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

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

Wild winds swept across the land, scattering dust and obscuring vision; all major city-states closed their gates, and children across the Western Regions were granted a “sandstorm holiday,” exempt from school—but their teachers still assigned homework, leaving the stormy air filled with wails.

“You lot are the worst students I’ve ever taught.”

“Go home today and complete thirteen pages of ‘Compendium of Mathematical Arts,’ and do three sets of the ‘Five-Three Exercises.’”

The boys howled like demons.

“No!!!”

“Master, please revoke your order—I don’t want to do math problems!”

The young man, recently promoted from student to instructor, felt refreshed and spoke the words he’d 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 endured generation after generation; no one dared defy the power of heaven and earth, and no one ventured out in such weather—everyone claimed to follow the timing of heaven.

Yet while tradition endured, to today’s children, the Western sandstorms were merely this:

A holiday. Some homework.

A story.

Now, children listened to elders recount tales of the past, as if from another lifetime.

The old spoke of how scarce water once was, how lives were spent to secure it; how oases were wealth reserved only for great tribes, how vegetables were unknown, how even a full meal was a luxury.

To survive, the elderly in tribes were abandoned.

Large tribes controlled oases, built city-states along waterways, and became nobility; small tribes strapped their lives to horses, drifting with the rivers. In those days, people in the Western Regions were commodities.

These words meant nothing to the children; they yawned at them, listless—until someone mentioned eating hand-pulled rice, when their eyes suddenly lit up, as if they’d leapt from their seats.

At such moments, the elders sighed with melancholy, yet also felt relief, convinced this was the best possible state.

The fire of the Qilin reached the desert, and thus came this tranquil life.

In chaotic times, human beings were naturally born commodities.

The harvesters’ scythes arose in response to fate, to reap these “commodities.”

The Western sand bandits—mounted on swift horses, cloaked in wind-torn cloaks, wielding bows, arrows, and curved blades—spread terror far and wide. But when the Qilin Army arrived and reorganized the Anxi Protectorate, these bandits became the first military funding, and soon vanished.

The roads of the Western Regions were now safe.

Had it not been for the raging sandstorm, many young Westerners would be riding hard, 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.

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 up at the storm—sandstorms so fierce even horses could not stand, yet this young merchant stood firm, his lower body steady, his back muscles taut, like a sharp blade.

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

“I never saw it—yet now, with the world unified, I behold it at last.”

“Utterly magnificent—it fills the heart with clarity.”

The young man wore a round-collar robe, a sword at his waist; though young, his brow bore a bold, fierce spirit. With the world unified and the state founded on martial prowess, 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 current emperor on a road in Zhongzhou and received sword instruction from Jiankuang; though still young, his martial skill was already formidable. Before the emperor and empress’s wedding, he returned the two swords gifted to him in youth to their original owner—now he wore only an ordinary hundred-fold forged sword.

Today, the world is at peace; the Qilin Army patrols the realm in scattered groups, restoring order.

Traveling far and wide, he rarely encountered bandits daring to rob the roads.

Yet the world is vast, hearts differ; there are always those who break rules, and the martial world remains rife with conflict. A merchant leader must possess exceptional skill.

Shi Yisong often felt that if martial strongholds and major sects failed to rein themselves in, they would one day cross the emperor’s line; when the Qilin Army rode through the martial world, it would be inevitable. As the desert sandstorm grew fiercer, Shi Yisong felt its grandeur stir his soul.

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

He leapt straight into the howling sandstorm, moving with the wind, his blade flashing sharply, merging with the gale and adding three or fivefold to its might—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.

His eyes held not the usual merchant’s wonder, but a quiet, murmuring amazement.

He whispered: “Even before he learned martial arts, he met Jiankuang. Though Jiankuang merely gestured vaguely during the Qin Emperor’s time, offering no depth of the sword Dao, he still received a thread of purity—and, under the name of merchant, walked the earth with his feet.”

“He has gathered the mountains, rivers, and myriad forms of this unified world into his sword, forging his own unique aura.”

“Murong Longtu, Murong Longtu—your departure has set all things in motion.”

“Another budding sword master.”

“Jiankuang—what a masterstroke!”

“Your final sword strike has defined the sword Dao of this realm for three hundred years.”

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

Beneath the oilcloth shield, the old man wore the garb of a storyteller: coarse blue cotton robes, a dusty sash hanging a pouch containing a bamboo scroll and a carving knife.

The seventeenth-ranked martial master of the current era, former guest advisor of the former Number One Tower, Tu Shengyuan.

His qinggong was exceptional.

Tu Shengyuan looked disheveled.

Earlier, during the Qin Emperor and Empress’s wedding, he wandered off for a drink, ran into Xue Daoyong, Yue Qianfeng, and others—fine. But then he met Murong Qiushui, who brought up the time he’d listed Murong Qiushui and Su Zhangqing, wife of the Taiping Duke, on the Beauty List—and how the Taiping Duke and Jiankuang had come to confront him.

The old storyteller, unable to hold his face, slipped away.

After fleeing, he felt Jiangnan was no longer safe.

So he turned eastward to the seashore—only to encounter that cursed fisherman, nearly fed to the Eastern Sea’s giant kun, dragged into the Guanxing Academy’s secret realm, where he thought he’d never escape.

Fortunately, after Xue Shen emerged, he immediately clashed with the fisherman.

On the day Li Guanyi and Yaoguang’s great affair, there was one good news and one bad.

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

The bad news:

Xue Shen and the emperor’s father-in-law went at it right there.

The Whale Fisher casually revealed Xue Shen’s past with Yaoguang five hundred years ago, and why Yaoguang never returned to the Guanxing Academy—throwing the situation into chaos.

Good heavens—it was dust everywhere, curses flying.

Tu Shengyuan lay on the ground, crawling forward.

With the unshakable conviction of “I loved Yaoguang, what’s wrong with me?”

“You should call me ancestor.”

“Call me Grandpa!”

“Suck suck suck, suck suck suck.”

Amid the dust, Tu Shengyuan collided with the old Celestial Administrator, who also had his black tortoise on his head and was crawling forward. The two old men, who had wandered through chaotic times, exchanged a single glance—and understood everything.

Trouble’s too hot. Take advantage of the chaos.

Let’s get out of here.

Where the old Celestial Administrator went, Tu Shengyuan didn’t know. But the storyteller, after deep reflection, felt he’d lately had bad fortune with the Qin Emperor—he couldn’t stay in Jiangnan or the Eastern Sea. Fine. He turned his direction straight toward the Western Regions.

Joining the merchant caravan, the journey had been comfortable.

Tu Shengyuan had gotten drunk telling stories by the Eastern Sea, met the Whale Fisher, and suffered this calamity. After reflection, he swore to his deceased wife he’d never drink again, never tell stories, to avoid further trouble.

He stopped drinking, mostly.

But after half a month, he couldn’t bear it—he begged his wife’s grave for forgiveness, and his tongue refused to stay silent. So he resumed storytelling.

Moments later, the storm subsided. Shi Yisong slashed his sword horizontally through the air.

Tu Shengyuan’s eyes flickered with subtle interest.

The true essence of the Murong sword art.

This boy has actually learned something.

Shi Yisong returned, sheathing his sword with ease. The sandstorm gradually calmed. Tu Shengyuan dropped his oilcloth, pulled at his collar, shook his robe’s hem, and scattered the fine sand that had blown inside.

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

“Old man, have a drink.”

Tu Shengyuan drank, then said: “Little Stone, in a few more days you’ll reach Anxi City—your trade journey will be complete. Then you’ll transport Western Region furs, dried meat, and such back along the route. It’s hard, 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.

“It’s the sword aura left by Jiankuang, isn’t it?”

About ten years ago, the Qin Emperor was still a boy of fourteen or fifteen. He somehow offended the martial legend Zhang Ziyong, the Green Robe Guest. Jiankuang drew his sword and fought him all the way through the Western Regions.

Along the way, sword aura scattered into the tamarisk groves.

Now, ten years later, those tamarisks have grown slowly, their leaves sharp as blades, their aura soaring, vast, and majestic—a great marvel of the Western martial world. Many swordsmen travel thousands of miles just to witness this spectacle.

Even if they cannot grasp Jiankuang’s lingering spirit,

they may still offer three sticks of incense and a long sword to honor the peerless 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 the reverence of later generations; the two interweave, and when the wind blows, the faint, solemn sound is indistinguishable—whether from the tamarisks swaying or the sword aura humming—it has become a wonder.

Shi Yisong said: “When I was young, 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 it safe?”

Tu Shengyuan tilted his head back and drank his tea with boldness.

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

Now I’ve fled to the Western Regions, hidden within a merchant caravan—how could I possibly run into them again?

“Hmph...”

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

“Impossible. Absolutely impossible.”

“If I ever encounter it again, I’ll eat this leather water bag!”

Shi Yisong laughed: “Old man, don’t come here just to mooch meals.”

“Though the Western Regions have seen some unrest, they’re stable enough—you’ll always have a meal.”

He tucked away the water bag and gazed at the sky. The empire’s northwestern frontier was now held by Li Duke of Ying State. The current Li Duke possessed the bearing of a dragon and phoenix; legend said he had been close friends with the Qin Emperor since youth, and the plan to defeat the Tuyuhun was devised by the two of them together.

Later, when the Qin Emperor expanded into the Western Regions, the two jointly crushed the Shatuo Kingdom and its ten thousand troops from the thirty-six Western tribes. Afterward, Li Duke repeatedly earned military glory in pacifying the realm—leading the charge at Lu, securing the southwest, breaking Chen Guo, destroying the Turks, and finally fighting the great battle against Ying State—all with countless feats of valor.

Yet the realm had been at peace for three years now.

After the Qin Emperor’s wedding, Li Duke withdrew to guard the western frontier, refusing to enter the capital for years, though he sent tribute annually. This stirred murmurs in both the Western Regions and the Central Plains—Li Duke commanded vast armies, was among the greatest generals, and was the same age as the Qin Emperor.

He now merely held the border passes, never coming to court.

Concern spread throughout court and realm; even among his own Xuanjia Army, young captains grew puzzled, and morale wavered. Tu Shengyuan knew the reasons well, yet he merely sneered, shook his robes, and dislodged the fine grains of sand clinging to them.

Shi Yisong sighed: “The realm has only been at peace for three years. Li Duke’s forces are strong and well-equipped. I truly hope there will be no more wars.”

Tu Shengyuan muttered under his breath: “Pfft, wars? Don’t talk nonsense.”

Shi Yisong was startled.

Tu Shengyuan licked his lips and said: “Li Duke... the Qin Emperor... hah...” His eyes flickered. “Even the strongest, most heroic men sometimes fear certain things. Is it fear of meeting? Or fear of being rejected when asking for something?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

“I only wish I could watch from the side—it would make a perfect drink companion, a tale worth telling for a hundred years.”

Shi Yisong asked: “Old man, what are you saying?”

Tu Shengyuan smacked his lips: “I said nothing. I only meant that the current Qin Emperor owes a great deal.”

Shi Yisong said: “The Emperor owns all under heaven, rules the entire realm—what debt could he possibly owe?”

Tu Shengyuan said: “Debts of heart and feeling.”

Shi Yisong said: “Debts of heart?”

Tu Shengyuan smiled, the knowing grin of a storyteller, and said:

“Since ancient times, the only debt that cannot be repaid is a debt of love.”

He looked up at the sky. The sandstorm had faded. Far above, a blue expanse stretched, and a golden streak pierced through—a giant roc with faintly golden wings, like a blade, slashed through the heavens, swept across the land, and landed within the Western Regions Duke Mansion.

On the towering balcony that once overlooked heaven and earth, a tall woman stood with her hands behind her back. She was exquisitely beautiful, with a golden-red vertical mark on her brow, black hair cascading down her temples, her gaze calm and serene, radiating peerless grace.

Changsun Wuchou ascended the tower, gazed at her back, and sighed:

“Duke.”

Li Zhaowen turned her head slightly. Her Eighth Heaven-level Wu Gong kept her appearance unchanged from years past. Top-tier martial artists lived long lives; legends said they could reach five hundred years. Compared to her younger self, only her bearing and dignity had grown more regal.

“Have you delivered the letters and gifts to the capital?”

Changsun Wuchou replied: “Those who sought to incite rebellion and split the frontier have been executed and their heads sent to the capital to prove the border is secure. But, Duke—will you truly not go to the capital?”

Li Zhaowen remained silent. “What would I go for?”

Changsun Wuchou said nothing.

This woman, taller than most men, stood calmly with hands behind her back. The aura of a national ruler, the stature of a famed general, fused with her peerless beauty, creating a unique charm unlike any other. Her eyes, calm and detached, spoke as if from beyond herself:

“He and I knew each other since youth. We fought the Tuyuhun together, secured the southwest, broke Chen Guo, pacified the Turks. On the battlefield, only he and I stood shoulder to shoulder, charging through arrows and spears. Our bond was not light. Yet perhaps, in this world, there is always a first and a last.”

“Xue Niang accompanied him in youth. Yaoguang followed him through the rivers and lakes.”

“But back then, my eyes held the whole world.”

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

“My feelings for him were never merely romantic. I am Li Zhaowen—I am one who conquered the realm. I was raised in the Western Regions, fought in the Western Regions, and must remain here to guard the realm.”

“I once thought of going to the imperial capital—but—”

Li Zhaowen fell silent. Behind her, a faint glow shimmered—a golden phoenix spread its wings, noble and composed. The light gilded her hair, and her gaze turned regal, commanding:

“But a phoenix cannot be caged. This vast Western Region is my true home.”

“I delight in you, yet I love this world more.”

“He should know.”

“When choosing between guarding the frontier for the realm and the people, or staying in the palace beside him, Li Zhaowen will always choose the former.”

Li Zhaowen still smiled faintly.

But that smile carried a trace of loneliness.

As if seeing the young girl within her—her youthful feelings, her past self who once was a maiden—now slain by the mature stateswoman, the famed general, the Duke who guards the realm.

To master one’s emotions is to be mature. Perhaps this life has been nothing more than a youthful meeting, side by side on the battlefield, my heart delighting in you—then parting as sovereign and subject, drifting farther apart, until someday, we merely say, “Your Majesty,” and “Your servant.”

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

History is vast, its words countless—how many will know I once loved you?

Changsun Wuchou’s temples held a streak of white:

“Is this why you refuse to go to the capital?”

Li Zhaowen said: “No.”

Changsun Wuchou froze. “Then why haven’t you gone in three years...?”

Li Zhaowen turned to gaze at the Western Regions, her mind returning to the days of her youth—when she and Li Guanyi had playfully splashed each other on a boat in Jiangnan, laughing together. She lifted her teacup, voice calm:

“I’m afraid that if I go, I won’t have the courage to leave again.”

“Better not to go.”

Changsun Wuchou said nothing.

Li Zhaowen exhaled, then turned her head with a teasing smile: “You used to clutch your chest and pretend stomach pain whenever you heard stories of me and the Emperor. Why not do it today?”

Changsun Wuchou replied: “Because I have a cure.”

Li Zhaowen said: “Oh?”

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

“The Emperor’s decree: he will personally leave the capital and tour the Western Regions with his guards.”

“He arrives soon!”

Li Zhaowen’s teacup slipped from her hand and shattered.

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

———《Historical Records · Annals I》

?? Bonus Chapter contains something wonderful—[Beijingdianyingxue Academy, Online Literature Co-Creation Contest] “Qilin Leaves the Temple”—Author: Shi Ruoxuan, thanks to the artist.