Chapter 588

Epilogue · The Form of the Dragon and Phoenix (Part Three)

This encounter with an old acquaintance took place in a town far from the core regions.

The western town had its own unique charm; the sky was bluer than in the Central Plains or the Jiangnan region, clouds churned and rolled, and distant mountains and ravines could be faintly seen. Merchants filled wooden baskets with dried fruits and dates, hawking them; the scent of grease and lamb mingled with the faint crackling of charcoal, stirring every appetite in sight.

Around the marketplace where people gathered, a large circle had formed.

More and more people kept streaming in.

In the past, crowds had gathered for Central Plains caravans bearing silk and porcelain, for masters of hidden arts performing tricks, or for freshly grilled meat skewers still sizzling with oil—but today was different.

At the center of the crowd lay a worn felt cloth, its edges curled, upon which sat an elderly man from the Central Plains, a western huqin resting on his knees. He played the huqin with a lively, rhythmic tune, then suddenly moved his fingers, snatching up a black wooden block beside him and slamming it onto the table.

A sharp crack, like thunder splitting the air.

The crowd, previously lost in the melody, jolted awake, their attention snapping to the old man, who spoke loudly in fluent western dialect: “A few days ago, we spoke of the free-spirited heroes of the martial world, of the western poison master who burned cities with fire—you all listened with great enthusiasm. Today, we shall set those tales aside.”

“Today, we tell a tale that will make your blood race!”

The storyteller raised his eyebrows, radiating supreme confidence, and declared:

“The Sword Madman Changsheng fought across ten thousand li of the western lands, battled the Crimson Dragon, and returned victorious; the Emperor of Qin and the Duke stood shoulder to shoulder against the Turkic Khan, and triumphed over the grasslands!”

The crowd’s eyes instantly brightened.

More people surged forward to gather around.

The old man spoke with astonishing detail, recounting the great battle of years past with vividness and flair, drawing ever more listeners. Coins piled higher and higher on the felt cloth before him.

On a stone tower beside him, styled in western fashion, Shi Yisong sat cross-legged.

Watching Tu Shengyuan speak, eloquent as a swordsman walking his own world, utterly self-assured, Shi Yisong smiled faintly—until his gaze swept sideways and suddenly stiffened.

That’s!!!

Tu Shengyuan was at the peak of his tale, eyes gleaming, utterly captivating the crowd, when someone suddenly asked: “If the Emperor of Qin and the Duke shared such deep bonds, why, after years of founding the nation, has the Duke never visited the capital to pay homage to His Majesty?”

“Even if not for official duties, surely as old friends they could meet—could there be some hidden reason?”

This question caught Tu Shengyuan off guard, nearly making him blurt out “Brilliant!”

Perfect question. Perfect prompt.

Storytellers need someone to feed them lines; if they speak alone, it grows dull; if the audience is silent, it becomes agony. This question came at the perfect moment—like swallowing a chilled plum soup on the hottest summer day, hitting him right where he itched.

Tu Shengyuan had intended to invite the questioner to witness the next part—but his eyes swept the crowd, and with so many people, he couldn’t spot the speaker. Worse, his impulsive nature left no time for thought.

With a loud crack, he slammed the wooden gavel onto the table, drawing all eyes. He stroked his beard and declared loudly:

“Excellent question. Excellent question.”

“They were founding monarch and minister, bound by life and death—why did they never meet? They were childhood friends, inseparable, deeply known—why could they not meet again? Alas, alas, alas! Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

After a dramatic pause, drawing all eyes, Tu Shengyuan continued: “Do you know why? What could keep these legendary sovereign and minister apart for five years? What could turn two inseparable childhood friends into such strangers?”

“Is it hatred? Enmity? Or betrayal?”

“Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

Tu Shengyuan’s white eyebrows lifted slightly as he scanned the curious crowd, then grinned: “It’s only one word: love.”

The word “love” struck like a boulder dropped into a stream—ripples exploded outward. The crowd buzzed, eyes gleaming. Merchants, laborers, women, maidens, street healers, even the white-haired village elder and children playing nearby all leaned in.

Since ancient times, all men have had a taste for gossip.

Especially gossip about emperors and generals.

And especially about the founding emperor, whose prestige now blazed like the midday sun?

The weight of their gazes, the murmur of their whispers, filled Tu Shengyuan with delight. His eyes swept the crowd, and he smiled faintly:

“Yes. Just one word: [Love].”

“Do you know that when His Majesty was young, he was a guest of the Xue family? Back then, he exchanged letters with the Duke. Originally, it wasn’t the current Duke who came to the great ancestral rites of old Chen.”

“Though young, the Duke had foresight—he saw the coming chaos, the storm rising. But can you guess why, in such times, he abandoned comfort and ventured into the heart of turmoil?”

He had practically handed them the opening.

The crowd answered: “To see His Majesty!”

“Yes, yes!”

The crowd’s enthusiastic response delighted Tu Shengyuan. His gaze swept over them.

Then, as a martial master, his spiritual sense—known to pierce like divine sight—twitched. A sudden intuition made him look up. He noticed the dual-sword wanderer on the stone tower frantically waving his arms, as if trying to say something but holding back.

He was desperately signaling him.

The martial master’s spiritual core pulsed at his third eye.

Tu Shengyuan’s spiritual form appeared beside him—a white divine beast—pulling fiercely at him, as if trying to clamp a hand over his mouth. Tu Shengyuan’s storytelling urge cooled slightly.

Huh? Strange… I feel as if countless eyes are watching me.

But I can’t find them.

Never mind.

I should stop here.

This is enough. Just enough.

Tu Shengyuan was about to close his tale when that voice spoke again:

“So that’s why. What a pity. Back then, when the world was in chaos, storms rising—he traveled ten thousand li to go. Now the realm is at peace, the four seas united, a day’s journey suffices—yet he refuses to go. Why?”

The voice carried sincerity, innocence, simplicity, and a tone of heartfelt regret.

Perfectly timed.

Tu Shengyuan felt as if someone had scratched his itch. His eyes flashed bright, his shoulders shook, and he shook off the spiritual form gripping his shoulder—its voice whispering “Don’t say it, don’t say it!”—then slammed the gavel down with a snap:

“Excellent question! Excellent!”

“To answer this, only one word is needed.”

All eyes turned to the old man. Tu Shengyuan smiled and declared decisively:

“Vinegar.”

Hiss!!!

Tu Shengyuan’s spiritual form—the legendary Bai Ze—its eyes went blank, then it stepped backward, already considering asking the old fate-master to sever it from this damned chatterbox.

Shi Yisong, seated cross-legged on the stone tower, watching the scenery, twitched his eyelid violently.

The instant he heard that word.

His vision went black.

Suddenly, applause broke out. The same voice that had asked twice before said: “Brilliant answer! Brilliant tongue! Let the old master have a drink!” A wine flask flew through the crowd, its aroma sharp and rich.

Tu Shengyuan bowed to all sides, caught the flask, tilted his head, and drained it in one gulp. His bearing was bold and unshaken. After drinking, he turned the flask upside down—no drop spilled—to show his honesty.

Then he saw the crowd, moments ago alive with excitement, fall utterly silent.

Like water parting, they split to either side.

The sound of hooves approached, unhurried.

Only now did the banners far off unfurl, spreading like clouds across the earth, radiating an air of dignified grandeur.

Tu Shengyuan’s eyes went vacant, fixed on the faintly stirring qilin embroidery.

Below the great banner, a young man with golden-threaded crown and bound hair.

The crowd instinctively bowed.

“His Majesty…”

The murmurs rose like wind through pines. Tu Shengyuan leapt up, stammering: “Emperor Qin…”

Why hadn’t I seen him before?

Wait—martial legend power…

You, the number one in the realm, why would you use such power for this?

Tu Shengyuan’s face nearly crumpled. He bowed, stammering: “Your Majesty, I—I just have no gate on my mouth, I spoke nonsense, forgive me, forgive me…”

The more he spoke, the worse it got. He gritted his teeth, ready to turn and flee.

Surely, with Emperor Qin’s broad-mindedness and ease, he wouldn’t hold a grudge.

Running now would give him a way out—and give Emperor Qin one too.

But as he turned, dizziness overwhelmed him.

A seventh-layer master, suddenly his legs turned weak, slipping, stumbling—he nearly fell, until a hand reached out to steady him.

A gentle, humble voice said: “Old man, are you alright?”

Tu Shengyuan, who had heard thousands of voices, recognized it instantly—the same voice that had asked those two perfect questions, the ones that had scratched his itch.

Though his loose tongue had led him here, and those questions had triggered it…

He felt no resentment.

It was his own fault.

Not this man’s.

But as he was helped up, looked into the face before him—gentle, warm, utterly sincere—the words froze in his throat. The man’s brow was mild, his lips curved in a smile.

It was Wen Qingyu—the most feared poison master of the court.

Damn it!

Not an accident!

Tu Shengyuan tried to pull away—but Wen Qingyu’s hand clamped down on his wrist’s vital point. The boy was a civil official, yet somehow had cultivated fifth-layer internal qi, hardened his body, mastered armor-clad combat skills, and possessed a lightness of foot ranking among the top ten in the realm—but Tu Shengyuan was a master!

He surged his internal qi—no reaction.

Tu Shengyuan’s smile froze.

He stared at Wen Qingyu.

He suddenly realized: “That wine.”

Wen Qingyu smiled: “A Thousand Days Drunk.”

Tu Shengyuan: “Was there a sedative in the wine?”

Wen Qingyu shook his head: “There was wine in the sedative.”

Tu Shengyuan: “…………”

His lip twitched; helplessly, he let out a great sigh:

“I shit your grandpa.”

Then his eyes rolled back and he collapsed backward, dizzy and disoriented. Wen Qingyu flicked his sleeve and smiled: “My clan’s grandpa seized my ancestral land. Don’t worry—I happened to be passing by, so I dug him up for you.”

Tu Shengyuan knew the boy was just blustering, but he had no strength left.

Wen Qingyu called over Ling Pingyang.

Ling Pingyang drew a length of rope from his waist, bound Tu Shengyuan, and tied him to the horse. Li Guanyi said: “Long time no see, old sir. Last time we met, we hadn’t even exchanged two words before you ran off—what a pity.”

“To meet an old friend again today is quite amusing.”

Tu Shengyuan’s face fell: “Don’t hit my mouth.”

Li Guanyi, seeing he’d suffered enough, chuckled: “I’m not so petty as to lack even this much tolerance.”

“Qingyu, Pingyang, stop fooling around. Untie the gentleman.”

“Yes.”

Ling Pingyang apologized, then untied Tu Shengyuan. Tu Shengyuan exhaled in relief, yet praised: “Though His Majesty’s inner treasury is poor, his magnanimity is vast—he owns the Four Seas!”

Ling Pingyang froze mid-motion. Wen Qingyu glanced at the wine flask, where he’d placed the 【Truth-Revealing Pill】 developed by Fan Qing and others from Marquis Hou Zhongyu’s leftover pharmacopoeia. He paused thoughtfully, then silently stepped behind the crowd.

The Emperor’s tone paused slightly, then he took the rope.

“I’ll do it myself.”

Tu Shengyuan turned pale with shock.

Woe is me, woe is me! In days past, the Emperor’s spirit was grand—yet his heart was so… sob sob sob…

Tu Shengyuan’s mouth was stuffed shut.

Wen Qingyu sighed: “Finally, peace.”

At that moment, Shi Yisong leapt down from the stone tower, hurrying over. With gentle qi, he parted the crowd and rushed to Li Guanyi’s side, bowing deeply. Behind him, Tu Shengyuan groaned. Shi Yisong, torn between amusement and exasperation, bowed again and pleaded:

“Your Majesty, this old man is merely a storyteller who makes up nonsense. He likely means no harm, but he still spreads false rumors. I dare to beg Your Majesty to punish him.”

Punish?

Tu Shengyuan’s eyes widened.

Little Stone, what are you doing?!

That’s Yan Daiqing of the Western Regions!

A light punishment?

But the Emperor knew Shi Yisong was pleading for mercy. He said: “Relax. I’ve known this storyteller for years—over a decade of friendship. I won’t fly into a rage over this. But one thing you said is wrong.”

Shi Yisong blinked in surprise. The surrounding crowd instinctively gathered closer, puzzled.

The Emperor gazed at the western sky, his eyes narrowing slightly, and said:

“It’s not a rumor.”

When these words fell, the crowd showed no immediate reaction.

Only after several breaths did they grasp the weight of those four words. The Emperor tugged the reins; the crimson banner of the Imperial Qilin fluttered faintly against the vast western sky.

………………

“This man is an old friend. I’ll take him for a few days. Don’t worry—I won’t harm him. If anyone comes looking for me, tell them this…”

With those words, the Emperor’s carriage departed. Shi Yisong watched the old man, bound to the horse, mouth stuffed, and could only sigh: “His Majesty’s spirit is grand—he won’t break his word.”

“Old man, consider this a lesson to silence your tongue.”

He stayed on to do business. Because of the storytelling, the place was crowded, and sales flowed smoothly. Shi Yisong rested his hand on his sword—but not long after, he heard hoofbeats again.

He lifted his gaze and saw another banner galloping toward them.

This time, the banner fluttered like a phoenix.

A line of armored cavalry surrounded a woman with striking, spirited brows. Shi Yisong froze—this was…

The dragon steed halted. The woman on horseback sensed the qi ending here.

She summoned the local commander and asked: “His Majesty was here just now—where has he gone?”

The local garrison commander replied: “He headed north. But as to His Majesty’s exact whereabouts, this subordinate truly does not know.” Li Zhaowen bit her lip, then heard a clear voice: “Are you by chance Lord Duke? I’m a wandering cultivator, Shi Yisong, here to deliver a message from His Majesty.”

“Do you still remember our first meeting, all those years ago?”

……………………

Li Zhaowen abandoned her mount and soared into the air with her cultivation.

When the Tuyuhun fell, it marked the dawn of the world’s chaos. Now, upon its former lands, many cities have risen. One, in particular, stands out—built on the site where the last Tuyuhun king was slain by Lord Li of the Duke, and his imperial seal seized. It is especially splendid.

The people live in peace and contentment; the land yields abundant jujubes and fruits.

The Western Regions were among the first lands pacified by Great Qin. Its period of peace has outlasted even that of the Central Plains. Under the guidance of the Agrarian and Mohist schools, crops have been cultivated here, and as yields grew, surplus harvests were moved elsewhere. This original site became a place of leisure.

Li Zhaowen’s mind swirled with thoughts—rising and falling, wondering where he was, questioning whether her guess was right. After much turmoil, her gaze swept the crowd—and suddenly, she caught a silhouette. Her eyes locked on it, then softened.

Many townsfolk came here to relax and enjoy the scenery when idle.

Thus, many livelihoods clustered here: vendors of small fruits, sellers of dried nuts, magicians, fortune-tellers. In the Western Regions, daylight lasts over an hour longer than in the Central Plains.

With the Qiqiao Festival approaching, the trees here were lush, and many young men and women came to stroll beneath the moon and flowers. Fortune-tellers often offered auspicious words to earn a few coins.

Among the crowd, an old man sat before a table, reading the fate of a young man.

But the young man’s destiny was elusive, unreadable. The old man scratched his head, ears, unsure what to say.

Six copper coins lay on the table, each split cleanly in half.

The old man groaned: “I… I don’t know how to say it.”

“Your destiny, sir, I truly cannot…”

A clear, melodious voice interrupted: “Such bearing. Such ease.”

“It is the form of a Dragon and Phoenix, the visage of Heaven and Sun.”

The old man beamed: “Ah yes, yes! That’s it—”

The words were out before his mind caught up—he realized what he’d just said.

“Ah, no, no!”

He looked up and saw a tall, elegant woman standing with hands behind her back, walking forward. The young man beside her turned slightly. Around the woman, faint ripples spread—golden phoenixes reappeared. Beside the young man, azure luann birds surged.

The fortune-teller thought he’d gone blind. He rubbed his eyes hard, stared wide-eyed—and saw the pair of phoenix and luann circling, singing in unison, surrounding the two like a divine halo, resplendent beyond measure.

The young man lowered his gaze to the woman, whose golden vertical mark glowed on her brow, and said:

“Finally.”

“You’ve come to see me?”

?? Beijingdianyingxue Academy · Online Literature Derivative Co-Creation Contest Outstanding Work · “Wen He” · Author Wang Zixuan, thanks to the artist~