Chapter 288: Murong Longtu, Seeking Only Defeat!

Perhaps because of this news, Li Guanyi fell silent for a while, but Elder Murong laughed casually: "Since we've already set a time, waiting won't be such a hardship."

"Watching you busy these days, wandering the Jianghu together has been a true comfort to my heart. Now I just feel my hands itching, wanting nothing more than a good fight."

"That day, when I saw Wang Tong's bearing, so noble and grand, I nearly drew my sword and cut off that towering righteous qi of his—but then I thought, if I did, it wouldn't be as beautiful."

Elder Murong took a sip of wine, picked up a scroll beside him, and handed it to Li Guanyi. Li Guanyi took it, unrolled it, and found it was a collection of paintings—brushstrokes light and unhurried, depicting mountains, rivers, clouds, and all things: the very landscapes he and Li Guanyi had passed through on their journey.

At this moment, with Li Guanyi's Wu Gong, he could faintly sense within these ink-wash landscapes a latent, immense sword intent—sometimes vast and majestic, sometimes casual and free, like a gentle stream murmuring.

This was sword intent!

Elder Murong tilted his head back to drink, smiling gently: "The Wu Gong I've cultivated in my life has always been eclectic, but because my Murong clan has been famed for forging swords through generations, I had to use a sword to carve out a name for myself in this world—that's why I chose the sword."

"When I first took up the sword, I didn't seek to understand—I thought as long as I could kill, as long as I could seek revenge, anything could be a blade. Why bother with rules? Wu Gong too—I found the forms in sword manuals rigid and dull, meaningless."

"I thought every form in the sword manual was wrong."

"Later, as I grew older, I settled some grudges, made some enemies."

"But then I realized a sword must look like a sword. By then, I had gained Wu Gong experience, slain Jianghu enemies, made mistakes, nearly been split open by a well-timed slash during a clash—only then did I look again at the sword manual and understand that the forms I once deemed rigid were all tested with the lives of swordmasters."

"At that time, I thought every single form on that manual was exquisite, flawless."

"But later, I discovered they were still wrong."

"The swordmaster who wrote this manual was not as good as I am."

"After circling through so many stages, now when I look back, the manual's forms are right—but still incomplete, merely regrettable."

"I've hidden the spirit of this sword art within these scrolls. You may study them carefully. When you feel the spirit of the paintings is wrong, that's your next step. When you feel they're right, take another step. Finally, when you see these paintings as nothing but paintings…"

"You'll have about seven-tenths of my Wu Gong."

Elder Murong smiled with regret, murmuring: "What a pity."

"Your talent is excellent, and you have a divine weapon I know nothing of."

"You'll never reach my level."

Li Guanyi said: "Your sword art is, after all, the best in the world."

Elder Murong laughed loudly.

"Not the best in the world."

"The best since ancient times."

"As for those who come after—whether anyone can surpass me, I can't say. I hope so. I believe so." He drank, adding: "Otherwise, this Jianghu would be too lonely."

Li Guanyi looked at the scroll collection, which even included himself.

Elder Murong poured and drank for himself: "After our sword duel, I'll give you the manual. The Murong clan will go to Murong Qiushui. I know you don't intend to leave behind a noble house—the Murong clan won't hold much land; we'll pass down our legacy through swords, qin music, and forging skills."

"If you wish to publicly reveal our techniques, take everything from the Murong clan's library."

The old man's voice was calm and unhurried.

Li Guanyi blurted out: "Great-grandfather!"

He spoke, then suppressed his emotions: "Fine. Then don't fight?" But even as he spoke, he already knew the answer—yet his heart still made him say it.

Elder Murong looked at him with tender warmth and smiled:

"Such childish words."

"Can your master Wang Tong ignore the heresies of the Imperial Academy? Can Gongyang Su Wang cease suppressing the Academy's scholarly factions for nearly a century? Can Zu Wenyuan rely on his divination skills to live a carefree life forever?"

"They all could."

"But we simply refuse."

Elder Murong reached out and patted Li Guanyi's head: "No matter how many good things exist in this world, none compare to the peace of a contented heart. You'll understand eventually—no… you should already understand."

"A hundred boats race, ten thousand rivers flow to the sea."

"This is the tide of the world. This is the will within us."

"How can one simply turn back?"

The old swordsman sighed: "This path we've walked won't turn back—because what we've pursued all our lives is only that final destination. Precisely because it is so vast and unstoppable, the Monk said turning back is hard, letting go is hard."

"But does turning back, letting go, cease to exist?"

"There was a Monk who loved debate. I once spoke with him—he said turning back is salvation, the ocean of suffering is boundless. I asked him if letting go doesn't exist. He replied, 'The mind is empty and clear—it doesn't exist.' I drew my sword and struck—he dodged swiftly."

"I laughed—he was still afraid of death. Clearly, he hadn't let go."

"The Monk covered his face and ran off, never again debating sutras with anyone."

"Thus, sixty years of bitter cultivation are less than my sword."

Elder Murong rose with a smile. "I know this is just a stubborn, heretical way of arguing. The Buddhist and Daoist sutras do hold truth."

"But there are no gods or Buddhas in this world to answer our questions."

"There are no gods or Buddhas in this world."

He finished his wine, settled all matters, and rose calmly:

"He cannot bear to see my sword."

"If he saw my sword, he might write me a sutra."

The white-haired old swordsman spoke these words with a smile. Li Guanyi found them plain, yet utterly audacious—he had traveled far across this world, and no one else had ever spoken such arrogant words so calmly.

After speaking his piece, Elder Murong did not leave immediately. At this moment, the imperial capital of Zhongzhou was gripped by its greatest event: the scholars were departing, in waves, every day, their figures visible as they left the city.

Merchants were troubled—without the scholars, a whole class of lavish spenders was gone. But fortunately, as scholars left, more Jianghu figures arrived, somewhat compensating for the loss.

A thread descended, falling upon the water's surface, stirring faint ripples.

Holding the fishing rod was Jiang Wanxiang, dressed in plain linen, his gaze calm and composed as he watched the ripples. A voice came: "Your Majesty, without a hook, how can you catch a fish?"

Jiang Wanxiang turned to the First Divine General and replied with a smile: "This is the tide of destiny—the fish must bite. But, State Advisor, have you had any gains?"

Jiang Su said: "I fought with the fisherman earlier."

"He was quite good."

"Pity, the matter of petitioning the Crown Prince to marry his daughter is likely impossible now."

Jiang Wanjing said: "Who won?"

Jiang Su scattered a handful of fish bait into the pond, and a large school of koi surged up to fight for the food, their shimmering bodies swirling like brocade. Jiang Su frowned; he felt these koi had grown noticeably fatter than before, as if overfed in recent days.

He glanced at the fish basket beside Jiang Wanjing.

It seems the Son of Heaven's fishing skills don't match those of the old fisherman.

The Grand Tutor of Ying thought for a moment, then smiled slightly and said:

"If he trained another sixty years, he'd win."

Jiang Wanjing laughed loudly and said: "The world is simply like this—unreasonable. By the way, with scholars scattered everywhere, Grand Tutor, what do you observe of their trends?"

Jiang Su replied: "Most of the military scholars have entered our nation. Other scholars include the Mohist knights, the Diplomatists, a portion of the Confucians, and those from noble families of Ying—totaling over two thousand six hundred who have entered Great Ying."

"Just in time for use."

"As for Chen, Chen Dingye has changed greatly—he spends lavishly, devotes effort, and treats poor scholars with courtesy. One branch of the Mohists, the Logicians, the Diplomatists, the Legalists, two-tenths of the military generals, and a portion of the Confucians have entered Chen—two thousand four hundred in total."

When these numbers were combined, they proved something.

Jiang Wanjing fell silent and said:

"How many are with Li Guanyi?"

Jiang Su said: "Publicly, they claim to be joining the Fire Qilin Army and Tiance Prefecture—even adding Wang Tong's faction, it's only a little over one thousand one hundred. But before, when Li Guanyi debated with Wang Tong, he said one thing."

"It doesn't matter if you don't join the Fire Qilin Army, or Tiance Prefecture."

"I hope to educate all under heaven, without distinction."

"With the help of that Xue clan's Yunmeng Princess, the Xue clan's merchant guilds have prepared lodging and travel funds for these scholars, and even allowed them to travel south with the guilds—combined, this adds up."

"Add to that the fact that many scholars simply seek a quiet place to study and teach disciples, and have no desire to join the chaos of this age—when all these reasons are combined, over five thousand three hundred have gone south."

"Mostly former Mohists and a portion of Confucians, few military officers. The Buddhist and Daoist lines were already small within the Imperial Academy, each with their own temples and monasteries, and thus not counted."

Jiang Wanjing murmured: "Five thousand three hundred."

"More than the combined total of Great Ying and Chen."

"But if that's all, these scholars merely teaching in the south wouldn't warrant your special trip, Grand Tutor."

Jiang Wanjing smiled: "Surely the Grand Tutor has more to say."

Jiang Su nodded and said: "His young subordinates are gathering refugees. From what I see, they plan to carry these displaced people into the south during the great upheaval—this brings three advantages."

"One: replenish the south's population. Two: the reputation of benevolence across the land."

"And the third:"

"With such great renown, a large number of scholars who have entered the south will surely choose to join the Fire Qilin Army. This is their plan—to first bring the scholars south, then slowly win their loyalty."

"It seems these people have great confidence in Li Guanyi—and in the Eighteen States of the South."

Jiang Su smiled faintly, gazing at the churning koi in the pond, and suddenly recalled that young man—eyes cold and still, yet smile gentle—abandoned by the Star-Reading and Breaking Army line, yet struggling to survive, still unaltered in his heart, the strategist.

The greatest general under heaven whispered:

"Even among the younger generation, there are those who rival Dan Tai Xianming of old."

"Such a scheme dares to use you and me as stepping stones."

"When we were young, weren't we equally arrogant?"

Jiang Wanjing laughed: "The younger generation truly is impressive."

Jiang Su nodded.

The core of this scheme lies in what follows the Son of Heaven's autumn hunt. Once chaos erupts, the plan will unfold openly. Since the autumn hunt, as the vortex's center, must occur, Li Guanyi's preparations are certain to succeed.

This is the brilliance of the scheme.

Even if seen through, it is hard to stop.

To stop it would mean bearing the blame for scattering refugees.

Jiang Su praised: "Every move, every gesture, is calm and vast. In military strategy, harmony through righteousness is exactly this."

"We cannot block refugees, cannot kill gentlemen. They counted on the autumn hunt, and thus dared to act so openly, unafraid you and I would notice."

Jiang Wanjing said: "Still, Grand Tutor."

"If scholars leave Zhongzhou, the Imperial Academy will stand empty."

"Will the Master Jiankuang's battle come?"

Jiang Su whispered: "Yes."

Jiang Wanjing waved his hand: "Go."

Jiang Su bowed slightly, then vanished. Jiang Wanjing stared at the koi, murmuring: "Five thousand—such a vast number of scholars in a single state..."

"How many troops have come to the south?"

Fifty thousand Fire Qilin soldiers.

Yet five thousand full-spectrum officers trained in the classical style of the Imperial Academy.

Meaning, for every ten Fire Qilin soldiers, there is one leader who understands great principles, can observe celestial phenomena and geography to guide troop movements, possesses Second Heaven combat ability, excels in spear, bow, sword, chariot, and at least understands basic military formations.

He can comfort soldiers in despair, inspire morale when warriors are lost.

He can unify morale, enforce discipline.

He can handle battlefield strategy above, and tally spoils below.

In battle, he may even charge at the front.

And he possesses the pure ideals and fierce will forged by the Imperial Academy.

One such man for every ten Fire Qilin soldiers?

Extravagant. Extravagant!

Jiang Wanjing's cheek twitched.

Refugees, mass movements, scholars...

Jiang Wanxiang whispered: "The Fire Qilin Army is expanding."

At that moment, Jiang Wanxiang felt a pang of regret, and could not help but praise: "Li Guanyi is truly a wonder of the world."

Simultaneously, his murderous intent toward Li Guanyi, along with the regret and remorse over not having killed him that day in the palace, surged to an extreme—raising a tiger to become a future threat, to this very degree.

He felt his judgment had been right, and that he should have summoned the Imperial Guard, sending Jiang Su to lead the troops and fight the Master Jiankuang, then kill Li Guanyi. That day, when he had favored him, though he praised the young man's talent, it was also an expression of his own pride.

A young tiger cannot be underestimated.

Thinking of that day, Jiang Wanxiang clenched his teeth and slammed his thigh hard:

"Damn it! Frustrating!"

He slapped his own forehead: "If only he were a rogue!"

Looking at the pond, the aged emperor suddenly lost all interest in fishing. He swung the rod straight down and smashed it into the ground, then turned and stormed off: "Fishing? Is this even fishing? You're just raising fish!"

The attendant beside him asked in confusion: "Your Majesty, aren't you fishing anymore?"

Jiang Wanxiang, impatient and furious, flung his sleeve aside and said:

"Fishing, fishing—I'm done with it!"

"By the way, tonight we eat fish—everyone, top to bottom, all eat fish!"

"A full fish banquet!"

"One fish each—I want to eat the Fire Qilin fish!"

He kicked open the door, yet still couldn't help sighing: "If only my son could be like this."

Again, because of Li Guanyi, talent, territory, time, and public sentiment were all converging. Jiang Wanxiang had experienced this before, and he knew it was like wind rising and clouds gathering, a dragon riding the clouds into the heavens—unstoppable.

Again, praise, sigh, and murderous intent.

But no matter what, it was already too late. After grinding his teeth for a long while, he could only slam his thigh again.

Today, eat two extra Fire Qilin fish to ease my mood.

The scholars poured out in a dense swarm—how else could you describe scholars? Alone on the road is boring, so they always dragged along their dining companions, reading partners, drinking buddies, a vast, noisy crowd departing; the Imperial Academy never grew quiet.

Because the storm of the Jianghu had already begun.

Someone had leaked the news: the battle between the Master Jiankuang and Elder Murong was coming, right inside the Imperial Academy. Jianghu heroes, renowned masters—no doubt they would come. Then came the noble families, aristocrats, and imperial clans.

They too wished to see the Master Jiankuang's bearing.

It was said this man's sword qi was peerless, his movements sweeping and commanding—he had come to the Academy several times before, but back then the scholars were all present. Those duels were more like friendly exchanges, and ordinary outsiders could not enter, so they had never had the chance to watch.

This time was different: all the scholars had left. Jianghu heroes came and went. In this world, noble families and aristocrats also trained in martial arts, hiring famous Jianghu fighters. They practiced nothing but supreme Wu Gong, wielding fine weapons.

Yet as for the Jianghu itself, they had never truly seen it.

At most, they'd gather three or five friends, bring along some bold, bored Young Ladies, venture outside the city, hear of bandits on the road, hire a skilled fighter, and watch the bandits and guards clash in a noisy brawl. The Young Ladies watched nervously, the Young Masters' hearts pounding wildly—and they called that having seen the Jianghu.

But they didn't know that after returning, the guards and bandits would lean on each other's shoulders and split the profits fifty-fifty.

They'd bandage their wounds, curse the noble families for being inhuman.

Make plans for next time: you be the bandit, I'll be the bandit suppressor.

They'd get the money.

Then go to some secret brothel that kidnapped innocent girls, and sleep comfortably.

In the white snow, the black coal mine—none can claim to be clean.

The Jianghu, after all, is just like this.

This time, hearing that a great figure was coming, those who boasted they had already walked the Jianghu felt they too were Jianghu men, and must go see. Some even whispered inwardly: they said the Master Jiankuang's sword art was invincible—could he perhaps be recruited?

Thus, the Master Jiankuang, Elder Murong, personally led the horse and guarded.

To speak of it was indeed a boast-worthy matter.

These Jianghu men, noble sons—all came. Naturally, there were also vendors carrying shoulder poles. Today's vendor carried a pole, one side holding wrapped edamame, the other side wine—his stall. He walked back and forth along the Academy grounds.

Some Jianghu men tossed a few copper coins, bought some edamame to go with their drink and idle chat.

And earned their hard-earned coins.

For several days, the scholars gradually vanished from the Academy, yet the Master Jiankuang still did not appear. Some noble sons had already grown bored and left. Then the vendor saw an old man in blue robes walking over. The vendor glanced at his waist—no sword.

Only then did he relax, smiling warmly: "Old sir, you're here to watch the Jianghu duel too? I think the Master Jiankuang will arrive today. Why not sit in a cool spot, have a sip of wine, eat some edamame?"

The man in blue robes said: "Then bring a pot."

The vendor happily fetched a pot of watered-down wine. The wine was diluted—undiluted, he'd bleed profits. That's the rule of this trade. Wine drinkers, no matter how much water was added, would still curse—but if it wasn't watered, they'd say nothing, just drink until drunk.

All were accustomed to watered-down swill, unable to handle good wine.

He then brought some edamame. The wine was watered, but the edamame was homemade, excellent. The man in blue robes took the food, sipped the wine, chuckled, ate an edamame, and said: "Taste is good."

"My great-grandson would surely like..."

The old man's voice trailed off.

But the vendor was sharp-eyed. Seeing business, he wouldn't let it slip. He smiled: "Great-grandson? Old sir, you're still so robust—how old are you, may I ask?"

The man in blue robes smiled: "Forgotten. Long forgotten."

"But I'm about two hundred years old."

The vendor didn't believe him.

He just thought the old man was teasing him, and laughed: "Ha! Two hundred? People don't live that long—they'd be immortals by then! If your great-grandson isn't here, tell me where he is—I'll make extra and deliver it!"

The old man laughed: "Good. I'll tell you where to deliver it."

After naming the place, the old man took out some coins and placed them down, joking:

"My child is used to simplicity—I'll pay, as the elder."

The vendor, seeing this, accepted the coins and said warmly: "Your great-grandson is truly favored. No matter—our goods are always praised. If you want more later, just tell me—I'll deliver it to you." He hesitated, then added seriously:

"Our goods are good—better than the wine."

The old man in blue robes nodded, then walked forward.

The stallholder startled, shouldering his pole and tugging at the old man's sleeve. "Elder? Elder! You can't go any further—this whole area's been taken by martial heroes."

"A wine seller earlier got too close, his shouting disturbed a young master holding a miss—he had both legs broken and was thrown back to lie and wait for death. These aristocratic young masters don't play fair; it's only been quiet lately."

"I heard Jiangnan needs people, but I'm just a pickled bean seller—no skill to go there. Otherwise, with all this chaos here, I'd have left long ago."

"Elder! Elder!"

He pulled at the old man, but the blue-robed elder, though clearly seventy or eighty, possessed immense strength—the stallholder couldn't hold him back, and was dragged forward, his face pale as death, only to notice the martial heroes around him, dressed in grand attire and wielding divine weapons, glancing his way.

Their expressions changed—some startled, some shaken.

All of them rose, then bowed their heads low.

The stallholder was frozen in terror, speechless. The blue-robed elder finished his wine and spat: "Watered-down swill."

The stallholder stammered.

The blue-robed elder chuckled: "When I first entered the martial world, the wine I drank had more water than yours. Your martial world wine isn't pure at all—the water's too little."

The stallholder was beginning to understand. The blue-robed elder tossed aside his wine, casually plucked a willow branch from beside him, and calmly walked forward along the road flanked by martial elders.

As the willow branch touched the ground, an indescribable surge of energy roared outward, violently churning to both sides. The aristocratic youths who had come to watch the sword madman's duel, wondering how it differed from their own retainers' sparring, all fell to the ground at once.

The luxurious pavilions collapsed. The aristocratic youths tumbled and crawled, faces ashen, unaware their held misses had fallen to the ground. The gathering of martial elders—unmatched in the past eight hundred years and unmatched in the next eight hundred—drew their weapons in unison.

Masters joined hands, heroes rose together; the dragon roared, the tiger bellowed. One by one, their inner qi-formed forms shimmered into visible shapes, filling the sky—dragons soared, tigers roared, all creation vast and empty, as if returning to the age of ancient myths: magnificent, boundless, awe-inspiring.

The stallholder stared dumbfounded ahead.

In every tale, this battle, recorded in all Wudao Sect lineages, began with the blue-robed elder's quiet words—he carried the willow branch in one hand, stepping forward through the roaring of countless inner qi-forms, his blue robe stirring gently:

"Elder Murong Longtu has roamed the martial world for two hundred years, undefeated. I'm tired."

"Elder Murong Longtu has come today to seek this battle."

"I seek only defeat."

"Or—"

The elder raised his willow branch and said:

"Defeat the entire martial world."