Chapter 65: The Past, Cut Open by a Single Sword!

Ten years ago, when Lord Taiping died, Li Guanyi and his aunt Murong Qiushui began their flight.

Thirteen years before that was when Li Guanyi was born.

These two dates were crucial. Li Guanyi stared at them, piecing together what his aunt had said—be wary of the Chen imperial family—and the conclusion seemed almost clear, yet still incomplete. He gently brushed his fingers over the two lines of text.

Was he the child of the emperor who, thirteen years ago, abdicated the throne to the Regent?

Was he hunted because his claim to the throne was seen as legally threatening?

Or was it tied to the Regent himself?

Was he a descendant of the Regent’s line, thus unacceptable to the current Chen court?

Or perhaps he was a descendant of Lord Taiping.

Lord Taiping, whose achievements overshadowed the throne, met his end ten years ago; he delayed the pursuers so his aunt could flee with him.

All three possibilities were plausible.

But combined with the assassin from Mo Jia uttering the words “Regent,” Li Guanyi was certain his and his aunt’s pursuit was tied to the Regent—and the number ten suggested an inextricable link between himself and Lord Taiping.

Li Guanyi gripped the books, rose, and stepped out.

He wanted to ask his aunt. He stood before Murong Qiushui’s door, raised his hand, and knocked. No answer came—instead, the door creaked open slightly from the force of his knock. Murong Qiushui had raised him since childhood, like an elder sister, like a mother—she trusted him completely.

Li Guanyi saw Murong Qiushui sleeping on her side.

He calmed himself, realizing his identity had shaken him. Seeing her asleep, clad in her undergarment, the blanket kicked off, he sighed. The boy felt helpless toward this one relative who had been both sister and mother to him. He stepped inside and pulled the blanket back over her.

“You’re such a grown person, yet still need me, someone so young, to take care of you.”

Li Guanyi muttered under his breath.

Murong Qiushui slept soundly.

When he was young, she cared for him. Later, when her old ailment flared up, he became the one to care for her.

Li Guanyi stood before Murong Qiushui, holding the scrolls. She slept peacefully, her breath steady. He had planned to use the knowledge he’d gathered to probe her for answers—but now, standing here, he suddenly felt no need to ask anything at all. His expression softened.

He thought his earlier obsession with this was ridiculous.

So what if he was Lord Taiping’s child? So what if he was the former emperor’s son?

Even if he were the Regent’s descendant, it mattered nothing!

He was Li Guanyi.

In this chaotic world, it was his aunt who had carried him through, kept him alive. Without her, he would have been crushed beneath the iron hooves of the Night Riders long ago—the noble child had died in the chaos ten years past.

Murong Qiushui had saved Li Guanyi from the hooves.

Only Li Guanyi.

Regardless of his origin, any connection to those three made him an outlaw in the eyes of the Chen imperial family. And given the current state of the world, as long as he kept his head down, the Chen emperor had no interest in dealing with a child who could no longer stir rebellion.

That was all he needed to know.

The identity of his past must not shape his life. Everyone must define who they are. Li Guanyi placed the scrolls on the table, sighed, and said: “So that’s how it is.”

“I was affected. It doesn’t matter whose son I am.”

“I can’t repay my birth parents. I have no intention of entering the Chen court. All I have now is the debt of nurture.”

“Li Guanyi is nothing more than my aunt’s nephew.”

The boy murmured softly, stepped out quietly. Murong Qiushui still lay on her side, eyes open. Li Guanyi had let go of his obsession. He tossed the scrolls—the histories and scholars’ records—into the air. They fluttered down, landing on his bed.

The boy gripped the hilt of his blade, his expression calm.

Later, court historians would strain to invent miraculous omens for this lonely, impoverished youth.

But for this moment, they recorded only the truth.

They wrote that on the day he learned his past, the then-struggling boy had slashed through the documents and his history with a sword—unbound by the past, displaying the spirit of a heroic knight, the bearing of an emperor who, eight hundred years prior, had severed the white serpent to seize heaven.

But Li Guanyi was honest: he had simply been angry at having spent so much effort finding something dull, and had flung the scrolls away in frustration.

He hadn’t shattered the scrolls.

They were the Xue family’s books. If he’d broken them, Old Master would have screamed—he might have had to copy them all by hand. So many characters—he’d likely end up with a wrist in agony.

“That day I realized: I didn’t need to find these things. My aunt didn’t care.”

“She hid the past because she feared I’d ignite a flame of revenge.”

“If she had wanted me to seek vengeance, I would have known my father’s name and my enemies from childhood. I would have practiced swordplay every day, not played the qin. I wouldn’t have spent my days running barefoot on the road with a wooden stick.”

“I wouldn’t have argued with her over who should buy the roasted goose.”

“I would have become a fire in this chaos, blazing across the land, then extinguished swiftly.”

“Reduced to pale ash, scattered by the wind—leaving nothing behind.”

“Perhaps my aunt once considered telling me of my hatred. But in the end, she gave up. No matter how brutal this world became, in her eyes, I was always the little kitten curled in her arms, listening to the lullaby her mother once sang.”

The Grand Historian sighed for a long while, then said:

“Can such words, such a term of endearment, be passed down to future generations?”

The man asked: “What do you think?”

After a pause, the Grand Historian replied: “Naive. Childish.”

“Not the mindset of a sovereign.”

The man laughed and answered: “Then since it’s such a rare voice of innocence, please write it down. Let future heroes and emperors laugh at me.”

And now.

Li Guanyi’s desire for strength grew stronger.

“Strength…”

Unable to sleep, Li Guanyi picked up a random wooden stick and stepped into the moonlight. Holding the stick in one hand, he wielded the Xue family’s battle halberd technique. A single stick, gripped in one hand, moved with fierce, roaring energy.

The Xue Shenjiang’s supreme halberd art unfolded effortlessly. Even in this courtyard, even with a stick, it radiated a decisive, lethal aura. As the halberd technique reached its peak, it neared the moment to unleash the ultimate technique: Rolling Wave.

The inner qi of the Breaking Formation Melody surged and exploded around him.

Li Guanyi stepped forward half a pace.

In the empty air, a chorus of tiger roars seemed to echo.

His wrist flicked—the stick became a halberd, rising from below, spinning slightly, carrying the fury of a storm that seemed determined to purge every ounce of pent-up frustration from his heart!

Rolling Wave!

The technique abruptly halted.

The motion was mastered, perfectly executed.

But the Breaking Formation Melody’s inner qi, though at its peak, was insufficient to complete the technique’s internal transformation.

Even so, it was extraordinary. The tip of the stick trembled violently—and then, in the midst of the swing, shattered from top to bottom.

The splintered fragments embedded themselves into the wall, turning to dust.

Li Guanyi’s right palm trembled slightly.

“This technique… consumes too much…”

He grimaced. His right arm ached.

His body couldn’t endure it. His inner qi was spent. The stick shattered. The burden of this technique was absurdly immense. One could imagine the spectacle it would create—ordinary cultivation methods would surely struggle to sustain repeated use of Rolling Wave.

Crushing Mountain and Rolling Wave were techniques of similar rank.

He couldn’t even use Crushing Mountain with the Divine Spear.

Li Guanyi sat cross-legged, massaging his arm, thinking deeply.

“Hmm. Tomorrow, or the day after, I’ll go to Old Master for armor and weapons.”

“Then I’ll learn an entry-level cultivation method. Only then can I use Rolling Wave.”

“The post-entry cultivation methods should be sufficient.”

After that, I’ll find Yaoguang and attempt to challenge the Xue Shenjiang’s secret realm—but first, I need armor. That’ll give me an edge. Hmm—

And Yue Qianfeng.

The Red Dragon Jade Elixir’s enhancement should allow me to rapidly master an entry-level method.

Yue Qianfeng had left. He didn’t know when he’d return—or what changes he’d bring.

Li Guanyi’s thoughts circled to one conclusion: no matter his origin, strength was everything. He knew that if his identity were exposed, the Chen emperor would find him an eyesore—he might ignore him, or simply sweep him away. He must strengthen himself and flee quickly.

The Thirty-Six Stratagems: flight is best.

Li Guanyi had spent the night lost in thought, sleeping late. When he returned, he slowed his steps, wary of waking his aunt.

The next morning, he awoke to the scent of food.

Li Guanyi blinked sleepily, stepped out, and saw the table laden with dishes. Murong Qiushui had cooked for him herself—rare indeed. She smiled and pointed to the food: “Go wash up.”

After washing, as Li Guanyi ate breakfast with his aunt, he noticed every dish was his favorite. Murong Qiushui’s mood was clearly bright. He added a bite of food—and suddenly, a thought rose in his mind:

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?”

Murong Qiushui blinked, then slowly smiled.

“Huh? What are you saying, little kitten?”

“Auntie doesn’t understand.”

Murong Qiushui’s smile was warm.

Li Guanyi suddenly understood everything.

She had been awake!

The boy’s lips twitched. Beneath her smile, a wave of mortifying shame surged through him.

He hastily shoveled two bites of rice and fled—running to the Xue family, escaping her laughter.

Today he was to collect weapons and official robes. The blacksmith, rarely offering advice, said: “The master says you know halberd techniques, but battle halberds are too long. Such weapons require registration. Forget it. Get armor, and take a hand halberd instead. I’ll modify it for you.”

“Hand halberds are fine.”

When Li Guanyi returned with the item, the blacksmith was waiting at the door, took his hand Ji , weighed it in his hand, raised an eyebrow, and said, “Seventeen or eighteen catties, single crescent blade, center of gravity’s fine, grain’s straight—wait a moment.”

“I’ll give it to you in half a month.”

Nearby, Xue Daoyong asked, “Does it need to be this long?”

The blacksmith glanced at his master, sighed, and said, “Fine, ten days.”

The old man raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

The blacksmith sighed again and said to Li Guanyi, “Alright, tomorrow.”

“I’ll give you the item tomorrow.”

Once spoken, he never took it back. The next day, while Li Guanyi was practicing, the blacksmith showed up with dark circles under his eyes, handed him a bundle, and said, “Done.”

The blade of the halberd now had blood grooves, the butt end had been altered, and inside the bundle was also a long staff of black ebony.

Tough and resilient.

Both the butt of the hand Ji and the tip of the staff had mechanisms.

The blacksmith gestured and said, “Try it—when joined, it becomes a halberd.”

Li Guanyi joined the hand Ji and the staff; with a crisp snap, he now held a full halberd—ebony handle, grim blade. The blacksmith nodded in satisfaction: “Good. Not wasted my all-nighter.”

“Your cultivation has just entered the realm. This wooden staff has enough resilience to absorb force through technique. A solid metal halberd may deliver heavier blows, but your palms won’t hold up long before they crack from the shock.”

Li Guanyi stepped forward, wielding the halberd in basic forms—not the Xue family’s techniques—yet felt perfectly at ease. The halberd radiated the weight and pressure of a heavy weapon, yet its movements were exquisitely refined, perfectly matching Li Guanyi’s height and arm span.

Li Guanyi felt that a reverse sweep could unleash the power of a rolling tide without destroying the weapon. But alas, the weapon was ready—his strength was not. At this moment, he craved the entry-level internal art more than anything, so he could finally unleash Rolling Tide!

The blacksmith smiled faintly. “Not bad, eh?”

Li Guanyi suddenly remembered something. “This… the modification cost—”

The blacksmith sipped tea from a large cup and said calmly, “Two thousand strings.”

Li Guanyi’s lips twitched.

The blacksmith frowned at him. “It’s all under Miss Xue’s name anyway. Why the rush?”

Li Guanyi was silenced. “Not everything’s charged to Miss Xue.”

The blacksmith asked, “You want to pay?”

Li Guanyi had no reply.

As he struggled for an answer, Xue Daoyong’s voice called out: “Guanyi, Shuangtao, come here.”

The old man smiled. “Come with me to choose your entry-level internal art.”

Li Guanyi’s eyes brightened slightly.

Finally, choosing an entry-level internal art. Once cultivated, Rolling Tide would become possible. He shook his hand—the hand Ji and staff separated, clattered into his weapon sack, and he slung it over his back, striding forward with eager anticipation.

The Xue family’s secret archives.

How many would there be? Enough to learn one, burn one?

What kind of peerless arts lay within?

………………

Meanwhile.

Changsun Wuchou received his first letter.

He opened it. The writing was concise:

“This man is likely not dead.”

“Act as you see fit.”

“You must find him quickly.”

Changsun Wuchou sighed. Calculating the timing, this must have been the second daughter’s response and judgment after receiving the first letter. He marveled at her piercing insight.

In the Duke Prefecture beyond the pass, in the State of Ying.

The second daughter, whose bearing bore the aura of dragon and phoenix, saw the golden-feathered hawk in the sky, glanced at Changsun Wuchou’s second letter—and before opening it, smiled: “A second letter this fast? Something’s changed. He’s not dead.”

“I was right.”

A younger girl beside her asked, “Sister, how did you know?”

The girl with her hair bound in a golden crown replied, “Out there, what do you call me?”

The girl blinked, then said, “Second Master.”

The young woman nodded with a smile and unfolded the letter. “If he could see through the changes in the Western Regions, he wouldn’t miss the struggle in Guan Yi City. If he broke out, he had at least a third chance—he wouldn’t die so easily.”

“Second Master trusts him so much.”

The young woman lifted her gaze slightly and smiled. “Wrong.”

“I trust myself.”

She unfolded the letter. As she had predicted.

But what followed made her eyes flicker in surprise.

A single man, stepped out alone, killed seven entry-level martial cultivators?

Mounted, he killed. Dismounted, he wrote poetry. Her gaze shifted to the poem, her smile faded. After a long silence, she whispered:

“Ten years honing a single sword, its frost-edged blade never tested.”

“Today I show it to you.”

“Who has injustice?”

“Who… has injustice…”