Chapter 542: The World, the Jianghu!

The grand, resplendent sword-light seemed as though it would tear apart this eight-hundred-year-long river.

The sword-light, like the bold and heroic spirit of the human heart, climbed to its peak, then slowly, gently eased back down. Yuwen Lie swallowed fresh blood, gripped his heavy spear and charged forward, an army of ten thousand could not break through, yet all that could be seen between heaven and earth was the wild wind dancing, the ink-blue dark-dragon-patterned banners rolling.

The emperor's sword descended; the legend of the jianghu drew his blade.

The surging waves poured into the sea's current.

Elder Murong Longtu sheathed that green bamboo. The great emperor of Ying would not fall, only sighed in admiration. That swordsman turned, paced forward, his bearing grand and heroic. Yuwen Lie, He Ruo Qinhu, Qin Yulong all held their weapons, eager for this one battle.

The surrounding thousands of troops and tens of thousands of horses pressed forward, the aura of slaughter piercing the heavens.

Yet the great emperor of Ying merely raised his hand and said: "No need, let him go."

Sword-Mad Murong Longtu—among those few legends beneath the heavens, the only one who could carve through ten thousand armies. A single long sword in his hand turning the world over, and he had told the full tale of this jianghu's eight hundred years of romance and grandeur.

The great emperor of Ying smiled: "If such a man exists beneath the heavens, it is truly exhilarating!"

Murong Longtu said nothing, only his back held ramrod-straight, his white hair falling loose. And behind the great emperor of Ying, that eight hundred years of national fortune borne at the cost of everything, paid for with all the bold passion of this life—after Emperor Ji Zichang's death, it had already been shattered to pieces.

By one sword from Murong Longtu—shattered!

Eight hundred years of high spirits, eight hundred years of splendor, all those grand ambitions and base schemes, like a haze shrouding the sky, were at last shaken to pieces by this sword. The great emperor of Ying gazed at his own palm and murmured:

"Severing the fortune, not the man… Sword-Mad…"

"How can a single word 'mad' encompass the breadth of your bearing?"

That eight hundred years of twisted national fortune dispersed. Then from within heaven and earth came wave upon wave of bleak, desolate dragon roars. The sea of clouds stretched vast; crimson-gold scales flickered in and out of sight. The Ancient Crimson Dragon watched quietly as this scene unfolded.

A battle of men—especially after Ji Zichang had burned out the entire Crimson Emperor bloodline.

The Ancient Crimson Dragon could no longer possibly take part in this battle.

Yet at this moment, the Ancient Crimson Dragon, who had watched countless heroes rise and countless champions fall over these thousands of years, still let out a long roar. Murong Longtu's blue robe billowed fiercely as he vaulted into the air. The supremely arrogant Ancient Crimson Dragon allowed this human swordsman to tread upon his head.

Finally gazing at the figure beneath the ink-blue dark-dragon-patterned banner, leaning on his long sword as he stood—the great emperor of Ying, Yuwen Lie, He Ruo Qinhu, five hundred thousand troops, enough to crush the Ancient Crimson Dragon. But the great emperor of Ying merely raised his hand and stopped the divine general.

He leaned on his sword, still appearing composed and unhurried in bearing.

Sword-Mad in his blue robe, sword in hand, stood atop the crimson dragon's head—transcendent and otherworldly. After the end of these eight hundred years of the Crimson Emperor, and before the conclusion of the three hundred years of chaos, the final hegemon and the sword of jianghu's romantic spirit had met in this single crossing.

Waves surged into the sea and departed. The Ancient Crimson Dragon roared. Right before the eyes of the three armies' encampments, the thousands upon thousands of troops, he tore open the sea of clouds and rose upon the clouds to depart. The dragon's roar rang fierce and clear. That aged swordsman, holding the dragon's horn, clutching his green-bamboo sword, slowly sat down.

The great emperor of Ying watched the Ancient Crimson Dragon carry Sword-Mad Murong Longtu away.

Still composed in bearing, he then went to soothe the three armies, yet did not take the opportunity to press forward with the formation. He returned instead to the central army's great camp. Yuwen Lie and the other two divine generals among the top ten beneath the heavens followed behind. But when the gate of the great camp's stockade fell shut, the great emperor of Ying, who had been so composed and unhurried moments before, suddenly changed expression.

He merely staggered, falling forward, yet still propped himself with the long sword in his hand against the ground, swaying unsteadily. Sword-Mad, ah, Sword-Mad, what arrogance—one sword shattered eight hundred years of fortune, yet did not kill him.

Was it that he could not be killed, or that he would not be killed?

The great emperor of Ying did not know.

But he only knew that he, who had gathered his final breath of life and everything to master that eight hundred years of tainted fortune, was still alive—only because of the sheer vastness of that fortune itself. Even if it were like drinking poison to quench thirst, it could still extend his brief span of years.

"... Has it reached the limit?"

A step that could only be taken when an emperor abandoned his life, yet in the end it came from an external force, and was utterly broken by that one sword from the carefree, unhurried swordsman. The great emperor of Ying's mouth twitched.

Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu supported the great emperor of Ying.

When they lifted the great emperor of Ying up, they discovered that this aged monarch could no longer even take a step forward. He Ruo Qinhu said: "Your Majesty, your body… you cannot, you cannot fight any longer."

Qin Yulong held the great emperor of Ying's sword.

The great emperor of Ying was being supported, yet his hand, for some unknown reason, suddenly gripped with tremendous force, seizing Yuwen Lie's palm: "Do not retreat! Do not retreat!"

Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu froze. That aged monarch, even at this moment, his gaze still burned fierce as flame: "We cannot retreat, continue pressing the army forward, continue!"

A blazing fire.

The great emperor of Ying sat there, gripping his sword, murmuring: "The Grand Preceptor is still holding the line against Li Guanyi at Zhenbei Pass. This opportunity absolutely cannot be let slip. No matter what, keep fighting."

"Continue pressing forward!"

Yuwen Lie said: "Your Majesty, please rest for a moment."

When they removed the heavy armor from the great emperor of Ying, they discovered that the monarch who had once been broad-shouldered, who in his youth as a member of the Imperial Guard had been praised for his youthful valor and handsome appearance, was now nothing but skin and bone.

As though everything about him had been burned away, all transformed into fuel for his fighting spirit.

When the wind blew past, beneath his robes he was like an ugly skeleton.

The army was already stirring with unrest.

The hearts of men could not be controlled.

Even though Yuwen Lie, He Ruo Qinhu, and Qin Yulong forcibly held the three armies down.

Yet the thoughts in the soldiers' hearts still surged like hidden undercurrents, spreading in the shadows.

A single blue-robed swordsman had come from before the great army, the sword-light raised by that sharp blade resplendent and grand. And after that, the Ancient Crimson Dragon had come, bearing Sword-Mad away. Both had struck a tremendous blow to the morale of the entire army.

Under such circumstances, if Sword-Mad broke into the army's camp and the great emperor of Ying did not appear, the morale of the entire army would begin to shift violently. On the second day, contrary to Yuwen Lie's expectations—

Beneath the ink-blue dark-dragon-patterned banner, the monarch clad in heavy armor appeared once more. His shoulders were broad, his brow seemed to soar, his white hair meticulously braided into a crown—valiant and majestic.

He could still wear such crushingly heavy armor, draped in the emperor's great cloak, mounted on a warhorse, riding through the great camp. His eyes were bright and fierce, like flames. He spoke loudly, laughed heartily, and when he met veterans of old, he could still call out their names accurately.

The army's morale surged.

Two more days of advance, continuing to press toward the position of the Fire Qilin Army.

The great emperor of Ying personally took up his halberd and mounted his horse, reciting poetry. Riding his warhorse before these mountain ridges, watching the surging waves like wrath, he suddenly said: "Now the final battle beneath the heavens is about to begin. In a few days the soldiers will clash with the Qin army."

"Come, today we hold a feast, rejoice!"

"You may eat meat, drink a cup of wine."

Qin Yulong gazed at the great emperor of Ying's back, slowly cupped his fist, and said: "As you command!"

The great emperor of Ying smiled and said: "Go."

This famed general, who had even married a daughter of an enemy state's high command, who had once been a wandering knight, yet had received sufficient appointment and trust, slowly withdrew, then went forth to relay the great emperor of Ying's military orders.

The slight impact on morale from the events two days prior had already been thoroughly suppressed by the great emperor of Ying's performance over these two days. Now, with the great battle imminent, they could yet eat their fill of meat and drink a cup of wine.

Thus the ten thousand armies rejoiced, all were overjoyed. The five hundred thousand troops, their camps stretching on and on, went to fetch meat, wash rice and cook. From the generals above down to the common soldiers below, there was worry in their hearts, and tension for the great battle about to come.

Yet beneath such celebration, for a brief while, these burdens must be forgotten and set aside.

Eating and drinking heartily, reveling in the joy of this moment, casting aside and forgetting all their many worries—the Great Emperor of Ying came in person, to share in the merriment with the old soldiers. He spoke of the battles and clashes of years past, still remembering them, laughing uproariously—joys of old, hardships of old.

The emperor could still eat meat, drink wine, his bearing calm and composed.

Then he rose and said: "Gentlemen, hold your wine a moment…" As he stood, those old soldiers, those fierce and valiant warriors, all rose respectfully, gazing at this great emperor who had led them to campaign in all directions, who had carried the Great Ying Kingdom to the pinnacle of history.

The great emperor, who was about to set forth upon the road to great peace, rose, lifted his cup, and said:

"A toast to the Emperor!"

It was the hour of the setting sun, dyeing all the layered forests crimson. Jiang Wanxiang looked at the warriors before him, at the fierce soldiers, and grew dazed. The faces of these men seemed blurred, yet at once became very clear—memory and reality interweaving.

The rough and wild, heroic generals laughed:

"A toast to the Great King!"

The men bearing the blue azure dragon patterns laughed:

"General, drink! You have to drink too, hahahaha, you can't lose to us, and don't play drunk like in the old days—that won't do! Second Brother Gao Xiang, you grab the boss and pour him a drink too, don't just sit there laughing by yourself!"

"Look, you're laughing again!"

The Imperial Forest soldiers gritted their teeth, resolve in their eyes: "Big Brother, we will definitely win!"

The aged Great Emperor of Ying grew dazed, and in that daze, within the blurred setting sun, he seemed to see even more people. But just at this moment, he suddenly heard a voice: "Your Majesty, Your Majesty?"

The Great Emperor of Ying raised his head and looked ahead. That bold soldier, mustering his courage, said:

"Battle is but days away. If Your Majesty does not drink, we brothers dare not take this cup."

The Great Emperor of Ying looked at the wine in the cup, smiled, then laughed out loud in a clear, ringing voice. His left hand gripped the sword hilt at his waist, his right hand held the wine cup aloft, and he laughed:

"Gentlemen, fight with all your might."

"Strive for great peace!"

And so the great army thundered its assent—these were the bold and valiant men of the world. They raised the wine cups and bowls in their hands and roared:

"Strive for great peace!"

The voices surged and churned, boiling up into the heavens. The Great Emperor of Ying laughed aloud, gazing intently at these men who smiled and looked back at him. He turned, his fingers lightly grasping his great cloak, and as he turned, his sleeves and great cloak billowed, like a black cloud devouring the crimson light of the dying sun.

The Great Emperor of Ying walked into his central army's great camp.

Then, he collapsed heavily forward.

He saw the sky churning, saw the myriad things of the world turning, saw that blood-colored setting sun suddenly reverse, like a charcoal in a furnace that had burned and struggled with all its light and strength, falling to the ground, flickering.

"Your Majesty!!!"

"Your Majesty!!"

Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu rushed over together. They supported the Great Emperor of Ying, who had finally fallen ill upon the bed. His expression gradually grew domineering. His eyes were calm as he lay on the couch and said: "Yuwen."

Yuwen Lie said: "Your Majesty."

The Great Emperor of Ying looked at this proud and aloof war-general and said: "Your nature is cold and proud, yet you possess the uprightness and unyielding spirit of a commander. A war-general such as you is a pillar of the nation. The kingdom's blazing martial valor cannot do without you."

"But, what is too rigid easily breaks. You are a sharp blade—you must not, because of your own pride, break yourself…"

The Great Emperor of Ying coughed several times, then looked toward He Ruo Qinhu on the other side, beckoning him over, and said softly: "Qinhu Gong, you have followed me the longest. Your experience is rich, your valor serves the nation, but the noble houses and factions clinging to you are too many."

"I do not doubt your loyalty to the kingdom, but you are devoted to the nation—yet what of the forces and factions entangled upon you? They assume the tiger's majesty to bully others, bringing chaos to the realm. Will they not still ruin your reputation?"

He Ruo Qinhu's countenance changed abruptly. He knelt on the ground and said: "This general understands."

The Great Emperor of Ying reached out and grasped the hands of Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu. His palms still held warmth. Pulling the two of them, he said: "You are both the heaven-supporting pillars of my Great Ying. After I depart, my Great Ying Kingdom is entrusted to you two."

"Yulong is still young. You two must help him."

"That sword of mine—give it to him, let him know—cough cough cough, cough…"

The Great Emperor of Ying's face flushed red. He coughed for a while, yet spoke as if there were steel in his mouth: "I have never doubted him."

Yuwen Lie said: "Your Majesty, rest first. Await the recovery of the dragon body."

The Great Emperor of Ying lay there and said calmly: "After I die, keep the death secret. Do not announce it."

Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu's expressions froze. Grief showed upon their faces.

The Great Emperor of Ying said calmly: "After my death, with the strength of you gentlemen, you will be no inferior to the enemy. But as the Grand Preceptor said, that mechanism was crafted by the number one divine general of five hundred years past, the Duke of Xue, and there are fierce generals like Yue Qianfeng. Our army has come galloping from afar—I fear we shall not easily gain the advantage."

"This battle, I fear, will still be hard to fulfill my wish."

"But!"

The Great Emperor of Ying seized the hands of the two divine generals with all his might, speaking word by word: "Even should I die, you must—those deep stains, those remnants of eight hundred years, the various noble houses, the many—cough cough cough—those things, that will pose a threat to the age of great peace—"

"Exhaust them upon the battlefield!"

"Do not feel it is a pity. Those are things absolutely unneeded in the era after us!"

Yuwen Lie and He Ruo Qinhu felt the Great Emperor of Ying's grip tighten in that instant—a tremendous force, utterly unlike that of a dying old man. Grief-stricken in their hearts, they said: "Yes, we shall humbly obey Your Majesty's sacred decree."

The Great Emperor of Ying lost all his strength, lay there, and laughed softly:

"In the end, I still died at the hands of my allotted span…"

"Truly, what a pity."

"Jiang Wanxiang, you truly are a good-for-nothing."

He closed his eyes, and suddenly heard the clamor of voices from outside. A strange doubt rose in him, and he asked what was happening. Qin Yulong entered and said: "A solar eclipse has suddenly appeared in the sky. The soldiers have all grown clamorous."

The Great Emperor of Ying lowered his eyes.

And so Jiang Wanxiang laughed.

"Ah…"

"I have heard that in ancient times, when a heroic lord died, there would be a sign from Heaven. A man of my origins—a bastard son of the imperial clan, who at first could not even afford a fine horse or armor—have I finally reached this point that Heaven itself would change for me?"

He closed his eyes and said softly: "Jiang Su."

The three divine generals suddenly felt a pang of heartache.

Jiang Wanxiang said softly: "Sing the Chili Song once more…"

But at this moment, Jiang Su was still fighting to the death, still slaughtering at Zhenbei Pass for the sake of the realm. Yuwen Lie clenched his teeth, strode out, looked at the panicked soldiers, and said: "Your Majesty, is unharmed!!!"

"It's just that today I suddenly took a notion, wanting to hear you all sing the Chile Song."

These fierce soldiers were all puzzled, but they looked at each other, not knowing who would start singing. The voice was no delicate, beautiful singing voice — these men who roamed the realm and campaigned on all four sides, when they sang ballads, their throats were truly rough and unpleasant to hear.

But one man's roughness and off-key tone, with ten men, becomes valor.

When the army of ten thousand roars together, it becomes a desolate and grand sound that can shake heaven and earth.

Three hundred years ago, the realm was divided into north and south. Southern Chen was the cultural heartland of the realm, the northern lands contended against the steppe, and the songs of the Northern Prefecture were desolate and grim. So the sky darkened completely, and the three armies sang the Chile Song together.

"Chile River, beneath the Yin Mountains, the sky like a dome, covering the four wilds."

"The sky is blue, the wilds are vast, the wind blows the grass low and cattle and sheep appear."

A generous ballad never to be passed down, this single song is by nature unforced.

The ancient heroic spirit of Zhongzhou.

Also reaches the Yin Mountains and Chile River.

Jiang Wanxiang's fingers tapped the rhythm, and he slowly closed his eyes.

The setting sun seemed to drape over him once more. He was dazed for a long while, felt the sunlight was dazzling, but suddenly a palm patted his shoulder. He started, sat up at once — still in his youth of sixteen or seventeen.

Just as he was puzzled and bewildered, he suddenly heard a shout.

"Hey, Jiang Wanxiang."

A young girl blinked: "What are you spacing out for?!"

"Today I'm going with you to buy horses and armor — weren't you talking about the realm?!"

"What, not planning to want them anymore?"

"You also said, cough cough, a real man, a great husband, should hold weapons in hand, ride warhorses, sweep across the realm, sweep clean these two hundred years of chaos, and bring peace to the world!"

"Big talk, no shame."

The youth was stunned, and for some reason, tears streamed down his face.

Looking at the departing back of his good friend Gao Xiang ahead, and the young girl walking away, he grinned, quickened his steps to follow, and said: "Coming!"

Jiang Wanxiang's fingers tapped the rhythm.

Heavily dropped down.

Never to rise again.

………………

And on that day, the Taigu Crimson Dragon let out a long cry, already bearing the blue-robed swordsman on its back. Such an old fellow as the Taigu Crimson Dragon had been galloping above this great land for several thousand years, and it had never seen a figure like this blue-robed swordsman.

"One sword broke the fate of the age. Three thousand years before, three thousand years after — there will never again be a figure like you."

The Taigu Crimson Dragon's voice was vast and desolate. Murong Longtu sat on the dragon's head, smiling as he looked upon the jianghu of the realm, and said: "Is that so?"

The Taigu Crimson Dragon said: "Haha, would I speak falsehoods?"

"Your methods, one could say, are as high as they could possibly be!"

"From ancient times to now, whatever martial arts legends there are, you can be called a myth — a singular grandeur!"

Murong Longtu sat cross-legged there, leaning against the dragon horn, gazing into the distance, silent. Those wisps of vitality had already begun to scatter — the Life-Sustaining Gu feared most that kind of sharp, domineering aura.

The aura of a sovereign, the aura of an army, the grim aura of swords.

The swordsman looked into the distance and said: "Old matters should be handled by old fellows like us. You are an auspicious sign, no need to take part in such things. The Taigu Crimson Dragon is the symbol of the line of the Crimson Emperor — if you appear, then much of the blood previously shed would have been shed in vain."

"Besides, with five hundred thousand troops and a divine general ranked among the top ten in the realm, you would still die — yet it need not come to that."

The Taigu Crimson Dragon snorted coldly: "Just them?!"

"Want me dead? Do you know how this number-one auspicious sign under heaven earned its fame!?"

Murong Longtu merely smiled lightly.

The Taigu Crimson Dragon said: "Murong Longtu! Murong Longtu!"

Murong Longtu cracked open an eyelid and answered lazily: "Still alive."

The Taigu Crimson Dragon said: "Oh."

Murong Longtu looked at the sky and the earth, and suddenly said: "Do you think, across the whole realm, there will never be a swordsman like me in the future?"

The Taigu Crimson Dragon said solemnly: "There will not be. Three thousand years before, three thousand years after — there will never again be a swordsman like you. In my life, I fear there will be no one as dazzling as you."

Murong Longtu said with a smile: "Still young."

The Taigu Crimson Dragon glared in fury.

Murong Longtu smiled lightly. His fingers gently stroked this green bamboo, and he suddenly said: "Crimson Dragon, in all the ages of people you have witnessed, has there been one that could flourish forever?"

The Taigu Crimson Dragon was silent, then said: "No. Even an era that begins well will keep changing afterward, accumulating all kinds of contradictions, until they finally erupt into battlefields of every sort, and then be replaced by a new dynasty."

Murong Longtu said: "But the human world keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"Even if it twists and turns, one must stride forward boldly — just like a swordsman's life."

He stretched out his hand. The swordsman, his hair white as snow, swept two fingers across this green bamboo, and said: "In my youth I forged swords; after my family was destroyed I learned the sword; when the Heartless Sword Dao was complete I turned to the sentient; later, wife, children, one by one left me, and I returned to forgetting emotion, sitting in withered stillness."

"Grasping the sword, practicing the sword, abandoning the sword — in the end, caring nothing for the sword."

"Six or seven years ago, when I was in Zhongzhou, I challenged all the grandmasters of the realm — the six palace lords, the martial arts legends — and said I would let them know that henceforth there would be no swordsman like me."

"I wanted to monopolize the surging, domineering sword intent of the realm. But now I suddenly feel that the me of back then was still too much of a swordsman — too arrogant and too absolute."

This sword-madman smiled, and said forthrightly, openly:

"I was wrong!"

"There will still be swordsmen like me in the future!"

"And there won't be just one!"

The Taigu Crimson Dragon was astonished, but that sword-madman remained calm and self-assured, his hand on his sword, and said:

"To resolve all the tribulations of the future in one breath — even a born sage could not do it. Even the realm opened up by Guan Yi and the others will develop problems after several hundred years. The realm of that time will likewise reach the end of its mandate, won't it?"

"And then, there will surely be someone, gripping a sword, willing to stake such a world."

"And then open up a new era of peace."

"Back and forth, endlessly, like a person climbing a mountain, like a sword being swung, always upward. My name is nothing more than a mere wandering swordsman of the jianghu, and in the end I shall be buried in the dust of the world. But the sword that makes this world stake its life will endure forever, present in every generation."

"Is the Way of the Sword merely strength itself?"

"So long as one sees such a desperate plight, and still has the heart to grip the sword and draw it."

"So long as one sees an unbeatable foe, and still grips the sword in one's heart."

"Even if one's hands lack the strength to truss a chicken, it is still—"

"A swordsman no inferior to Murong Longtu!"

"Today, Murong Longtu slashes the fortune of a nation and severs its vitality amidst ten thousand armies, all so that the people of later ages may know that no matter how vast the gap, such a sword strike can still exist."

The Primeval Crimson Dragon listened quietly to Murong Longtu's words.

Then the swordsman swept two fingers forward, his white hair lifting, unhurried as he said:

"This is the final sword of Murong Longtu's life."

"Pass the true meaning of this sword on to all sentient beings."

"Sword points to the world."

"May every soul under heaven carry this sword in their heart; may this world, generation after generation, have swords of unwillingness to rise; may every person under heaven be a swordsman like Murong Longtu."

"Crimson Dragon."

"How is this sword of mine?"

After a long while, the Primeval Crimson Dragon said: "The finest."

Then the swordsman burst into loud laughter.

Within the laughter, the sword's hum rang clear and bright, yet gradually faded to stillness.

Murong Longtu loosened his grip, and that green bamboo flew out from the Crimson Dragon, shattering in midair. The scattered streams of light resembled bamboo leaves, resembled that vast and majestic sword intent, sprinkling down upon every corner of the world.

The Primeval Crimson Dragon opened its mouth.

It once again felt sorrow, but it did not call out to the slumbering swordsman again. The dragon's cry summoned auspicious omens; the hum of the sword resounded through all the provinces. Swordsmen raised their heads and saw the clouds and seas of the four directions churning, like that crimson-gold hue.

Layer upon layer, as if the gates of heaven.

The Primeval Crimson Dragon bore on its back a white-haired swordsman in a blue robe, his head bowed.

Sweeping past the jianghu and the world, flying into the clouds.

Never to be seen again.

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