Chapter 4: Li Guanyi

“Hurry, hurry!”

“Faster!”

The pitch-black warhorse galloped through the lightless night, shattering the rain ahead; Li Guanyi slowly stirred from drowsiness, as if waking from a vast dream—before his eyes still lingered the blurred glow of a computer screen, then he felt a searing pain in his chest, as though his entire body had plunged into an ice cave, trembling with agony.

He immediately realized his body had shrunk, nearly to the size of an infant; a woman rode hard atop a galloping steed, carrying him, and as the dark clouds above parted, he strained to lift his head, peering through the cloth wrapped around him, catching moonlight’s glow on the distance—and instinctively shuddered—

Far off, a squad of cavalry clad in ancient armor stood silent, halting their mounts.

The towering warhorses stood over two meters tall at the head, exhaling plumes of white vapor that made leaves tremble; the riders wore full iron armor, helmets covering their faces entirely, their right-side armor adorned with arrow-sleeves bearing fine white cloud patterns.

Stern and silent, the clouds slowly closed in again, leaving only faint starlight; rain poured down, striking their armor and spraying fine droplets, glimmering like a faint halo around them beneath the stars.

Fully armored cavalry.

“Chen Guo’s Night Gallop Cavalry.”

Li Guanyi heard a voice at his ear, but it was instantly torn apart by a piercing shriek—before his eyes flashed the shape of a white tiger; he felt his body flung upward, and the next instant, the galloping warhorse’s hooves were severed by a brilliant beam of light.

Amid a shrill, agonized neigh, the woman rolled off the steed, clutching him.

Holding the infant, she rolled on the ground, turning her back toward the armored cavalrymen who had drawn their heavy bows.

“Little Cat…”

Ten thousand arrows pierced the air.

Fell.

Clang! “Little Pharmacist, snap out of it.”

In the tenth year of Tianqi, inside the largest herbal shop in Yicheng, Chen Guo.

An old man tapped his knuckles on the table, as if slicing through the storm of arrows; Li Guanyi snapped back from memory, slowly raising his head. Sunlight fell on his face; an elderly woman stood before him, requesting several herbs. Li Guanyi offered an apologetic smile and replied.

He took the prescription, turned, and opened the herbal cabinet.

Seeing the young pharmacist finally begin grinding herbs, the old woman ceased her urging, instead studying the boy with the piercing gaze of age—he was thirteen, taller than most boys his age, his face slightly sallow, yet his brows clear, his eyes bright.

And word had it he was skilled in numerology and medicine. Hmm.

A good child.

Too bad his family had no able-bodied men—only a gravely ill aunt.

What a pity…

Still, he’s a fine lad to ‘market’ to the other girls.

What was his name again… Li Yi?

Or Li Da?

The old woman pondered.

Unaware she had quietly added him to the gossip circle beneath the big locust tree at the crossroads, Li Guanyi swiftly measured the herbs, calculated the price, and handed them over, wearing the warm smile typical of a boy his age.

That smile was truly lovely; the old woman promptly moved him up several places on her internal list of [Suitable Boys to Recommend], and finally remembered his name.

Like Zhang San, Li Si, Zheng Er, Wang Wu.

Li Yi.

Yet someone had unknowingly added a stroke—suddenly lifting him out from among these common names.

Li Guanyi.

Yes, his name was Li Guanyi—a good child.

The old woman took the herbs, smiled, and inquired whether he was betrothed; satisfied with the answer, she turned and walked out. The old woman pushed open the carved wooden door; sunlight spread before her, falling upon the blue stone pavement, pedestrians passing by. Carriages rolled swiftly along the ruts in the street, their curtains fluttering in the wind—inside, either a scholar in robes, or a beautiful woman in thin gauze skirts, holding a light silk fan to her lips.

According to the calculations of the great emperor of Zhongzhou, this was the tenth year of Tianqi.

But no one cared for him now.

The realm had been divided for three hundred years.

Chen Guo held the southern lands of East Continent—lush rivers, beautiful scenery, refined culture, lovely women, splendid landscapes.

Though defeated over ten years ago in conflict with Xuan Guo.

Yet it had produced the famed general Xiao Wuliang, who charged with seven horsemen and shook the world.

Yicheng was extremely close to Chen Guo’s capital, Jiangzhou—just a day’s ride by horse—naturally bustling and prosperous. Li Guanyi’s gaze returned from the scene outside, rubbing his temples; perhaps it was the warm autumn afternoon, and the sunlight made his spirit lazy.

He recalled again the events of ten years ago.

At shift change, Li Guanyi slowly walked to the back room of the shop, removed his thick blue robe, and, seeing no one around, pulled open his inner tunic to look inside—on his chest, a small, invisible-to-others mark shaped like a tripod, covered in blue-iron kui-dragon patterns, fish and bird motifs, its interior glowing with crimson radiance.

Around his heart, thick black lines converged like grotesque, twisting venomous snakes, dancing around a bonfire, forming a chilling contrast against his pale skin—grotesque, horrifying, like an ancient blood sacrifice from the wilds of antiquity.

Ancient, crude.

Wild, bloody.

This was poison—deadly poison, or perhaps some cursed witchcraft.

This affliction was the lingering aftermath of the event ten years ago; it was this poison that awakened the bronze tripod, shattering his fetal veil and granting adult consciousness to a two-year-old child; it was also the bronze tripod that suppressed the poison—though it flared periodically, drenching him in sweat, driving him to want to bash his head against the wall, yet he still lived.

But lately, the poison’s outbreaks had grown more frequent.

Over these ten years, his aunt had taken him to countless physicians—none could cure it; it was clear he would die in agony before reaching adulthood.

Li Guanyi’s expression darkened.

Outside, a sudden clamor erupted.

Li Guanyi glanced again at the tripod—its jade liquid now about eight-tenths full.

Even knowing that staring at it wouldn’t make it surge, he still couldn’t help checking.

For now, he could only hope that the bronze tripod, which had suppressed the poison for a decade, would change once its jade liquid filled completely—ideally, dissolving all the poison within him. He had, just a month and a half ago, finally discerned how the jade liquid accumulated.

The noise outside grew louder; Li Guanyi frowned, wondering if a customer had arrived at this hour. He changed clothes, slung the blue satchel around his waist, hanging a water gourd beside it, then stepped out, lifting the curtain and saying: “Uncle Chen, what’s—”

His voice cut off abruptly.

Boom!! A dull sound, as if a fist had clenched every throat in the room.

The three martial artists employed by the shop flew through the air like rag sacks, crashing hard against the wall beside Li Guanyi, then falling heavily, spitting blood, faces pale, eyes wide with terror.

“!!!”

The shop’s door was kicked apart—the carved wooden panels flew through the air and slammed into the wall.

A burly man strode forward, wearing a hero’s headband, a parrot-green oblique-front robe, a metal belt around his waist, and a waist saber; he seized the collar of the young boy, Li Guanyi, who had just been crouching beside the wounded, lifting him into the air, his tiger-like eyes sweeping the room, roaring:

“How dare you harbor a wanted criminal of the court!!”

“Do you not fear death?!”

Li Guanyi was hoisted into the air, gasping, face flushed; his gaze stretched beyond the door, where a young scholar on horseback sat calmly—his waist adorned with a sword, his eyes level and steady as they watched the boy choking in the man’s grip; on his right sleeve, ink-black fabric hung down, covered in fine cloud patterns.

Just like that lightless rain-soaked night ten years ago.

(End of Chapter)