Chapter 340

Xue Daoyong, a hero who had survived chaotic times and single-handedly cleansed the Western Regions, felt his head buzz when he saw these words.

It was like when he was young and his Wu Gong was weak, venturing into the desert lands of the Tangut kingdom, gasping for breath, lying atop a donkey—after a long while, he slowly came back to himself.

Xue Daoyong blinked, staring at the letter.

Then he rubbed his eyes, examining that single line with meticulous care.

He turned it over, tilted it sideways.

He felt this short line was, in truth, endlessly long.

The more he looked, the more depth it held, the more profound its mystery became; the old man grinned, his lips stretching nearly to his ears, murmuring: "A Grandmaster—how old is he now?"

Xue Shuangtao said: "He is seventeen."

Xue the Elder glanced at his granddaughter: "Seventeen, Grandmaster Realm."

"That means at least Heavy Heaven Realm seventh tier—seventeen years old, seventh tier among the forty-seven famed generals of the realm, with at least ten thousand command ability—truly, the younger generation is awe-inspiring, awe-inspiring…"

A complex expression crossed Xue the Elder's face as he sighed deeply:

"Truly, a Fire Qilin of chaotic times."

"In time, once he fully masters the power of the Grandmaster Realm, I fear I will no longer be his match—no, even now, if he were to lead troops into battle, I could not face him."

Xue Daoyong said:

"Shuangtao, should he ever bully you in the future, Grandpa won't be able to back you up."

Xue Shuangtao flushed crimson: "Grandpa, what are you saying?!"

The girl finally reverted to her childhood demeanor, giving Xue Daoyong's shin a light kick in protest; Xue Daoyong burst into loud laughter: "Today, since Guanyi sent word, just go rest well."

Xue Daoyong rose and walked out calmly, tucking the letter into his sleeve, composed and still; he rarely returned home, yet in court, people always asked him about Li Guanyi—even some proposed allying with Li Guanyi against the State of Ying.

Xue Daoyong always steered the conversation elsewhere, or deliberately claimed Li Guanyi was incompetent—a mere boy, blessed only with great fortune; any noble's son could have achieved such feats, and so on.

Then in his heart he added: your families' drunken sacks and twisted, useless brats.

As for spending gold like water, they far surpass my own Fire Qilin.

Other directions?

Ha—

Today, Xue Daoyong walked calmly through the Xue household, dressed in ordinary clothes, visited the chief Physician of Huichun Hall in Yicheng for a drink, and upon returning, told his coachman Zhao Da Bing to inform the tailoring shop's Manager Qu and others:

Give everyone in the Xue household a one-month salary increase.

Zhao Da Bing beamed: "Huh? Master, is there some great good fortune today?"

Xue Daoyong smiled faintly: "Nothing much—just saw how hard you've worked, and I wanted to give you a little extra." Then, with wide sleeves and flowing robes, he walked calmly down the corridor, returning to his quarters amid the astonished and reverent gazes of all.

He shut the door.

Xue Daoyong clenched his fist, threw his head back, and roared with silent laughter, his shoes flying off.

A storm of emotions surged within him: the elder's joy at a junior's growth, the warrior's exhilaration at seeing a youth catch up to him, and the gambler's intoxicating triumph of having placed a heavy bet—and won—proof of his own sharp eye among the heroes of the realm!

All heroes of the realm have a gambler's heart!

Previously, Li Guanyi had one flaw: his personal Wu Gong was not among the top tier of the age.

Now, that flaw is gone.

Ha!

The momentum—has been forged!

………………

The desert of the Western Regions stretched vast and boundless.

Banners flapped fiercely; the wind swept across the land, carrying a chilling, deadly edge.

The aura of slaughter grew heavier.

Five thousand Qie Xie troops encircled the Great Flag Camp—elite warriors of the Western Regions, their gazes sharp and lethal; every thousand men had a deputy general of Heavy Heaven Realm third tier.

The commanding general was of Heavy Heaven Realm sixth tier—

This was the standard by which one could stand alone among different powers: sixth tier, a warrior with one-in-ten-thousand talent, ferocious and bold, who, with resources and steady cultivation, mastered military strategy, reaching this level around forty.

In single combat, he could match any top-tier martial artist of the Jianghu.

When leading troops, his battle aura shifted and surged—even a Grandmaster would avoid his sharp edge. Now, he had come here to subdue one man: the commander. Che Li Ji drank water, his gaze calm, fixed on the Jianghu Sect Sect.

Che Li Ji, one of the three great generals of the Qiang.

On the List of World Generals, he ranked eighty-something.

This list encompassed the entire Western Regions, the Central Plains' Chen State, the Ying State, the Jiangnan region, the grasslands, and Saibei—all warriors capable of war and conquest; those who made the list were all mighty generals. Spread thin, perhaps only a few such men existed across the vast lands of the Western Thirty-Six Tribes.

A common tribe might not produce even one famed general.

Yet the Great Flag Camp was merely a secluded sect of a hundred or so people; adding laborers and hired commoners with no martial skill, the total was barely two hundred, many of whom were only second tier, with few even reaching third tier.

The camp's leader was an old man of fifth tier.

He wielded a long spear—fine in Jianghu brawls, but against an army formation, he'd be crushed in a single charge.

The Great Flag Camp was, in truth, an old Jianghu sect—five hundred years ago, when Xue Shen shattered the Western Buddhist kingdoms, it already existed, then located in Saibei; back then, the camp's spear-and-banner lord had clashed with Xue Shen and lost.

That great sect suffered a broken lineage and scattered disciples; one branch eventually drifted to the Western Regions, gradually losing its ancestral glory. In truth, today it was merely a second-tier Jianghu faction.

Che Li Ji, as Left Grand General of the Qiang King, led five thousand elite Qie Xie troops to personally crush this tiny sect of barely a hundred—yet the reason was only one:

"The Divine Archer General…"

Once ranked twenty-seventh on the Divine General List.

Capable of holding back an entire vanguard army alone.

Possessing over thirty thousand command ability.

The Divine Archer General·Wang Shunchen.

Che Li Ji still remembered that time—he was merely a deputy general when the Qiang rebelled against Chen multiple times; once, taking advantage of Tai Ping Gong's main force being away, they planned to continue "plundering the fields" and marched south to raid.

But at that time, the strategist of the Tai Ping Army, Dan Tai Xianming, saw through their tactics and deliberately left one man behind—the garrison commander was Wang Shunchen.

One man shot three thousand arrows in a single day.

He killed two thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven men.

The remaining three arrows were his habit, called the Three Lifetimes of Life and Death.

When those three arrows struck the ground, if the enemy stubbornly continued to pursue,

then do not blame him for unleashing his full fury.

He moved with extreme speed, wielding a longbow of solid dark gold, faintly stained with bloodstains; each arrow released made the bowstring hum like a gale rushing forth, and every victim spewed blood and died—he alone held off an entire vanguard army's charge.

They could only avoid this terrifying edge, detouring to regroup behind the mountain.

As he gazed at the sky and chatted idly about his homeland, he heard a piercing cry—his friend beside him suddenly had his head explode; he turned to see a straight, hollow hole carved into the blood-smeared rock.

The arrow pierced through the thick mountain rock and precisely detonated the Qiang warrior's head.

The wind whistling through the hollow in the rock sounded like a flute, yet for some reason, it carried a faint, ghostly wail—a flute-like sound that echoed throughout his life like an unending nightmare.

The world plunged into chaos; warlords rose across the Western Regions, and the Qiang also possessed the aura of kings.

But they resolved to eradicate this disgrace of the Qiang—that was why this battle was waged.

Che Li Ji drank water and saw that the Great Flag Fort had barricaded its front with palisades and shut its massive gates; atop the earthen ramparts stood warriors gripping long spears, their expressions taut as they watched the outside.

Che Li Ji shouted loudly: "General Divine Shot, we have long been under your grace; we hope today we may meet you once more, to reminisce about old times—please do not refuse our goodwill."

"We also hope you will join our King's ranks as a great general."

His voice boomed.

Yet the five thousand Qie Xie troops remained perpetually beyond the range of this general, who commanded no troops, a sixth-tier Heaven master; they were specially equipped with shields, and even facing a minor Jianghu Sect Sect, Che Li Ji chose not to charge head-on.

Instead, he opted for a cautious siege, cutting off all food and supplies within the fort, sowing discord among its defenders.

The lingering prestige of the General Divine Shot was too great.

Che Li Ji dared not bring his troops within the General's striking range.

Che Li Ji's shouts received no reply.

But his cultivation and perception could hear the ceaseless bickering inside the fort; on his copper-hued face appeared a faint smile of triumph.

Days passed—this small fort, poor and reliant solely on escorting merchant caravans for income, could not possibly stockpile as much grain as noble families; this time was more than enough to exhaust their reserves.

"Ha! My scheme is about to succeed!"

"A tiny fort, with no reinforcements…"

Che Li Ji paused, then frowned, feeling such words were ill-omened; he quickly smoothed his brow: "A discarded war general, a master who has fallen from grace and lost his heart—only Tai Ping Gong could awaken him."

"But the Tai Ping Army is long gone."

"Tai Ping Gong has been dead for over a decade."

"How could that be possible?"

"How could the dead rise again—and just as I encounter them?!"

………………

"What do we do!"

"No good—these people are watching us too closely; if we leave, we'll be shot down by cavalry scouts, but the food and water inside the fort are already gone—we won't last a few more days."

"Even now we're all hungry; in a few more days, we won't have the strength to hold our spears."

"You want to hold your spear? Outside are the elite troops of the Western Regions."

"A hundred or so of us—just these few. You're second-tier Heaven. Outside, every Qie Xie captain is second-tier Heaven too, armored and armed with bows. Here, even three or five second-tier Heaven Jianghu road-folk together might not defeat a single captain within a grand formation."

"Then what do we do!"

"Just sit here and wait to die?!"

Inside the Great Flag Fort, there was growing unrest; everyone knew the disaster came because of the guest master—the one with the highest martial arts skill in the entire fort, who spent his days drunk.

"General Divine Shot"? No one reacted at first; time is merciless—twenty years have passed since the General Divine Shot's golden age; twenty years, how many new faces replaced the old, how many famed generals rose atop the bones of their predecessors.

Aside from generals like Tai Ping Gong, destined to be etched in history, all others' names gradually fade.

They debated whether to hand over the guest master.

Someone asked what he was doing; a clever child peeked and saw the man still drinking, so he reported as such. Someone muttered: "We can't die because of him…"

"What if we slip him a sleeping potion in his wine and send him out?!"

The old fort master flew into a rage: "Who said that!!!"

Everyone fell silent.

The old fort master's beard and hair bristled; he grabbed a man, dragged him out, and slapped him hard across the face: "To betray your own? Are you still a Jianghu person? Do you no longer know the meaning of 'righteousness'?!"

Then he pointed at them: "Each of you committed grave crimes in your homeland, endured countless hardships to flee, and here, outside, are Western barbarians—your homes won't take you back, so you banded together."

"When you came in, you all swore only to find a place to settle, to never dig into each other's pasts—so now, when trouble comes to your door, the guest master holds his bow and clears it for you, and when he's in danger, you plan to throw him out to save yourselves?!"

"There is no such logic!"

Someone objected: "Our trouble doesn't warrant a sixth-tier Heaven master leading five thousand iron cavalry…"

The old fort master roared: "But your trouble could still kill you easily!"

"Dying beneath ten thousand hooves, or pierced through the heart—it's all death."

"What difference does it make?!"

"Jianghu sons and daughters? It's just death for death, retribution for retribution!"

The crowd fell quiet, but a sense of resentment lingered.

The old fort master felt weary; the Jianghu of today was nothing like the Jianghu of his youth—it left him disheartened.

Wang Shunchen heard the voices outside; he no longer cared.

He merely gazed from the fort's heights at the desert scenery beyond, at the thousands of cavalry—this day, too, they had not attacked; without realizing it, another day passed, and the bright moon rose into the sky.

Wang Shunchen had been drinking, stumbling through the last drop, then threw the flask aside and staggered toward the bed, legs giving out as he collapsed onto the floor.

The room was pitch black.

Seemingly dazed from drink, he sat there motionless for a long while, then leaned forward and spotted a box; he reached out, curled his fingers, and pulled out the dusty box.

Wang Shunchen exhaled, blew away the dust, slapped it clean, then raised his left hand to the table, rubbed it lightly, gripped the oil lamp, struck the flint several times, and barely managed to light it.

He was in the desert night.

He opened the box in silence; inside lay a disassembled set of armor—he had discarded the Emperor's blessed armor when he left, but kept his own armor from the Tai Ping Army.

He reached out to touch the armor, peering at it by lamplight in his drunken haze; the armor was plain, lacking the mystic grandeur of the Emperor's blessed armor. Wang Shunchen closed his eyes, unsure if drunk or awake, yet still seeing the Tai Ping Army camp, hearing familiar voices.

The sound of armor clinking, swords unsheathing.

Boom!!!

Wang Shunchen's heart pounded hard; he stripped off his rogue's robe, donned once more the familiar, alien armor, and stood there now like a familiar general.

He tied back his disheveled hair with a headband and said calmly:

"Commander, I return to your banner. In this battle, I will not sully the name of the Tai Ping Army. If these five thousand want my life, then I will show them!"

He reached out, gripped the war bow, and the bowstring shrieked violently.

In the eyes of this man, whose heart had died for over a decade and whose life had lain in ruin for so long, fierce flames reignited; the bow shrieked, and behind him materialized a colossal flying-eagle spiritual form, warping the surrounding void—men, even unto death, remain iron-hearted.

The Divine Archer General never returned to the Master realm; Tai Ping Gong was dead.

He had his own way of dying.

At dawn the next day, Cheleji planned to charge the camp, but the gate suddenly opened; Cheleji frowned slightly, seeing only one man emerge from within.

Dressed in gleaming silver armor, over which flowed a crimson Fire Qilin battle robe, cinched at the waist with a beast-mouthed rhinoceros-horn belt, gripping a bow that could shoot mountains, slay tigers, and pierce the moon, holding a spear as thick as a wrist, its blade cold and sharp with patterned steel—only this one man stepped out, his gaze falling calmly.

Cheleji instinctively tugged his reins tight.

He stared at this familiar nightmare, at the white streaks in the man's temples.

"Wang Shunchen…"

"He's grown old."

Curses echoed from the camp, but Wang Shunchen moved his wrist, jabbed the spear backward to brace the gate, severed the side mechanisms, locked the gate shut, snatched his bow, condensed qi into weapons, and fired once—killing a traitor who had sneaked out to open the gate and let the cavalry in, pinning him to the earth.

The stench of blood spread; Wang Shunchen stared ahead and said:

"Five thousand Qie Xue soldiers. Good. Very good."

"It fits my way of dying!"

Cheleji roared without hesitation: "CHARGE!!!"

Instantly they formed their formation, but in the very moment their energies linked, three arrows spun forth, piercing the gaps in the army's energy flow.

The three arrows pierced the sole weak point, entering through the eye slits of the Qie Xue soldiers' masks, striking their brains; with only a muffled groan, three soldiers collapsed right in the formation—exquisitely precise, shattering the charge's momentum.

Wang Shunchen leapt into the air; the aura of the Sixth Heaven Realm pierced the battle line, his knee slammed into the raised shield of a Qie Xue soldier, his brow sharp as a falcon's, the bowstring shrieked again—and three more fully armored cavalrymen fell.

A single battle general, hair streaked white, no longer young, clad in armor long abandoned by time, laughed wildly as he launched a suicidal charge against five thousand iron cavalry—his appearance dreadfully grim and solemn.

"Hahahahaha!"

"Under Commander Li Wanli of the Tai Ping Army, the Assault Hundred-Protect Camp—Wang Shunchen!"

He was alone.

He had no mount.

"Come and meet your end!"

The old camp lord wanted to rush out to help, but the mechanisms were locked; he leapt down, only to have his weapon severed by a single arrow. The old lord stared at that lone figure fighting—Wang Shunchen, drunk for years, still displayed terrifying prowess.

Facing a formed army, facing a famed general, he still launched the offensive.

Avoid the solid, strike the hollow.

The old lord stared, transfixed, at the horrific charge: Wang Shunchen had slain over a dozen cavalrymen before being surrounded; wounds covered his body, yet he grew more exhilarated—Divine Archer, invincible; with bow in hand, who dared approach?

One man. Foot combat.

Facing five thousand Qie Xue cavalry led by a Sixth Heaven Realm general.

He had killed over a hundred.

Cheleji's expression darkened; he ordered the formation to open: "Shoot!"

All Qie Xue cavalry formed a petal-like encirclement around Wang Shunchen, then raised their steel short spears in unison, coldly pointing them at Wang Shunchen.

In that instant, the killing aura grew so thick it crushed hope; Cheleji stared at this nightmare of decades, this legend of the world, thinking: Today is your end, Divine Archer General.

Go well!

Cheleji slashed his war blade downward: "The Tai Ping Army is dead!!!"

"FIRE!!!"

Over four thousand short spears rained down upon Wang Shunchen's position.

Each infused with inner qi.

A full-area annihilation, the air saturated with lethal energy, interwoven.

Wang Shunchen yanked his war bow wide, firing furiously while moving his body; his arrows flew, spun, struck some of the spears, redirecting their paths so they collided midair.

The Qiang formation shattered!

Wang Shunchen's eyes widened, veins red in his pupils.

In one instant, he saw the flaw—even if his body stood alone, even if only one remained.

He would still be the Tai Ping Army's final general, its final soldier.

Where he stood, the Tai Ping Army still lived.

Cheleji's pupils contracted—he saw the man leap from the formation, the colossal falcon spiritual form flapping its wings, eyes blazing like fire, just as in the old days; Wang Shunchen's body bore wounds torn by the formation, yet his gaze locked unswervingly onto Cheleji.

As he broke through the formation, he closed the distance—and released his grip.

Arrows shot forth in a barrage!

Che Li Ji roared, channeling deadly aura into himself, concentrating the deadly aura of over four thousand iron cavalry, and slashed down with his blade—shattering Wang Shunchen's arrows, then crashing downward; Wang Shunchen fell back into the mortal world once more.

He was alone now, without his iron troops, without city walls to protect him—he could not defeat this Qiang army, yet neither could the fortress hold them. As a war general, he should die on the battlefield, not drag others down with him.

The war blade struck the bow.

This artifact-grade war bow was split in two.

A single man had slain nearly two hundred mounted warriors, shattered their battle formation, yet was still disarmed by his equal in rank—this was a terrifying feat on the battlefield.

Wang Shunchen could only release his force, rolled to the ground, gasped for breath—his war bow was ruined, his qi meridians damaged. He thought: today is the day I must die. He lowered his gaze in calmness, recalling the general who once rode the battlefield wearing a dark-gold mask.

He discarded his bow and arrow, drew the sword at his waist.

"Great Commander, your subordinate today—"

"Returns to your banner…"

Yet at that moment, the thunderous pounding of hooves sounded, like rolling thunder.

Che Li Ji brought his blade down.

But a streak of light shot forth, striking Che Li Ji's blade upward.

A black long spear landed before Wang Shunchen. Wang Shunchen froze, eyes wide—he spun around and saw the Qiang cavalry parting like waves, swords clashing, roars exploding, hooves thundering.

Amid the shriek of a war halberd piercing the air, several Qishan riders were flung into the air by the haft of a swung halberd, crashing to the ground. A war general entered with an almost regal bearing, one hand gripping a sword, the other a halberd, his battle robe billowing.

He looked up.

Wang Shunchen's eyes widened instantly—his heart was struck in an instant.

On his face was a dark-gold mask.

Surge after surge, from his dreams, from the lingering valor of his campaigns across the land, came rushing forth—Wang Shunchen stood frozen, not knowing why, only staring as the warhorse charged, veered sharply, and blocked before him.

That back was towering, the halberd held against the ground, the dark-gold mask streaked with blood.

Ripples stirred in the void—the Fire Qilin's divine form appeared.

Wang Shunchen stood dazed, as if someone had tapped his shoulder; the Divine Archer General instinctively turned—was it drunkenness, or delirium? He seemed to see the Great Commander, smiling, walking past him in battle robes.

Dream, mortal world, battlefield—finally resolved into a clear voice.

The halberd pointed forward.

The voice spoke his name in the same manner.

"Son of Tai Ping Gong Li Wanli—Li Guanyi."

"Come to answer the challenge!"

The Qiang war general's face changed instantly.

This identity should not appear here. To reveal it now meant the five thousand elite Qiang cavalry faced what lay ahead. Wang Shunchen stood silently, watching Li Guanyi, who extended his hand—the battle robe fell away.

And at the very edge of his sleeve's extension—

The hooves sounded like a tidal wave; yellow dust rose in the distance.

Ten thousand mounted archers!

Waiting here.

In Li Guanyi's hand appeared a bow, upon which hung a rank token.

He had been facing away from the general with streaks of gray at his temples, now turned sideways, spoke without asking why, without mentioning the past—only smiled and asked one question.

One quiet sentence, yet bold and fierce amid ten thousand troops.

"General, though old, can you still fight?!"

? 4:30 a. m., but finally finished work. Goodnight, everyone.

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