Chapter 268: The Dignity of Qin Wu Hou

The silver-haired man gazed at the towering, grim host of a thousand cavalry surrounding the figure before Zhenxi Xiongcheng, the crimson Fire Qilin battle standard seeming to roll down from the sky, vast and majestic.

The young Daoist priest, who had been fishing beside the river, now walked with a golden crown, yet somehow carried a chilling, authoritative aura.

The wandering swordsman who sat cross-legged, drinking and fishing cheerfully with strangers by the roadside, was Daoist Li Yaoshi—but when he raised his head to gaze upon the world, he became the most magnificent hero of the past twenty years.

Qin Wu Hou, enfeoffed as a Marquis at sixteen.

The Whale Fisher clicked his tongue, realizing he could no longer view him merely as a brat of sixteen, fifth-level Heaven; then he noticed Ling Pingyang had prepared two additional horses.

Both were dragon steeds, eight feet tall at the withers; the old swordmaster in blue robes flicked his fingers.

A surge of internal Qi—sharp enough to sever the strongest life-force body—flowed as gently as a breeze; the girl clad in the long robe of an astrologer rose into the air and landed steadily upon the warhorse's saddle.

Qin Wu Hou rode the warhorse at the front.

To his left and right stood the white-haired swordmaster and the hooded silver-haired girl; behind them, the crimson battle standard was raised on a two-zhang spear-pole, and the silver-haired girl urged her mount forward two steps, closing the distance to the boy.

The Whale Fisher's temple twitched.

His teeth seemed ready to shatter.

"Fuck. Fuck."

"I should've been here. I should've been there!"

He seethed at Elder Murong, the aged swordmaster, for growing too close to his daughter; gritting his teeth, he turned to the old Master Siming—though naturally arrogant and defiant, the man was deeply grateful and treated the old Daoist with courtesy.

Even in furious rage, he still asked politely:

"We've arrived here—surely I may pass now?"

"I've waited a full month."

Master Siming looked at him in confusion, scratching his gray-white hair: "No one's stopped you. I only said not to disturb Master Jiankuang and Li Guanyi's final journey through the Jianghu—I never barred you from seeing Princess Yao Guang."

"Huh?"

His face filled with bewilderment: "Are you afraid?"

The Whale Fisher drew a deep breath.

In that moment, he felt exactly as his daughter did.

Sometimes, he couldn't tell whether the old man did it on purpose or by accident.

If intentional, how could anyone so vast still live so carefree? If accidental, how could he always land just so—subtly mocking?

Master Siming burst into loud laughter, ignoring the gnashing Whale Fisher and Si Wei; with a single flash, he vanished—Xuan Gui shifted and transformed with uncanny grace, gone in an instant, swallowed by the crowd.

The Whale Fisher lifted his gaze slightly and sensed another immense aura.

So he did not immediately pursue Master Siming.

The military's aura was grim and severe.

"The Divine General, Jiang Su."

"What does this old bastard want to say to me?"

……………………

Someone had already led Li Guanyi and the others to a palace, lavish in design; stone Fire Qilin statues flanked the gate, and two rows of spears stood upright; palace maids and servants stood respectfully, bowing.

An official waited there, bowing deeply:

"Your servant, Imperial Censor Xu Yanzhong, greets Qin Wu Hou."

"His Majesty rejoiced greatly upon hearing Qin Wu Hou entered the imperial city, and has prepared a banquet to welcome him tomorrow. Qin Wu Hou…" Xu Yanzhong raised his head, gazing at Qin Wu Hou—who had dismounted.

Behind him, the iron cavalry dismounted in perfect unison.

A chilling aura swept over them; the boy's sleeves fluttered, embroidered with ink-and-gold cloud patterns.

Merely this single dismounting motion shattered Xu Yanzhong's lingering disdain for his youth; his eyes lowered further as he raised the imperial edict; Li Guanyi reached out and took it.

"Good. Thank you, my lord."

Most iron cavalry remained outside the city; the original Fire Qilin cavalry had been assigned garrison posts, yet only thirty-six accompanied him—and every captain among these thousand cavalry stood at the peak of second-level Heaven.

Third-level Heaven qualifies one as a general!

Xu Yanzhong bowed respectfully: "Your Lordship, rest well. Tomorrow, someone will come to guide you. Your servant takes his leave."

Qin Wu Hou said: "See Master Xu off."

Two Fire Qilin captains—veterans of the Battle of Beicheng, the twenty-thousand-li southern march, the pacification of Jiangnan, and the Eight Gates Golden Lock Array against the States of Ying and Chen—rose, their aura grim and sharp, yet not overbearing; they extended their hands: "After you, my lord."

Xu Yanzhong smiled calmly.

As he left, he turned back, glancing at the palace gate—the boy's profile was sharp, his gaze falling upon him, nodding gently.

Xu Yanzhong's back broke into a cold sweat.

He departed the palace known as 【Qin Palace】, circled once to confirm no one followed, then hurried to the imperial palace, entering the side hall to meet Ji Zichang, the reigning Red Emperor of Zhongzhou.

Ji Zichang sat in the side hall; on his desk lay two scrolls:

"Well?"

Xu Yanzhong recalled what he had seen: "A dragon among men, a tiger among mortals."

"Today, I saw his Fire Qilin cavalry—grim, disciplined; every iron rider looked at him with solemn reverence, and he proved worthy of such elite troops—his bearing was like a dragon's stride, a tiger's gait. Among his peers, none match his aura."

He had intended to say "among the young generation," but the young generation would inevitably include the current Emperor of Zhongzhou, now in his early thirties.

Ji Zichang or Li Guanyi—who was stronger? Who weaker?

Xu Yanzhong dared not say.

He dared not think.

Yet he knew that when he dared not speak or think, it already meant something; Ji Zichang fell silent for a long while, then asked: "What do you think of him?"

Xu Yanzhong looked at him, recalling the legends of the past two years, and said:

"In a time of peace and prosperity, a man like him would surely become a loyal, benevolent minister—not necessarily rising to the highest rank, but certainly capable, beloved by the realm."

"Perhaps he would refuse office entirely, becoming a simple wandering swordsman."

"And in a time of chaos."

Xu Yanzhong paused, then said: "A warlord!"

Emperor Ji Zichang said: "A capable minister in peaceful times, a warlord in chaotic times."

He paused, then whispered:

"What do you think—now, is it a time of chaos, or of peace?"

Xu Yanzhong knelt on the ground, daring not to speak again; Emperor Ji Zichang fell silent for a long while, then chuckled bitterly: "You may withdraw."

Xu Yanzhong stepped backward, one step at a time, and left.

Emperor Ji Zichang said: "Li Guanyi... Li Guanyi..."

"How should I view you, then?"

He stared at the two edicts already written on his desk: one, addressed to Li Guanyi in Zhongzhoude Sect, was gentle and refined in wording, yet in truth a scheme of power—aimed at binding him to Zhongzhou through marriage, using other means to balance the peerless general.

To trap this hero here.

Beside this edict lay another, far briefer.

This edict was hidden in shadow, but the few characters visible on its surface were sharp and piercing—not the calm composure of the first, but wild, unrestrained strokes that seemed almost to break free of all restraint.

Emperor Ji Zichang thought: if the great calligrapher summoned by the imperial clan had seen this, he would surely curse him in frustration: "You've lost all discipline—this writing is nothing but a messy puddle of ink."

That old calligrapher had come to this side hall's study.

"Master Yan..."

Emperor Ji Zichang forced a faint smile. The old man stepped forward, saw the two edicts—but ignored the one written with proper form, instead fixing his gaze on the other, where the characters varied wildly in size.

The old man whispered in approval: "Fine script."

Emperor Ji Zichang smiled bitterly: "Master, what are you saying?"

For this past month, he had thought long and hard until his eyes were bloodshot from days without rest; now he sat there, utterly broken, no longer the puppet put forward by the imperial clan.

Nor was he a king.

Yet in the eyes of this aged master of calligraphy, these wild, lawless strokes burned with fierce intensity.

Radiating an uncontainable heroism.

【Edict: Appoint Li Guanyi Commander-in-Chief of All Imperial Troops】!

The old man stared, lost in thought.

This edict, merely written, marked Emperor Ji Zichang's transformation.

It was the edict a ruler in chaotic times wrote to the minister who had drawn the Chixiao Sword—yet only in such an age could these words carry such a chilling, fierce spirit.

Two edicts. Two fates.

One: bind!

Trap the hero with beauty, wealth, and luxury.

Balance him, use beauties to soften his bones, let the whisper of lovers' breath melt his fierce spirit, corrupt him with gold, satisfy his lofty heart with power and others' groveling, give him everything.

One: release!

Give him the only thing you can offer.

The Mandate of Righteousness!

You have the power—then I give you the name!

Go, act as you will; take your sword, take your fire, remake this world, halt the states of Ying and Chen, until even the imperial clan of Zhongzhou falls with grandeur amid the roar of flame and blade.

The Red Emperor's realm has grown old—then let the Red Emperor's flame pass to the next generation.

Emperor Ji Zichang sat in the center, doors and windows shut, the room dim; only the candle on his desk flickered. The aged calligraphy master watched him, saw the stubble on his disciple's face.

His face was etched with struggle and exhaustion.

He was Emperor of Zhongzhou.

Yet he had personally written the second edict, certain to shake the realm.

"What should I do, Master? How should I act?"

Emperor Ji Zichang's voice was hoarse: "Tell me—how can I act?"

"As my uncles and great-uncles wish? Or ignite this fire...? Even I can see: the first path won't cage that tiger, but it will delay the court's decline."

"My uncles and great-uncles don't crave the Red Emperor's grandeur or glory—only their own interests. They know it's a foolish move, but they don't care—they only seek temporary safety."

"The second path—history has taught us countless times: when such a hero rises with momentum, he will never stop. The realm will collapse. The Red Emperor's grandeur will vanish in flame."

"I may be cursed as the emperor who lost the realm."

"What should I do?"

"Master, Grand Protector Yan—can you tell me?"

Grand Protector Yan replied: "Such a great matter should not be decided by a minister."

Emperor Ji Zichang picked up the Chixiao Sword on his desk—he had once, over a year ago, tried to draw this ancestral divine weapon when it first sang, and been burned by its blade.

Ji Yanzhong's heart had been pierced by Elder Murong's words.

He had returned here with the Chixiao Sword, which now rested beside Emperor Ji Zichang.

He gripped the sword and whispered: "I know—I became emperor only because I was easy to control. I was a puppet. Before ascending, I thought: even a puppet is still an emperor. It didn't matter."

"But now I see it's not like that."

"I, such a man, struggle to make a choice."

"What should I do? Cling to the last glory... or..."

"Let my ancestors' eight-hundred-year realm meet a noble end in flame—better to fall with grandeur than to linger, slowly devoured by Chen and Ying!"

"Perhaps I sound ridiculous—this isn't what an emperor should say. I feel a sudden urge to sever all chains, to stir the realm—no, that's not even heroism."

Emperor Ji Zichang chuckled bitterly:

"Like a gambler and a no-good bum with nothing to lose."

"I, such a puppet, am merely giving up when there's no other choice."

He put down his sword and rose to his feet. "I've sat here for seven or eight days. I want to go out, take a walk, see Gongyang Su Wang. When Li Guanyi comes tomorrow, I will make my decision myself."

"Perhaps it's the first imperial decree."

"After all, I am not a worthy emperor."

"A mere puppet doesn't count as a hero."

Ji Zichang left. Yan Xuanji remained silent for a long time, staring at the Chishao Sword.

A streak of flowing light appeared on the blade of the Chishao Sword. Yan Xuanji froze, watching as a thread of the blade slowly drew itself from its scabbard—the light was sharp, but the divine weapon had already recognized its master, so it slipped back into the sheath.

Yan Xuanji froze, the aged civil minister realizing something.

Ji Zichang, who could not draw the Chishao Sword over a year ago, has transformed under the turbulent tides of this chaotic age, finally gaining a sliver of qualification to wield the Chishao Sword—but the Chishao Sword had already been gripped by another hero.

Without this hero, Ji Zichang would have been able to draw the Chishao Sword now; but without such a hero stirring the world, how could Ji Zichang have transformed, how could he have become a dragon? What resolve or grand ambition could that puppet emperor have mustered to hold this divine weapon?

It seemed just a hair's breadth away—yet it was the gap between heaven and earth. It was fate.

Yan Xuanji stared for a long while, tears streaming down his face without his notice, gazing at that imperial decree, whispering softly: "Chaos is like the Dahe and Dajiang rivers. In such raging torrents, the dragon once trapped on the shallow shoals, bullied by fish and shrimp—is it finally rising into the sky?"

He staggered and knelt before the tallest portrait, voice choked:

"But it's too late… too many heroes in this world… what good does awakening do…"

"Chidi, the High Ancestor, the High Emperor."

"Protect this realm. Protect your descendants."

"Let our nation retain its final dignity."

"A nation forged from nothing in sword and fire should not end in such disgrace and humility."

………………

The Fire Qilin Army dismissed all the maids and servants originally in the Qin Palace; no one knew whether any of them were secret agents—or, given that a mere prince consort dared privately raise the city gate tax, there were likely over a dozen secret factions hidden within.

The prepared meals were extremely lavish.

Cold dishes, hot dishes, meat dishes, vegetarian dishes—over a hundred in total, arranged on a massive table. Li Guanyi asked the chef and steward in charge of procurement: "How much did this cost?"

"Your Lordship, one thousand taels."

Li Guanyi froze, instinctively shouting: "What?!"

He stopped, pointed at one dish on the table, and asked: "How much for this one?"

The official replied: "Fifty taels."

Li Guanyi sneered.

A simple stir-fried egg with some vegetable sprouts—fifty taels?

The Ministry of Household official answered: "Three eggs cost thirty taels, two premium white scallions fifteen taels, five taels for waste and handling—fifty taels total."

Li Guanyi said: "I'll sell you this dish for fifty taels."

The official hesitated, then forced a laugh: "This… this is a precious item. Your Lordship, I only use it on rare occasions—like ancestral rites. Otherwise, I dare not."

Li Guanyi said coolly: "I'm not used to such delicacies. Remove them all."

"Pingyang, reclaim the daily food allowance granted by the court. A thousand taels per meal. Don't forget."

Ling Pingyang smiled: "Yes!"

The official's face stiffened, his heart racing, and he blurted out:

"This… this violates protocol."

"It's always been this way since…"

He realized his mistake the moment the words left his mouth—but the Qin Wu Hou, whose battlefield merits defined this era, merely looked at him calmly:

"Protocol?"

The Ministry of Household official turned pale.

Li Guanyi knew these men skimmed kickbacks and embezzled funds. By his own nature, he'd have thrown this man out—but the Qin Wu Hou shouldn't act so casually. So the official saw the crimson-robed, golden-crowned Qin Wu Hou lift his gaze and say:

"Whose protocol am I supposed to follow?"

His voice was calm, yet it struck like thunder. In the Ministry of Household—a post so cushy even walking two steps made one's hands greasy—this high-ranking official collapsed to his knees, forehead slamming hard against the floor, trembling:

"Your Lordship! Forgive me!"

He struck the ground until blood appeared. Li Guanyi would have stopped him. Daoist Priest Li Yao would have too. But the Qin Wu Hou merely pressed his lips together.

The crimson-robed lord stood with arms behind his back, golden crown, eyes calm.

He simply walked past the fourth-rank official, unhurried.

The crimson robe, embroidered with ink-gold cloud patterns, fluttered.

He did not look back.

Yet the sheer pressure left the official trembling, his head pounding the floor again and again, blood splattering across the ground—he dared not stop. The youth's aura and dominance were more terrifying than those of the court's veteran elders.

He kept banging his head, terrified to death. After today, the Qin Wu Hou's majesty and dread would spread through the entire Central State capital, and no noble family would dare underestimate this young lord.

Yet elsewhere, Qin Wu Hou Li Guanyi cursed:

"One thousand taels?!"

"Fucking hell, one thousand taels!"

"Damn it!"

"I could buy two Gongshu family crossbow arrays! Crossbows!"

"The kind that let ordinary men kill intruding cultivators. Give them to intruding cultivators, and their power multiplies—even outside, at Piaomiao Pavilion's cost price, I could make ten. Ten!"

Li Guanyi swung his arms wildly.

"If I'd said something nice, praised my mistress, I might've even gotten a bonus."

The young Qin Wu Hou crouched there, gritting his teeth.

Then he took a big bite of the scallion pancake, and the elegant cavalry general behind him picked up the hem of the youth's brocade robe and said, "My lord, this robe is embroidered with gold thread—if it gets dirty, it won't do."

Li Guanyi stood up obediently: "Our daily meal allowance—um, how much did we actually reclaim in food expenses?"

Ling Pingyang smiled: "My lord's dignity earned us two thousand eight hundred taels."

He added, "Every day."

Li Guanyi calculated: "Hmm, staying two months, over eighty thousand taels per month—that's a lot of money."

"Send all this money back to Jiangnan."

Ling Pingyang asked, "All of it?"

"What about you, my lord?"

The young lord bit into the pancake again and answered naturally: "I? I can manage fine—I've eaten fried locusts before, and besides, I always get Daiqing to come back, uh—excuse me, I always invite him back."

"A whole bunch of people have already gone back, along with the Imperial Academy factions."

"Daiqing's the kind who'll grab a stool and brawl with aristocratic heirs—he probably wants to eat me alive right now."

Li Guanyi shuddered.

Jiangnan has been handed to Yan Daiqing; even if Daiqing now rolls up his sleeves, grins savagely, and comes at him, Li Guanyi must endure it—not just endure it, but carefully suppress his cultivation energy so Yan Daiqing won't tire himself out beating him.

Li Guanyi had no confidence at all when it came to Yan Daiqing.

He took another bite of the pancake: "Besides, I can't hand everything over to them—I must do my utmost too. I need to recruit talent and bring back money, even if it's just this much."

"Forget it—the Huangcheng Sect is loaded."

"Eat their food!"

"Eighty thousand taels—how many seeds can that buy? How much grain? How many farming tools? How many large houses can it build for the homeless?"

"Back when I was at Huichun Hall, I earned one tael a month!"

"This could pay a month's stipend for eighty thousand people—or feed over a hundred thousand for another month."

"If I ate it myself—"

"I'd wake up in the middle of the night, furious, and slap myself."

Ling Pingyang froze. He'd known his lord was frugal, but now he understood why his lord was so poor—his smile grew gentler as he asked, "My lord, what about you, Miss Yao Guang, and the old master?"

Li Guanyi said: "There's always food in the Fire Qilin army's rations—just give us a little from your share."

The iron cavalry guards around them couldn't help laughing.

Li Guanyi glared at them: "What are you laughing at?"

The young lord grinned: "I'm a marquis!"

They laughed even harder—but their eyes still held respect. Ling Pingyang bowed with a smile: "Then I understand, my lord." He looked at the youth, his gaze calm and gentle.

They hadn't gathered around this man because of Marshal Yue's orders, or because of Tai Ping Gong's lingering prestige.

At first, yes—but those who stayed now did so for other reasons.

Their lord is poor, yet enriches the world.

Content in poverty, devoted to the Dao.

In the eyes of Jiangnan's comrades, their lord is the richest man in the world.

Of course, if anyone said that aloud, their lord would fly into a rage, grab a scallion pancake, and beat them with it—then collapse into inner turmoil, needing Miss Yao Guang's comfort to recover.

Speaking of which—

Ling Pingyang remembered something and said:

"My lord, there's one more thing."

Li Guanyi asked: "What?"

Ling Pingyang said: "There's a letter for you."

My schedule has shifted later; I'm struggling and striving.