Chapter 86: The Fourth Phase of Golden Muscle and Jade Bone

A rough meal of wine and meat—no need to say Li Guanyi, even Siming might have been unable to hold back, taking Li Guanyi to meet several sages he had found, all of whom Li Guanyi recognized: Master Wang Tong, and the sword-wielding man with the black leopard phantasm, his expression resolute, whom Li Guanyi had passed by that day.

And the elegant old man Li Guanyi had saved when he galloped out of the city on horseback.

Siming casually introduced them: “This boy, you all know well.”

“Li Guanyi, as for these three—this one is from Confucianism, once the Sacrificial Wine Master of the Academy, later left the Academy to travel among the states; this one, the Seventh Grand Master of Mohism, whose lineage upholds universal love, having long abandoned personal names.”

“His martial skill is excellent—he can shatter heavy armor with a heavy sword. If not leading troops into battle, in one-on-one foot combat he would not be inferior to Yue Qianfeng, especially skilled in numerous secret techniques; Mohist gadgets are famed throughout the martial world.”

“This one—”

“Zu Wenyuan, the foremost mathematician of the age, Daoist Sacrificial Wine Master, versed in a hundred arts, yet does not cultivate martial skill.”

Li Guanyi stepped forward to pay his respects; the three returned his bow. The Mohist Grand Master remained stern-faced, Wang Tong had already met Li Guanyi before, but Zu Wenyuan smiled and stroked his beard: “I’ve long heard General Yue Qianfeng speak of a young friend he knew—I never imagined it was you.”

“Was it you who solved the little puzzle I left at the Liu family’s private school?”

Li Guanyi recalled how he had first met the young mistress—it had been this old man who left the clue.

The hour was still early; Zu Wenyuan drew Li Guanyi into idle chat, speaking often of mathematical and numerical arts. Li Guanyi had originally thought the world’s mathematical texts ordinary, but the more he listened, the more he realized the old man’s absurd brilliance; after a stick of incense, he could only rely on the advantages of his own learned algorithms.

And soon the old man understood them.

Li Guanyi quickly fell behind Zu Wenyuan’s pace.

At that point, the old man would speak of martial world legends and the connection between mathematical methods and star-gazing, drawing Li Guanyi’s attention back again, gently guiding him—unaware, dusk had fallen. Zu Wenyuan timely halted his words, looked up at the night sky, and smiled: “It is time.”

“Come, young friend.”

Li Guanyi’s eyes brightened slightly—he knew the moment had arrived.

At this moment, he noticed the taciturn Mohist Grand Master had vanished.

Only he and Zu Wenyuan remained.

The old man was clearly a Daoist sage, yet knew no martial skill; his cultivation focused purely on the [Spirit], excelling in cosmic calculations and mathematical arts, yet useless in combat. Yet the old man only laughed: “At my level, the Way of Mathematics makes avoiding harm and seeking benefit simple.”

“The highest good is non-combat. I, in this state, am freer than many martial masters.”

Li Guanyi said: “Then there is nothing you cannot avoid?”

Zu Wenyuan smiled and replied: “None.”

He paused, softly adding: “Only things I do not wish to avoid.”

The old man pointed the way; Li Guanyi drove forward. After leaving the city, they raced through the night for about an hour before reaching their destination. Master Wang Tong sat quietly beyond the forest, calm and composed; behind him, all was as ordinary.

Yet when Li Guanyi stepped inside, suddenly a brilliant light blinded his eyes.

Confucianism surpasses all in mastery of Qi.

Under Master Wang Tong’s concealment, nothing within the clearing could be perceived from outside; within lay a complex array, the Mohist Grand Master carving its patterns with his heavy sword—this array incorporated Li Guanyi’s destiny, Tuyuhun’s fortune, celestial configurations, water patterns, terrain shifts, and countless transformations.

It was Zu Wenyuan’s work.

At the very center of this vast, intricate array, a slow-spinning yin-yang fish turned.

Siming still wore ordinary clothes, but he held Tuyuhun’s royal seal in both hands, stepping slowly into the array. His white hair stirred slightly, his expression solemn and dignified—distinct from his usual eccentric old man persona. He was the oldest living Yin-Yang master, one of the Top Three of the Siming.

He placed the seal upon the [Yin] position.

Then he looked at Li Guanyi: “Come.”

“Yin and Yang rotate; what has passed has passed. You take the Yang position.”

Li Guanyi removed his shoes and socks, stepped barefoot onto the array.

As his feet touched it, the array carved by the heavy sword glowed silver. Li Guanyi noticed the markings were drawn with silver powder; once he entered, the array rippled—Daoist Sacrificial Wine Master’s status, combined with Zu Wenyuan’s status as the foremost mathematician, and Siming’s assistance.

This array, after today, could never be replicated.

Li Guanyi sat cross-legged beside the Taiji diagram.

The entire array ignited, as if starlight descended, enveloping Li Guanyi. Siming released his grip, stepping methodically onto each node, opening his mouth to chant ancient casting incantations—like ancient Zhu You rituals and sacrificial rites. He was, after all, the greatest high priest of this age.

Tuyuhun’s royal seal trembled.

Finally, wave after wave of Qi surged upward, nearly piercing through Wang Tong’s concealment.

It was the power left by the greatest hero of the Western Regions, the overlord who had opened three centuries of Tuyuhun legacy. Boundless martial aura and royal Qi rose, causing the array’s waves to ripple, trees swaying like banners in fierce winds. Siming’s chanting grew ever more urgent.

His white hair and beard were swept by the wind.

The trees’ howling carried him back three hundred years—to the day this seal was forged, when the flags of the thirty-six tribes fluttered, the wind roared, blood poured into the furnace, turning into crimson flames.

In that martial and royal Qi, Siming glimpsed the spirits of past Tuyuhun rulers.

He saw the silhouette at the front and said: “Tuyuhun!”

The old man spoke his friend’s true name, gazing at the silhouette, softly:

“Your dream… has ended…”

Within the royal seal, the ancient overlord turned his side. The power he had left within seemed to recognize his friend—not the frail A Chai anymore, but clad in black armor, bearded, vigorous, eyes bright with wildness.

Three hundred years ago.

Tuyuhun gazed at the fluttering banners, momentarily dazed, looking at the seal—as if seeing his own end. The Yin-Yang master, once obscure, had gained great fame from presiding over this forging ritual; he would no longer be a fraud, but a member of the Twenty-Eight Seats of the Yin-Yang School.

The young Siming wiped sweat and said: “Finally over.”

Tuyuhun asked: “A Feng, do you think my empire will endure forever?”

The young Yin-Yang master hesitated, then lied:

“I don’t know.”

Tuyuhun laughed loudly: “What an unwise answer. But after I die, who cares? Good friend, you’re no longer a fraud—you’ll surely outlive me. When that time comes, come and watch my end. Don’t worry.”

“I’ll help you, in the end.”

That reply still echoed—so the deepest core of the seal’s overlord smiled.

He said: “No, A Feng—you’re wrong.”

“Dreams never end.”

“My story ends, but the world is vast—new heroes will rise. This is our pact. If you need it, take my power. My flame has burned out—but if it can ignite a fiercer fire across the world, what harm is there?”

“Who could refuse!”

Tuyuhun's will ignited, surging like wildfire. The lingering wills of other Tuyuhun clans and past rulers screamed in protest, but Tuyuhun drew his sword and swept it once—shattering all those dominant wills at once. The martial aura vanished, leaving only pure heroic spirit.

Tuyuhun stood in the flames, smiling at his friend, just as the young A Chai had: “You look so old. Not like you at all.”

“I thought you’d never age.”

The old man widened his eyes: “A Chai…”

Tuyuhun looked at Siming, calmly:

“My friend, over these centuries…”

“Have you been lonely?”

“Don’t worry—”

“Even as time changes, if my power can ignite anew in another’s body, then consider it me walking beside you still.” He stepped forward, gently tapping Siming’s shoulder. It was but residual royal Qi—fading away. He strode onward.

The king’s black cloak swept past Siming’s eyes.

A Feng turned back—his friend’s figure was gone.

The mightiest overlord never needed the array to weaken him. He did not, as all feared, become a malevolent spirit to block later seekers from using his power.

He vanished, calm and composed, in these words.

Siming opened his mouth, as if suddenly aged decades. The old man chanted ancient prayers; his friend’s power became flame, falling upon the successor. Li Guanyi’s pupils contracted—Tuyuhun’s path was the most perfect match for the White Tiger’s tyranny.

In that instant, all around vanished, accompanied by the White Tiger’s roar.

The array spread into a lake; he stood upon its surface, facing a colossal White Tiger, slightly crouched, head lowered, eyes burning crimson fire, calmly watching him.

Then the White Tiger phantasm lunged forward, plunging into Li Guanyi’s body. The phantasm’s power became sharp qi; the tiger’s roar erupted in his ears. Li Guanyi suppressed the sensation of his spirit being torn apart, endured the agony, instinctively activated the Tiger Roar Bone Forging Art.

Tuyuhun’s royal seal rotated slowly; its royal Qi transformed into the tiger’s roar, refining Li Guanyi’s essence, energy, and spirit. Three centuries of accumulated power—even weakened by unworthy descendants—remained pure.

Li Guanyi’s hair stirred slightly.

A faint golden-jade hue shimmered across his skin.

Within his body, the power began reshaping his sinews and bones. The transformation that normally required years of cultivation was completed methodically under the force of Tuyuhun’s three-century royal Qi. The stars on the horizon began to shift.

Tuyuhun’s royal seal lost its power and fell to the ground.

The end of the empire—but also the continuation of the dream.

In the sky, the seven stars of the White Tiger suddenly blazed brightly.

A vision surfaced before Li Guanyi: in a hidden realm, a silver-haired girl knelt before a bonfire, her voice serene, reciting the Eastern Land star-gazing school’s incantation. In his ears, the chanting of Siming of the Yin-Yang School and Yao Guang of the Eastern Land Star-Gazing School echoed together.

It was the tiger’s roar forged from Tuyuhun’s three-century empire.

It was the light of the White Tiger’s seven stars.

The Yin-Yang School’s yin-yang qi, calculated by the foremost mathematician, arranged by the Mohist Grand Master.

This fleeting encounter, this bond of goodwill, converged as rivers return to the sea, surging violently together.

Pushing the Tiger Roar Bone Forging Art to the realm once held by only one person in history!

In that moment of stillness, Li Guanyi’s Dragon and Tiger phantasms roared together, no longer in balance. He breathed, feeling his internal Qi accelerate sharply; golden-jade tones rang continuously in his ears. He felt his transformation, felt the power surging through his blood.

Tiger Roar Bone Forging Art—perfected!

【Warrior’s bone structure elevated one tier, purging hidden injuries and toxins】

Li Guanyi breathed and gathered his spirit, intending to ride this perfect breakthrough momentum, gathering fiercely toward the poison at his heart, aiming to shatter it in one decisive surge.

Internal Qi struck his heart.

The tiger’s roar did not cease.

The poison that had clung to Li Guanyi for ten years writhed—but this breakthrough’s Tiger Roar qi surged like a charging tiger, razor-sharp, tearing at the toxin in his heart. The poison finally began to disintegrate.

Driven from his heart meridians, Li Guanyi suddenly noticed something amiss.

As the poison dispersed, streams of jade-green light burst from his heart. The toxin’s haze faded; the jade-like radiance grew brighter, clearer—until finally, a tiger’s roar and a clear birdcall echoed in his ears, and the poison collapsed entirely.

The sound of wings flapping was clear and real.

A verdant phoenix emerged from Li Guanyi’s chest, spreading its wings—and at that moment, Li Guanyi realized the deadly toxins had been utterly shattered and vanished, the manifestation coalescing, letting out a loud, joyful cry as it suddenly appeared, freely stretching its body in the void.

Elegant and noble.

It appeared beside Li Guanyi with boundless affection, circling his body.

Then it gently touched his forehead.

Is this… a manifestation?

Why is there a manifestation in my chest?

Li Guanyi froze; the manifestation brushed his forehead, then flapped its wings and flew into his body.

It brought a warm, stinging sensation; before his eyes, mist gathered, forming a scene—his own memory: as a baby, a woman gazed down at him with tender eyes. Li Guanyi could not make out her face, but he heard her speaking:

‘Then transfer the poison to me…’

‘The rest of the poison cannot be fully purged—my green phoenix will protect him.’

The aged voice fell silent: ‘But transferring a manifestation… your yuanshen will… Even with the improved method, shifting a manifestation drains one-third of your yuanshen—and you…’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

The woman gently pressed her palm against his third eye.

Li Guanyi widened his eyes, trying to see her face clearly.

She held him as if he were the most precious treasure in the world, taking him to see flowers, reading books to him, telling him stories, her eyes always filled with smiles. Finally, Li Guanyi saw her face clearly—a gentle woman, gazing at him with a soft smile.

She affectionately called him by his childhood name; Li Guanyi reached out to touch her.

But she vanished—before him remained only a palace engulfed in roaring flames. He felt she was inside, shouting loudly, yet could only cry like a baby, unable to do anything.

Li Guanyi suddenly staggered, clutching his chest. The memory he had lived through but forgotten pierced his heart like a knife, causing sharp, searing pain—this was the body’s instinctive agony, born of memory and spirit.

At this moment, as overwhelming sorrow and pain surged, his body activated self-protection—he calmly realized: the bronze cauldron had fully suppressed the poison since the moment he touched Yue Qianfeng’s red dragon.

The manifestation had always suppressed the poison.

So, the thing that had suppressed his poison and protected him for ten years was not the artifact that brought him into this world—it was merely one-third of his mother’s yuanshen and life. She transferred her manifestation to Li Guanyi to protect him, and herself had stopped at that point ten years ago.

He had always been silently loved.

Li Guanyi drifted into a daze, suddenly remembering that day when the woman held him, springlight flowing, the rivers of Jiangnan stretching long.

Her chin rested on the child’s forehead as she softly hummed an ancient lullaby.

‘May my child live a hundred years, forever joyful and free from sorrow.’

‘Live a hundred years.’

‘Forever joyful and free from sorrow.’