Chapter Sixty-Four: The Warrior Chief Rebukes the Pedantic Scholar in Rage, Once an Immortal Wandered the Mortal Realm

A dying sun cast its glow upon the water, half the river jade-green, half aflame with crimson. The spring breeze drifted gently; the hour had slipped into evening. The sunset arrived early, a blood-red orb suspended above the western cliffs, illuminating the grass and trees at the mountain’s foot, as though the land wore a cloak of blood, its reflection blazing in the surging river below, so that the water seemed not to flow eastward, but fire itself.

Upon the cliff’s edge, the gathered crowd waited in silence. Above the river’s current, beside the Stone of Martial Titans, Anle’s immersion in his martial practice was drawing to a close. When the “Ancient Demon’s Five Beasts Canon” manifested, it signaled that Anle’s contemplation of the stone had borne fruit.

Though he had not obtained the true Martial Titan Canon, Anle felt that this Five Beasts method, derived with the aid of the spectral Martial Titans and built upon his own “Five Beasts Body-Tempering Art,” was of no lesser quality.

The essence of the martial canon had been etched into his very flesh, but now lay dormant, hidden within.

Within the script of this martial canon lay the many insights and perceptions the Martial Titans had of the ancient fierce demons. In his future practice, Anle’s task was to ponder and comprehend this ancient demonic intent.

Yet for now, his mastery was too shallow to embody or unleash the grandeur of those primeval beasts. Continued cultivation and body-tempering would be required, gradually unlocking and expressing the spirit of the ancient demons, empowering himself in the process.

Slowly, he gathered his breath, his consciousness withdrawing from the state of martial focus.

Upon the Stone of Martial Titans, the spectral figures began to draw back their vital energy; each heroic shade, bold and unrestrained, lifted its gaze to the crimson sunset and offered Anle a broad, carefree smile before merging into the extraordinary stone.

Anle felt deep gratitude for these blood-hued apparitions of the Martial Titans.

Standing upon the chain, his blue robes damp with river spray, bathed in the blood-like sunset, the youth pressed his fists together in salute, bowing with respect to those generations of titanic spirits within the stone.

In an instant, the world fell silent; the river resumed its turbulent rush, mist rising from the surging waters.

On the precipice, the onlookers watched as the sword-bearing youth in blue saluted the Stone of Martial Titans, as if gazing across the river of time itself.

The youth’s profile was strikingly handsome in the sunlight.

A gentle breeze urged the chain to sway. Having finished his salute, Anle turned and descended the chain with steady steps.

Once his feet touched the cliff, the dizzying sensation of standing on the chain vanished, replaced by a comforting solidity.

He looked about; shadows of people clustered at the cliff’s edge.

Foremost among them was a burly man clad in armor, hair wild and unbound, his face inscribed with marks. The man’s gaze bore into him, and Anle felt as if the spirit hidden in the sword furnace between his brows was being seared by the blazing sun.

Di Zang, Martial Titan, his eyes alight, gazed at the youth as if beholding a precious gem.

With his keen perception, Di Zang had seen that the Five Beasts form Anle displayed differed greatly from the “Five Beasts Body-Tempering Art”—the divergence lay in aura and intent.

Though the meaning behind it was hazy, Di Zang nonetheless discerned the echoes of ancient demonic tigers roaring at the stars and other wondrous phenomena.

How could this still be called the Five Beasts?

Such methods were not found in the Martial Titan Canon.

Undoubtedly, the spirits of the Martial Titans had used their own experience and vision to help the youth forge a martial art uniquely his own.

That the generations of Martial Titan spirits atop the stone would arise to aid his enlightenment, though partly due to that dazzling sword light, also signaled the youth’s talent had been recognized.

This was a precious seedling of a Martial Titan!

“I am Di Zang,” the man introduced himself. “If you’re interested, young man, you are welcome at the Martial Temple. The Stone of Martial Titans cannot be viewed often, but the temple holds many martial texts that may help you refine your new Five Beasts technique.” Di Zang’s smile, set on his stern face with its wild hair and marked features, was more unsettling than comforting.

Anle was taken aback—how could he not have heard of Di Zang?

The Martial Temple boasted two great Martial Titans: one was General Ye Longsheng of the Ye clan, the other, this very Di Zang, the God-General with the tattooed visage.

“Oh, by the way, you’re dressed as a scholar—have you entered the Literary Institute?” Di Zang asked.

Anle shook his head. “I have only just arrived in Lin’an for the spring examinations and have not joined the Institute.”

Di Zang’s lips quirked. “Good. If you had, you would have to visit the Martial Temple less. The Literary Institute and the Martial Temple are at odds, always competing, sometimes in principle, sometimes over doctrine itself.”

“I can see at a glance you’re nothing like those pedantic scholars. The Institute once rivaled the Temple, but now… it’s hard to say.”

“Some scholars, when they read too much, start to develop and believe in peculiar ideas.”

Di Zang’s words were mild, but his tone was tinged with disdain.

“Holed up in Lin’an, this decadent place, they talk of establishing the heart of Heaven and Earth, securing the destiny of the people, preserving the teachings of the sages, and so leave it to us warriors to bleed and fight, to bear the burdens of war. And what do they do? They drink and sing, impeach us at court, declaim how the state depends on them, the world depends on them, that it is they who ensure peace and prosperity.”

“So sour it makes your teeth ache—makes you want to draw your sword.”

From Di Zang’s words, his resentment toward the scholars of the Institute was clear.

The others stood silent, none daring to speak.

With a wave of his hand, Di Zang gave Anle a long, searching look. “Since you bear this sword, you are not like those scholars—at least, I hope so.”

“The Martial Temple’s scripture hall is open to you. If you find confusion in your new Five Beasts method, go and study the texts. Of course, you may seek my guidance as well, though I am not always in the Temple.”

With that, the wild-haired Martial Titan vanished in an instant.

Outside the Martial Temple, his voice thundered like rolling storm clouds:

“What are you all staring at? Be gone! If any Literary Institute souls linger here after a quarter hour, don’t blame me for losing control of my blood and qi!”

Beyond the temple, the spiritual forms hesitated in the sunset, speechless.

But none dared tarry, and they withdrew one by one.

As for the identity of the youth who unleashed such sword light and disturbed the Stone of Martial Titans, the news would spread soon enough. No one would risk offending the fierce Di Zang for it.

Upon the cliff, the sunset blazed like fire.

Anle, Ye Wenxi, and Lin Qingyin intended to return to Lin’an Prefecture. Lin Zhuifeng, Ye Yinping, Ye Chong, and Zhong Shunchao, stirred by the spectacle Anle had wrought, chose to remain and contemplate the Stone, hoping to gain something themselves.

Thus, the party parted ways.

The three descended the mountain, left the Martial Temple, and at the stone arch at the mountain’s base, climbed into their carriage.

The horses neighed, the carriage sped along the mountain road, heading toward the setting sun half veiled by the green hills.

…

On the cliff, Ye Chong and the others, breathing deep in the evening air, approached the iron chain between the cliffs.

Suddenly, from the distant chain, someone approached with light steps.

This was one of the figures who had sat there even before Anle had crossed to view the Stone of Martial Titans. When Anle had roused the stone with his sword energy from Green Mountain, this figure had not moved; only now, after Anle’s departure, did he stir.

Clad in splendid robes, the newcomer was strikingly handsome—sword-like brows, star-bright eyes, an ethereal, almost celestial air, with long hair cascading unbound, neither tied nor adorned.

He walked the chain as if crossing the river on a single reed—the iron never quivered beneath him.

“Who was that youth just now?”

Landing on the cliff, the young man gazed at Ye Chong and asked.

Ye Chong, recognizing him, was startled and saluted. “Your humble servant Ye Chong greets the Ninth Prince.”

This was none other than Zhao Xianyou, Ninth Prince of the Great Zhao, ranked first on the Lesser Sage Roll.

“No need for formality; here in the Martial Temple, we are simply warriors.” Zhao Xianyou smiled, but his smile carried a detached, otherworldly air, as if a celestial being were only passing through this world.

“That young man is named Anle. He just claimed the Lesser Sage Token from the Sixth Mountain and is now ranked nineteenth on the Lesser Sage Roll. He is also the famed master of ink bamboo paintings in Lin’an,” Ye Chong answered firmly.

“A newcomer to the Lesser Sage Roll,” Zhao Xianyou nodded, his handsome face betraying no emotion. It was as if he had never heard of this “master of ink bamboo,” yet showed no hint of unfamiliarity.

Yet today, the youth’s sword energy had stirred the Stone of Martial Titans, drawn the attention of many Martial Titan spirits, and this had caught Zhao Xianyou’s notice.

Thus, the prince, who cared for nothing, had appeared before Ye Chong and Zhong Shunchao to ask about the youth.

The two exchanged glances, surprised that the Ninth Prince would show curiosity about Anle.

This prince, said to be a celestial descended to earth, was famed for his astonishing talent.

On the day of his birth, strange omens abounded—rosy clouds filled the sky, celestial gates opened, and immortals appeared to witness his arrival.

The venerable high priest of the True Martial Temple had even journeyed south on a crane to bless him.

Later, he ascended the Sacred Mountain, using none of the royal family’s resources, and easily claimed the Lesser Sage Token on the First Peak, instantly ranking first on the Lesser Sage Roll—unchallenged.

All knew that Zhao Xianyou was destined, after Li You’an, to be the next to meet the Sage, perhaps even to open the Seventh Peak of the Sacred Mountain.

Zhao Xianyou said little more. After inquiring, he clasped his hands behind his back and departed into the sunset.

Ye Chong and Zhong Shunchao saw him off with bows, watching as his figure, like an immortal, vanished into the evening glow.

His splendid robes fluttering in the breeze, Zhao Xianyou recalled the blossoming sword energy in his mind. He knew well whence that sword aura came. In his clear eyes, there was no anger or envy, only a touch of curiosity.

“I once sought that sword, but my royal uncle refused me, saying I was not worthy.”

“If I am not worthy, does that mean this youth is?”