Chapter 528: Chen Dingye Final Chapter!

The question was asked, yet it seemed to carry a heaviness that could not be described in words; Chen Wenmian's hand paused, and his qi dispersed in an unbroken stream.

Chen Wenmian was already at the peak of the Seventh Heaven, his mind shaken, his breath scattered; the fishing rod propped beside him trembled slightly.

The line hanging from the fishing rod swayed gently, sending out ripples.

In an instant, the ripples swept across the entire lake.

Li Guanyi looked at Chen Wenmian before him, his expression gentle. By all reason, by the will of this overwhelming great momentum pressing down, it should be Chen Wenmian who personally puts an end to all the hatred; yet precisely because it is Chen Wenmian, Li Guanyi is worried.

Chen Wenmian's temperament was mild and gentle, yet possessed a resilience beyond the ordinary.

He was suited to being a teacher, a scholar who read quietly, a guest who sat drinking tea on the side while scholars spoke of the vastness of the jianghu and the grandeur of the mountains and rivers; yet he took up his long spear, mounted his warhorse, and set out into the world.

Fate always forces people onto roads they do not wish to walk.

Chen Dingye's deeds were utterly unpardonable, yet in the ten-odd years before, he was, after all, Chen Wenmian's father, and in his younger years, Chen Wenmian had always looked up to that father's back.

At that time, he practiced martial arts and studied, hoping to truly earn his father's approval.

And now, with the chaos of these turbulent times surging, he is asked to kill Chen Dingye with his own hands.

For a person of such a gentle nature, is this not too cruel?

Li Guanyi looked at him, his expression pained.

Chen Wenmian was silent for a long while. Li Guanyi let out a breath; he was not accustomed to doing such things. When he himself fought desperately, when he himself stepped out before everyone, he did so almost without a second thought; but when it came to tending to the tender hearts of others, he was somewhat clumsy.

If it were Murong Qiushui speaking, she would say he was clumsy like a tabby cat toying with a ball of yarn.

Li Guanyi felt rather ill at ease, scratched his own temple, then twirled a strand of hair at his side, and said: "Chen Dingye is about to be punished; it is Qin that punishes Chen. By all reason, I should bring you with me to that small city, to that final battle that destroys Chen."

"But, after all, he was once your father."

"This final battle, you may choose not to go."

Chen Wenmian said: "I cannot not go."

Li Guanyi said: "Is it your own heart that wishes to go, or is it everything you have experienced, your morals and convictions, or the words of everyone around you—all of it telling you that you cannot not go?"

Chen Wenmian opened his mouth, but for a moment could not speak.

Li Guanyi looked at the silent, quiet Chen Wenmian before him, and stood up. Li Guanyi's palm rested on Chen Wenmian's shoulder, and he said: "Naturally, you are the son of Wu Wang. By the world's common sense, you ought to be brave, ought to go punish the enemy."

"But, the world's common sense, what the world thinks you ought to do—what of it?"

"Is what the world thinks you should do truly so important?"

Chen Wenmian was stunned, and subconsciously raised his head.

Li Guanyi said softly and gently:

"Fate is cruel and heartless; I leave the choice to you."

Li Guanyi looked at that gentle youth. The winds and clouds of these chaotic times, the bold spirit and lofty aspirations—but when these grand things come crashing down, one cannot look closely; if one does, they are so cruel. Chen Wenmian's tragedy began with Dantai Xianming's ruthless scheme.

Dantai Xianming even used his own daughter as a bargaining chip, guiding the then-young Chen Dingye, drawing out the extreme and obsessive desires within his heart—whether it was Chen Dingye's own ambition, or Dantai Xianming's methods.

Or perhaps, both.

It led to the past tragedies of Li Guanyi and Chen Wenmian.

And Dantai Xianming's ruthlessness, in turn, came from the killing and strife of these chaotic times.

Li Guanyi has gradually been able to make peace with himself.

Yet the burden Chen Wenmian carries is, in truth, heavier than Li Guanyi's—

The grandfather he most respected personally guided his father of the first half of his life to indulge desire and ambition, and then created a tragedy through and through. In the ten-odd years of Chen Wenmian's earlier life as Crown Prince, his father was cold to him, and his mother could not bear to touch him.

And the one who was best to him, Dantai Xianming, who personally taught him to become a gentle and refined gentleman, that grandfather who was like a teacher and also the most reliable elder—

Was the very person who personally designed and guided the tragedy of his entire life.

His birth father, at that time, had been exiled as a rebel.

The moment he had his birth father was precisely the instant when everything he had cherished in the past collapsed.

He lost everything from those ten-odd years before—lost his birth mother, lost the father he had believed in and the grandfather he cherished, bade farewell to everything, took up his long spear, and set foot upon the chaotic world.

And now, his birth father had galloped and died upon the battlefield, his mother had immolated herself beneath the palace walls, and his grandfather, the culprit, had taken his own life for the sake of his own scheme.

In all his life thus far.

The one person he was still attached to was only Chen Dingye.

An enemy, a former father.

For Chen Wenmian, who had endured such a fate and still remained a gentle person, to finally take up a sword himself and sever the last tie of his life—Li Guanyi felt it was too heartless. Yet such a momentous decision, he had no right to make in Chen Wenmian's stead.

He merely looked at this friend, this war-general, and said:

"The world always teaches people to be brave."

"But, to be occasionally timid and weak is not a wrong thing."

"Do not be bound by the eyes of the world, and do not be constrained by the mighty name of Wu Wang. The wilderness of life is open for you to walk; this final battle, if you do not go, it is of no matter."

Li Guanyi patted Chen Wenmian's shoulder, rose, and left.

Chen Wenmian sat quietly here; he seemed not to have noticed Li Guanyi's departure. Xiao Wuliang was outside, saw Li Guanyi come out alone, rose, and with some concern looked toward the place where the cold lake lay, and said: "... the General, he..."

Li Guanyi said: "Let him think it over himself."

"Such a momentous decision, only he himself should make."

Xiao Wuliang was silent for a long while, then nodded.

Li Guanyi departed; Chen Wenmian sat here alone for a day and a night.

Sitting in a daze, sitting blankly, letting his thoughts wander.

He thought of the things from his youth—his time with Chen Dingye, Dantai Xianming's teachings, his mother touching him and then going back to wash her hands again and again, rubbing them until they were red, almost rubbing the skin raw.

A decision, then...

Chen Wenmian let out a breath.

He stretched out his hand; his palm gently brushed past the Canglang Blade thrust into the ground beside him. The pads of his fingers glided over the cold steel, carrying a peculiar sensation. The sharp edge reflected his eyes. Chen Wenmian murmured to himself:

"The affairs of the world are such; in truth, there aren't that many choices..."

Dantai Xianming laid the groundwork, Chen Dingye carried it out.

The fate of his first dozen or so years was, in the end, like being bound by silk threads.

But even after he had already walked out, he would still inevitably be influenced by all manner of other things.

In these chaotic times, so-called bitter difficulties, so-called choices of the moment, so-called regrets after the fact—there are far too many. If one must investigate every matter clearly, then every matter will become unclear. The fate of a person's life is just like a thousand tangled knots.

Chen Wenmian's fingers closed one by one, gripping the Canglang Blade.

The divine weapon howled; waves of murderous aura rippled outward. Chen Wenmian's hair at the temples lifted as he tightened his grip on the divine weapon, slowly drawing the weapon that had been driven into the ground. Force scattered in all directions, swirling like a gale. Chen Wenmian's gaze was as steady as iron.

Right and wrong, gratitude and grievance—how much was right, how much was hatred, how much was true feeling.

Toward Chen Dingye, was it all rage, all killing intent, or was it mingled with the longing and the filial yearning of more than ten years of youth?

And what of Chen Dingye toward him?

Grandfather Dantai Xianming—did he treat him as a thoroughly heartless chess piece after all?

Or did he treat him as his own projection, a player worthy of being recorded in the annals of history, a poisonous schemer, who nonetheless truly raised his chess piece into a gentle and refined gentleman accomplished in both civil and martial arts?

Chen Dingye, Dantai Xianming, mother, father, and countless others—toward him, was it guilt, was it hatred, was it the heartlessness of treating him as a chess piece, or was it—even while treating him as a chess piece—the earnest regard of pouring everything into teaching him into the shape they themselves had longed for?

Love, hate, passion, enmity.

Long since tangled together, impossible to tell apart.

The affairs of this human world were never something that could be sorted out clearly to begin with.

If that is so—

Better to cut them all apart with a single strike!

The blade's edge was drawn from the ground, quivering and letting out a steel-like howl.

The howl of the Canglang shook the four directions. Chen Wenmian drew the Canglang Blade; the aftershock swept across the Cold Lake, and the frozen surface instantly split into countless cracks, which then, amid a series of great booms, sank downward. Spray burst forth, erupting like clouds and rosy mist.

Chen Wenmian's palm brushed across the edge of the divine weapon, and he said softly:

"The absurdity of this one lineage over twenty-some years."

"The final fate of the Great Chen should be cut apart by my own hand."

"These plots, these deceptions, these bold passions, these soaring ambitions, these petty schemings, these boundless heroic spirits…"

"Besides me, who else has the right."

"Besides me, who else should be the one to end all of this."

Chen Wenmian lowered his eyes and said softly: "Perhaps one could choose to be weak, but such a thing is no good; I cannot trouble the others."

When Qin Wang Li Guanyi personally led his troops out of formation to go chastise Chen Dingye, the young Grand General Chen Wenmian had also mounted his divine steed, led the Cangwolf Guard, and stood outside Beicheng City for an entire night. When the moonlight dispersed, it left frost marks like white snow upon his body.

Chen Wenmian said softly:

"I am willing to be the vanguard."

This was his resolve.

He too was a hero who galloped through these chaotic times.

……………………

The world's second-ranked divine general, the unrivaled Qin Wang of this age, personally led his army to attack a small city defended by only ten thousand remaining men. This city had already been besieged for some time by Fan Qing—a rare commander among the Fire Qilin army—with a hundred thousand troops, and the defenders' morale was low.

The tally of victory and defeat, in truth, required no further thought.

Li Guanyi rode his divine steed, with the Fire Qilin crouched on his shoulder, before the host of ten thousand troops.

The defending soldiers had already been in extremely low spirits. Then they saw the world's second-ranked Qin Wang, saw the world's ninth-ranked General Yue Qianfeng, saw the Southwestern King Duan Qingyu, saw the former Crown Prince Chen Wenmian—all appearing together.

The banners of the famed generals of the realm rolled like clouds and mist, locking down this city.

Locking down the national fortune of Great Chen.

These famed generals, toward the fall of a nation, offered the respect and reverence of military men and war commanders.

Li Guanyi raised the weapon in his hand, pointing forward. His aura surged, shooting skyward; driven by the qi mechanism of a Grandmaster, his voice spread in all directions as he said: "Gentlemen, the realm is in chaos. The dynasty of Chen shall perish this day."

"I shall be the arrow's tip."

"Wind!"

The great armies at the four sides of the city stepped forward half a pace in perfect unison. They wore different armor; they came from different corners of the realm; they were even of different ethnicities. Yet at this moment they raised their weapons, so proud, so devoutly fervent.

In perfect unison, they shouted aloud:

"Wind!"

"Great wind!"

A fierce and murderous aura surged skyward.

At the western gate, the phoenix of Xiyicheng rose into the sky; amid a blaze of golden military-soul flames, it slowly spiraled and let out a long, sustained cry. The commander of Xiyicheng, Li Zhaowen, led the Xiyi Black Armor legion.

At the northern gate, atop the world's ninth-ranked among its top eight divine generals, Yue Qianfeng, a crimson dragon slowly coiled and let out a low dragon's roar. Behind him marched the realm's elite corps—the Yue Family Heavy Cavalry, the Beigui Army.

At the southern gate, Chen Wenmian gripped the Canglang Blade in his hand.

The roar of the Cangwolf surged skyward.

Li Guanyi gripped his weapon. Behind him on the left was Fan Qing; on the right were also Ye Buyi and Zhou Liu Ying, these two. They rode out for themselves, and also for their kin. The military-soul baleful aura of the four armies pierced the heavens, boring through the very sky.

Li Guanyi's battle-halberd spun once in his hand, pointing forward.

What his eyes saw before him was the city—and, nearly ten years ago, himself, breaking out of a fallen city and fleeing for his life through the realm—and also, at this moment, the hundred thousand helmets at his back, the conquest whose spirit could swallow ten thousand li. In the end, he opened his mouth and uttered a single word:

"Attack!"

The Fire Qilin leapt down from his shoulder. As it leapt, streams of pale blue and golden-red light shifted at once, flowing outward; in an instant it transformed, and the Fire Qilin simply rolled once in the air before assuming its true Qilin form.

It raised its head and roared; golden-red flames exploded from its maw.

It drew a deep breath, and a pillar of fire—golden-red at its core, wrapped about with traces of pale blue—slammed violently into the city gate.

The Fire Qilin's charged flame attack clashed with the defensive military array the city had barely managed to set up. The one still commanding the troops in resistance was the last Commander of the Jinwu Guard of Chen, Wang Yunqi, his eyes nearly splitting with fury.

"Block it, block it!!!"

The Fire Qilin's assault gradually eased.

Yet Wang Yunqi saw that, behind the Qilin's fiery light, Qin Wang slowly raised the war halberd in his hand; atop the twin-moon-bladed war halberd, flames of qi swirled, emitting a roar like that of dragons and tigers; an ominous color of iron and blood transformed into firelight, soaring skyward, leaving in Wang Yunqi's eyes a despairing afterimage.

The terrifying blaze atop the war halberd gathered its force, then paused.

Then it merged with the entire army's full battle momentum, surging and vast.

And hacked down viciously toward what lay below!

Qin Wang personally led the army, wielding a divine weapon, combining the momentum of a hundred thousand troops in a single strike; the Qilin's army soul roared skyward, and at the instant it charged forward, it transformed into a black-red blaze, into an arc.

This ink-colored arc of light was like the moon in the heavens, falling to the earth.

Viciously shattering the city gate that had been reinforced many times over.

A city with only ten thousand troops, lacking sufficient soldiers, lacking famous generals, lacking a grand formation of destiny to shelter it—the city gates on all four sides were nearly broken open at the same time; rumbling sounds stirred the four directions, and the entire city trembled violently.

From the courtyard at the center of the city, one could see the changes in all four directions.

Yan Chen pressed his lips together, seeing the dust rising from the different positions of the city walls, the killing, biting military aura; he lowered his eyes, looking at the scholar's sword at his waist—even a scholar's sword, at this moment, still trembled violently.

It was stirred by the killing aura, guided by the intent to kill.

Yan Chen gripped his sword.

Chen Dingye sat there, unhurried, and said: "Has the enemy army already fought its way here? Yan Chen, Master, what do you see?"

Yan Chen's voice was calm and warm as he said: "The armies on all four sides are each top-tier elite forces of this age, and those leading the formations are all first-rate famous generals."

Chen Dingye said: "Who are they?"

Yan Chen looked at the billowing banners and named each of these famous generals one by one; when Chen Wenmian's name was heard, Chen Dingye said: "Good, he has come…"

Yan Chen looked at Chen Dingye before him.

Chen Dingye was nearly at the point of death; his hair was white as snow, yet bound up in a sovereign's crown; gripping his sword, his bearing unhurried. Yan Chen did not know what feelings this Emperor of Chen, knowing that his former Crown Prince had come to kill him, harbored in his heart.

This city was not large.

One could even say it was quite weak.

The armies on all four sides surged in, unable to all enter at once; Chen's final Jinwu Guards fulfilled their duty—over ten thousand Jinwu Guards fought to the death without yielding. These imperial guards had many ties to Chen's royal house; everything about them had decided their place in the bygone era.

The Qilin Army held back, but discovered that these Chen Jinwu Guards, with reddened eyes, swung their blades desperately; even wounded, they still refused to put down their blades. There was a Jinwu Guards Captain who had once fought shoulder to shoulder with the Qilin Army on the grasslands.

Now the fighting was fierce; he himself was wounded and had fallen to the ground, and seeing that the Qilin Army was coming to disarm him and take him prisoner to the rear for treatment, he went madly, headbutting the Qilin soldier to the ground, staggering to his feet, gripping his blade.

Gasping for breath, he stood in the alley, with no one behind him.

Before him stood Qilin soldiers in heavy armor, wielding blades and shields.

He gasped for breath and shouted: "Come on!"

"What are you holding back for!"

"Idiots!? Holding back on the battlefield—be careful you don't die on it, and when that time comes, you'll have nothing left! Why haven't you struck yet!"

The Qilin soldiers gripped their blades, their hands clutching tight, their fingers pale, but they could not bring themselves to strike. The Jinwu Guards Captain, gasping, staggering, tore off the Jinwu Guards' sleeve and bound his bleeding arm with it.

His arm had taken a blade; the tendons were severed, his fingers trembling ceaselessly.

He gripped the sword hilt with his trembling right hand.

Then with his left hand, which at this moment could be called strong, he gripped his trembling right hand, held the blade; behind him stood his sovereign, behind him stood no comrade; then he pointed the blade forward, aimed at the countless heavy-armored elites.

He lowered his body into a stance of fighting to the death, his voice hoarse, and shouted loudly:

"Great Chen Jinwu Guards, Dragon Martial Army Clerk and Staff Officer, Luo Xingyi!"

"Traitors ahead, you shall not advance!"

General Yue Qianfeng's expression grew solemn; looking at this former comrade who had once galloped across the battlefield alongside them, he gripped his weapon and suddenly spoke: "Qilin Army!"

The Divine General's voice was rough, yet solemn: "See a comrade off."

Luo Xingyi, who had lowered his body into a stance of fighting to the death, grinned, then charged forward; the Qilin soldiers drew their bows; the ninth Divine General under heaven, Yue Qianfeng, personally gripped his war halberd, gathering force.

He said: "Attack!!!"

In an instant, the twang of bowstrings was like the beating wings of birds taking flight.

Luo Xingyi watched the streak of light the Divine General slashed out, and swung his blade to meet it; the Jinwu Guards' blade snapped in an instant, then spun and flew over his head, twirled, and drove heavily into the ground.

Luo Xingyi staggered two steps and pitched forward.

Dead in battle.

Yue Qianfeng gripped his weapon, his breathing slightly heavy, and smashed his fist heavily against the wall.

"These troubled times, these troubled times!"

There's no reasoning with it.

Each side's bitter reasons—useless, useless.

A city, a battle of Bai Ren.

Since ancient times, elite forces' morale wavers only after thirty percent losses.

Chen's Jinwu Guards fought until all were dead; Bai Ren swung, warriors in Jin Jia fell in different places, blocking the enemy army from their sovereign—though it was only the most ordinary brick-and-stone ground of a small city.

Stained red with the fresh blood of the brave, it became the jade steps for an audience with the sovereign.

Ten thousand Jinwu Guards, from the Grand General above down to the guards below, all died in battle.

Falling forward, not a single one turned back.

Tragic beyond compare—truly a funeral for a nation.

Chen's fall could not be a scrambling, dog-like scramble for survival.

Li Guanyi fell silent; the famous generals on all four sides surrounded that small courtyard, broke through the wall; a eunuch sat before the wall, a blade in his hand, already struck by an arrow, gasping for breath, his face deathly pale, his vitality gradually fading.

Chen Wenmian rushed in first and saw Chen Dingye.

Chen Dingye's eyes could no longer see; their color and texture were like wood and stone; white hair hung down behind his shoulders; gripping his sword, he sat cross-legged there; before him, many famous generals had surrounded this one Emperor.

Chen Wenmian looked at him, looked at his own fate, looked at the father he once had, looked at his enemy.

Chen Dingye rose, both hands resting on his sword, and said contemptuously, "You've all come?"

"Then come!"

The dharma-images of Qiongqi and the Venom Dragon roared and surged skyward.

Phoenix, Crimson Dragon, Suanni, Grey Wolf, Fierce Tiger, Black Panther — the auras of so many generals representing the pinnacle of the present age surged skyward, dyeing this place into a fierce, murderous battlefield. Chen Dingye personally took up his sword and charged forward to fight.

How could he possibly be the match of so many famed generals?

The famed generals who charged at the forefront of the formation struck, pouring out their unwillingness — Fan Qing's experiences, Yue Qianfeng's unwillingness — and one after another blade and sword wounds appeared on Chen Dingye's body, fresh blood flowing out, his aura gradually growing faint.

But within the angry shouts, a familiar aura was heard.

A voice from long, long ago seemed to ring in Chen Dingye's ears.

Chen Wenmian gripped the Grey Wolf Blade. He wanted Li Guanyi to let him end everything with his own hands, so Li Guanyi did not strike. Behind Chen Wenmian, the Grey Wolf dharma-image erupted. He gripped the Grey Wolf Blade, looking at the white-haired, disheveled, wretched Chen Huang.

Chen Wenmian's own feelings he could not even identify — only that his eyes had reddened.

"It should end now…"

"Chen Dingye!"

At the corner of his eyes seemed to be a trace of tears, barely perceptible.

The Grey Wolf's howl surged skyward, and the blade came crashing down. In that instant, the Chen Dingye who had been stumbling just now seemed to have returned to his peak after cultivating the forbidden art — his form shifted in a flash, and he raised his hand to grip the Grey Wolf Blade.

But, receiving this strike meant his rear was left undefended.

Behind Chen Dingye, the weapons of Fan Qing, Yue Qianfeng, and others had already come crashing down.

Tearing through his qi, piercing into Chen Dingye's body.

Fresh blood flowed in torrents.

Chen Wenmian looked at Chen Dingye. Chen Dingye gripped the weapons tightly, a faint curve at the corner of his mouth, his eyes — already completely destroyed by the Fei poison — gazing forward, yet still seeming to hold a look of sovereign disdain.

Suddenly, with a violent exertion of strength, Chen Wenmian's body was actually pulled closer by this terrifying force, letting him see Chen Dingye more clearly.

Chen Dingye poured out the last of his strength.

He raised his foot.

One kick landed squarely on Chen Wenmian's chest. He spent his last breath, and the last of his fiercely burning blood, kicking this Seven Heavens Divine General flying out of the place, crashing heavily onto the ground. Chen Dingye planted the Grey Wolf Blade into the earth, his gaze disdainful and arrogant, and said lightly:

"Anyone may kill Us. We may die at anyone's hand."

"But We absolutely cannot die at yours!"

This had once been Chen Dingye's longing — to lose his birth father, lose his mother and grandfather, and once more kill his own Chen Wenmian with his own hands, leaving him without weakness. But now, thinking about it, such an idea was truly dull.

Far too dull.

Chen Wenmian coughed violently, struggled to rise, and watched Chen Dingye turn away indifferently. The Director of Ceremonies struggled up and closed the door. In the end, Chen Wenmian only saw Chen Dingye's calm eyes.

Go on living in this world, carrying the regret of not being able to kill Us, and the relief of ultimately not having killed Us.

If you had killed Us, after defeating Jiang Su, you would have lost your reason to keep living as well, wouldn't you? Dantai Xianming, how truly did he raise you into a gentleman…

Chen Dingye's eyes were pitch-black, 'looking' at the child in his memory.

He did not step closer to touch that child.

He only looked.

He released the Grey Wolf Blade in his hand, turned, and paced away into the distance.

His back was ramrod straight.

The Chen Huang walked step by step, and beneath his feet, behind him, was all blood.

Mingling into the brave, fierce blood of a nation sacrificed unto death.

"Our head alone is enough to earn the finest reward under heaven."

The Chen Huang swept his sleeve. Within the bloodstained sleeve was a fierce, grim aura. He sat on the most ordinary stone in the small city's courtyard, his voice flat and disdainful, addressing the world, addressing the famed generals before him, and said lightly:

"Come."

"And face Our Duke of the Founding."

?? Begging for monthly tickets, friends~