Chapter 60: Li Guanyi, Here I Come!

In the imperial villa’s literary gathering, Xue Daoyong’s gaze subtly lowered, shifting from his granddaughter, and the aged tiger’s eyes swept over every scholar present, causing their hearts to tremble slightly; Qiu Shiheng, a renowned scholar who had once served as Grand Secretary, hesitated before speaking:

“Xue Lao, please accept your loss.”

Xue Daoyong said: “This isn’t about accepting loss or not.”

Yue Qianfeng has gone to investigate the assassin branch of the Mohists; he suspects Li Guanyi is not dead but kidnapped, and before leaving, he asked Xue Daoyong to search within Guanyi City. The old man has already dispatched most of his guest masters abroad, and returned himself to gather more people. His gaze swept over the scholars as he paced slowly, speaking in a low tone:

“The scholars of the Mingjia, Zajia, and Xiaoshuojia—those skilled in sensing Qi.”

“I beg you all to search for my child’s trail.”

“If alive, bring me the man—”

“If dead, bring me the corpse.”

“Regardless, my Xue family owes you all a debt.”

Bowing deeply with the reverence befitting his status.

The scholars from surrounding sects were moved, their hearts stirred—but Qiu Shiheng flatly refused: “Xue Lao, no need for such formality. Li Guanyi is a prodigy; he won’t die here. My Mingjia disciples will spare no effort—no debt is needed.”

“A scholar acts not for profit, but for righteousness!”

The other sects likewise pledged their aid.

Qiu Shiheng glanced at the dazed Xue Shuangtao, and memories of his youth surfaced—the woman forced into marriage who took her own life, before he had passed the imperial exams. Even now, as a Grand Secretary famed across the land, that memory still pierced him: “Why not say he may yet be alive?”

Xue Daoyong said: “...The warhorse lies prostrate, weapons shattered, yet the man is gone.”

“Life and death, each half.”

“Better to let Shuangtao lower her hopes now—should Guanyi return, it will be joy beyond measure; even in the worst case, she won’t suffer a second blow.”

Qiu Shiheng sighed.

“You truly dote on this granddaughter...”

Changsun Wuchou looked up at the sky, still dazed—could that vibrant youth truly be dead? He was a merchant; merchants never abandon hope of profit until the final moment. He retreated to the back hall, picked up his brush, and wrote several lines, detailing the day’s events.

He concluded: “Li Guanyi is suspected dead.”

He applied to activate the Duke Prefecture’s hidden assets and operatives here.

This application, naturally, was exaggerated by threefold.

He tied the letter to the leg of a Jin Yu falcon.

After submitting the report, he immediately drew his credentials, turned, and walked out, saying:

“I’ll help too.”

The young merchant said: “I took an instant liking to Young Master Li. To lend even a fraction of aid is the least I can do.”

Under the old man’s promise of a debt, the once aloof scholars grew eager.

The disciples of the various schools—each practicing different cultivation arts and possessing unique abilities—left the city.

After Yue Qianfeng departed, the garrison commander of the general’s headquarters arrived—a man with streaks of gray in his hair, a pillar of Chen Guo, who had guarded border passes, repelled western cavalry archers, and fought the Hu-Man cavalry of Ying Guo; a famed general skilled in siege defense.

When he arrived, he still wore his black armor.

His grim aura dispelled the chaos here. As Lu Youxian entered, he met Xue Daoyong’s icy gaze; the old man coldly said: “General Lu, you remain as unmoved as a mountain.”

Lu Youxian fell silent: “Yue Qianfeng’s target may be Jiangzhou.”

“Guanyi City must not fall. My first duty is to defend the city.”

“A garrison commander must not abandon his post.”

“We cannot be lured away by a decoy.”

Xue Daoyong stared at this stubborn rock—he knew Lu Youxian had already learned of the earlier events.

Xue Daoyong pointed to the bow:

“So you’d have me go out to fight, then sit and watch me die?”

“Had it not been for this boy leaving the city, I nearly fell to assassins—and yet he fought alone against them, until his spear snapped, his bow shattered, his warhorse died—while the city’s troops didn’t budge a single step from the walls?”

Lu Youxian was in the wrong, but standing firm within the walls was imperial order.

He was a solemn warrior, a famed general of siege defense, whose style was always cautious and steady.

After everything ended, scouts had already been dispatched.

Some wanted fugitives had escaped; those intruding fugitives needed to be dealt with.

One scout had seen the battlefield where Li Guanyi had fought—city garrison troops rarely witnessed such brutal combat: hoofprints of galloping warhorses, standard-issue city spears snapped clean.

Spear tips were stained with blood; the red tassels were caked black with dried blood.

Four named assassins lay dead on the ground, each weapon likewise stained with blood.

Scouts were experts at gathering intelligence.

Any seasoned soldier could tell what kind of ferocious battle had occurred here. The report reached even Lu Youxian, who glanced over with some surprise, feeling a pang of regret for the death of such a courageous young officer.

The Mohist Grand Master opened his eyes: “When the city guards locked the gates and barred the people outside, it was he who stepped out alone and ordered the gates opened.”

“He was a ninth-rank civilian military officer: Li Guanyi.”

Lu Youxian remained silent, but the other scholars, spurred by Xue Daoyong, began to speak up—though none named him directly, their veiled barbs were more infuriating. Lu Youxian knew he was in the wrong, and that these scholars held influence at court:

“This matter falls under military law—I cannot intervene. But the civilian officer Li Guanyi displayed valor, killed enemies, and died with heroic courage...”

“Heroic courage” in official parlance meant a gruesome death.

Xue Daoyong looked at Xue Shuangtao.

He saw the girl’s body tremble.

Returning to rally more people, Xue Daoyong had planned to leave again—but now, his suppressed fury and rage finally burst.

The old man snatched up a table.

With one sweep, he hurled it straight at Lu Youxian’s head.

The heavy rosewood table exploded into splinters; the old man jabbed his finger at the general’s nose and roared:

“You old bastard!!!”

“Your mother’s cunt gave birth to this worthless trash!”

If you can’t speak properly, don’t speak at all!

The surrounding scholars shuddered; Lu Youxian stood motionless, taking the blow, his gaze cold.

After a soldier dies in battle, his rank is raised one level, along with posthumous honors.

He’s already dead.

This both displays the empire’s benevolence and soothes the troops’ morale.

But today’s matter carried great weight, and Lu Youxian had failed in his duty—he said: “The ninth-rank civilian officer Li Guanyi shall be promoted to eighth-rank...”

Xue Daoyong stared at Lu Youxian.

Lu Youxian said: “Seventh-rank.”

The old man sneered, placing his palm on another table.

Lu Youxian paused, then said: “Seventh-rank military officer: Zhenwei Captain.”

“He shall be granted the Zhenwei Treasure Armor and light blue official robes.”

“This is the limit of what I can grant.”

This violated Chen Guo’s regulations—but the scholars said nothing, for the situation was exceptional, the dead deserve respect, and the honors granted were merely standard titles and benefits—unusual, but not unprecedented.

When Wang Tong arrived, Master Zu Wenyuan took him to a safer place; they also mobilized their disciples, leaving Fang Ziqiao, Du Ke, and Wei Xuancheng behind. Du Ke praised: “A true warrior.”

Fang Ziqiao smiled but said nothing; his fellow disciples knew his meaning—he likely disapproved of such reckless character. Wei Xuancheng looked at the sky: “No corpse has been seen yet. Is he a superior talent—courageous and strategic—or merely courageous and foolish? Not yet determined.”

………………

When Li Guanyi emerged, he heard the clatter of weapons—somehow, a crowd was searching everywhere; this massive operation far exceeded the bounty offered for Qian Zhengqiang. Li Guanyi lifted his eyebrow.

He slipped back, planning to retrieve his bow.

Seeing his bow was gone, his heart ached.

Damn it—who’s this dirty-handed thief?

Took my bow?!

One thousand five hundred and thirty guan!

That’s one thousand three hundred and fifty months’ wages from Huichun Hall!

The young mistress won’t reimburse me.

The boy couldn’t fathom the scale of the search—too many people, and he saw no Xue family members, only city patrol scouts. Knowing that someone from the imperial court was targeting Xue Lao, Li Guanyi grew even more cautious.

Without knowing the true situation, he didn’t dare show himself; instead, he moved quietly, taking a wide detour to return, planning to find Xue Lao first.

But the search was too vast, and viable routes were few.

Li Guanyi directly collided with two fugitives.

They were two intruding martial artists; seeing the boy in blue robes, bloodied, wielding a dented Mo Dao, they froze—then spotted his military rank badge and realized this was the youth who had shouted to open the gates. Without hesitation, they lunged to kill him.

Qi of the Entry Level erupted.

They had cultivated the post-Entry Level arts.

Their speed, strength, techniques, and now their desperate will to kill far surpassed pre-Entry Level martial artists—their killing intent rivaled Qian Zheng’s. Li Guanyi had killed Qian Zheng with his bow—now, without it, and with two flanking enemies, he gripped his dented, notched Mo Dao.

He surged forward.

His Entry Level Qi radiated.

The two fugitives tensed—then relaxed.

The Qi was pure but scattered—clearly, he hadn’t yet cultivated the post-Entry Level arts, hadn’t fully unlocked his power. He was newly entered. The two struck left and right, slashing. Li Guanyi gripped his blade, spun, and swept horizontally.

One against two—military taboo.

Bai Hu roared; a faint shimmer glowed along the blade’s edge.

The sound wasn’t like metal clashing at all.

The Ink Blade sliced through effortlessly, severing the weapons of the two escaped convicts.

Their expressions froze.

The blade flew outward but failed to harm Li Guanyi; instead, in the follow-through of his sweep, he delivered a leg technique—Red Dragon coiling—as his right foot slammed down onto the face of the left convict, the White Tiger’s aura igniting into crimson flame, visible waves of fire flashing through the air.

The convict screamed, his face blackened and blistered with large boils; though not fatal, he lost his fighting ability. Li Guanyi flipped the Ink Blade backward, driving it straight through the man’s chest.

The other convict tried to flee, but Li Guanyi lunged forward, smashing both knees into his back.

The convict was pinned. Li Guanyi gripped his throat with both hands.

A flash of golden qi passed over his fingers.

The convict’s leathery skin, hardened like armor, was instantly severed, blood bursting outward.

Li Guanyi exhaled in relief.

In the blink of an eye, what had once required long breaths after defeating Qian Zheng now took only a few breaths—two Entry-level martial artists lay dead under Li Guanyi’s techniques. The youth released his grip and realized he had consumed fully seven-tenths of his internal qi from the Break-the-Formation Melody.

The Manifestation was useful, no doubt.

But it drained primordial qi too violently.

Possessing a Manifestation made one vastly superior to martial artists of the same level.

It was like hiding a heavy strike in a basic attack.

Anyone struck by flames would panic and lose their rhythm; the White Tiger’s aura severing weapons was a decisive advantage—extremely effective.

Li Guanyi searched the bodies and found two identity plaques—both from the border garrison.

He smirked, wondering if Yue Qianfeng had been deliberately targeting escaped convicts with military backgrounds. He tucked the plaque into his sleeve and headed into the city, where he eventually met Zhao Da Bing. Seeing a familiar face, the youth exhaled in relief and began speaking.

But the burly man turned pale, stumbling back a step, every hair on his body standing on end.

As if he’d seen a ghost.

Then he immediately recovered, exclaiming with joy: “Brother, you’re still alive?!!”

Li Guanyi: “I never died.”

Zhao Da Bing was overjoyed and quickly told him everything.

Li Guanyi borrowed his horse, mounted at once, and galloped toward Guanyi City. The battle had just ended—the city gates were closed. The guards spotted the boy, his blue robe stained with blood, and froze. First wary, then overjoyed, they shouted:

“Open the gates! Open them!”

“What? The officer said not to open them!”

“Bullshit! This is Li Da Ren, ninth-rank martial official fresh from battle—open the gates!”

“What?!”

Seeing the youth’s ferocity, they admired him; seeing him return alive, they rejoiced. Armored soldiers on the walls bowed respectfully, then opened the gates. The townsfolk, who had been holding their breath, finally exhaled—just as a red horse burst forth, the knife-wielding youth galloping through.

Bloodstained robes, sword at his waist, black hair streaming.

Truly, genuinely.

Fine clothes, spirited steed—youthful heroism.

The rescued townsfolk cheered. The sound spread. Curious onlookers gathered, whispering of the boy’s courage. Some laughed with relief at his return.

Li Guanyi rode to the literary gathering. By then, the young scholars were lavishing praise on Li Guanyi—rivals, yes, but dead rivals didn’t need suppression; praising the boy showcased their own magnanimity.

“A brave man of benevolence—Brother Li’s bearing is truly peerless.”

“We are unworthy.”

“Indeed, far less worthy.”

Only an old man in the corner kicked a handful of peanuts, barely holding back laughter. The tortoise beside him did the same. A noble youth sighed: “What a pity—Brother Li has met disaster. Had he lived…”

“Nonsense. Brother Li is blessed by heaven—he will surely turn misfortune to fortune.”

“Yes, yes! When Brother Li returns, we shall make him our leader among all scholars of Guanyi City. Who else could match such talent and courage?”

All the scholars agreed.

Si Ming clutched his stomach, nearly dying from suppressed laughter.

Suddenly, hoofbeats rang outside, mingled with the laughter of townsfolk. The scholars froze. Then came the servants’ cries—the gates swung open. The warhorse neighed like a dragon’s roar, rearing up as a chestnut steed charged in, its rider: a heroic youth in bloodstained blue robes, sword at his waist.

He leapt off, and wooden plaques flew from his hands.

“Gentlemen.”

The youth stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room, and replied:

“Li Guanyi. Here I am.”

The scholars’ throats went silent.

The literary gathering fell utterly still.

Only Si Ming toppled backward, landing on the ground, clapping and laughing wildly.