Chapter 77: Amid Laughter, the Hegemony of Kings

"Auntie, you don't know martial arts?"

Li Guanyi very much wanted to retort.

But now he understood cultivation better, and said, "Auntie means you're not a coarse martial fellow?"

"Is what you cultivate some other path?"

Murong Qiushui blinked, rubbed her palm on the boy's head, and said, "Don't interrupt, Li Nu'er, sit properly."

"You're growing up now, and in this appearance, the space between your brows is a little like your father's."

"But overall, you take after your mother; you're far better looking than your father."

Li Guanyi rarely heard Murong Qiushui mention his parents, and said, "Saying it like that, does that mean my father wasn't good-looking at all?"

Murong Qiushui frowned slightly, then smiled and said, "I can't say he wasn't good-looking; for a man, one looks at martial bearing. Let's not speak of this. Your father looked like your parents, but back when your father campaigned in all directions, he wore a face-guard, and ninety-nine out of a hundred people in Jingcheng wouldn't recognize him. But those who could recognize him all wished you would disappear."

Li Guanyi had thought about this problem, and said, "Then what about disguise?"

Murong Qiushui said, "But in this world there are many ways to recognize a person. Even if they were burned to ash, one can still tell whether it's the true self or a substitute."

"Perhaps it's because in these chaotic times, there is too much slaughter between people, too much scheming between sovereigns."

"The techniques for discerning whether one is the true body developed faster than in the thousand years of the previous peaceful era."

"Some call this reading qi, some call it fate-stars; in truth, it relates to the 【Spirit】. Different people's auras can change and be concealed, the body can shrink bones and disguise itself, but only the 【Spirit】 is hard to change. Like the soul mentioned in many legends—that is the Spirit."

A ripple flashed through Li Guanyi's eyes, and he said, "It really cannot change?"

He thought of himself.

Murong Qiushui smiled and said, "Naturally. The first time I saw you, you were still a wrinkly little thing, not cute at all. Your Spirit was curled up, like a flower bud. Then when we were being hunted that year, perhaps it stimulated you, and only then did your Spirit unfold."

"And then all at once you became sensible."

She said softly, "The books say that these calamities can temper a person—it's really true."

Murong Qiushui did not continue, but she sometimes felt that she would rather the youth before her were a little duller, a little more willful, and live a hundred years in peace, than have him go through these ten years of fleeing. But such words she would absolutely never say in front of her own Li Nu'er.

Before Li Nu'er, she was forever languid and bright, never showing the slightest trace of sorrow.

Li Guanyi caught the drift, and said deliberately:

"Where would such a rare method be found?"

The youth sighed: "No way out, what am I to do?"

Then he saw his aunt's brows lift, and Murong Qiushui, the corners of her mouth curved in a smile, said:

"So it happens that Auntie knows a method, and it happens to be able to conceal the Spirit."

The youth responded with exaggeration: "What a coincidence?"

Murong Qiushui was amused into laughter, doubling over, reaching out to pinch the youth's cheeks with both hands, then rubbing and complaining: "Alright, I know you're clever, don't make that expression at me like some actor in a play."

"It's actually just a small trick."

"The Spirit is hard to conceal, but it can be disguised."

Li Guanyi looked at Murong Qiushui and asked doubtfully, "The Spirit—how can it be disguised?"

Murong Qiushui, a smile playing at her lips, said casually:

"It's just a method known by many, many people."

"It's a technique of playing the qin."

Li Guanyi was skeptical: "Everyone knows it?"

Murong Qiushui widened her eyes and said, "Naturally. Would Auntie deceive Li Nu'er?"

Li Guanyi hummed and hawed, not knowing how to answer. How could he say that he knew? He couldn't bring himself to, because the moment he opened his mouth, this beautiful woman before him might suddenly lower her head, her eyes brimming with tears, as if she had suffered some terrible grievance. And once Li Guanyi yielded, she would immediately break into a smile.

Truly like the wind of Jiangnan.

Sometimes bringing misty rain, sometimes gentle.

Murong Qiushui took out the qin, and plucking it, said: "The qin is the voice of the heart."

"It can be the clash of arms at the frontier, the grandeur of the desert, the spring breeze of Jiangnan, the desolation of the Central Plains."

"Have I truly been to these places? Those majestic sounds of battle, those fierce and gallant knights—am I an aged general, an unrestrained knight? If I am, then who am I? If I am not them, then why can I convey all of this through the qin's music?"

"I am none of them. I merely conjured all of this in my heart, and then let it fall upon the qin's strings."

"Li Nu'er, do you still remember what Auntie said?"

Li Guanyi listened to his aunt playing the qin, as if seeing Jiangnan and Saibei, hearing the myriad sounds and the long wind. It was precisely because of his aunt's qin music that he always felt he was still only a disciple who had failed to enter the door. He sat there quietly, his back straight, and answered softly:

"Harmonics resemble Heaven, stopped notes resemble Man, open strings are as the Earth."

Murong Qiushui pressed both hands on the qin strings and answered: "That one sentence must be taken apart."

"It is Heaven, Earth, and Man; it is the Three Powers; it is the myriad phenomena."

"Li Nu'er, within that sentence is inner cultivation, used only when playing the qin. If you wish to use it to deceive others, you must reverse it. This is the difference between 【practice】 and 【application】—one is directed inward, the other outward."

"Look—"

Murong Qiushui's fingers fell upon the qin strings, and she smiled slightly. Her eyes were gentle. As she played, Li Guanyi's eyes went wide. He seemed to feel the tips of his hair lift slightly, and the surroundings suddenly changed, as if he had come to Jiangnan, seeing the spring breeze and willow banks.

As if he had come to the mountains and forests of the Central Plains, sitting atop the highest peak of the orthodox world, watching the sea of clouds coil.

As if he had come once more to Saibei, as if seeing the clash of blades and swords, witnessing the reunion of armored cavalry. On the left, the women of Jiangnan singing softly; on the right, the swift horses of Saibei galloping to the ends of the earth. Men's lofty aspirations, women's tender feelings, the slaughter of blades and swords—the myriad emotions of the world surged like rivers.

He seemed to see this whole world.

Lost in a daze.

At last the qin music ended, and Li Guanyi was for a long time unable to come back to himself.

Only when something poked his cheek did he come back to himself.

He raised his head. Murong Qiushui, a smile playing at her lips, was crouching in front of him, her finger extended, pointing at the point between Li Guanyi's brows—the Spirit Platform—and said softly:

"The qin is the voice of the heart; the next line is, 【The heart becomes the Spirit's transformation】."

"Harmonics resemble Heaven, stopped notes resemble Man, open strings are as the Earth."

"Thus one can express human emotions and convey the principles of the universe."

"Thus, all forms within my heart settled upon the strings of the zither."

Murong Qiushui rose, hands placed before her, strands of hair at her temples lifting slightly, a smile lingering on her lips:

"All things under heaven and earth, all phenomena."

………………

When Li Guanyi was stopped.

Master Siming returned to his residence like lightning, picked up his brush, and wrote letter after letter, briefly describing what had happened here; then he blew gently upon them, and the paper scrolls came alive, fluttering like butterflies into the sky.

The scrolls flew away on their own, carried by the wind, faster than a soaring hawk.

The yin and yang energies were sealed, invisible to the naked eye.

Those who could see through Master Siming's methods would not lower themselves to retrieve the letters.

Master Siming sighed and said: "With a king's seal, to refine one's own body."

"Golden skin, jade bones, dragon sinews, tiger marrow."

"It requires impossibly strict conditions, rarely ever assembled."

"But coincidentally, this place will become the vortex of the world; around this capital, there truly are old scholars of calculation capable of deducing a perfect array, Confucian masters able to mask his breakthrough with their qi, and Mohist artisans who understand body refinement—and they too are coming to see him."

"Old friend, I don't understand anymore."

The old man closed his eyes; the black tortoise lifted its head.

Master Siming extended a finger toward the sky and said:

"Is it simply his great fortune, or has Bai Hu Da Zong's heavenly destiny swept up this tide of fate?"

"Or have we all here become the tide of fate itself?"

"So that a Bai Hu Da Zong, perfected both internally and externally, might be forged?"

The long-lived black tortoise shook its head slowly and said:

"You've seen much too—how can anyone truly say?"

"Before events unfold, all possibilities exist; the whole world is open to go. But looking back afterward, it seems there was only one path—yet it wasn't one choice, merely the fact that what has already happened cannot be changed."

Master Siming had sent all the letters. He looked at the seal, thought for a moment, tucked it into his robe, wandered out, turned around, and returned to that tavern, ordered strong liquor—this time without dilution, as if he had forgotten how he once drank too much and vomited everywhere.

Strong liquor. Two cups.

The fat Shopkeeper, curious, wiped his hands with a cloth and chuckled: "Old sir, our liquor is quite potent—why not try something milder today? I'll treat you to a plate of peanuts."

He worried the old man had encountered some trouble.

The old man laughed heartily: "No need—I'm meeting an old friend today."

"It's been so many years—we must drink properly."

"Don't worry, just one cup."

Seeing the old man say this, the fat Shopkeeper agreed, smiling: "Then it's settled."

"Meeting an old friend is indeed a good thing."

Master Siming lifted his cup, sniffed it, grimaced, and muttered, "Good liquor"—it was just sweet potato liquor, not fragrant, only a searing burn down the throat; those with spare coin wouldn't like it. He reached into his robe, pulled out the seal.

The old man studied the seal, then suddenly smiled.

He placed the seal before him, then set the full cup of strong liquor before the seal.

After a long while, he whispered:

"A Chai, after all these twists and turns, three hundred years—your seal has returned to my hands."

"Old friend, your grand ambition, that long dream, is over."

He raised his cup, his face no longer carefree or defiant.

A Chai.

He was a runaway slave, beaten brutally, who met a wandering street boy con artist; back then, that boy-slave stared at him like a wolf, claiming to read feng shui though he didn't even know how to sense qi, beaten black and blue, finally snatching a steamed bun.

Back then, young Master Siming didn't know why, but tore the bun in half and gave half to the boy.

It was as if he had tamed a wild jackal—but in truth, they became best friends.

They traveled half the world together, yet in the end, that dark-skinned boy returned home, raised the banner of rebellion beneath the mines, and with the status of a slave, crushed the Western Regions, unifying the thirty-six tribes.

Now, only fragments remain of the thirty-six nations—the Tangut and the Tiele.

Master Siming tossed back the liquor.

The liquor was fiercely strong; after one sip, he was drunk, slumped over the table.

The wind of Jiangnan brushed his face, as if returning him to his youth, stealing sweet potatoes with that gaunt boy from the Western Regions.

The winds of youth finally came to him again—he was drunk, yet felt awake in memory.

As if he could still see that dark-skinned Western boy, three hundred years ago, lying atop a haystack, his buttocks and back striped with whip wounds, pointing at the stars, gritting his teeth:

"I will return to the Western Regions. One day, I will become the greatest king, and build a nation with my name. You must come then, brother—I'll treat you to sweet potatoes. We'll eat one, throw one away!"

"No one will dare whip me again!"

"Nor you!"

"Whoever whips you—I'll whip him!"

He picked up the stolen liquor and threw it to the fourteen-year-old boy con artist beside him.

That boy, who cheated the world with nothing but his tongue, was still alive three hundred years later.

Drunkenly, Master Siming raised his cup, blurred—he seemed to see the boy raising a chipped bowl, filled with liquor, lifting it toward him, grinning with a missing tooth: "What's wrong? Aren't we drinking?"

"Heh, this stuff we stole—smells so good. Back home, I never saw this—only the big shots drink it. It burns like hell down the throat."

"Hey, A Feng, do heroes like this?"

"If we drink this, can we become heroes?"

Master Siming laughed loudly.

He raised his cup to his friend from memory.

Then he passed out, the golden seal in his eyes glowing just as it had when the old man had forged it himself.

The leaders of the thirty-five divisions were beheaded; their blood fell into the furnace, turning the flames a bloody red.

The one who performed the forging was none other than him.

His friend was called A Chai, like a jackal of the grasslands—despicable, shameless, base, looked down upon, driven away by lions, yet somehow always surviving; his name was A Chai, and he had a real name, one that was hard to pronounce.

It was Tuyuhun.

The greatest hero of the Western Regions in a thousand years.

The fat Shopkeeper brought out peanuts, watching the old man slumped over the table, long since drunk, his gray-white hair dancing in the wind. He placed the plate of perfectly roasted peanuts on the table, closed the door to shield the old man from the wind, and murmured, "Strange."

"Didn't the old man say he was going to drink with a friend?"

"Where is his friend?"

The old man slept with his eyes closed, mumbling in his drunken slumber: "Empires and ambitions, all mere laughter."

"Better than life itself—a single drunken dream."

The boy in the dream turned his head, his eyes bright.

What a pity.

The heroes who once raised their swords three hundred years ago to fight injustice for all living beings, who tore apart the world.

Only he remains alive.

……………

Li Guanyi took a long time to come back to himself; he looked at his aunt and said, "This is..."

Murong Qiushui smiled and said, "Just a small trick. What you learned before was the basics—consider it the first chapter. This is chapters two through five."

Li Guanyi asked, "How many chapters are there in total?"

Murong Qiushui blinked.

She smiled calmly:

"It used to be twelve chapters."

"I've been refining it these past few years."

"Now, it's fifteen chapters."