Chapter 537: New Year

The roar of Bai Hu shook the rivers and fields.

The long spear was grim and razor-sharp; Yuwen Lie thrust his heavy spear forward, the qi surging like a storm, raising layer upon layer of waves—just one forward lunge sent a hundred men flying.

A woman of extraordinary beauty panicked and cried, “General!”

“General Yuwen, spare me! I was forced here by my family and clan—I have unspeakable hardships!”

“I offer myself to you.”

“I beg you… I’ll be your slave, your servant…”

The woman was stunningly beautiful, her eyes brimming with tears like a orchid trembling in the wind, stirring ripples in the heart—but the ink-black divine spear showed no hesitation, not even a flicker of softening.

In an instant, she was pierced through.

The divine steed leapt, soaring over her head.

The steed neighed like a dragon, landing on the earth, then stepped forward calmly. Around them, leaves rustled; Yuwen Lie held Ji Ning’er in his left arm, gazing ahead where the scenery had changed—the mountains and forests were beautiful, the streams murmured softly. The divine general’s voice was cold:

“If we press forward another half-day, we’ll reach the former lands of Chen Guo.”

“Ahead lies the territory of the Qilin Army.”

“You two need not follow any further.”

Wind stirred behind them; a Daoist and an old monk stepped forward.

They were the heads of the Daoist and Buddhist sects within the Xuegong—Ziyang Zhenren of the Daoist path and the Living Buddha of the Buddhist heartland, both having witnessed their own Dao on the Ninth Heaven. Yuwen Lie had personally escorted Ji Ning’er and Ji Yanzhong for days.

All forces from Zhongzhou that blocked their way were shattered and slaughtered by the Divine Might General.

Before Bai Hu, there are no innocents.

Ziyang Zhenren and the old monk, entrusted by Gongyang Suwang, had been assigned to secure the rear. They had planned to wait until Chi Di Ji Zichang was rescued, then escort them all away together. But now they knew Ji Zichang’s choice, so they decided to escort Ji Ning’er instead.

Yet they never expected Yuwen Lie—who should have silenced them—chose to escort her himself. So they hid in the shadows, following secretly: first, to avoid direct confrontation and unnecessary complications; second, to eliminate hidden traps and assassins along the way.

Ziyang Zhenren swept his dust whisk, his voice calm: “General, your righteousness and valor are peerless.”

“I am in awe.”

Yuwen Lie did not look at these leaders of Buddhist and Daoist sects.

He was a divine general who entered the world to uphold heaven’s order.

Those who retreated from the world to cultivate were invisible to him.

Ji Yanzhong’s eyes were faintly bloodshot, his appearance more aged and worn than ever. For days, he had not slept, gripping his sword, ever vigilant.

Perhaps, at this peak of global conflict, the Seventh Heaven’s martial realm could no longer alter the tide—but still, he instinctively did this.

Perhaps because if he did nothing, his spirit would grow more anxious and pained; if he did nothing, his conversation with Ji Zichang, and the Crimson Emperor’s resolve, would haunt him endlessly, bringing a dull, persistent ache.

Ji Yanzhong said: “Thank you, General Yuwen, for escorting us this far…”

The old man’s voice was hoarse.

Yuwen Lie looked at Ji Yanzhong, dismounted, drove his heavy spear into the ground, bent down, and reached to hand Ji Ning’er over. His ink-black cloak fell; the child slept peacefully in his arms—but as he passed her, her small hand gripped the crimson tassels on the general’s armor, refusing to let go.

Ji Yanzhong said: “Little Princess…”

“We’ve arrived. It’s time to go.”

Ji Ning’er was half-asleep, like all children at such moments, clinging tightly.

A touch of gentleness appeared on the divine general’s cold, handsome face.

He reached out, unfastened the red tassel symbolizing peace and invincibility, his palm covered in dark-silver armor, placed it in the child’s arms, and said plainly: “If you like it, take it.”

“As a farewell gift.”

Ji Yanzhong said: “She clearly trusts you.”

“Won’t you escort her further, General Yuwen?”

Yuwen Lie withdrew his hand: “No. If I meet Li Guanyi, we will fight.”

Ji Yanzhong said: “The Prince of Qin is not such a man.”

Yuwen Lie glanced at him, speaking coolly:

“I will be the one to strike.”

Five words—revealing the divine general’s arrogance and disdain.

His unyielding pride had been laid bare; Ji Yanzhong fell silent, awed, wanting to speak but unable to utter a word.

His nature was gentle and broad-minded, yet this made him lack firm resolve.

The ancients said: those with great talent are like a needle in a sack—once moved, they pierce through.

In this age, winds rise and clouds surge, waves crash ten thousand feet high.

The more intense the conflict and contradiction, the more extraordinary figures emerge—Chen Chengbi, Lu Youxian, Chen Dingye, Ji Zichang, and now Yuwen Lie.

Different natures, different stances—yet all shine brilliantly in their age, renowned through millennia.

Their hearts are iron, moving through the turbulent waves of chaos.

Compared to their clear, resolute wills,

Ji Yanzhong felt guilt and shame.

He was ultimately kind and gentle, yet ultimately weak—this gentle elder of peaceful times, in an age of surging chaos and decisive upheaval, hesitated, looked back and forth, and faltered.

Yuwen Lie said: “Also, she is no longer a princess.”

“The one who survives is not a princess.”

Yuwen Lie’s voice was flat.

“If we win this war for peace, then in the coming era of tranquility, let her live the life her parents wished for her; if we lose, then there is no need to speak further.”

“This is our final meeting.”

Yuwen Lie reached out, brushed aside Ji Ning’er’s hair, smoothing it.

The child slept, half-drowsy, feeling cold.

The grim chill of the armor seemed to reach her.

She instinctively shrank her neck, avoiding Yuwen Lie’s fingers.

Yuwen Lie fell silent, removed his gauntlet, let his pale, slender fingers brush the child, then withdrew them. His gaze was calm and clear: “The Emperor’s realm is vast—it can hold a single child. But it cannot hold the rebellion of the Crimson Emperor.”

“Ji Yanzhong.”

“Do as you must.”

“Tell Li Guanyi—on the battlefield, I await his Tiger Roar Spear.”

The dragon steed’s neigh echoed like a black dragon; the divine general mounted, his cloak swirling like dark clouds. He sat atop the steed, jade crown binding his hair, brows proud and detached. He spoke no farewell, no threat.

Only pulled the reins.

No hesitation. No doubt. No lingering.

The divine steed turned and galloped away. Among these mountains and rivers, his cloak swept bamboo leaves, the dragon-horse trod waves, the ink-black heavy spear tore through chaos—Divine Might General Yuwen Lie, after a brief moment of softness, gripped his spear once more, riding toward his fate and the chaos.

Look at a man—his heart remains iron till death.

Let us test our hands—mend the torn heavens.

Whether success comes is not the most important thing—it is whether one has the resolve to raise a hand and mend the heavens amid surging chaos.

If not, then die!

A man’s valor and fierceness admit no third path.

As Yuwen Lie rode away, the child, long protected by Bai Hu’s divine aura, suddenly felt a sense of distance and unease, reached out, and burst into tears. Yuwen Lie did not look back—but Bai Hu suddenly roared, its voice clear and resonant, echoing through the mountains.

Thus the hills echoed, the forest leaves rustled, like a farewell.

Ji Ning’er suddenly smiled.

Even in farewell, the coldest and most aloof man acts thus.

Ziyang Zhenren fell silent for a long while, then said: “The Heavenly Star Bai Hu—the star of slaughter in chaos. As long as Yuwen Lie lives, one day he may, like Jiang Su or Chen Chengbi, find his own Dao on the battlefield and in chaos, and step into legend.”

“Three hundred years of chaos—now it will end as one.”

“Truly, if these heroes lived in a time of peace, they would be friends and confidants—peaceful times, the Prince of Qin and Yuwen Lie drinking together, Ji Zichang playing the qin, Chen Dingye writing splendid prose, Chen Chengbi and Jiang Wanxiang guarding the realm.”

“But alas, alas—reading history, one sees only how chaos began in bustle, then faded into lonely silence.”

“Like waves crashing ten thousand feet high, these heroes of chaos rise with the tide, achieving deeds that shake past and future.”

“Old Prince Ji.”

Ziyang Zhenren looked at Ji Yanzhong, calling his name several times; finally, Ji Yanzhong snapped back, forcing a smile: “Ziyang Zhenren? What is it?”

Ziyang Zhenren looked at the old man, his eyes filled with pity.

For a man without the bold spirit of a hero in chaos, in just a few days, he had lost his homeland, his native soil, his pillar and past—all that defined [Ji Yanzhong].

He had lost his past, everything he had believed in, everything he had protected—leaving only this child.

This was a cruel thing.

Not everyone is an hero who leaves a mark in history; not everyone, after enduring all this, retains iron will. Even the greatest heroes of millennia have their moments of collapse.

The old monk said: “...Even beyond the world, there are still pure places.”

“In this mortal realm, Ji Yanzhong is dead. This child is entrusted to the Prince of Qin. Old friend, come with us—leave the world, cultivate in peace, and see the coming age of tranquility.”

Ji Yanzhong fell silent for a long while, then a complex smile appeared on his face:

“Very well.”

Together, they headed toward the Prince of Qin’s location—but along the way, they learned the Prince was not in Jiangnan, but in Jiangzhou, precisely when he and Jiang Su were jointly campaigning against the Tujue.

One by one, the heroes of the chaotic world had faded.

Now only two forces, blazing with power, stood opposed.

Swords and spears were drawn—no room for retreat.

The Prince of Qin’s forces must, on one hand, guard against the peerless war god Jiang Su, turning their weapons against the Qilin Army; on the other, gather strength to purge the corruption within Chen Guo and campaign against Chen Dingye.

This is by no means a simple matter—the recently subdued territories of Chen Guo and half the Turkic steppe have only just pledged allegiance to the Tiance Prefecture and Prince Qin, and still harbor numerous unstable elements.

Added to this is the terrifying pressure brought by Jiang Su, the Divine General.

The pressure on the Tiance Prefecture is immense.

Master Yan Daiqing’s resentment has reached the heavens lately.

We have just endured three consecutive wars: the Campaign Against Chen, the Breaking of the Turks, and the Execution of the Emperor.

Those hundreds of thousands of Qilin Army troops have honed their battlefield edge and a chilling, ruthless aura—they are all battle-hardened veterans.

But we’ve burned through too much money and grain.

Logistics is not merely a matter of funds.

It consumes grain too.

Rather, by now, money isn’t the real shortage—it’s grain that matters most.

Especially for supply units transporting provisions: these logistical corps normally farm, but now, in wartime, we’ve lost a vast number of laborers, while these same supply troops and their horses consume enormous quantities of food.

We still have silver, but we no longer have enough grain to sustain a decisive, life-or-death battle.

What lies ahead is a true clash of two [Heavens].

The circulation of gold and silver will likely plummet drastically.

The Jianghu reflects the court; the battlefield extends the temple hall—but in Yan Daiqing’s eyes, these three are one and the same, and ultimately, it’s all just one thing. Now nearly thirty, Yan Daiqing, forged in the chaos of war, has long understood much.

The three are one, yet economic wealth is their central axis.

Many shifts can be seen in subtle market changes—grain prices, inventory levels—and now, all exchanges are rapidly severed; old rules no longer matter; commerce and goods cannot flow.

Once this stage arrives, it’s time to fight for survival.

Yan Daiqing took a slow breath, his eyes heavy.

A sensation like lightning streaked down his spine.

“War readiness…”

He suddenly realized it.

He understood why the Xue family, whose merchants spanned the realm, had begun secretly selling off their holdings in Ying Guo even before Chen Guo was fully conquered—suffering heavy losses, yet secretly retrieving valuable assets.

Yan Daiqing noticed this because of Wen Qingyu’s frustration.

This genius, the foremost strategist of his generation, had realized it.

Those problematic members of the Xue family were promoted and transferred to Ying Guo; at the time, Chen Guo was in chaos while Ying Guo remained stable, and those transferred Xue members were delighted.

In their joy, they embezzled goods from the Xue merchant guild.

And they smuggled back the very items Xue Daoyong needed.

Now, as tensions mount, the Xue guild there can no longer operate—it has gradually fallen under Ying Guo’s control, and its personnel have been dealt with. Wen Qingyu visited Xue Daoyong and quietly raised the matter.

Xue Daoyong sighed bitterly: “Even if those people took ill-gotten gains and stained their hands with blood, they are still my Xue kin. Even a tiger, though fierce, does not eat its own cubs—how could I kill them myself?”

“Let Jiang Wanxiang remove them for me.”

The old man gnawed on a tea stem, spat out the dregs, and smiled:

“Does Master Wen kill with his own sword?”

Wen Qingyu grinned, face unchanged: “I use theirs.”

“Let them kill each other.”

The elder chuckled: “You’re not convinced.”

“Your mindset still isn’t steady enough.”

Wen Qingyu: “…………”

The smile grew even gentler.

The tiger of chaos laughed aloud. The hero who had reopened the Western Routes in his era, multiplying the Xue family’s wealth several times over, rose and clapped Wen Qingyu on the shoulder.

Wen Qingyu: “What do you mean?”

The tiger of chaos smiled cheerfully: “Young man, practice more.”

“Hahahaha!”

Under these circumstances, Prince Qin ordered the collection of metal and iron from Chen Guo and the Turkic steppe, apparently intending to cast a ding. But casting a ding is a massive undertaking, time-consuming and labor-intensive—even the entire Qilin Army’s [Fortune] has been mobilized.

Indeed, they’ve unearthed many fine treasures from the Chen imperial household.

Prince Qin’s mood is cheerful.

In Jiangzhou City, Li Guanyi gathered enough materials to cast the Nine Tripods, and placed on the table the items previously unearthed by Nan Gong Wumeng: a jade bi with nine dragons, of exquisite material, and several jade auspicious coins.

These were meant for his adopted daughter.

He found them yesterday, packed them today, and now plans to write a letter to Ji Zichang about it—otherwise, he’d always be accused of stealing the child’s lucky money.

Cough cough cough—stealing? Is this stealing? This is what an adoptive father does!

This is called temporary custody!

Yes, I’m merely holding it for her—I’ll give it all to her eventually. How could I, or Prince Qin, possibly be someone who borrows and never repays?

Li Guanyi picked up his brush and wrote:

“Long time no see, Brother Changwen—”

“How are you and your wife faring?”

“I’ve finally avenged my parents—at least partially. I’ve campaigned against the Turkic steppe, removed all rear threats, and brought Chen Dingye to his end. The world is desolate; ten years have slipped by like a blink.”

“The fire that once trapped me in youth has finally been quenched.”

“But the world is not yet at peace—we still face one final, brutal battle. I once thought that as long as peace came, it didn’t matter who ruled. But now, having come this far, we’ve reached this conclusion.”

“It’s for our fallen comrades, and for the past, and for our own most shameful betrayals.”

“My teacher once said: revolution must be thorough.”

“This isn’t a dinner invitation. This final battle must be fought—and won. Only then can we reshape the world. But I know that, even then, the tide of history will bring new problems.”

“Yet history moves forward, winding though it may be.”

“How can a true man shrink back because of it?”

“When peace finally comes, you may leave—travel the world, be yourself. Don’t be the Red Emperor anymore. Be Ji Zichang—or if that name feels like a chain, be Changwen.”

“Let Ning stay with me. When you’re ready, take your wife and wander. I’ll train the child, watch over this place. If you miss her, just come back anytime.”

“Hmph, but be careful—children are very attached!”

“Especially to me!”

“Don’t get me wrong—I’m very popular with kids. Be careful Ning forgets you entirely. So don’t wander too far. Well, really, it’s because I think I’m not very good at raising children.”

“But with Auntie here, it’ll be fine.”

Li Guanyi smiled gently—he and Ji Zichang had an excellent relationship.

Ever since that drunken night beneath the academy tree years ago.

Now, he was a lord who ruled a domain.

He set down the lucky money and wrote again: “I’ve found several jade artifacts for the child—consider them gifts.”

“Cough cough—could we count them as partial repayment of the lucky money?”

“These are precious items!”

“Anyway… when peace finally comes—”

“Li Yishi and Changwen can drink together again. I’ll wait for you under that big tree. Let’s get drunk once more.”

“The world is vast—go where you will!”

“No more chains.”

Li Guanyi set the letter down, when suddenly a faint scent of blood reached him. Prince Qin’s brows lifted, coldly asking:

“??? Who?!”

“Amitabha…”

The old monk’s chant echoed. Prince Qin looked at the Living Buddha of Zhongtu and the Purple Yang Daoist, then immediately saw the dazed Ji Yanzhong, and the child clutched tightly in his arms.

Li Guanyi’s smile froze.

A dragon’s roar nearly exploded.

Ji Yanzhong saw only a blur—Prince Qin appeared before him, sleeves swirling, eyes slightly widened, his face a mask of forced calm: “...Ning’er.”

He turned to Ji Yanzhong: “What happened?!”

Ji Yanzhong looked at the Prince, his voice flat, numb, almost unrecognizable: “Your Majesty.”

“Jiang Wanxiang forced the palace.”

“The Red Emperor burned himself alive, severing the Red Emperor lineage’s mandate.”

Prince Qin’s expression turned wooden: “Where is your wife?”

Ji Yanzhong said: “Imperial Consort Wen perished with him.”

He raised his hands: “This is what he wished—you protect Ning’er.”

Prince Qin didn’t know how he reached out to hold the child. He found himself unnaturally calm—no emotion stirred in his mind, only detachment and indifference, as if his soul watched his body from above.

Ji Yanzhong pulled a scroll from his chest, touched it, then said:

“This is the Emperor’s edict to you… no.”

“This is the Emperor’s final thing.”

Prince Qin stood still; qi flowed, and the scroll unfurled—inside, only a dozen simple characters.

【The world is vast—take it as you will.】

【You are no longer bound.】

[Master of Medicine, take the title of Emperor.]

The Qin King gazed quietly at these words; Ji Yanzhong saw no emotion stir in him, yet the Qin King held Ji Ning’er gently in his arms. The child awoke, looked at him, and suddenly said: “Ah, you’re my adoptive father!”

The Qin King looked at the child and said: “Yes, you’re such a good child. How did you know?”

Ji Ning’er beamed happily: “Father and Mother told me—it’s true! There really are powerful immortal arts.”

“Immortal arts?”

“Mm!”

Ji Ning’er nodded vigorously, her smile radiant: “Father and Mother gave me something sweet, said it was a treasure from the immortals. Once I drank it, I’d fall asleep—and when I woke up, I’d see you, my adoptive father.”

“Then Father and Mother said they’d play hide-and-seek with me.”

“They’d vanish quietly, and I had to find them slowly.”

“Adoptive father, adoptive father—I found you!”

“You’re so strong!”

“Hmph, you’ll surely help me find Father and Mother.”

Ji Yanzhong lowered his head. The old man, gentle and benevolent yet merely mortal, wept uncontrollably, his heart pierced like a knife. The old monk clasped his hands in prayer, unable to bear listening further; the Purple Yang Daoist merely sighed.

The Qin King’s voice was soft: “Mm. What else did they say?”

Ji Ning’er thought carefully, then smiled: “Yes! Father said he left you a gift—he said you’ve taken so much from Ning’er.”

She made the Qin King extend his hand, then placed something secretly into his palm.

The Qin King opened his palm. Inside lay a copper coin.

A New Year’s gift coin.

He froze.

All the grand schemes of the world, the surging tides of power—the fierce, the magnificent, the brave, the tyrannical—all vanished. He stared at this single coin, as if hearing a whisper, feeling a simple, pure emotion.

May you be safe year after year, may you be at peace year after year.

New Year’s coin. New Year’s coin.

The Qin King opened his mouth, but for no reason, this coin felt like a blade. The restrained, suppressed emotion surged like a flood. His heart clenched violently, searing with pain.

His body trembled; tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes.

Yet the Qin King gritted his teeth.

Those around him bowed their heads, none daring to look up at their lord in such a state—only the little child, puzzled, reached out and wiped his tears with her tiny palm, soothing him: “Adoptive father, don’t cry.”

“Is it hurting? Blow on it—it won’t hurt anymore.”

“It won’t hurt.”

Li Guanyi wept bitterly.

The imperial decree was swept up by a gust of wind, mingling with the Qin King’s letter.

[The world is vast—go where you will.]

[The world is vast—take what you will.]

Only one character differs—and yet it is the final farewell of this lifetime.

The Qin King’s vision blurred and twisted, as if he saw flames consuming all, fire roaring skyward, scenes from the past flashing before him: tomb raiding, seizing wealth, becoming a warlord—until finally, it settled on that tree, that wine beneath it.

The carefree, reckless young lord, the weary, broken Emperor of Zhongzhou.

Under the wind of that long ago, they met.

The flames burned everything away.

The young man, still barely in his thirties, smiled gently:

“I am Chang Wen, disciple of the Academy. Pleased to meet you, brother.”

“Master of Medicine…”

He raised his head, smiling amid the flames.

Then he was consumed by fire.

“Take the title of Emperor.”

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