Chapter 497: With You I Share the Same Robe

The sound of hurried footsteps — outside Qin Wang's residence, a white-haired old man was hammering on the door, and it took quite a while before someone came to open it and usher him in. In the spring of the sixteenth year of Tianqi, the weather had already begun to grow warm at the season's end.

Qu Hanxiu was still dressed in full, proper attire — thick, solemn, meticulous.

He asked solemnly, "Where is His Highness the Qin Wang?"

The one who came replied, "His Highness has gone out riding and flying his hawk."

Qu Hanxiu's cheek twitched. This His Highness the Qin Wang — since the start of the year he had already begun this habit, vanishing from here every few days. With less than a month remaining until his birthday and the coming-of-age ceremony, he was still out riding and flying his hawk.

Riding! Riding!

Qu Hanxiu stormed back, citing widely from ancient wise kings and sage rulers: once a man fails to restrain his own desires and lets his desires control his mind, he will commit all manner of wrongs; even a sage and gentleman will become a shameless petty man.

"In ancient times, founding kings who indulged their lusts brought disaster upon themselves; the heroes and worthies of the world, through this, lost their integrity and ruined their names — this must not fail to be heeded."

The stubborn old man wrote out a full thick stack and submitted it.

Then he stormed back again.

Like a stratagem from the Art of War, Li Guanyi had begun his preparations months in advance. These men of the Ministry of Rites, renowned scholars and great Confucians, well-read in poetry and books, knew nothing of military strategy and had grown entirely accustomed to Li Guanyi's frequent absence.

Yan Daiqing sorted through this thick stack of admonitions and sighed.

Using a pot of fine wine as bait on a hook, he lured Feng Xiao — one of the Nine Sons of the Academy — to take the bait.

"In short, you will reply to the letters on the lord's behalf."

Feng Xiao nodded rapidly. Holding the wine pot, he drank deeply and exclaimed, "Eh? It's actually freshly brewed wine! Hahahaha, wonderful, wonderful! Fine wine, fine wine indeed!"

Yan Daiqing's voice was gentle as he said, "All the world prefers aged vintages — you, on the other hand, are easy to satisfy; is a single pot of new wine truly enough?"

Feng Xiao laughed heartily: "Those are the common folk."

"Common folk drink wine just for the sake of drinking. When I drink wine, what I drink is the flavor of this peaceful age. Within the Son of Heaven's domain, the existence of wine brewed from the new harvest means that this year the common folk have surplus grain to spare for brewing."

"Such a breeze of peace, such beauty of the human world — that is what intoxicates!"

"Fine wine, fine wine!"

"Long would I stay drunk in this mortal world, and never wake again."

Feng Xiao was now a tall, slender youth, no longer the drunken boy of those days. At this moment he drank from the wine pot held in one hand, while his left hand wielded the brush, sweeping across white paper — and his handwriting was identical to the Qin Wang's.

It only lacked that blazing, sweeping aura of a Grandmaster.

When a pot of wine was drained, a reply had been brushed out in a single scroll.

Yan Daiqing went to look it over — the wording was fluent and clear, not a single character needing revision.

Feng Xiao waved a hand and sauntered off lazily. Though he held the post of Libationer in Tiance Prefecture, he was also a man of transcendent talent. They naturally had all manner of preparations, enough to ensure that within two months, outsiders would not notice the Qin Wang's absence.

As for what happened after those two months — that was no longer their concern.

By then, if the matter succeeded, it would have succeeded; if it failed, there would no longer be any need to conceal it. All matters were already in place. The Qin Wang had already entered the game with his own body, still bearing that bold, fierce air of a wandering knight-errant of the jianghu — yet compared to an ordinary jianghu wanderer, his bearing was far loftier.

Yan Daiqing and Fangzi Qiao and the others handled internal affairs in their spare time.

This gentle, jade-like young man gazed at the map of terrain, looking at the location of Xiyicheng specially outlined in cinnabar — presently the place on earth where, on the surface, the contradictions and clashes were most intense, and the place upon which all eyes in the world were fixed.

A node of the storm, yet at this moment it lay in an extremely dangerous state of calm.

All knew that once it erupted, it would surely become a storm sweeping across the entire world.

Yet no one knew when it would erupt.

Of course, it was also possible that it simply would not erupt at all. Under the cooperation and choices of strategists on all sides, there was a great likelihood — perhaps as much as a ninety-eight percent chance — that the contradictions at Xiyicheng would, along with the passage of time, the exchange and division of interests, gradually settle down.

And in the end become, in the annals of history, a single judgment of a peaceful age.

In the annals of history, within those so-called peaceful days, countless contradictions lurking in the shadows were resolved in precisely this manner.

Only, this time was different.

The Qin Wang needed Xiyicheng to become the opening move of all change — the first sword to turn the current situation around. The Xiyicheng Incident was the falling sword of the Son of Heaven. As for the exchanges of interest there, the negotiations between the various parties settling down gently as they had so many times in the annals of history —

That was certainly possible, certainly permissible.

Only, the premise was that no other variables entered the fray.

Yan Daiqing's expression was calm. He lowered his gaze — beside him was no longer that youthfully plain-faced, mild-mannered young scholar.

In Tiance Prefecture, there was also no longer that radiant, wildly proud purple-eyed strategist.

In Tiance Prefecture, there was only a single clerk of the brush and blade — Master Wen Qingyu.

Beneath the Qin Wang, the chief strategist — Pojun.

These two top strategists, who had been extremely active throughout the seven years Tiance Prefecture and the Fire Qilin army had campaigned across the realm, also vanished without a trace from Tiance Prefecture after the Qin Wang disappeared.

Then, one could almost determine what would change at Xiyicheng.

Yan Daiqing exhaled a breath and said, "Gentlemen, the two strategists qualified to take the measure of the great situation are both with you now. I hope you all will enjoy yourselves."

At the thought that others were about to suffer at Master Wen Qingyu's hands —

Even the gentle, jade-like Yan Daiqing could not help but curve up the corners of his mouth.

He stood in the covered corridor, both hands tucked into his wide sleeves, his eyes warm as he gazed at the spring scenery of Jiangnan in this mortal world, the corners of his lips slightly curved, and said softly, "Enjoy yourselves."

Then his steps became light, and he strolled leisurely back to his place of work.

Today Wen He was not in the residence.

Bliss!

……………………

Murong Qiushui sighed and said, "Off again — he only just came back less than half a year ago, and now he's leaving once more. Truly…"

Murong Longtu was practicing his sword.

For the three years prior, though the old man was alive, he had merely been living an ordinary daily life, unable to easily take up arms. In his usual days, he only fished, played chess, and plucked the qin — saying it was to cultivate his character and nurture his nature, to live a life he had never had before.

But a year ago, after he succeeded in repairing his Life-Continuing Gu, he had not touched the qin since returning — he only held his sword with composure. Even for a Grandmaster of the sword such as himself, he merely practiced swordsmanship.

Sweeping freely, at will.

Such days were the ones most suited to him.

Every day, sword in hand, discussing martial arts; in leisure, sipping tea and debating the Dao; never opening his eyes to look at lords and marquises. In those carefree, at ease days beneath the heavens, nothing more was needed than kin at his side, a sword in his hand, comrades when waging war, foes when comparing blades—utterly exhilarating. This year, compared to the past three, was far more satisfying.

Hearing Murong Qiushui's soft complaint, he merely smiled: "Guanyi has his own path to walk. Besides, as he himself said, only when the realm is at peace can there truly be days of lasting companionship."

"Think of peril when at peace."

"If one clings to a corner of safety, though there may be ten or twenty years of stability, in the end, after enough time passes, it will still fall into another's hands."

Murong Qiushui propped her chin on her hand, raising the other to pick up a chess piece.

Idly tapping the chess piece, what fell instead was spring blossoms.

Sword Mad Murong Longtu, hand resting on his long sword, pinched the blade's tip, flicked a finger to tap it, listening to the sword's low hum: "That boy, yet he let this old man stay behind in Jiangnan."

Sword Mad and General Xue Shen, garrisoned in the lands of Jiangnan.

One possessed supreme battle intent, the other possessed the means to array troops and lay out formations, to see through stratagems. Combined with city defenses, even if Jiang Su returned, they could hold out for a time—this was a strategy of stability with progress.

Murong Longtu raised his sword, gazing at his own pair of eyes reflected on the blade.

Now, every day, he swung his sword beyond the limits of his lifespan; each day, he moved forward with composure after his allotted years had ended. And so, on the contrary, he felt an inexpressible exhilaration. This life's span was already spent; every remaining day carried no lingering concerns.

He simply swung his sword, that was all.

When Sword Mad's natural lifespan was nearing its end, that reclusive, hidden-cultivation martial Dao legend, Daoledao Sect, came to Jiangnan to pay respects—yet saw Sword Mad Murong Longtu, alive and kicking, able to swing his sword at will, able to fight and battle the Primordial Taigu Chilong. Even Daodao Sect was startled.

General Xue Shen, sharp-eyed, saw Daodao Sect's brow rise for an instant.

Daodao Sect understood why Sword Mad had broken his obsession, and was silent in astonishment for a long while—because, using the 【Augury of Imperial Extremes】 to divine, this old man should at this moment have already broken his sword and dissolved his body. Yet looking at Sword Mad, he was clearly in some kind of peak state, having stepped beyond the limits of his lifespan.

Thus Daodao Sect inquired of Murong Longtu, and debated the Dao with Murong Longtu once.

Yet Murong Longtu seemed no longer the Sword Mad of old, obsessed with the sword; no longer the one who, out of hatred, gripped the sword, cultivated slaughter and achieved the Dao, comprehended the emotionless sword Dao, and became a martial Dao legend; who later forgot emotion and gained emotion, challenged the world beneath the heavens, and let both himself and the jianghu forget—the Sword God.

Murong Longtu told Daodao Sect, saying:

He was no longer obsessed with being a swordsman.

That there was a sword in his hand was, of course, true.

"To have a heaven-shaking, earth-shattering great battle is, of course, exhilarating; but to grow old together with kin in Jiangnan is equally satisfying."

"When both are as such, what difference is there?"

The white-haired Daodao Sect gazed at the Murong Longtu before him. Even he could no longer see the fate of this Murong Longtu. Sword Mad's natural lifespan had ended, and now every day that passed counted as stepping beyond fate itself.

Sword Mad might still, relying on the life-extending Gu of the Wu Gu lineage, live another three to five years.

Perhaps he could cultivate to the life-extending Gu's limit of seven years.

Or perhaps he might pass away tomorrow.

Yet, he could not see through it.

A ripple stirred in Daodao Sect's tone: "Out of hatred you gripped the sword; out of killing you became a Grandmaster; you forgot emotion, were emotionless, then again had emotion, and became a martial Dao legend. Now, you have taken one step further—have you already attained the Dao?"

"Sword God."

Murong Longtu looked at Daodao Sect.

In Murong Longtu's gaze, Daodao Sect saw a trace of pity.

"No."

"What?"

"To be obsessed with the Dao—is that not also using the 【Dao】 to bind oneself?"

Daodao Sect's expression rippled and shifted. Murong Longtu lifted a sword and said: "Back then you met Wang Tong, met Zu Wenyuan; you saw their fates, gave them their opportunities, yet did not enter the game yourself. But if you had entered the game, would it have been different?"

"You believe you have seen the Dao."

"But, while you follow the fates of others, you yourself have already been bound."

"You think it was because you debated the Dao with the green-robed Zhang Ziyong that day that led him to walk a skewed path. But, Daodao Sect, you revere the Dao and follow the Dao. Yet Zhang Ziyong, though his deeds were extreme and he was the foremost sort who deserved killing, every step he walked in this life was, in fact, not contrary to the Dao."

"On this one point, you are not his equal."

Daodao Sect's expression was complex. He was silent for a long while, then at last merely laughed with洒脱 and said: "The Great Dao is ten thousand paths—how could one be used to encompass all? You leap out, I walk in; you hold the sword, I walk the Dao. Who can render judgment, whose is higher or lower?"

He raised his hand and, at random, set brush to the blank paper beside him, pressing two fingers together to write a single great character.

The one pouring tea for the two seniors was none other than Staff Monk Thirteen.

This great monk glanced sideways. Clearly it was merely a finger tracing characters in the air, yet the strokes were crisp and clear—and what he saw was unmistakably the character 【Immortal】, 仙.

Daodao Sect sighed with emotion:

"What I have seen today—Sword Mad's realm, releasing the sword, casting off madness—deserves the title of Immortal."

"I am in awe."

He rose and departed. The great monk beside him, Staff Monk Thirteen, pondered and said: "Senior Sword Mad, did this senior leave because I poured the tea too full and accidentally splashed his hand?"

"After all, Senior Daodao Sect does not cultivate his body."

Murong Longtu asked: "Are you afraid of this not letting go—scalding hot water poured onto the palm?"

This great monk puffed out his chest, raised his head, and said proudly: "Naturally not afraid!"

"This junior has tempered his Vajra Body to the thirteenth layer!"

"Neither water nor fire can invade!"

Murong Longtu burst into laughter.

"Since you yourself are not afraid of this attachment that will not let go, how could he be afraid?"

He looked again at that sheet of white paper, upon which was written the single character 【Immortal】, 仙, inscribed from Daodao Sect's realization. Murong Longtu merely raised his hand and pressed down lightly. In an instant, that sheet of white paper and golden character shattered into thirty-eight thousand pieces; a sweep of his sleeve, and they drifted down like great snow.

Release the sword, cast off madness.

Between Heaven and Earth, there is only one I.

It is Murong Longtu.

Staff Monk Thirteen stood beside him, watching Sword Mad release his sword, watching Daodao Sect's Dao-heart shatter, watching the lifelong realization of that martial Dao legend drift down fluttering from another's palm—bright spring snow, truly a sight worth beholding.

'【Bai Xue】' lay in white drifts; the green-robed old man stood with hands clasped behind his back.

Carefree and unrestrained, standing aloof from the world.

It was only a regret, not knowing how his child Li Guanyi was faring at this moment.

He saw the mist drift and the flower petals fall, like white snow.

Flowing through the gaps between Li Guanyi's fingers,

Inside the Mystical Realm, Li Guanyi shook his palm to scatter the snow-like falling blossoms, then stepped within, where he saw the army in stern formation, banners standing in great numbers. General Yue Qianfeng laughed aloud, strode forward, and threw a bear hug around him, saying:

"Hahaha, you've finally come! It's already kept Old Yue waiting for a good several months! If you hadn't come, I'd have been bored to death—we were all wanting to go stir up trouble with that Chen Emperor ourselves!"

Li Guanyi smiled: "There will surely be plenty of chances later for Big Brother Yue to show what he can do."

General Yue Qianfeng laughed aloud: "That would be the best!"

The Southwest King Duan Qingyu, however, merely nodded and said: "Your Majesty."

Duan Qingyu looked at Li Guanyi, feeling a sense of emotion and disorientation.

Though he was the son of an old friend, he was even more high-spirited and dashing than his father had been—so much so that it made even Duan Qingyu feel almost unable to recognize him.

Even while here, Duan Qingyu and the others had learned, through intelligence reports transmitted at regular intervals, of the Qin Wang's battles on the grasslands against the Turkic Great Khan.

They learned of the death of that seventh-ranked divine general Mu Zhahe, the emergence of the Master Jiankuang, and the Qin Wang becoming the world's second.

Seeing him now, he could only sigh in his heart.

The Ancient Crimson Dragon, free and unrestrained at will, did not take part in the struggles of the Central Plains. If one had to speak of it, it ought to have gone to shelter the line of the Crimson Emperor. Yet here within this Mystical Realm, the Qin Wang's army stood in solemn majesty; for months they had lain hidden and trained hard, all for the sake of one stunning breakout.

After a brief reception, General Yue Qianfeng, unable to hold back any longer, said:

"Guanyi, when do we go take care of that Chen Dingye?"

Li Guanyi said: "Within this coming month or so—when the moment is right, we march!" He raised his eyes to look at the great army before him, then lifted an arm. Accompanied by an eagle's cry that tore through the clouds, the divine beast eagle spread its wings and pierced the sky.

Following the Nine Cauldrons, it transmitted the message back, informing Li Guanyi.

It could truly be called a first-rate scout.

The Qin Wang temporarily sheathed his edge, lying hidden within this Mystical Realm, his head on his weapon awaiting dawn, waiting for the moment of great upheaval in the world. Yet at the same time, in the lands south of the river, Qi Laogui, the foremost of the Fire Qilin's Seven Old Ghosts, tugged at his own beard as he looked at the man before him, his expression complex.

It was Fan Qing.

Only there was a formation all around, emanating a stench of blood.

In the air, faintly, came the sound of a dragon's cry, trembling to either side, radiating an aura that was both dangerous and powerfully terrifying.

The Seven Old Ghosts of the Fire Qilin army ringed the area, each face marked with hesitation and uncertainty, each showing the look of inner struggle and torment. Clearly, even for these seven, what was about to happen still weighed heavily on their minds.

The dragon scales of the Crimson Dragon were transforming into the mechanical body of General Xue Shen; the bloodline of the Crimson Dragon was being applied by Old Lei Meng to stimulate and awaken the bloodline of the exotic beast foal, attempting to make its dormant bloodline manifest once more.

And the plants and trees upon which the Crimson Dragon's dragon blood had fallen were given to Shi Dalin.

Shi Dalin's hair had already turned completely white. The mutated dragon-blood grass that sprouted where dragon blood had fallen upon the plants naturally possessed violent medicinal properties—even Shi Dalin and this rough-and-ready band of the Fire Qilin's Seven Old Ghosts did not dare to use the stuff.

But to have fine medicinal ingredients in hand and yet not use them, not craft pills from them—

That would be an outright insult to the late Master Hou Zhongyu!

The Fire Qilin's Seven Old Ghosts still managed to refine the pills, but these pills they did not dare let anyone take. Under such circumstances, Fan Qing learned of this matter and volunteered himself as the candidate to swallow the pills.

"This… General Fan Qing, you really should think it over more carefully…"

"After all, this matter is somewhat dangerous."

Shi Dalin's expression was taut.

Fan Qing, however, said calmly: "Gentlemen, you all know me."

This thirty-nine-year-old general said: "Fan Qing was originally a man of common cloth. At thirty-two, I became a fugitive. Later I met my lord, took a spiritual pill, and trained with bitter effort, barely scraping my way into the Third Heaven."

"The reason I was able to reach the Third Heaven was that I took the gentlemen's pills, using their medicinal force to stimulate my body and temper my physique, step by step, until I arrived here. Later, after a hundred battles, my master, Grandmaster Ximen Hengrong, transmitted to me all his secret arts, and on the battlefield I drew in baleful Qi."

"Seven years, and I have only reached the Fifth Heaven."

A calm smile appeared on Fan Qing's face: "The great battle that will decide the peace of the world is coming. I cannot, nor do I wish to, become a second-line rear-echelon general."

"This dangerous task—please allow me to attempt it myself."

Shi Dalin's expression grew incomparably complex, yet Fan Qing's nature was resolute and decisive; and beyond that resoluteness, he possessed a stubborn tenacity that could only be called extreme. Once he had set his mind on something, it was very hard to change.

The old Daoist nodded and said: "The blood shed in the clash between the Ancient Crimson Dragon and the Second Divine General itself carries the sharpness of metal and fire. Since General Fan Qing has such resolve and is willing to try, then we, too, are willing to give it a go."

Fan Qing, bare to the waist, stepped into the great formation the Daoist had created using dragon blood as a stimulant.

His body bore many scars from blades and swords—proof of the seven years of constant scrambling and fighting on the cruelest battlefields in the world. Even Shi Dalin and the others could hardly bear to look.

Fan Qing swallowed the dragon-blood pill and sat cross-legged there.

The old Daoist activated the great formation. The dragon's cry grew ever more impassioned. Dragon blood could not grant a person power—the savage might of the Ancient Crimson Dragon would only kill a person utterly beneath its violent onslaught. But under such powerful stimulation, it could also awaken a person's latent potential.

This was not a bestowal, but an opportunity.

Beneath the spiritual resonance of the Ancient Crimson Dragon's blood, ordinary folk would be cowed and terrified. Only the strong could draw their blades to face that surging, violent aura and roar out in defiance. The strange art's great formation activated; beneath the surging stimulation, amid the dragon's cry, the keen wail of blades and swords rose fierce and sharp.

What Fan Qing was undergoing was an exceptionally brutal assault on the level of the primordial spirit.

His opponent was the Ancient Crimson Dragon—even if it was only the battle intent lingering within the dragon blood.

This was naked, bare-faced confrontation.

Either he would break beneath the Crimson Dragon's overwhelming battle intent, or he would, beneath that terrifying pressure, awaken his own potential—compelled by such immense oppression to drive his primordial spirit one step further, beyond his own limits.

Every step was struggle, every step a painful metamorphosis.

Fan Qing had seen this age of chaos; he knew his own limits.

In the darkest hour, he had seen that back, seized the hand that light reached out to him, and then fought on beneath that great banner. He had struggled all the way, scrambling forward step by step, never knowing when it began that everyone around him had already changed.

His opponents, his comrades, his enemies, his brothers-in-arms.

They were all heroes of this age, each with their own past and grandeur, each with their own great aspiration—some born of noble houses, some blessed with extraordinary talent, some possessed of incredible fortune and destiny.

He alone was insignificant as a blade of grass, not worth mentioning.

Even he himself knew that, with the changing times and the ever more intense battlefields, he who had only reached the peak of the Fifth Heaven would, in the end, not even possess the qualification to set foot on that final battlefield.

Perhaps, as one of the earliest members of Tiance Prefecture.

As everyone believed, a trusted general close to Qin Wang, all he had to do was stay behind and become a rear-supporting general; when the world knew peace one day, His Highness Qin Wang would certainly not treat him poorly.

But...

He didn't want that at all.

Fan Qing murmured softly.

I told you all, charge ahead; I told you all, strive upward.

I told you all, we live and die together, we will open up a new era.

How could I hide in the rear?

How could I send the soldiers I led out to the front line, then hide myself in the rear? How could I, when my help to you grows smaller and smaller, how could I, be left behind by everyone...

Even if as humble as weeds, one must still have a blazing flame of one's own.

A body like grass, a life like a spark of starlight.

How can we say we have no clothes? We will share the same robe with you.

The king raises his army.

Sharpen our spears and halberds.

Amid the dragon's roar, the soul of the unwilling one bellows.

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