Chapter 59: The Youth

The assassin stared at the young man before him.

At Li Guanyi’s age, one grows fastest; over the past month, with adequate food and martial cultivation, his stature had shot up dramatically—he now radiated sharp, commanding aura.

Eyebrows like swords, eyes like stars, a mole beside the corner of his eye.

On a woman, it would be a classic beauty mark; on him, it subtly softened the youthful sharpness.

The assassin’s pupils contracted violently; a dusty memory surfaced again—the burning palace, the man who held his dignity even at the end, and that blade, as sharp and fierce as himself…

“You, you…”

His voice trembled.

Li Guanyi stepped forward, pressing: “Who gave the order? Who hunted them down? Why? Who are my parents? Where are they?!”

“My parents, my aunt, and me—”

“What were we dragged into?!”

A barrage of questions pressed like a wall; sweat broke on the assassin’s brow.

The assassin refused to answer—he attempted to resist the Star-Reading Sect’s arts. Now he looked more like the professional killer Li Guanyi remembered: pain twisted his face, veins bulged on his forehead, teeth clenched tight, blood oozing from his lips—he said nothing.

Li Guanyi said: “What’s the answer?”

“Speak!”

The assassin’s mind rang like a bell.

As Li Guanyi shouted, he seemed to hear the roar of a dragon and the howl of a tiger.

His mental defenses shattered; his lips quivered, and he involuntarily uttered the name most vivid in his mind:

“The Regent Prince…”

His voice froze; the bulging veins on his forehead halted, then throbbed violently.

Then—shattered.

His heart and throat exploded.

A torrent of blood gushed forth; within it, a shadow lunged toward Li Guanyi and Yaoguang. The moment Li Guanyi saw it, his body moved before his mind could catch up.

The long cry of the Azure Dragon rose at his ear.

The youth’s hair flew as he stepped sideways, shielding Yaoguang behind him.

Flames danced with dragon scales, visibly swirling before him.

He blocked the flying blood with the technique [Azure Wolf Guard].

The heat surged instantly to its peak; the incoming blood vaporized into crimson mist, then faded. The shadow was burned to ash. Yaoguang crouched low, pinching a curled insect between her fingers, saying:

“...They have someone like me.”

“A special [curse] was placed on him.”

“When he encountered certain information, the parasite in his heart awakened.”

“To kill anyone who learned the truth.”

In Yaoguang’s palm, the curled insect began to unravel into dust, drawn back by starlight; she said:

“Let me handle this.”

Li Guanyi asked: “What is this?”

Yaoguang answered: “A parasite.”

“But not the insect parasites from the mountain clans beyond Chen Guo’s southwest.”

“It’s a witch parasite.”

“In the Central Plains, there are martial cultivators and the Hundred Schools; beyond them lie the Three Outer Sects: Star-Reading, Fate-Reading, and Witch Parasites—each has diverged from Daoism, Yin-Yang, and Medicine, walking their own paths.”

“Star-Readers dwell in remote forests, Fate-Readers wander among mortals; Witch Parasites gather only in courts or noble houses. From this, your enemy must be someone from the imperial court.”

The Azure Wolf Guard, formed naturally by the Law-Form, or rather the Crimson Dragon Guard, slowly dissolved.

Li Guanyi felt the unique nature of the supreme foundational art Xue Shen had spoken of.

He didn’t need to summon it deliberately.

His body instinctively unleashed the corresponding technique.

This was the most suited physique for chaotic battlefield combat; compared to before entry, when [Azure Wolf Guard] merely lessened damage from weapons, now it had undergone a qualitative leap—it was a unified offensive-defensive art, even burning away the witch parasite’s ambush.

But the cost was far greater.

With his current [Breaking Formation Melody] internal energy, Li Guanyi could only unleash it three times before exhausting himself.

Li Guanyi understood.

[Breaking Formation Melody] could no longer keep up with his technique’s energy drain.

He needed a higher-level cultivation method.

The Crimson Dragon’s aura dispersed. Li Guanyi stared at the dead assassin—veins burst on his forehead, holes torn through heart and throat, blood splattered grotesquely along the wall. Recalling the assassin’s struggle, terror, and final whispered name, he said:

“The Regent Prince…”

Who was the Regent Prince?!

What connection did he have to the hunt that killed me?

Which country’s Regent Prince? What was his status?

One thought after another surfaced in Li Guanyi’s mind.

He felt his past and origins shrouded in thick fog—he’d just glimpsed part of it, yet more mysteries emerged. But at least now he knew: those who hunted him and his aunt weren’t just the Ministry of War’s Night-riding Cavalry.

There were disciples of these Mohist branches.

There were people from the court.

But with such force, how had he and his aunt survived—and escaped for ten years?

His aunt…

Hmm? My aunt doesn’t know martial arts.

His aunt’s reply flashed before his eyes.

Li Guanyi rubbed his temples.

He had to return—to ask his aunt at the Xue family, to search their archives for recent records, to obtain a higher-level cultivation method. Otherwise, his internal energy couldn’t sustain the drain—he now practiced Law-Form techniques far more brutal than ordinary entry-level methods.

But the cost was extreme.

Li Guanyi sorted his thoughts, looked at Yaoguang, and said: “I must return. Otherwise, those two elders won’t know what to do.”

Yaoguang nodded, her voice calm:

“I’ll wait here. You may come for me anytime.”

Li Guanyi looked at the dead assassin and said:

“He died here. So much blood—it’s unsuitable for living.”

Yaoguang said: “Star-Reading disciples live simply—only shelter and basic food are needed. Don’t worry about me.”

“Take his body away. I’ll handle the rest.”

“When you’ve cultivated your entry-level method, come here and join me in the secret realm.”

Their recent interactions, and Yaoguang’s abilities—so unlike ordinary martial cultivators—carried a serene, detached, ethereal quality. Li Guanyi trusted this silver-haired Star-Reading adept; she possessed strange, non-martial powers.

Cleaning the bloodstains wouldn’t be difficult.

Li Guanyi nodded, lifted the corpse.

He stepped forward, internal energy flowing.

Even without switching methods or practicing entry-level lightness arts,

merely through internal energy’s transformation,

his speed had increased by at least thirty percent over his former self.

He nearly crashed into the rock wall, barely twisting aside in time.

Yaoguang watched Li Guanyi depart, then turned to the assassin’s bloodstains. She rummaged in her pack, found a wooden bucket.

She lifted it, walked to the stream, drew water.

Her wide sleeves accidentally got wet.

Yaoguang’s face showed no ripple; she rolled up her sleeves.

She lifted the bucket—the sleeves slipped down again.

The silver-haired Star-Reading adept quietly folded the cuffs once more.

Lifted the bucket.

The cuffs fell again.

Yaoguang steadied herself, sighed, snapped off one long strand of hair, rolled up her sleeves again, tied them with the silver strand, revealing her pale palms and wrists, then nodded.

She lifted the bucket, turned.

It was too heavy; she walked unsteadily.

Water sloshed inside, rocking her body back and forth, the sway growing larger. The girl’s face remained expressionless; she halted, drew a deep breath, strained to raise her arm, and flung the water onto the walls and corners stained with blood.

The water washed away the blood.

Yaoguang retrieved a straight wooden stick used for roasting buns, tied a rag to it, soaked it, and began scrubbing the floor diligently.

Scrub. Draw water.

Splash!

Scrub!

Finally, Yaoguang stared at the stubborn stains, pressed her lips together.

She found rags to cover the spot, then moved her books to another corner, exhaled softly, patted her clothes, lit a fire, knelt before it, and quietly read.

Give up.

………………

The literary gathering within Guan Yicheng had not yet ended; when Zu Wenyuan, the foremost authority on the Jing Suan, arrived, the many scholars present had completed their duties and remained where they were.

The Hundred Schools were not without combat capability, but when two martial warriors clashed fiercely, they truly could not intervene; before battle, they had various means to weaken their opponents and possessed the ability to subdue enemies without fighting.

Yet when actual combat broke out, they could only flee far away and curse the opponent as a crude martial brute.

Changsun Wuchou stepped forward and saw the girl standing quietly over there, saying: “Miss Xue.”

Xue Shuangtao turned around; a gash marred her neck, the bleeding stopped but still seeping slightly. Her earlier ferocity, and her subsequent success in persuading the scholars to confront Garrison Commander Lu Youxian about his failure to immediately send aid, all demonstrated decisive leadership—Changsun Wuchou greatly approved.

The Tiger of the Xue Clan in this chaotic age stood beside her—not some delicate lady from a noble family’s inner chambers.

Changsun Wuchou comforted her:

“The clash is over. I saw the White Tiger Manifestation was not severely damaged.”

“Xue Lao should be fine.”

“If Xue Lao is safe, then Young Master Li should be too.”

“The recent struggle exerted intense pressure on the surrounding Qi; though he is brave and martial, he could hardly break through—it’s unlikely he entered the core of the battle…”

When martial warriors clashed at their peak or unleashed certain special techniques, their Manifestations would absorb Qi and flame, briefly taking visible form. That was why Changsun Wuchou could not assist Li Guanyi—he was a traveling merchant with martial skill, but his path followed the School of Vertical and Horizontal Alliances, supplemented by the merchant lineage of Fanzi from the Hundred Schools.

Fluent as a torrent, he maneuvered alone among the thirty-six western tribes.

Interweaving and entangling, he used unique arts and abilities to disrupt the minds of wealthy merchants and powerful nobles.

Making it easier to achieve his goals was his strength.

But such close-range combat—within ten paces, every man an enemy, a brutal slaughter—was beyond his capability. He sighed, recalling the letter from the Second Miss, and felt a headache coming; she had foreseen trouble in Guan Yicheng and ordered him to protect the boy.

Yet in this situation, he was powerless.

He could only later coordinate with Xue Shuangtao to assign troops to assist.

Changsun Wuchou thought Li Guanyi’s actions were somewhat foolish and impulsive, but remembering his age, he could say nothing. For a man of his middle years, such flaws might well be the brightest spark on a youth—reckless, spirited, full of vigor.

Who, in their youth, has not dreamed this? Fearing all others, yet standing alone to turn the tide.

After all, he is still a boy.

Changsun Wuchou said: “He will be fine.”

Xue Shuangtao nodded. Her hands rested before her, posture straight as befitting a noble lady, yet her palms clenched tightly—as if Changsun Wuchou’s comfort had eased her, her emotions now calmed somewhat. “It was the Guest who woke me.”

“Grandfather is fighting outside. I should not cower inside. I must do what I must do.”

“Even if Grandfather gave orders, even if he were in danger, the Guests were forbidden to act.”

“I could only make this choice.”

“If not for Li… for the Guest riding out, I might still be crying like those girls, paralyzed by fear. We’ve only known each other a month, yet I feel as if I’ve known him forever.”

Changsun Wuchou knew it was because Xue Shuangtao had no peers among her circle—this was what was called “childhood companionship.” For ordinary people, childhood friends remained only that; youthful friendship, as one grew older, was torn apart by the world’s rigid hierarchies and loyalties.

Swallowed by the endless “Master,” “Miss.”

He would not say such a dreary adult truth now.

He merely smiled gently: “It is said: ‘Hair turns white yet still new; an umbrella shared, and old friends are made.’”

Xue Shuangtao laughed. “He has talent and brilliance, and courage—but he’s always obsessed with wealth. It’s impossible to understand him.”

A clamor of congratulations reached them.

It was Xue Daoyong returning.

Xue Shuangtao’s eyes brightened. She finally lost her composure, like a girl of fourteen or fifteen, sprinting forward. Changsun Wuchou exhaled in relief—Xue Shuangtao had seen Xue Daoyong, and her emotions surged, nearly bringing tears.

She held back the urge to weep before her dearest, stepping out of his embrace, retreating two steps, her gaze scanning—she could not find the other person. “Grandfather, where is Li Guanyi? He chased after him too!”

“Did you not meet him?”

The old man’s expression was complex. The other Guests remained silent.

The old man sighed, looking at his granddaughter. He could draw the heaviest bow in Chen Guo, his arrows piercing fifty li. As a youth, he had traveled tens of thousands of li alone as a merchant. His presence could drop a single stone upon the world and casually stir the winds of the Western Regions.

Yet now, he could not meet his granddaughter’s gaze.

Slowly, he raised his hand—within it, a broken bow.

He placed the bow into Xue Shuangtao’s hands.

The old man sighed, looking at his granddaughter; he could draw the heaviest bow in Chen Guo, and his arrows could pierce through a range of fifty li—he had traveled tens of thousands of li alone as a youth, and his presence could place pieces upon the world’s board, casually stirring the winds and clouds of the Western Regions.

The bow was woven with golden threads, crafted from rhinoceros horn, crocodile sinew, and mixed with shark glue from the Southern Sea.

It cost one thousand five hundred and thirty guan.

The bow was broken, its surface stained with the boy’s blood.

Nothing more needed to be said.

Xue Shuangtao clutched the broken Suni Bow, staggered two steps, and collapsed to the ground. The emotions she had held back upon seeing her grandfather now erupted—two currents converged, tears falling in heavy drops. The image of the youth galloping away, embodying righteousness, was seared into her heart.

The memories left behind now rose within her.

Then, like clear moonlight, etched by death—impossible to erase.

It would be like brushing one’s palm across a razor’s edge—even in old age, when hair turns white, it would surface unbidden, piercing her with pain.

“Since ancient times, beauties have gifted swords to heroes. Though I am no beauty, I believe Grandfather’s words: Master will one day be a hero.”

“I gift you this Suni Bow.”

The Suni Bow lay on the ground, its broken shaft and string trembling continuously.

Heavy tears fell, washing away the boy’s youthful blood.

Since ancient times, beauties have gifted swords to heroes; though I am no beauty, I believe what my grandfather said—that you will become a hero.

I bestow the Su Ni Bow upon you.

The Su Ni Bow fell to the ground, its broken stave and string trembling incessantly.

Large drops of tears washed away the young man’s blood, diluted by his youthful ardor.