Chapter 538: Beneath a Thousand Autumns, Let Us Walk with Ease

Zi Yang Zhenren and the old monk gazed at the Qin Wang standing quietly over there.

A surging force surged through the Qin Wang, a fierce, spiritual roar stirring his Nascent Soul—everything he possessed, every friend, every comrade, all shattered just as everything was falling into place.

The wind howled, rippling outward.

Zi Yang Zhenren slowly lifted his gaze to the heavens, where ink-black clouds gathered, clashed, and swirled; the long winds churned, faintly taking the shapes of a White Tiger and a Crimson Dragon before dissolving again.

Zi Yang Zhenren’s heart trembled.

The opportunity of a Martial Dao legend?!

He looked at the young man before him, yet the fire ignited by such rage would ultimately fade—Martial Dao legends could not be broken by mere fury and turbulent emotion; if they could, how could legends be so rare in this world?

Ji Ning’er reached out her small hand to wipe the Qin Wang’s tears.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

Li Guanyi grinned, but the smile only made his nose ache more; he hastily wiped his face with his sleeve, still like the itinerant herbalist of old, careless and unrefined.

He looked at Zi Yang Zhenren and the living Buddha and said, “Forgive me, Your Excellencies.”

Zi Yang Zhenren replied, “How dare I.”

This young man before them was already peerless in his age, a figure of ancient tyrant-level bearing; yet before peace could come, it was precisely these once-rare heroes who would slaughter one another.

The old monk said, “The Su Wang still lingers in the Central Plains; the ruins of the Xuegong remain there—we must return to keep him company…”

“Old friend, you—”

The foremost Buddhist of Zhongtu turned to his friend Ji Yanzhong.

Ji Yanzhong had clearly pondered long; he sat quietly, then spoke: “Qin Wang, this child is the last bloodline of Zi Chang and his wife. Amidst today’s chaos, countless souls seek to exploit his name to stir the winds of this turbulent age.”

“In the midst of life and death, he trusted only you.”

“Ning’er—I entrust her to you.”

The Qin Wang looked at this old royal uncle, this elder statesman; he understood Ji Zichang’s resolve, controlled his emotions, held Ji Ning’er close, and solemnly swore: “From this day forward, she is my daughter. I swear before Heaven and Earth that I shall protect her with the sword in my hand—no matter how vast the world, she shall suffer no harm.”

“She is the child of Chang Wen and his wife, the Lady Wen.”

“From this day forward… she shall be called Chang Ning’er.”

Ji Yanzhong said, “Changle, Changning—these are names befitting the day of peace.”

He reached out to stroke Ji Ning’er; the kind old man made no prolonged stay, refused the Qin Wang’s offer to reside here, and did not go to see his disciple Yue Qianfeng—only said: “The Central Plains is my homeland, and my past.”

“Compared to you, this old man is still just an old man.”

“My heart is soft—I lack your resolve. Before the great tide of this world’s fate, I cannot make such swift, clean decisions. So, I shall return with the old monk and the old Daoist… to the Xuegong.”

“At least, I wish to return to my homeland.”

“Home.”

Ji Yanzhong forced a smile, took leave, and departed with Zi Yang Zhenren and the old monk toward the Central Plains Xuegong, to seek the lone figure of Gongyang Su Wang and the old Qilin still waiting within.

The Xuegong’s many Lords had trained together for countless years.

Their bond ran deep.

Gongyang Su Wang remained alone inside; they naturally worried.

Yet as the three hurried back, Ji Yanzhong parted ways with the two Lords, choosing a different path; Zi Yang Zhenren stood among the mountain ridges, watching the figure who drank alone and walked away without looking back, silent for a long while.

He turned again to see the old monk, Ji Yanzhong’s close friend, walking steadily forward without turning—so he called out: “Old monk, where has Ji Yanzhong gone?”

The old monk answered: “I know.”

Zi Yang Zhenren sighed: “The Chi Emperor’s line is extinguished; Ji Yanzhong grew up there—his past is over. When one faces great upheaval, one often loses composure.”

“I fear his sorrow will drive him to make a foolish decision.”

The old monk said: “Can you piss for him?”

Zi Yang Zhenren said: “Old monk, don’t speak in riddles.”

The old monk kept walking forward: “He no longer walks with us.”

Zi Yang Zhenren said: “Tragic. Worth speaking of. A pity.”

Suddenly he let out a long howl—a pure Daoist true qi, thick and mighty, piercing like shattering metal and stone, soaring into the heavens: “Gong wu du he! Gong wu du he!”

“Gong du he si.”

“Jiang nai gong he?!”

No reply came; Zi Yang Zhenren sighed for a long time.

Mountains piled upon mountains; clouds thickened, mist deepened; bamboo groves rustled, strangely silent—nowhere to be seen was the kind old man.

Ji Yanzhong walked forward, head down, unaware of where he went.

Beneath the Seventh Heaven realm, his Master-level martial arts could not alter the tide of this chaotic age—but they still allowed him to perceive the standards of the pinnacle figures; when he moved, he truly resembled a Crimson Dragon coiling through the air.

He surged forward without pause.

He knew not where he went, dazed and half-unaware, until he saw countless wisps of cooking smoke.

He had arrived at a small town; Ji Yanzhong stood frozen, staring at this town under Tiance Prefecture’s rule, unsure how he had entered—passersby, seeing his disheveled white hair and bloodshot eyes, showed him concern.

A young man in the town, noticing his tangled white hair and weary eyes, worried for the elder and invited him home to rest; he set down his farming tools and called for his family to bring out coarse rice and pickled vegetables to serve the old man.

This young man was a hunter by origin; since the forests had long belonged to great clans, their birds, beasts, and fish were theirs alone—he could only sneak to hunt, and even then, sold his catch at pitiful prices.

He merely lived from meal to meal.

Marriage, a home—out of the question.

His life had been hard, but these past years, thanks to the Qilin Army’s new policies, he received land and could hunt according to season—his life improved instantly; now he had married his childhood sweetheart and had a child.

I plan to teach her my archery skills and send her to the Qin Wang’s public school—where I heard that every child of eligible age can receive a Qi-nourishing pill from Master Hou Zhongyu, and there are dedicated martial artists to instruct them in martial arts.

“It’s the [Qilin Army’s Fifth Basic Martial Art].”

As the man served Ji Yanzhong and chatted, his lips curled in a smile—he was clearly overjoyed with his life, eyes bright: “His Majesty himself named it—what was it again…?”

“Chu Ying Zhan Chi!”

“Hey, look at that name—how majestic!”

“So good! Powerful and imposing!”

Suddenly, visitors arrived—his hunting squad companions came looking for him; he rose to greet them. His wife was cooking; as a hunter, their home never lacked meat.

The meat was dried by traditional methods, rich in flavor.

Ji Yanzhong looked at the greens, coarse rice, and dried meat.

To the imperial family, it was plain.

But to the townsfolk, it was something they had never dared dream of in the past ten or twenty years.

Especially with the alchemical pills passed down by extraordinary sorcerers, the [Martial Canon] refined personally by Sword Mad Murong Longtu, and the foundational beginner techniques painstakingly developed by Master Ximen Hengrong from his experiences spreading through northern Chen Guo.

They could learn to read, study numerology.

And pathways upward had opened.

All of this radiated vibrant life.

Ji Yanzhong saw the future—and suddenly recalled many things: Jiang Wanxiang, Ji Zichang, the words Yuwen Lie had spoken to him; the old man’s gaze lowered.

“Besides, she is no longer a princess.”

“The one who lives is no longer a princess.”

“The Emperor’s realm is vast—it can accommodate a single child, but it cannot tolerate the rebellion of the Chi Emperor.”

“Ji Yanzhong.”

“Do as you see fit.”

Ji Yanzhong finally understood—he realized the weight he must bear: whether to follow Ji Zichang’s wish and sever the last trace of the Chi Emperor’s lineage.

He fell silent for a long while, then heard a faint sound; Ji Yanzhong looked up.

On the chair opposite sat the child.

The hunter clearly adored his daughter—he had commissioned a carpenter to make her a fine chair, so the three-year-old wouldn’t fall; on the small table beside her sat a wooden tray with a bowl of rice porridge.

The little girl gripped the wooden spoon, struggling to feed herself.

She looked up, eyes shining brightly.

As a commoner’s child, though two or three years older than Ji Ning’er, she looked nearly the same age; a thought stirred in Ji Yanzhong’s heart.

Use this child to replace Ji Ning’er.

Bury the last trace of the Chi Emperor’s line…

Ji Yanzhong slowly rose and walked to the child’s side.

The child stared curiously, then beamed a sweet, innocent smile—gripping the wooden spoon like a dagger, scooping sideways, rice grains spilling onto the cloth apron tied to her front, eyes gleaming.

Ji Yanzhong slowly reached out and pressed his hand upon the child.

“I’m sorry.”

“Child.”

………………

“Hahaha! Found a giant wild boar! That beast has been destroying fields and attacking ordinary travelers! Hmph! We’ve been watching it for so long—finally, it showed itself!”

“It’s already June—kill it before harvest, and we can claim a reward from the Qilin Army as [Eliminating a Menace]. Their army takes the hide and tusks; the meat we’ll share among the villagers. It’s not castrated, but still—meat!”

“Hahaha, good! Gather the brothers after this!”

“We’ll do this thing—rid the people of harm!”

After chatting with his friends, the man returned smiling: “Haha, Old Sir, sorry—we got distracted. You see, once I start talking about this, I forget everything else…”

His voice cut off abruptly—he saw the old man had vanished.

He froze, bewildered.

But when he saw his child was gone too, his face turned ashen—his heart lurched, fearing a child-snatcher, panic rising—he had been right at the door, yet the old man had vanished as if he possessed divine powers.

Rushing forward, he shouted: “My child...”

But after taking two steps, his view cleared past the table, and he finally saw.

His own child stood on the ground, wearing only the inner garments—the outer coat meant for a child of that age had been taken, yet he didn’t seem cold, clutching a pearl in his hand.

The hunter said: “Cui’er, you’re unharmed—what is this...?!”

The child frowned: “Just now, that old man gave me this.”

“The clothes your mother stitched for me.”

Though merely poor-born, the hunter knew his things; seeing the pearl—round, clear, luminous, as if a flame burned within—he recognized it as something valuable, yet said: “Give it to me.”

The child pouted: “That old man gave it to me!”

But the hunter paid no heed—he snatched the pearl from the child’s hand, showed no indulgence to his four-year-old daughter, and rushed outside, shouting: “Sir! Elder! You dropped your item!”

“Please come back and take it—keep the clothes as payment.”

Yet even with his loud voice, it faded into silence; all he saw ahead were distant mountains and a newly built path leading toward the main road—no one answered.

The hunter stood there, clutching the pearl, utterly lost, unsure what to do next.

…………

Ji Yanzhong walked forward.

With each step, his sleeves fluttered, carrying him far ahead; in his arms he held the child’s outer coat, stuffed with dry grass and straw to make it appear as if he carried the child.

He apologized because at that moment, he truly had intended to use the child as a decoy to die—throughout history, countless imperial ministers and generals had used decoys and stand-ins; many so-called enlightened rulers and mighty heroes had done the same.

To fulfill the last wish of the Red Emperor, to take the first step in opening a parallel heaven.

Such a tragic, heroic act.

Yet using an ordinary life as sacrifice seemed no cause for hesitation—true flesh and blood was naturally more believable than straw; few had seen Ji Ning’er, so deception to fool the world was no great feat.

But Ji Yanzhong was, after all, merely a weak, gentle, kind-hearted common man.

Even though those heroes and tyrants of history would have done it without blinking, the old man could not bring himself to act; he took only the coat, overcome by profound shame for his fleeting thoughts, and left behind a pearl from his own person.

Under the rule of the Prince of Qin, this pearl was merely something valuable enough to be noticed, yet not valuable enough to be forbidden.

And it carried a gentle fire element within.

It could keep the child, stripped of his outer coat, warm and prevent him from catching a chill.

Ji Yanzhong held the ‘child,’ lowered his gaze, took a deep breath, and finally stepped forward—toward his homeland, his past, his ideals, and the final charge of the Red Emperor, Ji Zichang.

The Emperor of Ying, ruling over eight hundred years of destiny, had committed countless brutal acts—slaughtered noble families, exterminated aristocrats, and forced the young of the remaining clans into Ying territory. After Yuwen Lie returned, he knelt half-bowed and confessed all he had done.

He Ruo Qinhu roared: “Rogue! How dare you?!”

“How could you possibly understand the hearts of all under heaven?”

“Countless others covet that so-called princess, seeking to exploit the Red Emperor’s bloodline and reignite chaos. You pity this lone girl—yet when the world burns and countless die tomorrow, will you pity them?!”

Yuwen Lie stared coldly at He Ruo Qinhu:

“A pity for a lone orphan girl?”

“And now you speak of the world’s future?!”

He Ruo Qinhu flew into rage; though he had once saved Yuwen Lie on the battlefield, he was a battle-hardened general who had seen too much—his temperament clashed utterly with Yuwen Lie’s, and he nearly drew his blade to fight him.

“Enough.”

The Emperor of Ying spoke.

Both generals halted. The Emperor said: “She is but a lone orphan. Yet Yuwen, you failed to eradicate her completely—this is a grave crime, deserving execution as a warning. But given the current upheaval, your head shall remain on your neck—for now. Prove your worth on the battlefield, and we shall speak again.”

So lightly, the matter was dismissed.

He Ruo Qinhu felt regret, yet bitterness lingered; as the army, dragging along the private troops of the noble clans, neared Ying territory, the camp suddenly erupted in unrest.

He Ruo Qinhu felt regret, though a measure of resentment lingered in his heart; as the army, dragging along the private troops of the noble houses, advanced toward Ying Guo, the camp suddenly erupted in unrest.

Two generals went out to investigate.

They found many armored soldiers sprawled on the ground, several commanders spitting blood, barely alive; an old man with white hair sat upon a rock, holding a child in his arms. The wind brushed his temples, drooping them with a sense of weariness. He Ruo Qinhu said:

On the ground lay many armored soldiers, and several generals spat blood, barely clinging to life; an old man with white hair sat upon a rock, cradling a child in his arms—the wind blew past, causing his temples to droop slightly, radiating a sense of decay. He Ruo Qinhu said:

He looked at Yuwen Lie, then at Ji Yanzhong.

The Emperor of Ying sensed something, and stepped forward.

Ji Yanzhong had come here. The old man gazed at the Emperor of Ying, sensing the surge of eight-hundred-year-old Red Emperor destiny clinging to him. A complex expression flickered across Ji Yanzhong’s face, yet he finally whispered:

Ji Yanzhong arrived here; the old man gazed at the Emperor of Ying Guo and sensed the surge of destiny tied to the Eight-Hundred-Year Red Emperor era emanating from the Ying Emperor’s person. A complex expression flickered across Ji Yanzhong’s face, yet in the end, he merely whispered:

“My nation is dead—how can I coexist with a traitor like you? I, Ji Yanzhong, have come here today only to avenge my country.”

Ji Yanzhong held the child in his arms, then stepped forward.

Amid a dragon’s roar, the crimson dragon’s manifestation reappeared; the might of the Seventh Heaven shattered the front ranks of the army. The armored soldiers were no match—he raised a hand, stamped a foot, and flung them flying.

Yuwen Lie gripped his spear; He Ruo Qinhu watched as the old man charged.

Both divine generals saw Ji Yanzhong’s resolve.

“Foolish...”

“A pity.”

They struck together. Ji Yanzhong reached the end, standing before the Emperor of Ying, pierced through the body by Yuwen Lie’s heavy spear and He Ruo Qinhu’s horse spear. The old man froze, standing there, blood pouring from his mouth, staring at the solemn Emperor.

The two divine generals withdrew their weapons; the broad-shouldered elder now bore multiple gaping wounds, blood gushing down, staining his already filthy robe crimson, dripping onto the ground—even a Grand Master’s fate had reached its end.

Around them, tens of thousands of soldiers tightened their formation, holding spears and crossbows, slowly advancing.

The spearheads gleamed fiercely—a Seventh Heaven martial artist charging into a position guarded by two supreme divine generals was as tragically foolish as walking to death.

The Emperor of Ying looked down at him and said:

“Do you have any last words?”

Ji Yanzhong’s white hair was disheveled, soaked in blood; his eyes were vacant, fixed on the Emperor.

Suddenly, he spoke.

He spat a mouthful of blood onto the Emperor’s imperial robe.

A mouthful of blood-spattered spittle landed upon the Ying Emperor’s imperial robe.

This gentle, mild-mannered, unassuming old man had just performed his final act of true courage. Around him, weapons rang with deadly silence, yet he held the ‘child,’ smiled, then laughed loudly.

This kind-hearted, mild-mannered, and spiritless old man, Ji Yanzhong, performed the final act of his life—one bold enough to match his courage. Around him, weapons hummed with deadly intent, yet he held the “child,” smiling, then laughing loudly.

Then he turned, stumbling away, his body bleeding. The soldiers raised their spears and swords to strike—but Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu blocked them. Or perhaps, it was the Emperor who stopped them.

So the spearmen and cavalry could only slowly retreat, watching the blood-soaked elder walk, his blood dripping from his lips, his back straight, holding the child, leaving the camp.

The Emperor of Ying, Yuwen Lie, and He Ruo Qinhu walked slowly behind.

The other noble clans of the Central Plains, held captive, and the other fierce generals of the army followed, watching the white-haired, blood-smeared, weary man—since Ji Zichang’s death, he had never rested his eyes—walk forward.

Those bound prisoners—other central plains noble houses, and the army’s other valiant generals—followed suit, watching the white-haired, blood-stained, disheveled old man who, since Zi Chang’s death, had never closed his eyes to rest, as they walked forward.

Following military custom, the camp was built against a cliff, to avoid ambush.

Outside lay a cliff, beneath which flowed a great river; now in midsummer, the waves crashed endlessly against the shore. Ji Yanzhong, drenched in blood, walked step by step to the edge, gazing at the cliff, holding the ‘Princess Changle’—above, the endless sky; below, the river and cliff.

Outside lay a cliff, beneath which surged a great river; now in high summer, the waves crashed ceaselessly against the shore. Ji Yanzhong, drenched in blood, stepped slowly to this place, gazing at the cliff, cradling the “Princess Changle,” above him the endless sky, below him the river and cliff.

“I, old man, cannot avenge the traitor—but how can the blood of a sovereign live on in shame?!”

“Princess Changle, you are the sovereign’s blood—you must die for your country!”

A general from a noble clan and a strategist suddenly cried out: “No!”

“He holds Princess Changle—he intends to...”

The old man murmured, holding the ‘child’: “Changning, Changle.”

His eyes still held kindness, then he turned, gazing at the Emperor’s haughty gaze, his white hair fluttering, and suddenly pointed a finger, roaring: “Jiang Wanxiang, I wish I had divine power to slay you in this world—but your deeds shall bring you no good end!”

“I will stare with wide eyes from the netherworld, watching your fate!!!”

The Emperor of Ying said: “Good.”

Ji Yanzhong laughed, a bitter, desolate sound.

Then he looked at the Emperor—and in the midst of ten thousand soldiers, before the eyes of the Central Plains nobles, he leapt from the cliff with Princess Changle in his arms, bloodied body plunging into the waves.

Thus ended the entire bloodline of the Red Emperor.

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