Chapter 266: Where Is Li Guanyi of Jiangnan?!

The weather gradually shifted from hot to a mild coolness, and a comfortable breeze had begun to blow.

When the wind stirred, the bells on the cart tinkled softly.

The land of Zhongzhou, spanning a thousand li, was roughly no larger than Jiangnan—no, even smaller than the territory controlled by the eighteen states of Jiangnan—but this smallness was measured against the states of Chen and Ying.

To ordinary people, this was still a vast and boundless expanse.

Within it were lords and gentlemen aplenty; when caravans arrived here, they no longer rushed urgently deeper inland, and Shi Wu and the caravan leaders were discussing where to go next.

During rest periods, the little boy Shi Yisong clung to Li Guanyi.

Inside the Crimson Dragon Mystical Realm, Li Guanyi had used Zu Lao's 【Lingyun Wood】 to cut off a four-foot length, its surface stained with the blood of strange beasts, the blood fully soaked into the deepest fibers of the wood, invisible yet hardening it.

Shi Yisong had initially disliked it, but upon discovering how hard it was, he began eagerly anticipating Li Guanyi turning it into a wooden sword; now, sitting there, he sighed mournfully:

"Ah, Daoist Priest, haven't you finished making my wooden sword yet?"

Li Guanyi smiled gently and said: "A wooden sword isn't that easy to make." He didn't know how to craft one—Elder Murong had told him how, by hammering and carving with heavy, rhythmic blows.

Just as the young Murong Longtu had made his own wooden sword.

Under the elder's guidance, Li Guanyi had replicated the process.

But later, Li Guanyi realized this wasn't carpentry or sword-forging; every motion the elder taught him was precise, calm—as if each movement were a refined sword technique.

It was as if Murong Longtu had conveyed his entire path of sword Dao to Li Guanyi in this manner.

He was crafting this wooden sword.

The elder had guided him hand-in-hand, carving the sword from the heart of the wood.

Yet it also seemed as if he were engraving Murong Longtu's lifetime of sword art, his sword techniques, into Li Guanyi's very soul, leaving behind within him a single sword—they had now entered Zhongzhou, still distant from the imperial capital where the Emperor resided.

The wooden sword was nearly carved.

Li Guanyi used a simple little knife to shave off a sliver of wood, thinning and sharpening the blade, then handed the sword to Shi Yisong and said: "Try it?"

Shi Yisong gripped the sword and swung it about, delighted.

But Li Guanyi saw the flaw; he reached out, took the sword back, and smiled: "Still a little off."

"I'll refine it further."

Shi Wu returned, this time bringing wine, his face tinged with regret: "Old Grandpa, won't you come along with us anymore?" Murong Longtu said: "No, the three of us."

He reached out a large hand and stroked the girl's hair: "The three of us—grandfather, grandson, and granddaughter—were always planning to go to Zhongzhou's provincial capital, the Emperor's imperial city."

Shi Wu dreamed aloud: "The Emperor's imperial city…"

"It must be the grandest house imaginable, huge, with meat to eat every day, every fine thing available, even the single best rice in all the world."

He chuckled, shy and simple: "Heh, we're just farmers and caravan traders—we don't know what the Emperor's life is like, but surely it must be the finest life in the world."

"Come, now, after today we part ways—let's eat well today."

Shi Wu enthusiastically invited them, placing a wooden plank on a rock as a table, pouring cloudy wine into black ceramic bowls, serving dishes: a plate of roasted peanuts, boiled cabbage tossed with vinegar, smashed cucumber with minced garlic.

There was also sliced braised meat bought from town; they drank by the roadside with Murong Longtu, sipped wine, picked up peanuts with his fingers, tossed them into his mouth, smacked his lips—his expression, once worn and crumpled by life, suddenly softened and came alive.

"We can't go there."

He took another sip of wine, his face lit with a longing smile:

"Business is hard in Zhongzhou—the stall fees, the entrance tolls at the city gates are too high; you might work hard for days and earn barely a few coins. We plan to settle in a smaller city on Zhongzhou's outskirts."

"We've inquired—many people who can't stay in Ducheng live there. We'll do business, then buy some Zhongzhou specialty goods."

"Round trip, we'll make a profit—this journey won't have been wasted. When we return, we'll satisfy our families, pay our taxes, buy new seeds, and get two bolts of good cloth for my wife."

"This year won't have been wasted."

"You three are going to catch the Master Jiankuang's spectacle, right?"

Murong Longtu sipped his wine, pinched a peanut between his fingers, rubbed it, blew gently to shed its thin skin, and said casually: "Yes, just to see the spectacle."

Shi Wu patted Murong Longtu's shoulder: "Then watch your safety—there'll be too many people, too many types, likely plenty of thugs and pickpockets. Watch out for thieves, don't provoke them."

Shi Yisong crouched nearby, watching Li Guanyi seated cross-legged, his small carving knife dancing—finally completing the last trace of the blade. As the final cut fell, Li Guanyi felt it: he understood sword.

He held the wooden sword, and it felt as if it were breathing.

It had its own pulse, its own rhythm, its own breath.

The transformation was within himself.

Li Guanyi gave the wooden sword to Shi Yisong; the boy was overjoyed. The next day, Li Guanyi, Murong Longtu, and Yao Guang prepared to part ways with the caravan. Shi Yisong hugged the wooden sword tightly, lips pressed thin, head bowed in silence.

Shi Wu nudged him: "Look, the Daoist Priest's gone—you played with him all month, didn't you?"

Shi Yisong said nothing, stubborn as a child his age.

Shi Wu muttered apologetically: "This kid."

"He doesn't want to part with you, but he's too shy to say it."

Shi Yisong suddenly turned his head, face flushed, shouting:

"Who, who's shy?! Who's reluctant?!"

He looked at Li Guanyi, bit his lip, hugged the wooden sword, then whispered softly: "You… you take your hand out."

Li Guanyi smiled and extended his hand. Shi Yisong pulled out his pouch—earlier, Li Guanyi had said he'd buy a sword, but never did; this sword was carved by Li Guanyi himself, so the money was returned.

Shi Yisong placed the money pouch in Li Guanyi's palm, gripped it firmly, and said earnestly:

"I heard the imperial city is expensive—take this, buy yourself some good food."

"There's… one, two, three…"

He counted the copper coins inside, forgot the total, then declared grandly: "There's a lot of copper coins!"

The boy lowered his head, kicked a pebble: "I want to go see it too, but it's too expensive to stay there, and not safe—I have to stay with my father. You go, and consider it as if I went too."

"If only some masters could carve their names onto my wooden sword."

Li Guanyi parted from the caravan; the caravan members slowly faded into the distance, heading to other ordinary cities to trade. The sound of hooves and bells blended into the wind. Shi Yisong sat on one side of the cart, hugging the wooden sword, swaying gently.

He waved toward Li Guanyi; Li Guanyi had given him the sword, and revised its sword manual himself—from a plain basic sword technique, if practiced diligently, it could cultivate internal Qi.

When your sword cultivation reaches a high level, you will see the sword intent hidden within the One Cash Three Fen Sword Manual.

But Li Guanyi knew Shi Yisong's innate constitution.

Without a miraculous encounter, this boy could at most reach the Second Heaven realm.

He may never know that as a youth he once traveled the Jianghu alongside Elder Murong, but he need not know— in the Jianghu, people pass by each other; when fate brings them together, they unite; when fate parts them, they scatter.

Not everything in the world must have an ending.

Passing by, each goes their own way.

I remember a young Daoist Priest in a blue robe who spent seventeen days slowly carving a wooden sword for me; perhaps one day I will forget what he looked like, but the joy of that youthful meeting and the reluctance of parting will always remain.

Looking back, youth feels as if it were yesterday.

That is the Jianghu.

In the Imperial Academy, Wen Lingjun said: "All the Academy Lords have emerged from seclusion."

"Among the Ten Great Masters, Qu Zai Shi seems to have retired from the Jianghu, no one knows where he went; but Chen Chengbi, the Mad King of Chen, has arrived here. The rest—such as the Living Buddha of the Western Regions—are all lodged within the Academy."

Wen He leisurely played chess and said: "The storm is coming; the wind fills the tower."

He still wore the expression of one uninvolved.

Wen Lingjun spoke calmly: "I heard someone drew the Chi Xiao Sword. When Prince Ji Yanzhong returned, he still carried the Chi Xiao Sword, but for some reason, the old imperial uncle seemed lost and hollow. I asked him, but he refused to speak to me."

Wen He raised an eyebrow and said: "Are you going to find the master of the Chi Xiao Sword?"

Wen Lingjun said: "Yes. What about you?"

Wen He smiled: "My lineage has long strayed beyond recognition, fallen into obscurity. I owe nothing to the Red Emperor. I originally planned to go to the Western Regions, but I heard the Jiangnan Agrarians used my strategy."

Wen Lingjun said: "Are you going to Li Guanyi?"

Wen He said: "No."

He flatly refused: "The strategies I gave were all for enriching the state and strengthening the military, but in truth they directly transform internal governance and military policy. Only a ruler with the grand ambition to change the world would ever use them."

"He actually used them."

"That means he has great ambition. Such a heroic figure rising from Jiangnan's small patch of land will surely accomplish much—but it also means he will face countless troubles and struggles."

Wen Lingjun now realized that Wen He's strategies and advice given to the Agrarian Xu Tiange were only a part of his own broader schemes.

Whether plotting against a person or a state, the ultimate goal is always to plot for oneself.

One's own safety.

"Do you know how to treat such a hero?"

Wen He placed a stone and did not wait for Wen Lingjun's answer, but declared firmly:

"I admire such people. I recognize them. I know they will change the world."

"I will watch from afar as such people burn with passion."

"And applaud them with joy."

"They change the world. I, meanwhile, enjoy the world!"

Wen Lingjun looked at this distant blood relative, at the chessboard, his palm itching.

He wanted to pick up the board and smash it down.

Then he noticed Wen He's tall crown.

During chess, it blocked the board from falling onto his forehead.

Wen He smiled and spread his hands cheerfully: "Who plays chess without a tall crown?"

"Let heroes ignite the flames of night to illuminate my life, making it easier for me to live; but to ask me to join them, to burn with them—that I decline."

"Impossible!"

"I've already obtained from the Medical School the Ma Fei San and all antidotes for stupefying drugs. I will take them before meeting Li Guanyi, and discuss matters only in safe places. I am willing to offer them strategy."

"That is all."

"Unless they bind me and drag me away from the righteous Gongyang Su Wang, even the Mohist Master and the Living Buddha would turn a blind eye—or quietly condone it."

Wen He, such a man, directly named the sole flaw in his arrangement.

Then he said calmly: "But how could that ever happen?"

"Hahaha."

The Academy's Lords sit in their halls; the Masters roam the Jianghu.

In the Jianghu, the atmosphere had long burned as fiercely as fire.

But within the imperial palace of Zhongzhou, the mood grew heavier by the day. The Emperors Jiang Wanxiang of Ying and Chen Dingye of Chen had both arrived in Zhongzhou City, yet these two sovereigns of the world had not met.

Zhongzhou had long prepared separate palace complexes for them.

They would not meet—but even without meeting, the vast, majestic tide of fate they represented grew stronger each day, making those in the palace tremble and hasten with bowed heads.

No one dared to breathe deeply.

Emperor Ji Zichang of Zhongzhou had also not met either of them.

Within this grand palace complex, which had held the Mandate of Heaven for eight hundred years, four positions were now occupied, yet one palace reserved for a Hou Jue of military merit remained empty. Each night, the three other directions blazed with light, as if trying to hold torches high enough to pierce the heavens.

But the palace on the western side, called Qin's palace, lay dark and deserted.

Everyone in the palace wondered:

"Where is he?"

Jiang Wanxiang sat calmly outside his palace, gazing at the sky while holding a handful of birdseed. When he tossed it, a hawk circled and landed. Jiang Wanxiang said, "Young men possess such grand momentum; we old men must simply wait for him."

"By the way, Jiang Su."

The Grand Tutor of Ying bowed his head: "Your servant is here."

Jiang Wanxiang smiled and said:

"Aren't you going to find that Whale Fisher? Any results?"

Jiang Su said: "He didn't return to his previous lodging. In the end, he's still here, waiting for the Master Jiankuang to arrive for the duel."

Jiang Wanxiang said: "Good."

"What of Yuwen Lie?"

"Yuwen Lie has already gone to that place."

"Mm."

Jiang Wanxiang watched the circling eagles and smiled:

"Li Guanyi, Li Guanyi—I'm looking forward to meeting you, ha ha."

In another imperial palace, Chen Dingye seemed darker and colder than when Xue Daoyong had last seen him; he leaned against the palace bridge, extending his hand to scatter fish food into the stream below, where the koi flipped and swallowed eagerly.

Though Chen Dingye said nothing, the palace attendants on either side felt an inexplicable chill and oppressive weight, causing them to tremble slightly, lowering their eyes and saying nothing.

In the imperial palace, in the Jianghu, in the scholarly academies, across the realm—though no one spoke, it seemed as if a low hum had gathered, this was the great tide of the realm, echoing in the hearts of all under heaven—

Where is Master Jiankuang Murong Longtu!

Where is Li Guanyi of Jiangnan!!!

A carriage rolled leisurely to the gates of the realm's capital.

The driver was a Daoist priest, seemingly sixteen or seventeen, wearing a washed-out, faded robe; beside him sat an old man and a Miss—such a trio was utterly unremarkable in the capital of Zhongzhou, the first city of the realm.

All swordsmen under heaven wore blue robes.

Behind this group was a man with a wide-brimmed hat and silver hair, beside him an old man holding another old man—this trio was far stranger.

The old man tied up and carried had a gray-white face; he had already considered when to leap from the highest point of the academy. The Whale Fisher gritted his teeth: "Finally arrived at the Zhongzhou imperial capital."

"A whole month! A full month!"

"I just watched them."

Master Siming replied in confusion: "Isn't that your own fault?"

The Whale Fisher flew into a rage.

He pulled the rope binding Siwei even tighter.

Siwei glared at Master Siming, teeth clenched: "You're finished, old man!"

Master Siming said cheerfully: "Oh? Really?"

"I'm so scared, ah ha ha ha ha!"

"What I love most is your expression—you want to hit me but can't. Come on, come hit me!"

Siwei's temples bulged with veins. Master Siming turned his head, gazing at Zhenxi Xiongcheng—majestic, solemn, unlike Zhenbei Pass in the northern reaches of Chen State; this capital of Zhongzhou was hailed as the greatest city of the past eight hundred years.

Its first impression was not grandeur or might, but solemn dignity.

It was the feeling of nobility.

Master Siming said: "Li Guanyi has never been to Zhongzhou before, has he?"

"The greatest capital under heaven."

The Whale Fisher also gazed at it; when he had come as a youth, he had been a wandering swordsman—young, arrogant, scorning all. Yet even then, that defiant swordsman had been awed by this city steeped in centuries of history.

Eight hundred years of spring and autumn—every spot here held stories, every brick soaked in blood and hatred, stained with traces of swords and fire. The Whale Fisher had assumed Li Guanyi and the others would walk in naturally.

But the gate was blocked—not by minor figures, but by the husband of a royal princess, who, seeing the influx of people into Zhongzhou's capital, raised tolls five or sixfold.

People cursed, but he ignored them. Warriors came to see Master Jiankuang Murong Longtu; they gritted their teeth and paid. Yet this imperial relative only grew more brazen.

Murong Longtu said: "He's made a fine profit."

The young Daoist priest clashed with them; the men there saw Li Guanyi's group—old man, youth, plain clothes, ordinary horse—and looked down on them with three parts contempt.

The imperial relative was sipping tea in a nearby teahouse; hearing the commotion, he casually sent a group over. The young Daoist looked up at the sky, drew his sword, and overturned them all.

It was like poking a hornet's nest—suddenly a flood of people surged out.

The surrounding civilians scattered instantly.

The princess's husband was arrogant, born of a great clan, married to a member of Zhongzhou's imperial family; his household controlled commerce across Zhongzhou and parts of the Central Plains. Some said that even if he beat someone to near death,

that person still had to buy medicine from his pharmacy, rent a house built by his brokerage, and when he died, had to purchase his family's coffin and spirit money—adding literary fame to his reputation, making him even more renowned among noble scions.

Li Guanyi saw them preparing to display the grandeur of noble clans and imperial kin.

The young Daoist smiled and turned to Murong Longtu: "Leave this to me, Great Grandfather." He gripped his sword, standing before the old man, and whispered: "Thankfully we met these people here—thankfully Xiao Shi and the others didn't come."

"I hope in Xiao Shi's eyes, I'm still just the Daoist who played with him."

"But the Jianghu road, no matter how long, must end."

"The Jianghu's Mu Zi Yi, Li Yaoshi—here, they cannot remain Mu Zi Yi, Li Yaoshi; they must not, and should not, be those names."

"Let me be the one to close this Jianghu journey."

The princess's husband found the youth's words nonsensical, yet strangely sincere; he laughed: "What nonsense—bring—" His words were cut short as he felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.

A rumbling sound like distant thunder rolled across the sky.

At a distance from the realm's greatest capital, dust rose suddenly, rushing swiftly closer, spreading wide on either side—like the tidal wave of Dajiang, surging forward, dust swirling like a storm, yet already banners flared fiercely.

They were crimson battle flags, bearing the pattern of Fire Qilin.

At their head stood a massive man, his features stern, clad in Ink-Black Weight armor, like a mountain.

Five hundred heavy cavalry, five hundred Fire Qilin light cavalry—totaling one thousand riders—galloped at astonishing speed, charging forward, their momentum vast as a thousand li of thunder rolling from the heavens.

This tidal wave of iron cavalry thundered toward them, then halted instantly.

Movements perfectly synchronized, a chilling, lethal aura surged skyward, making breaths stop and bodies tense instinctively.

The lead cavalry commander dismounted, striding forward, stopping behind the young Daoist in blue robes, clad in heavy armor, kneeling on one knee, his voice calm and solemn:

"Generals Ling Pingyang, pays homage to my lord!"

Behind him, the thousand iron riders dismounted, bowing in solemn silence.

"Pays homage to my lord!"

The voice was grim as a tidal wave; these iron cavalry stared with calm eyes and solemn expressions at the young back.

The prince consort froze.

Only one person could command such respect from Ling Pingyang, the foremost young cavalry commander, whose crimson iron cavalry churned like clouds, sweeping across the flat hills with a thousand riders.

He's here?

The prince consort trembled violently.

Ling Pingyang rose; for the first time, Li Guanyi did not step forward to help him up. Two iron cavalry Captains behind Ling Pingyang stepped forward, holding a crimson robe embroidered with ink-gold cloud patterns. The young Daoist simply exchanged his robes for the battle robe.

The crimson battle robe, with ink-gold cloud patterns trailing down.

A jade belt cinched his waist; finally, the golden crown symbolizing a marquis replaced the wooden hairpin.

At his waist he wore a sword; the young man smiled and clasped Murong Longtu and Yao Guang's hands, then, under Murong Longtu's admiring gaze, mounted the dragon steed Ling Pingyang had brought, the sword at his side.

He slightly lifted his gaze, looking ahead; the dragon steed's hooves rang crisp.

He calmly entered the imperial capital of Zhongzhou.

The prince consort and the noble youths who had just feasted turned deathly pale, collapsed onto the ground, some even fainted from fear. Li Guanyi rode his horse through the gates of the world's greatest city, the crimson battle robe flowing and billowing behind him, his gaze steady ahead.

As if seeing Emperor Ji Zichang, Jiang Wanxiang, Chen Dingye, the Scholar's Palace, the Jianghude Sect, and from this moment, seeing the swirling winds and rising clouds of the four corners of the world.

Then, with calm composure—and as if destined—he stepped into the storm.

The Whale Fisher watched from afar the boy's back, the billowing sleeves.

A thousand cavalry followed.

He felt dazed.

In the eleventh year of Tianqi, Li Guanyi first arrived at Zhongzhou's most majestic and awe-inspiring capital, as a marquis; beneath the city's ancient green bricks—eight hundred years old—lay stories of blood and tears, traces of sword and fire, crushed beneath his steed's hooves.

"The world."

Sunlight fell upon his face, his body; he thought within.

"I have come."

?? The lottery and badges in the event are quite good, and there are three kinds of merchandise—scratch your head, everyone should try them out; pop-up windows and screens will appear, and you can also enter through the event center later.