Chapter 4: Li Guanyi

"Quick, quick!"

"Faster!"

The pitch-black warhorse galloped through the lightless night, shattering the rain curtain ahead; Li Guanyi slowly stirred awake, as if emerging from a vast dream, the faint glow of a computer screen still lingering in his vision—then he felt a searing pain in his chest, as if his entire body had plunged into an ice cave, trembling from the agony.

He immediately realized his body had shrunk, nearly child-sized; a woman rode a swift horse, carrying him as they raced onward. The dark clouds above parted, and he strained to lift his head, peering through the clothing wrapped around him, catching the moonlight's glow on the distant horizon—and instinctively shivered.

Far off, a unit of cavalry clad in ancient armor stood motionless.

The towering warhorses stood over two meters tall at the withers, their breath steaming white and making leaves tremble; the riders wore full iron armor, helmets covering their faces entirely, their right-side armor hanging with arrow sleeves adorned with fine white cloud patterns.

Stern and silent, the dark clouds slowly closed in again, leaving only faint starlight; rain poured down, striking their armor and spraying fine droplets, as if a faint glow encircled them beneath the stars.

Fully armored cavalry.

"Chen Kingdom's night gallop cavalry."

Li Guanyi heard a voice at his ear—then it was torn apart by a shrill, piercing sound; before his eyes appeared the shape of a Bai Hu—he felt his body suddenly flung upward, and the next instant, the galloping warhorse's hooves were severed by a brilliant beam of light.

Amid a horrific neigh, the woman rolled off the raging steed, clutching him.

She held the infant, rolled on the ground, and turned 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 pharmacy in Yicheng, Chen Kingdom.

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

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

Seeing the young pharmacist finally begin preparing the 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 but his brows clear and his eyes bright.

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

A good child.

Too bad his household had no able-bodied men—only a seriously ill aunt.

What a pity…

Still, he's a decent enough 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 out 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 spots on her internal list of 【Suitable Boys to Recommend】, and 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 of 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 latticed wooden door; sunlight spread before her, falling on the blue stone pavement, pedestrians passing by. Carriages rolled swiftly along the ruts in the street, their curtains fluttering in the wind—inside sat scholars in Confucian robes, or beautiful women in thin silk gowns, holding delicate silk fans to conceal their lips.

According to the calculations of the Great Emperor of Zhongzhou, this was the tenth year of Tianqi.

But no one cared about him now.

The realm had been divided for three hundred years.

The Chen Kingdom held the southern Jiang region of East Continent—lush with water, grass, and beauty, famed for its literary culture, beautiful women, and scenic splendor.

Though it had been defeated over a decade ago in conflict with Xuan Kingdom.

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

Yicheng was extremely close to the Chen capital, Jiangzhou—reachable in a single day by fast horse—and thus thrived with bustle and prosperity. Li Guanyi's gaze returned from the scene outside, and he rubbed his temples; perhaps it was an autumn afternoon, the sunlight warm, making the mind drowsy.

He recalled again the events of ten years ago.

At shift change, Li Guanyi slowly walked to the back room of the pharmacy, removed his thick blue long robe, and, seeing no one around, pulled open his inner shirt to look inside—on his chest was a small, invisible-to-others mark shaped like a tripod, covered in blue-iron Gui dragon patterns, with fish and bird motifs; inside the tripod, crimson light flowed.

Around his heart, black lines converged like serpents, writhing and dancing like flames around a bonfire, forming a grotesque contrast against his pale skin—horrifying, like an ancient barbaric blood sacrifice from the distant past.

Ancient, rugged.

Barbaric and bloody.

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

This affliction was the lingering effect of the event ten years ago; it was this poison that awakened the bronze tripod, shattering his fetal amnesia and granting his 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 and driving him to wish for death, he still lived.

But lately, the poison's outbreaks had grown increasingly frequent.

Over the past decade, his aunt had taken him to countless physicians, yet none could cure it; it was clear he would die of agony before reaching adulthood.

Li Guanyi's expression darkened slightly.

Outside, a sudden commotion arose.

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

Even though he knew staring wouldn't make it surge suddenly, he still couldn't help checking again.

For now, he could only hope that the bronze tripod, which had suppressed the poison for ten years, would change once its jade liquid filled completely—ideally, dissolving all the poison within him. He had finally figured out, a month and a half ago, 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, attached a water gourd to it, then stepped out, lifting the curtain and saying, "Uncle Chen, what's—"

His voice cut off abruptly.

Boom!! A muffled sound, as if a fist had clamped shut every throat in the world.

The three martial men hired by the pharmacy were sent flying like a torn sack, slamming heavily into the wall beside Li Guanyi, then crashing down hard, coughing up fresh blood, their faces pale, terror in their eyes.

"!!!"

The pharmacy's door was kicked to splinters in one stomp, and the carved wooden door that fell flew through the air and slammed straight into the wall.

A burly man with a hero's kerchief tied around his head, dressed in a parrot-green slanted-collar long robe, an iron belt around his waist, a saber hanging at his hip, strode forward with menacing momentum, reached out with one hand and grabbed the collar of the youth Li Guanyi who had just been crouching beside the wounded, hoisted him into the air on the spot, swept his tiger-like gaze across the surroundings, and bellowed:

"What nerve—harboring a criminal wanted by the court!!!"

"Not afraid of dying, are you?!"

Li Guanyi was lifted up, struggling to breathe, his face flushed red. His gaze looked into the distance and saw a young scholar riding a fine horse outside the door. This youth wore a sword at his waist, his eyes calm as they regarded the young man being choked, gasping for breath. His right sleeve was ink-black, hanging down, covered all over with fine, dense cloud patterns.

Just like that lightless rainy night ten years ago.

(End of chapter)