, you really want to fulfill his demands?"

Li Guanyi said: "Scrape off the meat sauce. Just bring plain noodles. This fellow doesn't deserve meat."

The waiter blinked, then cheerfully replied: "Alright, got it!"

The Daoist was slightly startled. Li Guanyi pushed the bowl toward him and said seriously:

"Daoist friend, we've met by chance. This bowl of plain noodles is my gesture. Please."

"It'll fill your belly."

The Daoist seemed surprised. Li Guanyi scooped the scraped-off meat sauce into the Fire Qilin's bowl and ate heartily with it. After finishing, he wiped his mouth, thought for a moment, then took out a money pouch from his robe, counted out dozens of copper coins, and placed them on the table.

"Though you're extravagant, your face shows you're starving. Take these coins—they'll cover your food for seven or eight days. A true man has hands and feet—he can do anything to earn a meal. Go to a temple in town, register as a guest. Even if you wash vegetables and haul water daily, you'll still eat."

"Don't keep scamming people."

The boy placed the lion-cat Fire Qilin on his shoulder and said cheerfully:

"Let's go!"

The Daoist held the copper coins, watching Li Guanyi walk away. Suddenly, the wind blew—and his dark face and ancient robes vanished, revealing a silver-haired Daoist with a jade hairpin. He pinched the copper coins between his fingers. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.

Scamming people?

"... Interesting."

When the waiter returned a while later, the table was empty.

Only the bowl was gone.

That bowl of plain noodles, fragrant with the smoke of home cooking, had indeed been eaten.

…………

Li Guanyi recalled the map and thought he was nearing the location given by Yao Guang; the summer air was dry and his throat parched. This rice wine, similar to the drinks of his past life, was being consumed rapidly. The boy wondered whether he should just buy a whole jar.

While buying the rice wine, someone suddenly tugged at his left sleeve, yet Li Guanyi felt not the faintest trace of Qi. He was slightly startled and turned his head to the left.

No one was there.

But as he turned his head naturally, he felt a touch on his right cheek — a faintly cool sensation.

A strand of silver-white hair fluttered slightly.

The hooded girl rose onto her toes and gently poked Li Guanyi's cheek with her finger.

Her exquisite, otherworldly face showed no expression as she silently regarded the latecomer.

Then —

Poke. Poke.