Chapter 532: The Qilin Roars atop the Peaks, the Azure Dragon Wanders the Four Seas
The Nine Provinces’ cauldrons were forged by concentrating qi and fortune, sacred vessels of the state.
The King of Qin has already acquired one cauldron from the Jiangnan region—the Ancient Crimson Dragon; one from the Western Regions—the Nine-Colored Divine Deer; one from the southwest—the Iron-Eating Strange Beast; and half a cauldron from the grasslands. Though partially cast into cauldrons, at that time the territories and hearts of the Seven Kings were insufficient to truly forge a full cauldron.
Only after a friendly and auspicious exchange between the Ancient Crimson Dragon and the Grassland Divine Eagle did the Grassland Divine Eagle reluctantly agree to cooperate in completing the casting.
It possesses no special abilities.
It merely uses this metal and the auspicious spirits of divine beasts to fix the qi of the territory in place.
Now that he holds the entirety of Chen Guo and half the grassland territory of the Tielei, casting another cauldron should yield at least two more units of qi fortune. At that time, if the world’s qi fortune is divided into nine parts, Li Guanyi will hold more than five-ninths, but less than six-ninths.
The position of Nine-Five corresponds to a single nation.
A decisive battle is imminent.
With the pacification of Chen Guo, the annihilation of the Tielei, and the execution of Chen Huang, qi fortune surged and converged upon one man. The qi within the Nine Cauldrons was already overflowing, churning violently, vast as mountains, rivers, heaven, and earth.
The Wu Dao Grand Master must now walk his own path, forging his yuan shen body.
Only by forging a path never before tread can one shatter the barrier, surpass one’s limits, and attain the realm of Wu Dao legend.
What Li Guanyi pursues is the unification of the Nine Provinces and the consolidation of the Four Seas into one nation.
He walks his own path, has endured countless fierce battles, and stands merely half a step away from the Wu Dao Legend realm—but the hardest thing in the world is that final step after ninety-nine.
Even if Li Guanyi’s aura surges, desperately seeking sudden enlightenment to take that step, it remains exceedingly difficult; at this stage, no amount of rigorous cultivation can break through—it requires only that single thread of opportunity.
If the opportunity arrives, the breakthrough may come within a single breath.
If the opportunity does not come, even sixty years of seated stillness may yield no progress.
Li Guanyi’s current state resembles Murong Long Tu, who sat in seclusion for over a decade within the Murong Mansion; or the Wolf King Chen Chengbi, who roamed the chaotic world yet never took that final decisive step; or even the Tielei Great Khan.
Murong Long Tu and the Wolf King took that step—and thus became legends.
The Great Khan never took that step, and died still half a step short.
When Li Guanyi achieved Grand Master status, he no longer relied on the Nine Cauldrons.
When he became king, he instead refined the Nine Cauldrons themselves, granting them new potential. The barrier to Wu Dao Legend is elusive—perhaps at the moment the Nine Cauldrons are forged, their qi fortune resonates in unison, surging forth as his single thread of opportunity.
Through this opportunity, he will shatter the barrier and attain Wu Dao Legend.
The current foundation of Ying Guo surpasses that of Tiance Prefecture.
Only if their commander, Li Guanyi, breaks through his own barrier and attains Wu Dao Legend can both sides truly stand on equal footing to fight and determine the fate of the realm.
The forging of the Nine Cauldrons was never something achieved overnight.
It always requires considerable time.
He must gather metal from Chen Guo and from the various grassland tribes.
Fortunately, though the King of Qin ranks among the poorest of monarchs, he has plenty of loyal brothers, so gathering these materials is not overly difficult—though it remains a time-consuming task.
Affairs on the grasslands have been entrusted to the former crown prince of Dangxiang, Hao Yuansha, and the Seven Kings’ Ashi.
In Chen Guo, Li Guanyi will go himself.
For this purpose, the King of Qin issued an edict summoning Nan Gong Wu Meng, an elder of the Tiance Prefecture’s Qilin Army and former commander of the Scout Army. This act left the Xuan Gui Fa Xiang, who had been gleefully preparing to show off, utterly silent.
The Xuan Gui Fa Xiang widened his pea-sized green eyes.
Watching Nan Gong Wu Meng shuffle over, the latter possessed sixth-tier Wu Gong, his appearance unchanged since days of old; behind him, his super-composite Wealth-Bringing Fa Xiang had, on top of its original forms, somehow acquired a golden dragon and a golden leopard.
Glittering with gold.
The Xuan Gui Fa Xiang’s eyes were nearly blinded.
Sitting there, his broken front paws propping up his chin, he was barely missing a cup of wine.
He sighed.
Turtle life.
How truly melancholy!
Had he already attained the spiritual level of the ancient Spirit of Destiny, the Xuan Gui Fa Xiang would have spoken long ago, grabbing Li Guanyi’s sleeve and shouting out loud.
Turtle, where did you find such a living father?
What use is this Xuan Gui anymore?!
What use is there?!
Might as well boil me for soup.
But now he could only grow more melancholy, especially seeing the Scout Army’s former commander carrying under his arm a silver-haired girl skilled in arcane divination—making the Xuan Gui sigh even deeper.
What is more melancholy for a turtle than a living father?
You guessed right.
Two living fathers!
“Hmm, I thought Yao Guang hadn’t seen you in a long time, so I brought her along. Definitely not because I was too timid to come alone. Definitely not.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng spoke with unwavering confidence despite having no justification.
He added: “Besides, I thought it would be harder.”
“But that old master Qiankui didn’t stop me at all.”
“Strange.”
The silver-haired girl had already opened her arms and thrown herself into Li Guanyi’s embrace, pressing her forehead against his chest to absorb the qi she had long missed. Li Guanyi reached out and stroked her hair, smiling:
“Then you’ve come at the perfect time.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng wondered what the King of Qin meant by “perfect time.”
As he thought, his cheeks flushed slightly.
But moments later, his face twisted into a furious scowl as he muttered “I knew it,” and followed Li Guanyi into Chen’s royal secret vault—already completely emptied by the King of Qin and Master Wen Qingyu.
“Though we’ve already emptied it, based on my understanding of the Chen Emperor, there’s definitely a hidden chamber inside. What’s outside is merely what commoners consider treasures.”
“The real treasures—the things suitable for casting cauldrons—must be hidden within.”
“Absolutely.”
The King of Qin beamed with pride.
With the cunning of a commoner surviving in the marketplace and the dust of the mortal world.
Nan Gong Wu Meng sighed. He had lost even the will to regret.
“Your obsession with hiding money is so intense, I almost feel sorry for you—for a sovereign.”
The King of Qin’s five fingers descended from above, pressing down on Nan Gong’s skull, his smile dangerous: “What did you say? I give you three breaths to retract your words.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng smirked: “Aren’t you poor?”
The King of Qin replied with perfect conviction: “I am poor—but I won’t let anyone say I am!”
“No man, no matter how great, can do without lies.”
“Speaking the truth is just impolite.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng laughed until he doubled over.
Helplessly, he didn’t find it troublesome at all—instead, he happily joined Li Guanyi and Yao Guang in ransacking the royal vault’s hidden treasures.
They discovered many things, including poems written by one emperor to his daughter-in-law; a collection of undergarments; IOUs from youth;
A bloodstained chessboard; and a test paper hidden away with the annotation: “Copied ten times.”
The emperors carved in dry, rigid histories suddenly came alive.
Good or bad.
No longer mere stiff portraits.
Li Guanyi held an ancient coin, made of jade, its surface altered by long storage, inscribed with four seal-script characters: “Peace in the Human Realm.” Such jade coins held considerable collector’s value.
Li Guanyi also found many other jade artifacts stored with the coin.
“Fine treasures.”
The King of Qin’s wealth was modest, but his eye for value was sharp.
Nan Gong Wu Meng asked: “These seem valuable—should we have Wen Qingyu sell them?”
Li Guanyi cherished these jades and their inscriptions, turning one jade bi over in his fingers, smiling: “I won’t sell these.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng said: “Not sell? You plan to keep them?”
“Yes. I intend to give them away.”
Nan Gong Wu Meng paused, feigning curiosity, face expressionless, as if uninvolved: “Who to?”
Li Guanyi pinched the jade bi, smiling: “Of course, to my sweet daughter.”
“These years of fighting, aside from the longevity lock I gave her at her one-month ceremony, I’ve given her nothing—though I’ve collected plenty of lucky money…”
Li Guanyi smiled faintly.
Over these years, the little princess’s lucky money still reached the King of Qin.
Each time, with a letter.
Starting with only a chubby palm print, later progressing to messy, unstructured characters—Li Guanyi learned the joy of raising a child from afar. Yet this little girl, so adorable, seemed to exhaust Ji Zichang.
The man was already forty, thinking only of peace.
Then he’d hand the child over to the King of Qin and wander the world with his wife.
Killing two birds with one stone: dumping both debt and child.
You took the lucky money—now you raise the kid!
The King of Qin scoffed.
As long as the money’s paid, raising a child is nothing.
With enough money, I’d raise nine.
Ji Zichang wrote back, laughing and scolding: “You should just have kids yourself.”
The Prince of Qin replied: “At this pivotal moment for the world, all warlords and the common people look to this army’s weapons. How can we sheathe our blades and drown in soft comforts while the people suffer in fire and water?”
A true man, whose ambition remains unfulfilled and whose blood still burns, how could he turn back?
The world has never known peace—and yet I alone enjoy peace.
I am the thief of peace!
If the world achieves peace, then let me die upon the battlefield.
The merit of peace does not belong to me.
But I must be part of it.
Ji Zichang fell silent for a long while, then sighed: “Without a ruler like this, how could peace be secured? Without such spirit, how could the world be stabilized?”
“Since ancient times, many have been bold and valiant in youth, yet forgotten their great vows in age, indulging in comfort.”
“Therefore, Your Majesty, the Prince of Qin.”
“You took my New Year’s money—when will you repay me?”
The Prince of Qin is unreachable.
Don’t talk about money—we’re still friends.
We rely on the New Year’s money of that adopted daughter.
This unexpected windfall led him to plan a gift: he would present the royal treasures of Chen Guo to the little girl, store away the jade, yet discover even more ancient swords, tiger tallies, small bronze tripods, and metal seals hidden in secret chambers.
This would be perfect for casting a tripod.
As for the divine beast, we may harness the might of the Qilin.
The treasures hidden by the tribes on the steppe also escaped no eye of Ashi; all were carefully selected. Since the Great Khan fell on the battlefield, Ashi had changed entirely.
Before that, his mother had died, and he still had a father in his eyes.
Now even his father had perished in this chaotic age.
Before his eyes lay only life and death.
Many khans had fallen; his heroic father, who once swallowed the steppe whole, was gone. The lives and futures of the remaining Turks, his kin, the quiet herders of the steppe—all now rested on his shoulders.
A man’s heart does not grow with time or years.
It matures in an instant, after one single event.
Making your own choice is merely becoming an adult; bearing full responsibility for its consequences—even knowing the outcome, yet never regretting—is true maturity.
The Great Khan’s final spear thrust pushed Ashi’s armor outward.
But it also seemed to pierce his heart.
That once proud, arrogant Ashi, who had been the Seventh Khan brimming with vigor, became at once the Khan of the remaining Turks—his shoulders broad enough to bear fate and lineage. Thus, the noble lords still harboring malice and resentment became his targets to crush.
A noble beneath the Khan, unwilling to submit, plotted rebellion, intending to rally the newly stabilized Turkic people and storm the Tiance Prefecture. The Seventh Khan uncovered it, bound them, forced them to kneel, yet they still raged:
“You are also a son and bloodline of the Great Khan!”
“You too carry the blood of Eternal Heaven!”
“How can you willingly submit to a man of the Central Plains?!”
The Seventh Khan said: “If I met an ordinary man ravaging the Central Plains, I would not submit—I would raise arms and vie for the world with him.”
The Khan’s noble replied: “Then why not the Prince of Qin?!”
The Seventh Khan fell silent for a long while, recalling the decade-long acquaintance and rivalry between them, then sighed:
“Had I met Your Majesty, I would have been your vanguard, holding your horse’s reins, walking beside you, sharing the dream of a unified realm.”
“To see mountains and rivers united, the world at peace—I would die without regret.”
“You traitors, how dare you sow discord between us and Your Majesty?!”
The Khan struggled, but the ropes binding him were specially made to capture Master Wen Qingyu; the more he struggled, the tighter they bit into flesh, bone, and sinew, searing with pain. He roared:
“We are both khans!”
“How can we bow beneath another?!”
The Seventh Khan thundered: “Your Majesty is the Heavenly Khan!”
“Who are you, to dare compare yourself to him?!”
“If you speak another word, Ashi knows you—but Ashi’s blade does not!”
The Turkic nobles turned pale, fell silent, and could offer no rebuttal.
The people of the steppe and the Western Regions recognized Khan Ashi—but they also recognized the Heavenly Khan, Prince Li Guanyi. With this bond, and under the Prince’s rule, their lives had grown better than under any former khan.
The Prince of Qin did not lash the people as some steppe khans had, nor did he label the poor as savages, nor treat common lives as mere ropes—where knights and warriors could kill them without consequence.
The will to rebel faded.
With the steppe subdued and Chen Guo pacified, the Prince cast the tripod. As Chen Wenmian stood quietly in thought for a long while, he went to the Xue family. He had fought countless battles on the battlefield, bold and magnificent, having walked through armies without a trace of fear or retreat.
Yet before the Xue family’s gate in Guanyi City, holding sweets a child would love, he fell silent, unsure what to do.
He had lost his original boldness.
Finally, he entered the Xue home. Xue Daoyong sighed, pitying this tragic divine general, his demeanor gentle: “You and Guanyi are as brothers. If so, you are also half my junior.”
“Come in.”
As Chen Wenmian walked with Xue Daoyong through the Xue family’s corridor toward the Listening Wind Pavilion, they passed a curved gallery. On either side hung vast sheets of white paper, each inscribed with ink characters that fluttered in the wind.
This scene felt as if he had seen it in a dream.
As the wind stirred, the white sheets, covered in bold ink characters, swayed. Chen Wenmian halted. He heard laughter—and a child’s cry. A giant chased a child: “Young Master, slow down! Slow down!”
“Catch me! Come on!”
The small child dashed through the gallery, gleefully dodging Zhao Da Bing. But as he turned, youth betrayed him—despite his superior martial skill, his foundation was still shallow. He could not avoid it, and crashed straight into Chen Wenmian’s leg.
“Ah!”
The child cried out, recoiling from Chen Wenmian’s deep internal qi.
He fell backward.
Zhao Da Bing rushed forward, leaping to catch him: “Young Master, are you alright?”
The child sat there, dazed, yet said:
“I’m fine, I’m fine!”
He looked up and saw Chen Wenmian, who had stopped.
His eyes sparkled: “Wow, you’re so tall.”
Chen Wenmian looked at the small child. The child stared at the young man in white robes, gentle in bearing. Xue Daoyong’s expression was complex; he sighed: “Tianyi, this guest—call him ‘Big Brother.’”
Chen Tianyi, having forgotten his past, smiled brightly: “Big Brother.”
He opened his arms.
“Hug me!”
Chen Wenmian fell silent for a long while. He looked at his bloodstained hands, then reached out, embracing this brother he did not know how to face—carefully, cautiously, painfully complex.
He had been used as a pawn by his grandfather, rejected by his mother, followed his biological father, then fought against the father he had served for over a decade. Now, he encountered something akin to kinship—something intricate.
He suddenly understood, just a little.
Why Chen Dingye had chosen to stop him, refusing to let him strike.
All these emotions tangled like a thousand knots.
Impossible to explain, impossible to untangle.
Chen Wenmian finally whispered:
“...Mm.”
………………
The Turks surrendered. Chen Guo was pacified. The tripod was cast—to fix the realm’s fortune. Li Guanyi could not shatter the legend of martial cultivation, but this moment could serve as the vital thread, seeking a breakthrough.
Among the top ten divine generals of the world, Qin and Ying were nearly equal.
But among the top thirty, the Prince of Qin’s generals far outnumbered those of Ying Guo.
His momentum was fierce, resolute, already bearing the spirit to swallow the four directions. Yet the heroes of the world were not confined to one state or region. In history’s scrolls, thousands of readings reveal the people’s suffering, the world’s fracture, heroes killing heroes across the seas.
Events unfolded even before the Central Plains launched their final campaign against the Turks.
At that time, Jiang Su marched out. Jiang Wanxiang saw her off, his voice calm: “My life has been like a grand play. All plays end. All have their final climax. But before that, there must be a warm-up.”
“Chen Dingye may fall. I, too, must face my final battle.”
Jiang Su led the troops away.
It was for the great righteousness of the world.
Yet those like them—possessing the great righteousness to sacrifice much strategy and stand united against foreign foes, dying without turning back—also held their own vision and choices. Just as the Prince of Qin prepared to crush the Turks, he also prepared to overthrow the Emperor of Chen.
Jiang Wanxiang had his own preparations. His own purpose.
His own choice.
His own eyes, gazing upon a vast, distant world.
He had grown far too old.
Especially since three years ago, he had resolved to prolong his life while channeling the strength and fortune of Ying Guo into the Divine General Jiang Su, strengthening the already invincible Jiang Su for a greater future.
But draining the realm’s fortune and qi was a massive toll on a ruler—especially one as aged as Jiang Wanxiang, so close to death.
In youth, he could have borne such loss—but lacked the will or choice. In age, he had the will—but his failing flesh and the backlash would further erode his already dwindling lifespan.
A sovereign’s life is as thin as paper.
Jiang Wanxiang was a man who never yielded in life.
A hero of the world, a sovereign who rose from illegitimate birth to conquer the realm.
With his vision, he had already seen the world—and the possibility of its unification. He knew: regardless of his own fate, the day of a united world, of peace across the four seas, was coming.
The dream I’ve sought all my life lies ahead!
Yet my own vitality grows weaker, ever more faint—soon, I will inevitably miss this grand battle; how can I accept it? How can I simply let go?
How could this be?!
How can I close my eyes and leave this world?!
“If I bid farewell to this world as it is, would it not be a regret?”
When he spoke these words to Jiang Su, she fell silent and said: “Had the state’s destiny not been passed onto me alone, Your Majesty’s fortune would not have sunk to this.”
Jiang Wanxiang burst into loud laughter: “From a lowly branch of the imperial clan to where I stand today, I have never believed in the words ‘what if.’”
“The tide of the world never leaves room for ‘what if.’”
“One must rely on oneself.”
Jiang Su said: “But, Your Majesty…”
Jiang Wanxiang spoke calmly:
“The fate of the State of Ying has already been entrusted to the Grand Master; there are still other options in this world…”
At these words, Jiang Su’s expression hardened slightly.
Even this martial god, neither good nor evil, felt a surging tide of destiny crashing toward him.
Jiang Wanxiang clasped his own hands, sensing the backlash of fate—his body, unaccustomed to its absence, now bled vitality; his expression remained calm: “I’ve ridden this life hard; let this battle be my end. Whether I win or lose, it will be satisfying.”
“Whether I win, or I lose.”
“Shouldn’t we see it through to the end?”
“Even if my hands are stained with blood, even if I am the ultimate traitor, even if after my death, all men point fingers and the ages curse me—what of it?”
“We of our kind do not care.”
Jiang Wanxiang said calmly: “Let us see this through to the end. Let me become the most traitorous, the most fiercely solitary man in this world—then, with this aged body, march before the blades of all armies.”
The aged dragon paced; once he entered the imperial palace of the State of Ying, now he walked, as he does now, into the palace of Zhongzhou. Behind him, a million troops, iron steeds and spears; before him, the noble families of Zhongzhou turned pale with shock.
Heroes and tyrants of the world all walk their own paths.
They make their own choices.
They bear the consequences and costs of every action.
When Qin defeated Chen, overthrew the Chen Emperor, and cast the Cauldron…
Jiang Su acted as bait to draw attention; Jiang Wanxiang led his army to Zhongzhou. He walked slowly, white-haired, his brow commanding, ascending the ninety-nine steps of white jade, facing the red emperor, Ji Zichang, whose temples were faintly streaked with white, his expression serene.
A million troops, a king of chaos, stood before him.
Ji Zichang remained unmoved, and said calmly:
“Why have you come here so suddenly? What do you seek?”
“If you’ve come to pay homage, why do you not offer proper rites?”
Open, composed.
Jiang Wanxiang smiled faintly and raised his hand.
His left palm rested gently upon his right, and he bowed slowly.
His sleeves fell, revealing dark-blue dragon patterns hidden within—like a divine dragon wandering the four seas; old, nearing death, yet his heart refused to yield, his bearing proud, arrogant, radiating the aura of a warlord of chaos.
“Jiang Wanxiang, pays homage to the Red Emperor.”
“I have come here now.”
The aged dragon lifted his gaze, speaking plainly:
“I ask Your Majesty—to abdicate!”
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End of Chapter
