The Demon Lord Bai Li had been missing for three months already. They’d searched far and wide, yet there was still no news of him.
Song E looked at Zou Yanlai with disdain. When he issued three orders in quick succession, ordering the search to continue, he couldn’t resist butting in with, “On the battlefield, it’s swords and sabers that do all the talking. Whoever’s fist is harder, whoever wins. As long as I, Song E, stand here, that coward named Gu won’t set a single foot in Xunan. You’re so unreasonable. You don’t prepare your defenses while you have the time, you instead consort with a bunch of sect cultivators who’re only good for posturing and dragging the rest of us down. You’re even spending so much time looking for that creature!”
Song E was a very capable general. It was only too bad that he was a coarse ruffian. Even though he knew how to write, he wasn’t at all refined or scholarly. Just because one knew a few quotes and memorized a few poems didn’t mean that one was a cultured person. Despite having them memorized, he still didn’t know how to speak politely. Every time he opened his mouth, he’d offend a whole crowd of people, for example, Zou Yanlai — he was already numb to being offended.
General Song had never taken the sects seriously, and the cause was somewhat of a long story. There were basically two factions in the court. One was composed of the civil and military officials with a sect background, and the other was composed of those who’d risen through the ranks via the civil and military imperial exams. Normally, only the descendants of the extremely rich, extremely noble, or extremely powerful had the qualifications to study in the sects. Not only that, they needed to be extremely lucky and extremely smart too.
The poor commoners only rarely had such opportunities. Because of this, those officials who came from the sects boasted of their pure, lofty statuses, and held most of the court’s power in their hands. Those who’d come from destitute families had to toil for decades before they could even grovelingly exchange courtesies with their highborn colleagues.
It was unfair. No person was able to placidly accept those circumstances.
How long had it been since a carp had been able to leap through the dragon’s gate? And how many people… would plan to set up their own dragon’s gate?
Unrest arose not from scarcity but from inequality.
As luck would have it, Song E was one of those peasant boys who’d elbowed his way into the court. He’d scored amongst the top of his class in the imperial martial exams, yet after decades of rising and sinking in the court, charging into the jaws of death as he put his life on the line, he was still one step lower than his young junior, Zhang Zhixian. Of course he couldn’t tolerate the sects.
And yet the sects were, after all, powerful. No matter how much people like General Song despised the sects, not many of them would say it out loud.
Especially since anything they said could be misinterpreted by a biased listener. And this listener happened to be Sir Zou, an honorable born and raised disciple of the Mi Sect.
Zou Yanlai frowned in displeasure, yet these were extraordinary times. A capable general was hard to find, so he didn’t give him too much trouble. He could only pinch his nose and ignore him as he thought irritably: if it weren’t for the fact that the court had no one to replace him, he’d definitely find a way to have him sent far far away so that he couldn’t swagger around annoying him all day.
Seeing that Zou Yanlai was ignoring him, Song E, perhaps purposely, or perhaps it was simply his nature, wasn’t willing to let it rest. He just had to rant about all how the sects had overstepped their bounds to his colleague, ignoring whose side his colleague was even on, “I heard that when the former emperor died, he pointed at the creature and laughed three times before dying dismally. Who knows what’s up with that? The way I see it, these do-nothing layabouts are what’s really draining the country dry. If it weren’t for them, perhaps there wouldn’t be all this damn mess. Perhaps right now, Puqing’s reign would be all well and quiet, all the winds and rains calm and easy, all the peasants living peacefully.”
His words were really going too far, pushing Zou Yanlai to the limits of his tolerance.
Gu Huaiyang had pressured Zou Yanlai to retreat to Xunan all the way from Dongyue. Every day, he wracked his brains with plans and military strategies. Every night, he slept with his weapon in hand. His position was high, but he’d been born to a prominent family and had it easy his whole life. When had he ever suffered such hardships?
The battlefield was pitiless. Men died every day, every inch of ground was stained with his and his enemy’s blood.
The three great sects had suffered massive casualties. In just the Mi Sect alone, everyone above the age of twelve who could hoist a longspear and draw a longbow had all been sent onto the battlefield. Their dismembered corpses would be wrapped in straw mats, carelessly covered with a handful of brown dirt. No matter how good his upbringing was, upon hearing those words, Zou Yanlai was nearly overcome by fury.
He slammed the table, rose to his feet, and glared at General Song. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, before he managed to grit out, “The country is threatened by internal discord and external aggression; in consideration of our imminent crisis, please… watch your words, General Song.”
Song E met his eyes for a moment, then sneered coldly, “I was only testing you slightly, and you’re already making such assumptions. I finally see what all these quarrels are all about.”
Zou Yanlai frowned and asked, “What do you mean by that, General Song?”
Song E glowered at him, but didn’t respond. He nodded, then turned and flung aside the tent flap as he left, as if he’d already completely understood something.
“This country is crawling with maggots. Not a single day passes by peacefully. Who knows what this country’s surname is and who it belongs to.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
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It could be said that they didn’t have any useful people left; it was just the right opportunity.
Just three years ago, Song E had received that paper slip. He knew that his teacher’s old allies in the court were already starting to move. The new emperor wasn’t weak as the old emperor. Every once in a while, his actions hinted as his intent to abolish the three sects. He was only hindered by the sect’s superior strength and the fact that he didn’t have a justifiable reason.
Now that Zou Yanlai had failed to face the enemy and had retreated to Xunan, it could be used as an excuse.
Right now, just who did the country really belong to —
Song E chewed those words over for a long while. He looked up at the eerie expanse of stars, staring all the way out into the distance until the mountains blocked his sight.
This was the most chaotic era, the bloodiest, most tearful era. But it was also full of possibilities, giving everyone a chance to realize their ambitions and put all their learning to use.
Those who’d spent decades poring over books or honing their martial skills did so in the hopes that they could serve their country to the utmost. Even if a hundred years later, history rendered them a mere smear of ink, still… it meant they hadn’t lived in vain.
The half-greyed general’s eyes brimmed with resolve. He strode towards his own tent. Another sleepless night.
At the same time, Gu Huaiyang, who’d pressed forwards to the Xunan Encampment received a missive from Shi Wuduan consisting of a single word — defeat.
Another twenty days later, the general of the Xunan Encampment, Song E, battled against the rebel general Gu Huaiyang in Juzhou for an entire day and night. Gu Huaiyang retreated in a frenzy to Xiangyang. General Song personally led troops in pursuit for fifteen kilometers. In three days, he retook Luzhou, Ganzhou, Yinglu, and Yangcheng in quick succession.
He rose to fame in a single battle, for he forced Gu Huaiyang back to Dongyue.
A jointly signed memorial was presented to the emperor the very day of victory, openly impeaching the sects for being a bunch of salaried do-nothings, using Zou Yanlai’s defeat at Dongyue as an example.
For as long as anyone could remember, the sects and the imperial family were like two interdependent plants, no matter how much they struggled against each other under their guise of unity, they could never leave the other. However, arrays were nearly a lost art already among the sects; it’d turned into an odd, unbefitting branch of study. And yet in Shi Wuduan’s hands, it was the weapon he used to grind their faces into the dust and defeat them again and again.
The victory at Xunan had finally given the emperor a sliver of hope.
A massive anti-sect movement erupted in the wake of victory, as frenzied scholars started to submit mountains of memorials to the emperor.
The discord that’d been brewing for hundreds, thousands of years already finally broke out; once it did, it was uncontainable.
As for the absurdly bold Shi Wuduan — a rebel whose reputation was only second to Gu Huaiyang’s — he had infiltrated the capital city of Pingyang in disguise, hiding amongst the masses as a nameless nobody as he contacted the “Ren Stores,” the secret organization he’d single-handedly created. It was finally being put to use, for right beneath the emperor’s feet, it connected the ever-growing number of anti-sect “loyalists” to each other, turning them into an increasingly powerful faction.
The Ren Store’s influence had crept into places small as a breakfast stall to businesses large as banks and brothels, anywhere where money was exchanged.
Shi Wuduan sat in a tavern, wrote the words “the third lantern” on a slip of paper, then stuffed it into a narrow bamboo tube. He called, “Waiter, cheque.”
The waiter swiftly approached him and, using his body as a cover, slipped the bamboo tube away as he said, “Take care, mister customer. Come again soon!”
Then they went their separate ways as if they were complete strangers.
Shi Wuduan casually took a stroll around the marketplace before returning to his temporary dwelling — the rear courtyard of a gambling den. Only then did he take out the ball of paper that’s been slipped into his sleeve. The blurry ink marks wrote:
All demon shadows near the eastern sea disappeared, no sign of the Demon Lord.
Shi Wuduan looked down at it for a long while before conjuring a ball of fire in his palm and burning it away. He stood there expressionlessly for a moment, then turned and went inside.
Only after he’d entered did he clutch the doorframe so hard that his veins bulged on the back of his hand —
Just where had he gone?
Was he still… alive?
A thousand miles away, Bodhi Mountain, still buried in snow despite the rest of the country’s warm sunshine and blooming flowers, saw the arrival of an uninvited guest.
The arrival was clothed in robes that were once white but were now stained by the dust of travel. He stood blankly outside the border of the array that Shi Wuduan had set, lost and confused.
No one should’ve been able to see the barrier, unless Bodhi Mountain was being attacked or the disciples of the Dasheng Sect were violating the treaty, yet this person was able to.
Because the anti-sect movement was getting fiercer, the Dasheng Sect turtled up on Bodhi Mountain, refusing all visitors. They activated their ancient arrays, practically sealing off the entire mountain.
A young disciple arrived at the foot of the snowy mountain and saluted the white-robes man, “the sect leader ordered me to welcome you should you arrive, honored guest.”
Caught off guard, Bai Li paused for a moment and asked, “Me?”
The young disciple nodded, “Please, follow me. The sect leader is waiting to meet you in the guest reception pavilion. “
The white-robed man paused, then silently followed him.
The pavilion was halfway up the mountain, right at the border where vegetation ended and snow began. A strange type of flower that had no stem nor leaves sprouted directly out of the ground there. It was half black, half white, known as the yin-yang flower. Legend had it that it was a divine flower that grew at the boundary of life and death.
An old man, his movements a bit sluggish, was patiently watering the yin-yang flowers.
The disciple who led the way saluted to him before retreating. The white-robed man ran his fingers along a yin-yang flower. The white side shied away while the purple-black side voluntarily sidled up to his palm.
The old man, without looking at him, said, “You’ve arrived? Sit.”
The white-robed man frowned, “Do you know who I am?”
The old man set the watering can down, glanced at him, and chuckled, “Who hasn’t heard of the great Demon Lord?”
The white-robed man was indeed the long-lost Bai Li. He hesitated, then sat down on a rock amidst the yin-yang flowers. The old man didn’t speak to him any further. He continued to water every flower in the entire pavilion one by one, fiddling with leaves and branches from midday all the way till sunset.
Bai Li, however, waited uncharacteristically patiently, silently watching him busy about. If anyone who knew him saw this scene, they’d surely be astounded that the mercurial Demon Lord could ever be so tranquil.
As the sun disappeared beneath the western horizon, the old man rolled up his dirtied sleeves and sat across from Bai Li. He poured a cup of cold tea with dirt-stained hands and put it in front of Bai Li, “Help yourself, Demon Lord.”
Bai Li actually picked up the cup and started drinking.
The old man watched him slowly sip it dry, and afterward said, “This tea is the dew gathered from the petals of the yin-yang flower mixed with melted snow. A cup of that, though freezingly chilling, clears the mind and strengthens the body quite effectively.”
Bai Li said, “Many thanks.”
The old man nodded, “What brings you here, Demon Lord?”
Bai Li lurched at the question, frowned, and gazed out at the dark petals struggling to lean towards him. A long while later, he finally said uncertainly, “I…. don’t know.”
The old man didn’t rush him. He sat there quietly as he slowly tasted the cold tea of the yin-yang flower’s dew.
After who knew how long, Bai Li finally uttered, absentmindedly as if he were speaking to himself, “I don’t know, don’t understand, and don’t know what I should do. They say that you’re the sect leader and that you’re a shameless old fox. Others say that you’re the wisest person alive, do you know?”
The sect leader, Great Master Zhiye, laughed and picked up a large leaf that’d drifted down from the mountain’s heights. He rolled it into a tube and pressed it against Bai Li’s ear, “This is a leaf of the divine bodhi tree. Listen carefully.”
Bai Li strained his hearing for a moment, then frowned and replied, “I don’t hear anything.”
Great Master Zhiye said, “There was never anything to hear in the first place. Divine music and all that, that’s just a scam.”
Bai Li looked at him confusedly.
Great Master Zhiye said, “Some people say they can hear it, but really, they only think they want to. They think and think and before they know it, they think themselves into madness until they think they really did hear it — people always believe the things they want to believe.”
He reached out and poked Bai Li in the chest, “The heart blinds you, misleads you, binds you. It binds him too.”
Bai Li clutched his chest.
Great Master Zhiye continued, “But, Demon Lord, you’ve already regained the bloodline and soul you’d lost, and, against all odds, survived a hundred tribulations. Doesn’t that mean you’ve let go? That you’ve shaken free of your binds?”
Bai Li said, “But I really haven’t… I still don’t know what I should do.”
Great Master Zhiye guffawed. He stood and began walking up the mountain, “What’s so hard about that? Push aside that great mountain, split those deep seas, kick down that battered wall, then weave a grass doll to cheer him up and make him smile, and all’s well, no?”
Bai Li startled.
Even after Great Master Zhiye had left for a long time already, Bai Li was still standing there dumbly in the darkening night. Some time later, a long-lost smile appeared on his face once more as he left the mountain and didn’t look back.
Omg. Omh. Omg. Translator nim!!! 3 more Saturdays to go!!😭😭😭😭😭😭
What fairy wingman is he?!! The only side character that help ml finally emerge 🎉
Thank you for the chapter!
+1000
Is this the beginning 😲👏🙏
💙💙💙
FUCK IT IM GONNA KISS U GREAT MASTER ZIHYE
+1
Omg😳
❤️❤️❤️
I love characters that cut through the bullshit lmao.