Chapter 237

Murong Longtu's sword moved with such unrestrained grace, such wild abandon, that the torrent of sword energy it unleashed silenced the Grand Tutor of Ying State, causing the weapons in his hands to be knocked away one by one—ancient martial legend, precise and cold as a general commanding his troops.

Absolute purity, utilizing every ounce of strength, every bit of power.

Yet the old man over there was wildly unrestrained, like a drunken mad scholar, ink-brush in hand, free and bold, defying any fixed form—their martial styles were utterly different.

The mad swordsman's blades scattered.

In the end, fifty-seven mysterious weapons crisscrossed the sky, swirling and howling with overwhelming might; the mad swordsman paced through empty air, casually snatching up one sword to unleash a technique—seemingly effortless, yet each was an unparalleled masterpiece of sword art.

Jiang Su, clad in armor, moved with calm, ancient simplicity, dispersing all those sword qi.

At first, the martial artists had drawn near to watch; but when the mad swordsman's sword qi erupted, they were forced to retreat a hundred zhang; when the fifty-seven mysterious weapons crisscrossed the sky, everyone stumbled backward in panic.

Cannot approach. Dare not approach.

Even their own weapons and swords seemed to wail; the master of Casting Valley stared at the green-robed mad swordsman, speechless, sighing—Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu both wore complex expressions.

Martial world folk speak of freedom and ease; such famed generals scorn such notions.

Freedom?

Freedom, bullshit!

When ten thousand armored troops encircle the mountain—still free?

When a thousand crossbows stand ready, their piercing qi arrows aimed at you?

Still free?

Even the mightiest martial artist, with boundless internal qi and iron bones, if struck by a charging warhorse clad in full armor weighing ten thousand jin, moving at a speed of a thousand or even three thousand li per day, will have bones shattered and be flung away.

Even if you evade one cavalry charge, what of a hundred, a thousand in formation?

A martial artist's internal qi is finite—it will be drained, scattered, broken—and die beneath relentless charges and trampling.

Wasn't the living Buddha of centuries past hailed as indestructible, a Bodhisattva reborn from the Western Heaven? Yet wasn't he likewise broken limb by limb by a lowly serf of the Tuyuhun, stuffed into a sack, and trampled repeatedly by heavy cavalry until he became pulp?

But seeing Jiang Su and Murong Longtu's clash, they truly acknowledged that the pinnacle of the martial world does exist—truly worthy of the title Legend; the Grand Tutor had never before revealed such terrifying aura.

Such a martial legend, even surrounded by thousands of heavy cavalry led by famed generals, would be nearly impossible to trap or kill; if such a master abandoned all dignity and launched a relentless assassination campaign, he could cripple an entire army.

Yet fortunately, those who reach this level, whether righteous or evil,

are all arrogant.

They would never do such things.

Fortunately, such beings remain few.

BOOM!!!

The violent roar of their clash shattered the palace; at the same moment, far away, Crown Prince Jiang Gao asked the general of the Tiger Man cavalry how soon they could reach Ducheng, to which the general replied:

"Even if we charge full speed in formation, this distance requires over an hour, up to two hours."

"By the time we return, dawn will have broken, and our troops will be exhausted from the sprint—Your Highness, should we still charge?"

Jiang Gao shook his head, calmly saying: "No. Send falcon messages to the imperial guards and border troops near Jingcheng to form ranks outside the city and await the Emperor's orders. Also, generals, do not be so on edge."

"Within Jingcheng stands Grand Tutor Jiang Su—the greatest general under heaven, a martial legend."

"The mad swordsman and Li Guanyi entering Jingcheng alone could never break its defenses; in my view, one reason is the mad swordsman's wild, capricious nature, and the other is Li Guanyi's meeting with my father."

"No major crisis—since they weren't stopped, there's no need to panic."

"Let the troops stand down, just as they normally camp and fortify—don't let the Fire Qilin Army laugh at us."

Jiang Gao dismissed everyone; as usual, he patrolled the camp with calm composure, chatting with soldiers, and the unrest among the Tiger Man cavalry ceased—only when he returned to his tent did his face turn slightly pale.

Jiang Gao gripped his cup, trembling uncontrollably from worry, gritting his teeth:

"Father, Ah Yuan, be careful…"

"Don't get hurt."

……………

Master Siming sat atop a black tortoise, whose divine form surged with maximum speed; the old man carried Yao Guang on his shoulder, racing toward the Ying royal capital as if fleeing death, while the silver-haired girl looked up from afar.

Far off, the sky's qi surged violently, the celestial phenomena terrifyingly altered.

Master Siming grinned: "Fine sword qi, fine sword intent—old Murong Longtu, among all swordsmen past and present, few surpass him in swordcraft."

"But is that old man insane?"

"He says he wants a cure, then just bolts off with that brat Li Guanyi—damn it!"

"That old bastard Li Guanyi—he just thinks about it, and off he goes too!"

Master Siming cursed, sprinting full speed, the black tortoise pushed to its limit; as he raced, he comforted Yao Guang: "Don't worry, that old man and that kid won't die today."

"That's Murong Longtu—damn it, he's always acting recklessly like this—but after today, whether he wins or loses, the martial world will erupt in chaos, and the Imperial Academy will be in an uproar."

"Huh? You ask if Murong Longtu can advance further?"

Master Siming's expression grew complex; finally, he smiled: "Who knows?"

Li Guanyi and Jiang Wanxiang played chess; the emperor of Ying State asked: "I heard you distributed land to the commoners—I've ordered our officials to enact an equal-field policy based on your system."

"It allows peasants to reclaim wasteland, with clans participating—how do you plan to handle the clans?"

Li Guanyi replied calmly: "If the clans are willing to surrender their land, they too may receive land according to household size."

Though old, Jiang Wanxiang instantly understood, saying:

"You mean to strike the clans?"

He fell silent for a long while, studying Li Guanyi, then smiled and shook his head: "You're a young tiger indeed—but the clans are deeply entrenched; how hard would it be to uproot them?"

Li Guanyi placed his stone: "Because I have no roots."

Having risen from nothing, he received no aid from the Jiangnan clans, so the Fire Qilin Army remained untainted by their influence—thus enabling this step.

Jiang Wanxiang lowered his gaze and nodded: "Clan power is not good."

"One piece of advice—take it or leave it."

"If you ever succeed, never rely on the clans' talent or strength!"

"A nation's strength relies on strict laws, on rewarding merit and punishing faults—but this is not how the great clans operate; they recommend their own descendants to become officials, while the nation's prosperity depends on the people tilling the soil and raising silkworms—yet it is the clans who become officials."

"National security relies on warriors' bravery, yet military merit is awarded to young clan sons sent to supervise the army; commoners who commit crimes are harshly punished, but clan sons can redeem their offenses with weapons, copper coins, or gold."

"The existence of the clans prevents the full punishment of the guilty, allows those who never fought to claim merit, and renders the monarch's laws unenforceable."

"Any son of a clan, even a fool, can be recommended as a filial and upright official; yet a commoner's son, no matter how learned, can only till the fields. What should we do?"

"If this continues, the world's values will shift entirely: those who grow rich without tilling the soil will be revered, and the people will envy them."

The aged monarch clenched his teeth and sighed deeply:

"The clans are the nation's deadly poison!"

Li Guanyi said: "Naturally. Why are you telling me this?"

Jiang Wanxiang smiled calmly:

"I merely hope you do not take the wrong path. In this world, whether it is you, me, or Chen Fubì, Chen Dingye—we chase and kill each other, but one will ultimately triumph. I naturally hope it is me, yet I must also consider: what if I lose?"

"If I lose!"

"Then I hope you can prevent this. Moreover, I see in you a kind of hope—you are different from me, from Chen Dingye, from Chen Fubì…"

Jiang Wanxiang extended his hand. The emperor narrowed his eyes and said:

"You rose from obscurity. If you win, you can sweep away these eight hundred years of clans. Then perhaps the world could be different—even though, as long as the distinction between high and low remains, new clans will inevitably arise."

"But a time without clans—however brief—might bring the people better lives and make the monarch freer. Such a world would be a second dawn of the Red Emperor. Ha… When I was young, reading history, I longed most to return to that era."

"To be a wandering knight, riding horses, tending sheep, gazing at the sky and singing the Chìlè Song."

Li Guanyi said: "Eras follow patterns."

He lifted a piece and placed it down, halting Jiang Wanxiang's grand strategy, and said:

"But we must preserve the spark. I intend to select talent by merit, not recommendation. I will break the clans' grip, then open land and learning to all: commoners may study, study Mohist philosophy, mathematics, martial arts—all may cultivate."

"Step by step."

Jiang Wanxiang mused: "The people…"

"If the people can balance the clans—if their knowledge becomes sufficient to shatter the monopoly on learning and advancement—the clans will no longer be as rampant as they are today…"

He thought long, then suddenly sighed: "Too bad I didn't meet you sooner. But had I met you earlier, I would have been a supporter of the great clans. To secure my place in this world, I would have married a clan woman. Back then, hearing your words, I would have slain you with a single sword."

"Now, hearing your words, I feel only a quiet sorrow."

He extended his hand—his palm, wrinkled, trembling slightly. Jiang Wanxiang smiled faintly and said:

"My life is nearly spent."

"And the realm of Ying is too vast. This state has already endured three hundred years. When my ancestors rose in rebellion three centuries ago, the clan sons played a great role. In these three hundred years, the poison of the clans has grown like vines clinging to a great tree, winding through every corner of our land."

"Like a parasite embedded in the bone!"

"If you wish to remove the clans, you must dig out the bone, the flesh, and the blood—and throw it all away."

"I cannot turn the tide. My sons are weaker than I. They cannot govern this great Ying state, nor reverse the poison accumulated over three centuries. But I cannot lose."

Jiang Wanxiang offered a faint smile:

"I have walked this path too far to turn back."

"Yet what you speak of interests me greatly."

"Can you tell me: how, in your vision, can the clans be restrained?"

Li Guanyi answered: "All people as dragons. The world as one."

Jiang Wanxiang said: "Will we live to see it in our lifetimes?"

Li Guanyi fell silent, then answered softly:

"No."

Jiang Wanxiang sighed in regret, then placed his piece, smiling calmly: "Then I have one final question. After this, after this game, I will personally escort you out…"

"In ancient times, the people were few, and fruit sufficed for food. People were gentler then, for fruit grew everywhere—no need to fight over it."

"But now, the Central Plains, the Jiangnan, the Western Regions—all teem with people. Especially in this age of prosperity, the population is vast, yet the world's wealth remains fixed. Tell me:"

"If all are dragons, and he is a dragon, and you are a dragon—then what meaning does 'dragon' hold? All people as dragons is just all people as insects. Isn't that no different from the beginning? The people will still fight over wealth."

Li Guanyi shook his head: "Not the same."

"In the past, people knew only to till, to eat, to live. Now, they know why they do these things. They think—and they see the injustice, the flaws, and they seek to fix them…"

"Moreover, if all are dragons, it means each is strong in himself—why must one crush another to be strong? To tower over others is not true strength—it is only the craving for superiority."

Jiang Wanxiang suddenly felt a flicker of fear. Without reason, he stared at the youth—and saw in his eyes a spark. Yes: all people as dragons. All thinking. All seeking to solve problems.

Solving problems—or the root of injustice itself.

What would be destroyed would not be the clans alone.

Jiang Wanxiang looked at Li Guanyi. He instinctively wanted to ask: Do you know what you are doing? But he saw the fire in the youth's Fire Qilin eyes—and understood: Li Guanyi knew exactly what he sought, and what fire he meant to kindle.

Even if it was only a flame, a tiny, insignificant spark.

A spark needing decades, centuries, even longer to take root in the people's hearts.

Jiang Wanxiang still felt, instinctively, a flicker of killing intent.

He was a warlord born in this era of feudal division and warring kings—his instinct recoiled against any fire that threatened to shatter the rules he had always known.

But Jiang Wanxiang suppressed that killing intent.

He suddenly burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, then let his piece fall. With a sweep of his sleeve, he overturned the entire chessboard: "Good! Good! Good!"

"In that age, my descendants will no longer be monarchs. I look forward to that scene—everyone a dragon. Ha ha ha! If every person could be so wise, I would gladly be born in that age, to wander the world."

"I have decided: I will let you live. Even if I win, I will let you live, Li Guanyi. Thank you for teaching me these things. If I win, you shall become Wang Hou."

"Leave your fire within my realm."

"And if I lose…"

Jiang Wanxiang paused. He did not continue, only smiled.

I only lose to time.

With a sweep of his sleeve, his aura was immense.

Thus, the pieces on the chessboard scattered.

Li Guanyi raised an eyebrow, looking at the chaotic chessboard, and said: "You just lost."

Jiang Wanxiang's expression didn't change: "No one saw."

Li Guanyi wanted to grab the chessboard and smash it onto this old man's head.

He thought for a moment, then replied: "You said you only lose to time?"

"No…"

Li Guanyi placed his final piece on the board; the sound was crisp:

"You will also lose to the people of the world."

Jiang Wanxiang said nothing. He was casual and carefree; the first martial legend of the world sat right here, and no one who came could stir up any waves—he merely watched the young boy, thinking that if he died, the one who would seize the world would surely be Li Guanyi.

He felt regret, regret over their current positions.

How wonderful it would be if his son had such spirit.

Jiang Wanxiang sighed, then smiled and said:

"You are indeed a better opponent than Chen Dingye, but you're still too young; you came here empty-handed, and I cannot waste this rare chance just because I've seen you."

"Then I shall attack Chen, and you enter the Western Regions."

"I will tie down Chen for you, so you may roam the Western Regions freely; and you will tie down that old Yu Langwang for me, so I may safely swallow Chen—between us, it's mutual benefit, how?"

"In military strategy, one combines the orthodox with the unexpected to win. Many fixate on cunning tricks, yet they don't know the strongest force in the world is straightforwardness. At this point, it's a gamble on the great tide, a contest of open strategies."

"What we do are open strategies—you know me, I know you."

"We'll see whether I can swallow the north and south before I die."

"Or whether you can wrest the Western Regions from the old Yu Langwang's jaws and complete your rise."

The great tide of the world had reached this point; both understood each other's moves without words. Allying with distant powers while attacking nearby—this was an ancient strategy.

Thus, that chess game was the world.

Jiang Wanxiang extended his hand and smiled: "Within three years."

"I will not attack the south."

"You enter the Western Regions, I attack Chen, then we fight to the death for the world."

"How?"

Li Guanyi extended his hand and struck the old man's palm.

The young Qin Wu Hou thought for a moment, then replied:

"You just said one must swallow charcoal until voiceless to seek revenge, right? That's the way of assassins. You killed my parents for the sake of state affairs; then, only by sacrificing your state to honor my parents can you be truly avenged."

Jiang Wanxiang laughed loudly: "Good. I await that day."

"Today you came—do you still want the antidote?"

Jiang Wanxiang smiled: "Just now, the wine you drank was the antidote to the Fei poison. Had you been a coward like Chen Dingye and tried to swap cups with old me, you'd have had no antidote at all."

"Hahaha, consider it my gift for returning Generals Yuwen Tianxian and Yuwen Hua, and my fierce soldiers."

Jiang Wanxiang smiled indifferently:

"When you and I go to Zhongzhou on imperial inspection."

"The Son of Heaven releases his deer—we chase it together."

"How?"

Li Guanyi said: "That depends on whether you can ride and hunt."

Jiang Wanxiang laughed heartily: "I'm not weaker than you, but today, I'll personally see you out." Yet Li Guanyi shook his head: "No need. You seeing me off isn't a kind thought."

Jiang Wanxiang made no denial.

He greatly admired the future that neither of them could see.

But the people have their own stance; the noble clans supporting him gave him his own stance. He had walked his entire life to this point—he could not, and would not, turn back.

The outer airwaves surged violently, no less fierce than the brief chess duel within.

Wild winds howled, clouds pressed down, a chilling, domineering aura surged toward the sky.

Elder Murong lunged with a sword through the heavens, but Jiang Su intercepted it with a spear, severing the vast, oceanic stream of sword qi.

The martial legend reached out and seized the dark weapon.

Suddenly, he unleashed divine energy.

A piercing, crystal-clear shriek.

The razor-sharp dark weapon was blasted from his grasp; Jiang Su dropped his spear, unleashed fist and palm techniques—every part of his body became a weapon, a rolling torrent that flung away countless dark weapons.

Mu Zi Yi still raised his hand, seized another sword, and brought it down with crushing force—then Jiang Su shattered it. The sword madman, calm and plain, watched the swords representing his life and legend fall to the ground.

He rose again, tireless.

Only circling in the air.

Dark weapons howled, pushing sword techniques, soul arts, and myriad wonders to their limits.

Jiang Su said: "The Master Jiankuang controls ninety-seven dark weapons, roamed the world for two centuries, forced ten thousand troops to retreat—this is all?"

His tone finally carried that wild arrogance.

Li Guanyi pushed open the window at the very top of Zhaixing Tower, then leapt onto the eaves. The boy stood high above, under everyone's gaze, and suddenly shouted: "Great-grandfather, where's the wine?!"

Elder Murong flicked his wrist; a flask flew over. The boy caught the wine his mother loved most, raised it, facing far toward Jiangnan. That night passed, the moon set, the sun rose, and the newborn dawn fell upon Li Guanyi's shoulders.

The boy squinted, feeling warmth on his skin. He tipped the flask, and wine poured down from the highest point, spilling over the world.

"Father… Mother…"

Li Guanyi looked at the distant sky; it was a clear day, just like Su Changqing's name—her and Li Wanli's son, now stood at Chen's grand sacrifice, replacing Chen's ancestral plaques with their own, so that Chen's Emperor would burn incense before them.

Then he stood atop the highest point of Ying's palace and poured wine for them.

His actions seemed ordinary, yet upon closer thought, their audacity rivaled Elder Murong's—yet Li Guanyi only wished, if possible, that his parents might return.

The aura around him was calm.

Master Jiankuang Elder Murong gazed at the boy, his expression gentle, recalling his own youth.

Alone, his parents gone, his entire lineage slaughtered—he had picked up his sword and walked into the martial world.

Elder Murong spent his life fighting, undefeated in three hundred duels, shattering every sword sect under heaven, seizing mysterious weapons, and finally acquiring these ninety-seven mysterious weapons—arrogant and overbearing, believing himself invincible—but the reason he raised his sword was merely to return to those earliest days.

Back then, he had none of these mysterious weapons, none of the invincible fame; he had smashed stones to forge a wooden sword, swung it, and declared himself the greatest under heaven. Elder Murong thought of his past, and in the end, only laughed—no regrets.

In this life, he never looked back, never regretted.

But the Master Jiankuang watched Jiang Su's bold, Mu Zi Yi-like defiance, watched the boy's robe flutter as he poured wine to thank the world.

In youth, one always wished someone would protect him from behind.

Now, two hundred years gone, Elder Murong, his hair white and aged, had fulfilled the wish of his younger self.

The old man suddenly laughed aloud.

The fifty-seven mysterious weapons suddenly lost their control and fell together to the ground.

Their blades pierced the earth.

After returning his sword to the martial world, after one final, exhilarating battle, the aged swordmaster finally returned his last sword.

Thus, Elder Murong met again the version of himself who never held a sword.

"Have you become the greatest swordmaster under heaven?"

From utter simplicity to utter complexity, now all grudges resolved, complexity returns to one.

Thrilling!

Thrilling!!

The sound of the fifty-seven mysterious weapons falling was clear and bright; they plunged together into the earth, shattering the ground in unison. The Master Jiankuang extended two fingers and swept forward—sword qi surged to the heavens, and his final blade struck the divine armor on Jiang Su's body; waves of qi exploded across the armor.

This supreme divine armor, the finest under heaven, shattered!

Jiang Su's Divine General Invincible body was broken; blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Elder Murong reached out, took all the antidote for Feixue from Jiang Su's waist, turned, and walked away. His white hair fluttered slightly, yet not a single sword remained—heavy, the fifty-seven mysterious weapons behind him sang in resonance.

Elder Murong.

In his twilight years.

Through the sword, he entered the Legend Realm of Martial Dao.

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