Chapter 467: Hero!

Winter deepened, the forest leaves rustled bleakly.

In the northern lands, the western regions—needless to say—were all called harsh and frigid by the people of the Central Plains; at this time of year, snow fell in swirling flakes, and the warm breath exhaled from speaking turned instantly into thick white mist.

In smaller towns farther south, the days grew colder too; when there was no wind, it was bearable—the sun on the skin still offered a faint warmth.

But once the wind rose, it cut like cold knives, slicing into people's clothes.

People instinctively pulled their garments tighter to ward off the chill, yet these past days had been far more tolerable than in previous years: new policies had arrived, bringing woolen garments woven from western wool.

For some reason, the prices were remarkably low—excellent quality, affordable.

The townsfolk had all changed into these garments; once, they had thought changing a town lord, changing the head above them, made no real difference—but now, one reform after another, these warm, cheap clothes, the gradually built public schools—

Only then did these generations-long residents feel something had truly changed.

This morning, Zhao Laoqi exhaled a puff of breath, ate something to fill his stomach, put on his new clothes, opened the door, stepped into the cold wind to buy goods, and saw the children running off to the public school to study and train in martial arts—he suddenly felt this life was quite good.

Ahead, he met a woman; Zhao Laoqi instantly straightened up, smoothed his clothes, combed back the stray hairs on his forehead, then smiled: "Miss Yu, you're early today."

Miss Yu smiled in return, chatted for a few moments, then departed.

Zhao Laoqi watched her back, filled with admiration, yet dared not approach.

This small town had few people; several years ago, this girl arrived, always dressed in dark-colored garments, her hands covered by leather gloves that spanned the entire palm, the sleeves hanging down to conceal her arms.

It seemed her arms had once suffered some injury, so she refused to reveal them, fearing she would frighten others; the townsfolk, kind-hearted, never spoke of it.

Yet some reckless youths, seeing her beauty, would speak foolishly, insisting on seeing her arms—until the town elders swung their canes, beating them from east to west, screaming and wailing; after that, no one dared say such things again.

The girl had a very strange name.

Yu Junyue.

A rare surname.

But it was said she had chosen it herself.

In this small town, where people were few and life quiet, her arrival had stirred ripples and change; here, she lived with an old man.

The old man in his black robe often traveled abroad; the girl became the town's Physician, treating the townsfolk's illnesses and teaching willing children music and literacy.

Later, the Qin Wang's policies reached here.

A Captain, clad in black armor and crimson battle robe, arrived, gathered the townsfolk, proclaimed the new policies, dragged out the town's former elites one by one, and made the people recount their wrongs.

Afterward, the public school opened and children came to learn reading and writing; at that time, Miss Yu arrived to teach medicine and characters; her guqin playing was exquisite—so exquisite that the original teacher sent to the school was stunned.

The qin master was over fifty, from the city.

At first, he still held his pride as a qin master—but when that gentle, serene Miss Yu placed her hand on the strings and plucked just slightly, the once-arrogant master, who had come willingly to teach the children music, turned pale.

As the qin melody shifted, the master gradually froze, leaned forward—

Lost in listening, he nearly wept: "This… this skill… it is peerless! I—I, a man of the countryside—can I hear such celestial music?"

"This is nearly the style of a master fit to play before an emperor."

"Huh? You—you are!!!"

The arrogant qin master seemed to realize something, his expression changed—but the gentle, elegant woman merely whispered: "I am Yu Junyue, merely a Physician in this town, Mr. You must be mistaken."

The qin master, stroking his beard, stared at this refined, warm woman.

His eyes grew rigid; he recalled more than a decade ago, when he, in his thirties, was already the greatest genius within a hundred li—any qin piece he could learn effortlessly, play with its soul, surpassing every teacher.

Yet one day, he visited a gathering of qin masters in the provincial capital and saw a girl not yet ten—she played one qin piece, and reached a realm he could never attain.

On the path of music, talent towered above all else.

The qin master's Dao-heart shattered; he realized the despairing gulf between himself and true genius, abandoned all ambition, returned to his home, and taught the next generation.

But now, this gentle, serene woman stood in stark contrast to the cold, doll-like image etched in his memory; Yu Junyue had already left; she wore slightly thicker garments, returned to her dwelling,

And saw a letter on the table.

Yu Junyue froze; she removed her gloves—beneath the leather, her hands were not the fair, slender, beautiful hands everyone assumed, capable of gripping silver needles or playing qin with quiet grace.

They were crafted of wood and mechanism, their surface showing fine grain patterns.

This mechanical texture extended from her fingers all the way to her elbows.

She had been the imperial family's qin master, renowned young, favored by Prince Jiang Yuan of the Ying state; Jiang Yuan had once shown great admiration for her talent—but four or five years ago, to strike at a young Jinwu Guard,

He had her arms severed and sent them as a gift to the boy, certain the youth who saved the Ghost Market would feel pity and repay her by poisoning her from behind—yet he never imagined that, by chance, the boy had carried her all the way to the Ghost Market and obtained a new pair of arms.

Since then, for years, she traveled with Elder Guan Shier, the Mo family elder who had saved her, until finally settling here.

Though Elder Guan Shier was old, his white hair long, the fierce spirit within his chest still burned; even aged, his youthful vigor remained, the Mo family sword at his waist still rang through heaven and earth.

The world has not yet been pacified; injustice still exists; justice is still needed.

As long as this heart does not grow old,

Mo family disciples will ride across heaven and earth.

Can you see? The white-haired Mo youth amid the fires of the realm.

Elder Guan Shier had heard of civilians being abused and slaughtered within the Ying state; he lifted his Mo sword and set out once more; Yu Junyue's Wu Gong was ordinary—she stayed here, aiding the people.

Whether lifting the sword to journey afar, or playing qin in quiet grace, healing the sick—no act, great or small, is outside the Mo family.

Among Mo disciples, how could there be distinctions of weight or rank?

But this letter arrived urgently, much earlier than agreed; Yu Junyue, worried, opened it and found her teacher wrote he had successfully rescued those civilians.

In the letter, he mentioned that many heroes had risen within the Ying state.

When the world is stable, all may suppress their ambitions; but when the world trembles and the court's control weakens, the ambitions and desires long suppressed by great powers flare like wildfire.

And spread, burn wildly.

Chaos causes these ambitions to explode uncontrollably.

And these ambitions, like fire, burn the realm, guiding it toward chaos.

Which is cause, which effect? No one can tell.

These so-called rustic heroes lack the spirit to lead the people with them, yet they harbor the greed to raise swords in chaos and seize fame and fortune—they need logistics, labor, to fight the state's regular armies.

In times of chaos, how many have the heart to serve the people?

They merely seize petty gains to plunder the common folk and advance their own agendas. The court needs the people and their numbers; the rebels need them too. Both sides fight for themselves, while the people are swept up by the great tide—like two massive floods crashing head-on, crushing those caught between them.

In the end, it only swaps one person kneeling for another.

We have already rescued the people. Though the process carried some danger, we were aided by an old friend—so we made it safely. We were meant to return and rest, but then we encountered something unusual.

The Qin Wang has issued the Mo Juzi's decree, summoning all Mohists to Qin. I must go see for myself.

Though you were accepted into the Mohist school, you were raised in medicine. Whether you go or not is your own choice.

Elder Guan Shier stays.

A Mohist messenger bird, used to carry messages, perched on Duan Qingyu's shoulder, nuzzling her cheek affectionately. She gazed at her teacher's letter and said, "Truly, whether acting or speaking, my teacher is always so whirlwind-fast."

It hasn't changed in all these years.

She had worried whether her teacher had faced danger or hardship, but from the urgent tone of the letter, it was clear he had not suffered as she feared—she exhaled in relief, yet her thoughts drifted to that boy from that day.

"... The Qin Wang..."

She whispered to herself, and somehow, these words stirred her thoughts, pulling her back to a distant past. Her mechanical arm, long accustomed to stillness, seemed to throb faintly again—the warmth of that boy's shoulder as he carried her through the dark night.

Duan Qingyu remained lost in thought for a long while, then softly said:

"Ah, no—the time has come."

"I must deliver the item."

She tucked her teacher's secret letter away, then took out the copied scroll, closed the door, and hurried down the path. She had her own students—gone to till the fields for winter.

They turned the soil again, burying stalks and straw into the ridges—next year, the land would be richer. Even with public schools established, these growing boys and girls remained vital supports for their families.

The fact that this had achieved such results and reach was already far beyond most expectations.

It was simply incredible.

The people in the city fared better—they mostly came from decent backgrounds and knew how precious an opportunity it was to let their children learn these arts of letters and martial skill. But in villages and towns, it was different.

In these hamlets and villages, not everyone was willing to send their sons to school. Learning, learning—what's the point? Such big boys and girls could do something useful, couldn't they?

The initial push was extremely difficult. Some school students tried earnestly to convince villagers of the value of learning. One old woman said she'd let her little grandson attend the public school—if the students helped her harvest the grain.

Two students slung their scholar's swords on their backs and toiled for two full days.

The old woman then said her little grandson was already gone.

The students froze: "............"

Such incidents occurred many times.

But it was said the Qin Wang himself had personally approved the policy.

"Children who attend school get eggs, flour, oil."

"Meals provided."

"Those who refuse to send their children will be punished."

"What punishment? Hmph—give them the worst land when dividing plots!"

The effect was extraordinary!

The Qin Wang, high above, revealed a kind of "villainous wisdom" forged in the marketplace—snapping shut the throat of those who resisted.

The results far surpassed what the students had achieved after countless hours of pleading.

Thanks to the efforts of the old hens, the children entered the classrooms.

Following the customs of this age, they studied only half a day; the other half was spent helping with basic household labor.

Amidst the accumulated wealth of the great clans over three hundred—or even a thousand—years, and with the clans' own efforts—described by Master Wen Qingyu as "tearful, sincere, fully cooperative"—this policy advanced swiftly.

The grain needed to feed the children's bellies—compared to the clans' vast reserves—

Might truly be but a single feather.

Yet in the past, even this feather had never been plucked.

Master Wen Qingyu had no choice but to act himself.

But during harvest season, he still had to lend a hand. Duan Qingyu walked quietly along the path, watching familiar scenery, wondering whether she should take up a post with the Qin Wang, whether she should meet him.

When she reached her students, several half-grown children rose at once upon seeing their teacher, bowing respectfully. Duan Qingyu smiled, handed them the gifts, spoke gently, and tested their studies.

The children's faces tightened.

But they answered earnestly.

In this age, knowledge—even mere literacy—was an exceedingly precious thing. Every child granted the chance to learn would never abandon it; they cherished such opportunity beyond measure.

"Thank you, Master."

They bowed deeply.

Duan Qingyu responded warmly, then rose, watching the children leave happily. She pressed her lips together—gradually, she had formed her own decision about going to the Qin Wang.

"Miss Duan, you're in high spirits indeed."

Song Caiwen, a qin master from a nearby city, stood outside the field ridge, clad in a green robe, his qin case on his back, waiting quietly. Duan Qingyu frowned slightly. "Mr. Song...?"

Song Caiwen fell silent for a long while, then said, "Your qin music has reached the realm of transcendence. You truly should go to the emperor's side, to play for him. The world is in great upheaval now—the Qin Wang expands his borders, establishes his name, and this is precisely the moment for you to go."

Duan Qingyu suddenly recalled her youth in the royal court of Ying. She held her belongings, turned back to gaze at her students in the field, and made her final decision. She whispered: "Perhaps... but..."

"I am already playing for the Qin Wang."

Song Caiwen froze: "What?"

Duan Qingyu merely smiled faintly. She took her leave. People along the path greeted her with casual conversation, respectful and kind. Two children, barely seven or eight, walked beside her. Listening to the wind, she decided to write back to her teacher: she would not go.

Sometimes, an old friend is best left as just an old friend.

Remember the deeds of old friends—but no need to seek them out.

She thought of this as the two children beside her chattered happily about today's lessons, humming tunes. Autumn wind rose, winter's chill settled, smoke curled from hearths—and she recalled the past, the boy's words—

"Then go. Go wherever you wish."

"What's your name?"

The musician at that time replied: "I have no name."

Even a genius musician, in this world, under the Imperial Prince's command, was merely an object; Jiang Yuan's admiration and fondness for her was no more than the affection one holds for a delicate, beautiful object they possess.

An object does not need a name.

The boy at that time said gently: "Then choose one you like."

"And you said I won't live long?"

The musician at that moment was taken aback; the boy laughed, his eyes bright as a beam of light, and he said:

"Fine, how coincidental—I think the same. But I'll bet with you: death can be lighter than a feather, or heavier than Taishan. Li Guanyi, even if short-lived, will never be an ordinary man."

"Li Guanyi, even if he lives only ten years, will make those who live a hundred years feel ashamed."

Yu Junyue stopped in her steps. A new notice had been posted on the city wall, detailing Qin Wang's new policies. Crowds gathered around it, reading, pondering, and whispering rumors of the Divine General List.

Eighteen years old, third on the Divine General List, Qin Wang of the realm.

How many bold and charismatic figures throughout history have had such grandeur?

Yu Junyue wore a faint smile as she watched the people around her. The common folk murmured in praise of Qin Wang, filled with gratitude and longing. She thought of the boy, radiant and spirited back then, and took two small backward hops.

"You truly kept your promise."

The young musician of that time now held a copied scroll in her arms, watching the pale golden winter light fall, the leaves from the great tree drifting down, landing on the ground with a faint golden glow. People stepped on the fallen leaves, producing soft, warm sounds.

You truly did it—you made even the aged feel ashamed.

You truly drew your sword and made this world better.

She lightly stepped on the fallen leaves, walking with her students along the path, remembering the boy's final laughter from four or five years ago:

"If you don't believe it, a hundred years from now, when your hair is white, go ask the children by the roadside if they know Li Guanyi. Then let's make a bet, how about it?"

At parting, the nameless musician watched the boy's back recede. She gave herself a name, honoring his vow, never forgetting: Qin Wang's figure walked into the distance, but I will keep our promise—I will live well, in the world you protected.

Perhaps it was time; many students gathered to return together. They chatted about family matters, compared their knowledge, when suddenly one student noticed a faint smile on the musician's face and asked curiously: "Mr., are you thinking of something?"

The musician came back to herself and smiled gently in reply:

"Just... suddenly remembered someone from long ago."

The student puzzled: "Someone?"

The musician: "Mm."

"Back then, he said what he intended to do—and told me to wait and see."

"Such a huge thing—I didn't believe a word of it back then."

The student asked: "Mr., did he accomplish it?"

Yu Junyue nodded, softly: "He did."

"Oh!"

The students suddenly understood, feeling it was a wonderful story. Suddenly one child cried out loudly: "His word is trustworthy, his deeds are decisive—this isn't exactly the kind of hero the books describe!"

"He's a hero!"

Yu Junyue froze. She wanted to object—how could the Divine General, the mighty Qin Wang, be a hero? But before her, her students gazed at her with curiosity and longing.

She had been about to say no—but then she remembered the past, and fell silent.

"I need a pair of hands. The girl's hand behind me is still here. The Ghost Market has the greatest physicians in the realm—I believe they can reattach it!"

"Oh? It's possible—but what is her relationship to you?"

"Strangers who met by chance!"

"Oh? Strangers who met by chance—and you dare come here?!!"

Long, long silence.

She nodded gently and smiled: "Mm."

"He was a hero..."

"The greatest, greatest hero I have ever seen."

The students were delighted, pressing her to tell more of the past. She only smiled and did not speak, instead asking the children what melodies they wished to hear tomorrow, and slowly walked away. Qin Wang surveys the realm—why must he be in one home?

The old friend has vanished with the wind.

How could a man like Qin Wang crave luxury and comfort?

Let me teach, heal, save lives, and play my zither in your realm—may the sound of my music reach your ears. Only then will the people's changes be the music you wished to hear.

I will live well. I will live to a hundred, until my hair is white.

Then I will walk again on a winter afternoon as warm as today, stepping on golden fallen leaves, wearing the gentle smile of an old woman, and ask the children:

Do you know of a hero named Li Guanyi?

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? After today there may be some matters—Chapter Two might be slightly delayed. You don't need to wait (at peace)