Chapter 586: Epilogue · The Form of the Dragon and Phoenix (I)

Epilogue · The Form of the Dragon and Phoenix (I)

Wild winds swept across all directions, scattering dust and obscuring vision; all major cities closed their gates, and children across the Western Regions were given a "Sandstorm Holiday," exempt from school—but their instructors still assigned homework, leaving the wind and sand filled with wails.

"You lot are the worst batch of students I've ever taught."

"Go home today and complete thirteen pages of *Comprehensive Treatise on Numerology*, and do three sets of the *Five-Three Exercises*."

The boys wailed like demons.

"No!!!"

"Master, please revoke your order—I don't want to do numerology problems!"

The young man, recently promoted from student to instructor, felt refreshed and uttered the phrase he had long wanted to say:

"Class dismissed."

The students' spirits were even more dulled than the sandstorm outside.

Though life in the Western Regions had changed drastically since those days, cultural habits were passed down through generations; no one dared defy the power of heaven and earth, and no one ventured out in such weather—everyone claimed to act in harmony with the seasons.

Yet while cultural tradition remained, to today's children, the Western sandstorms were merely this—

A holiday, some homework.

A story.

Now, children listened to elders recounting tales from those days, as if from another lifetime.

The old said water was once so scarce it cost lives to obtain, that oases were property reserved only for great clans, that vegetables like these didn't exist, and even a full meal was a luxury.

To survive, the elderly in clans were abandoned.

Great clans controlled oases, built city-states along waterways, and became nobility; smaller clans strapped their lives to horses, drifting with the rivers, and in those days, people themselves were commodities.

These words meant nothing to the children; they yawned at them, listless, until someone mentioned eating hand-pulled rice—then their eyes lit up instantly, as if springing to life.

At such moments, the elders sighed with melancholy, yet also felt relief, believing this was how things ought to be.

The Fire Qilin's flames reached the desert, and thus this stable life exists here now.

In times of chaos, humans themselves were natural-born commodities.

The scythe that harvested these "commodities" arose with the tide of fate.

Western desert bandits, wielding swift horses, capes, bows, mounted archery, and curved blades, spread terror far and wide—but when the Fire Qilin Army arrived and reorganized the Anxi Protectorate, these bandits became the first military fund, and were rarely seen again.

The roads of the Western Regions are safe now.

Had it not been for the fierce winds and sand, many Western youths would be riding horses across the land, eager to join the Anxi Army of the Anxi Protectorate; now, only traveling merchants still moved along the highways.

Ding dang dang, ding dang dang—

The wind blew, and the camel bells rang clear across the desert.

The camels knelt on the ground, forming a circle with their cargo to shield against the sand; the traveling merchant pressed his headscarf down, gazing far at the sky where the sandstorm raged—so fierce even horses could not stand—but this young merchant stood firm, his back muscles taut, like a sharp sword.

He marveled: "In my youth, I only traveled between the Central Plains and Zhongzhou, having heard tales of the grandeur of the frontier deserts."

"I never saw it before—but now that the world is unified, I finally behold this spectacle."

"Utterly magnificent—it fills the heart with clarity."

This young man wore a round-collar robe, a sword at his waist; though young, his brow bore a fierce, bold spirit. Now that the world was unified and founded upon Wu Gong, the nation flourished, and the people carried a grand, expansive spirit.

His name was Shi Yisong, a traveling merchant.

As a boy, he met the reigning Emperor on a road in Zhongzhou, received sword instruction from Jian Kuang, and though still young, his Wu Gong was already formidable; before the Emperor and Empress's wedding, he returned the two swords gifted to him in youth to their original owners, and now wore only an ordinary hundred-fold forged sword.

Today, the world is at peace; the Fire Qilin Army patrols the Jianghu Sect in factions, reestablishing order.

Traveling the land, he rarely encountered bandits daring to rob the roads.

Yet the world is vast, hearts differ, and there are always those who break the rules; the Jianghu is still rife with conflict, and a merchant leader must possess extraordinary skill.

Shi Yisong often felt that if Jianghu strongmen and major sects failed to rein themselves in, they would one day cross the Emperor's line; when the Fire Qilin Army rode through the Jianghu, it would be inevitable. The desert winds grew stronger, and Shi Yisong, gazing at the sandstorm's might, felt his spirit swell.

Suddenly he laughed aloud, and with a clang, his sword drew from its scabbard.

He leapt straight into the raging sandstorm, moving with the wind, his blade's light sharp and piercing, merging with the gale and adding three or fivefold more grandeur—this aura was awe-inspiring. A man with white temples raised his head, still wrapped in oilcloth to shield against the sand, his mouth full of grit.

Seeing this scene, his eyes held not the usual merchant's wonder, but a quiet, murmuring amazement.

He whispered: "Even before he learned Wu Gong, he met Jian Kuang—though Jian Kuang merely gestured vaguely toward Qin Huang, offering no deep insight into the sword Dao, he still received a thread of purity, and, under the name of traveling merchant, walked the earth with his own two feet."

"He has gathered the myriad forms of this unified world's mountains and rivers into his sword, and forged his own unique aura."

"Murong Longtu, Murong Longtu—now that you've gone, all things have come to life."

"Another sword Dao prodigy."

"Jian Kuang, impressive!"

"Your final sword strike has settled the sword Dao's elegance for the next three hundred years."

He watched the traveling merchant moving through the storm, and instantly understood his origins.

Beneath the oilcloth shielding him from the sand, the old man wore the attire of a storyteller: coarse blue robes, a dusty belt hanging a pouch containing a bamboo scroll and a carving knife.

The seventeenth-ranked Jianghu Master of the present age, former guest advisor of the former Number One Tower, Tu Shengyuan.

His qinggong was exceptional.

Tu Shengyuan looked disheveled.

Earlier, during Qin Huang and the Empress's wedding, he wandered off for a drink, met Xue Daoyong, General Yue Qianfeng, and others—fine enough—but then he encountered Murong Qiushui, who brought up the time he'd listed Murong Qiushui and Tai Ping Gong's wife Su Changqing on the Beauty List, and how Tai Ping Gong and Jian Kuang had come to his door over it.

The old storyteller, humiliated, slipped away.

After fleeing, he felt Jiangnan Dao was no longer safe.

So he turned eastward to the seashore, only to encounter that cursed fisherman, barely escaping being fed to the Eastern Sea's giant Kun, dragged off to the Mystical Realm of the Guanxing Academy—he thought he'd never escape.

Fortunately, after Xue Shen emerged, he immediately exploded at the fisherman.

On the great matter of Li Guanyi and Yao Guang in the old Jianghu days, one good news and one bad news.

The good news: Li Guanyi finally didn't fight his father-in-law at the return banquet.

The bad news is.

Xue Shen and the Qin Huang's father-in-law exploded on the spot.

The Whale Fisher casually threw out Xue Shen's past with Yao Guang five hundred years ago, and why Yao Guang never returned to the Observing Stars Academy—leaving the situation extremely complicated.

What a mess—dust swirling, curses flying everywhere.

Tu Shengyuan crawled on the ground, inching forward.

With no moral high ground but loud bravado: "I and Yao Guang loved each other—what did I do wrong?"

"You should call me ancestor."

"Call me Grandpa!"

"Suck suck suck, suck suck suck."

And such words—amid the dust, Tu Shengyuan collided with Master Siming, who also had the Black Tortoise resting on his head and was crawling forward; the two old men, wandering through chaos, merely exchanged a glance and understood everything.

The target is tough—use the chaos to slip away.

Let's go, let's go.

Where Master Siming went, Tu Shengyuan didn't know; but this storyteller, after reflecting deeply, felt he'd recently had bad fortune with the Qin Huang—Jiangnan and the East Sea were no longer safe. Fine—he turned his direction straight toward the Western Regions.

Joining a caravan, the journey had been comfortable enough.

Tu Shengyuan had once gotten drunk telling stories by the East Sea and been caught by the Whale Fisher—that's how this disaster began. After reflecting deeply, he swore to his deceased wife he'd never drink again, nor tell stories, to avoid further trouble.

In the end, he hardly drank at all.

But after holding back for half a month, he still begged his wife's grave for forgiveness—his tongue simply couldn't stay still, so he resumed telling stories.

Moments later, the storm subsided; Shi Yisong slashed horizontally through the air with one sword.

A flicker of unusual color passed through Tu Shengyuan's eyes.

The true essence of the Murong family's sword art.

This kid really learned something.

Shi Yisong returned with ease, sheathing his longsword; the sandstorm gradually calmed. Tu Shengyuan dropped the oilcloth shielding the sand, tugged at his collar, and shook his robe's hem to dislodge the fine grains blown inside.

The caravan halted to rest. Shi Yisong tossed a water bag over and smiled:

"Old man, have a drink."

Tu Shengyuan drank some water and said: "Little Stone, in a few more days we'll reach Anxi City—your trade journey will be complete. Then, transport western furs, dried meat, and such back along the way. It's tough, but the profit's substantial."

Shi Yisong smiled: "Yes, but I have some personal business to attend to."

"I may need you to wait a few days."

Tu Shengyuan understood and said:

"It's the sword aura and intent left by the Master Jiankuang, isn't it?"

About ten years ago, the Qin Huang was still a boy of fourteen or fifteen. Somehow he angered Zhang Ziyong, the Qingpao Guest—the Master Jiankuang—drawing his sword and dueling him all the way across the Western Regions.

Sword intent scattered along the way, sinking into the tamarisk groves.

Now ten years have passed; those tamarisks grow slowly, their leaves sharp as blades, their aura soaring, vast and majestic—a wonder of the Western Wu Lin. Many swordsmen travel thousands of miles just to witness this grandeur.

Even if they cannot grasp the Master Jiankuang's lingering spirit,

they may still offer three sticks of incense and a longsword to honor the peerless Master Jiankuang.

Outside that tamarisk grove, swords left by swordsmen from all over have grown into a forest—one formed by human skill, the other by later admirers' reverence, turning steel into a forest. The two interweave, and when the wind blows, a faint, solemn sound arises—whether from the tamarisks swaying or sword qi humming—it has become a marvel.

Shi Yisong said: "When I was young, the Master Jiankuang gave me three points of guidance. Though my talent was too poor to receive his true transmission, I still received great grace. Now that I've come to the Western Regions, I must pay my respects."

"But you, old man—aren't you hiding from someone? Is that still safe?"

Tu Shengyuan tilted his head back and drank tea with a bold air.

It was barley tea—said to clear heat and reduce fire, common in the northwest. He smacked his lips, wiped his mouth, and thought: First time I ran into the Qin Huang's wedding—that was unprepared. Second time—that was my own loose tongue, bad luck.

Now I've run all the way to the Western Regions, hiding in a caravan—could I still run into him?

"Hah…"

Tu Shengyuan wiped his beard, tossed the leather water bag back, and said to himself:

"Impossible. Absolutely impossible."

"If I run into him again this time, I'll eat this leather water bag!"

Shi Yisong laughed: "Old man, don't come here just to mooch food and drink."

"Though the Western Regions have some unrest, they're still stable—you'll always have a meal."

He put away the water bag and gazed at the sky. The empire's northwestern frontier was now held by Li Duke of the Ying state. The current Li Duke had the bearing of a dragon and phoenix; legend said he'd been close friends with the Qin Huang since youth, and together they plotted the defeat of the Tuyuhun.

Later, when the Qin Huang expanded into the Western Regions, the two jointly crushed the Shatuo Kingdom and its ten-thousand-strong alliance of the Western Thirty-Six Tribes. Afterward, Li Duke won countless victories in pacifying the realm—first at Lu, then securing the southwest, breaking Chen, destroying the Turks, and finally fighting the Ying state—all with great merit.

But the realm has been at peace for three years now.

After the Qin Huang's wedding, Li Duke took up permanent command of the western frontier, never returning to the capital for years, though he sent tribute annually. This has stirred whispers in the Western Regions and Central Plains—Li Duke holds heavy troops, is a top general, and is the same age as the Qin Huang.

Now he merely holds the border, never entering the capital to pay homage.

Court insiders and outsiders all worry—even young Captains in his Black Armor Army are confused, their hearts unsettled. Tu Shengyuan knew the reason well, but merely sneered, brushed off his clothes, and shook loose the fine grains of sand.

Shi Yisong sighed: "The realm has only been settled three years. Li Duke's army is strong and well-equipped. I truly hope there won't be another war."

Tu Shengyuan muttered under his breath: "Pfft, war—don't talk nonsense."

Shi Yisong was surprised.

Tu Shengyuan licked his lips and said: "Li Duke, Qin Huang… hah…" His eyes flickered. "Strong, martial men always have things they fear—do they fear meeting, or fear being refused?"

"Tsk tsk tsk."

"I only wish I could watch from the side—it'd make a perfect drink, a story worth telling for a hundred years."

Shi Yisong said: "Old man, what are you saying?"

Tu Shengyuan smacked his lips: "I said nothing. I just said—this current Qin Huang owes a lot of debts."

Shi Yisong said: "Your Majesty owns all under heaven, the entire realm is one country—what debt could you possibly owe?"

Tu Shengyuan said: "Debts of heart and feeling."

Shi Yisong said: "Heart and feeling?"

Tu Shengyuan, with the smile common to storytellers, replied cheerfully:

"Since ancient times, only a debt of emotion is unsolvable."

He gazed at the sky; the sandstorm subsided, revealing a distant blue expanse, as a golden streak flashed across— a great roc with faintly golden wings pierced the heavens like a blade, swept over the earth, and finally landed within the Western Regions Duke's mansion.

On that tower once overlooking heaven and earth, a tall woman stood with hands clasped behind her back, exquisitely beautiful, a golden-red vertical mark between her brows, black hair falling to her temples, her gaze calm and serene, a paragon of grace.

Changsun Wuchou ascended the tower, gazed at the woman's back, sighed, and said:

"Your Grace."

Li Zhaowen turned her head slightly; her Eighth Heaven Wu Gong had preserved her appearance as it had been years ago—a supreme warrior, whose lifespan stretched long, a legend of the martial path, capable of living over five hundred years; compared to those days, only her bearing and majesty had grown more regal.

"Were the letters and gifts sent to Ducheng?"

Changsun Wuchou replied: "Those who harbored rebellious thoughts and sought to incite rebellion along the frontier have had their heads displayed in Jingcheng, proving the frontier is secure. But, Your Grace, will you truly not go to Jingcheng?"

Li Zhaowen fell silent, then said: "What would I go there for?"

Changsun Wuchou said nothing.

This woman, taller than most men, stood calmly with hands clasped behind her back—her presence as a Duke of a nation, a famed general of the age, fused with her peerless beauty, forming an uncanny charm unlike any other; her eyes, plain and tranquil, detached from herself, said:

"He and I have known each other since youth—we campaigned against the Tuyuhun, pacified the southwest, shattered the Chen state, subdued the Turks; on the battlefield, only he and I stood shoulder to shoulder, charging through arrows and spears—our bond was not shallow. Yet perhaps, in this world, there is always a first and a last."

"Miss Xue accompanied him in youth; Yao Guang followed him through the rivers and lakes."

"But at that time, my eyes held all under heaven."

Li Zhaowen pinched a strand of her black temple hair between her fingers, then self-mockingly said:

"My feelings for him were never merely romantic, after all—I am Li Zhaowen, a conqueror of the realm. I was raised in the Western Regions, fought in the Western Regions, and must remain here to guard all under heaven."

"I once considered going to the imperial capital—but—"

Li Zhaowen's voice halted; behind her, a faint glow shimmered as a golden phoenix spread its wings, noble and composed, casting a faint golden sheen upon her hair, her gaze gradually assuming a commanding air:

"But a phoenix cannot be caged—this vast world of the Western Regions is my true home."

"I delight in you, yet I love this realm more."

"Your Majesty should know."

"Between guarding the frontier for heaven and the people, and staying by his side in the palace, Li Zhaowen will always choose the former."

Li Zhaowen still managed a faint smile.

Yet such a smile carried a trace of melancholy.

As if seeing the young self's tender feelings, seeing the past of this body—once a girl—slain by the present: the mature statesman, the famed general, the Duke who guards the realm.

To restrain emotion is to be mature; perhaps, through this life, it was merely a youthful meeting, side by side, my heart delighted in you—then, sovereign and minister parted, drifting farther apart, until one day, you call him "Your Majesty," and I am called "Your Servant."

In the annals of history, how will you see you, how will you see me?

The annals are vast, the words countless—how many will know I once loved you?

Changsun Wuchou's temples bore a strand of white hair:

"Is this why you refuse to go to Jingcheng?"

Li Zhaowen said: "No."

Changsun Wuchou froze, saying: "Then why have you not gone for three years…?"

Li Zhaowen turned her head, gazing at the Western Regions' expanse; in her eyes flashed the memory of her youth, playing and laughing with Li Guanyi on a boat in Jiangnan, holding a teacup, she said calmly:

"I fear that if I go, I will lose the courage to leave again."

"Better not to go."

Changsun Wuchou said nothing.

Li Zhaowen exhaled, then turned her gaze, smiling sardonically: "In the past, whenever you heard of my affairs with Your Majesty, you would clutch your chest and feign stomach pain—why not do so today?"

Changsun Wuchou said: "Because I have a cure."

Li Zhaowen said: "Oh?"

Changsun Wuchou drew a scroll from his bosom, held it with both hands, and stepped forward three paces:

"By imperial decree, His Majesty shall leave Jingcheng personally and tour the Western Regions with his guards."

"He arrives soon!"

Li Zhaowen's teacup slipped from her hand and fell.

【In the spring of Tai Ping Year Three, the Emperor toured the Western Regions, accompanied by the Shi Guan.】

———《Shi Zhuan · Benji First》

?? Easter egg chapter contains something wonderful—【Beijing Film Academy, Online Literature Derivative Co-Creation Contest】 "The Fire Qilin Leaves the Temple"—Author: Shi Ruoxuan, thanks to the artist.