Chapter Sixty-Nine: Watching the Elder Battle the Emperor, Gathering the Fruit of the Dao and Drawing Heroic Inspiration
As the northern wind swept the rain away at dusk, several peaks appeared, slender and pristine, emerging from the clouds.
The First Mountain, a thatched cottage.
Incense burned in the brazier, curling blue smoke rising languidly. The chilly spring rain danced outside, unable to penetrate the warm haven within. An elderly man, seated before the incense burner, lazily yawned and stretched.
"An Le... Is he not the youth whom Old Six admired so greatly, gifting him a sword from the Dust-Red Sword Casket?"
"He just entered the Young Sage Ranking, not long ago, was at the Second Dual Realm, and now has stepped into the Third Dual Realm... With such talent, no wonder he prompted the ranking’s renewal."
Picking up a bamboo slip with lines formed from incense ash, the old man walked to the threshold. Outside, raindrops formed a curtain of beads, weaving a net of pearls.
He blew gently on the bamboo slip, dispelling the incense ash, and real characters appeared beneath, as if etched into the bamboo by time, indelible.
The old man chuckled softly; in his hand, the bamboo slip floated upwards, drifting out of the thatched hut with a resounding crane’s cry. The slip transformed into a white crane, wings beating, breaking through spring rain and mountain mist, soaring gracefully towards the human world.
The renewal of the Young Sage Ranking must be carried across the realm.
Those who set the board astir must have their names spread.
...
...
Lights twinkled in the distance, spring rain gradually ceased, and the night sky revealed scattered stars.
Within a small courtyard in Taomiao Alley.
Through ordinary lattice windows, a youth could be seen painting at his desk. His brush moved like a dragon in flight—bold ink, pale ink, both in harmony. The rich fragrance of ink filled the room, mingling with the scent of rain, refreshing the spirit.
The youth’s eyes shone bright, his energy was high; as his brush fell upon the scroll, the painted bamboo burst forth with vigorous, proud posture, thriving as if growing toward the sunlight.
On a spring night, painting sunny bamboo did not feel out of place.
Old Zhao Huangting from the Taomiao stood nearby, holding a candle, his face brimming with admiration and a contented smile.
An artist’s state of mind most affects the style of a painting. Painting is, after all, a process of capturing inspiration. When the heart is joyful, the intent clear, the work naturally radiates vitality.
An Le was immersed in creation, his mind entwined, the sword furnace within his Mud Pill Palace quivering, sword energy resonating, seeming to infuse the brush’s ink.
When the final stroke was laid, the scroll seemed to bloom with spring sunshine and exuberant vitality, illuminating the simple house with a unique radiance.
“Excellent!”
Zhao Huangting praised, candle in hand, admiration deepening in his eyes.
“This painting is imbued with the spirit of your breakthrough—the intensity nearly leaps from the paper. It could be ranked among the seventh-tier Divine Refining Treasures! Even within that tier, it would be considered precious.”
The old man’s praise was unreserved.
Indeed, the painting fused the youth’s confidence and fiery mood from his recent breakthrough, vigorous and uplifting, inspiring anyone who viewed it.
An Le smiled, habitually signing his work: “Today, I broke through, my spirit cleared; an old friend invited me, so I painted ink bamboo. The bamboo in my heart is not the bamboo before my eyes; thus grinding ink and wielding the brush, there emerges another form. The bamboo in my hand is not the bamboo in my mind…”
Finally, he inscribed the words “Banqiao Bamboo.”
He took a jade seal forged from demon treasure, and with a flash of spiritual brilliance across the scroll, a painting of sunny bamboo was imbued with the essence of divine refinement.
Having completed the painting, An Le moved to the window, breathing in fresh air, while the old man, candle in hand, observed the artwork in detail, his fondness written plainly on his face.
With the painting finished, An Le felt the excitement and restlessness of his breakthrough gradually settle.
Painting to cultivate oneself—there is indeed wisdom in it.
An Le turned to look at the Taomiao elder, who was still absorbed in the painting.
Suddenly, his spirit stirred. In the shimmering screen before him, the “Years Aura” began to flicker.
From the old man’s body, countless threads of years’ aura gently wafted. Faintly, a strand seemed poised to detach and drift away.
After a brief tug-of-war, the aura was unsettled and drawn away by An Le.
A surge of delight filled his heart.
After breaking into the Third Realm, he could finally pluck a strand of years’ aura from the old man, though just a single thread—but its significance was profound.
Abruptly, that strand of aura burst with a golden glow, transforming before his eyes into a golden incense pillar, smoldering gently.
An Le paused, glancing at the old man, still engrossed in the painting, considering briefly, then chose to observe the years.
The spring winds, rains, and night before him rippled like jade waves.
The long-lost golden years unfolded like a scroll, like rising smoke, slowly presenting itself.
...
Clouds piled high, the sky dark as ink; snowy waves surged, the river shone brighter!
A vast river, like an ancestral dragon writhing across the land, each wave a scale, thundering like a furious beast.
This was the Canglang River, the greatest peril in the realm, dividing north and south, a natural barrier—the greatest reliance during the migration of Great Zhao to the south.
One river’s separation parted Great Zhao from its former glory, yet brought five hundred years of dreamlike prosperity!
North of Canglang River, the land was tumultuous, tens of thousands of troops and horses thundered, raising storms of dust.
Upon the river, one after another, grand wooden tower ships broke the waves, crossing majestically.
On the ships flew the banners of the Great Zhao Dynasty, drenched in mist and water, their firmness faded.
Civil and military officials, scholars, royal kin, and nobility—all stood upon the decks. In the surrounding waters, giant demon dragons surged—the allies from Kunpeng Mountain aiding the southern migration.
An Le knew well what this scene represented.
Five hundred years ago, when Great Zhao migrated south, few remembered, but now, through the years’ aura, An Le witnessed it anew.
Yellow wooden tower ships cleaved the river, myriad expressions upon deck.
Armored soldiers gripped their spears, eyes full of unwillingness and sorrow; civil and military officials knelt on the deck, facing the northern lands, wailing blood; martial commanders roared, shattering the river.
Heaven’s wrath raged, divine power flared, harsh slaughter swept the plains!
On the ships, the warriors’ wishes went unfulfilled, their hearts brimming with frustration.
That unwillingness, like a hurricane, intertwined.
Above the river, dark clouds veiled the sky, lightning flashed behind, pressing down with suffocating force.
Strong contenders clashed amid the clouds, peerless warriors’ spirits and blood collided, changing the color of the heavens and earth.
An Le’s gaze seemed to pierce layers of clouds, ascending to the ninety heavens, witnessing strongmen confronting each other above the sea of clouds.
These were those who sacrificed themselves to ensure Great Zhao’s safe retreat across Canglang River.
North of the river, terrifying chariots drawn by nine armored demon horses bore down.
On the chariot stood a burly figure, golden mask upon his face, clad in golden armor. Simply standing, he seemed a supreme deity, his powerful blood rising like pillars, piercing the sky, threatening to shatter it!
Cold, proud, and domineering eyes swept forth from beneath the mask, full of disdain for Great Zhao’s migration.
The Yuanmeng Emperor!
An Le needed only a glance to know this man’s identity!
The peerless champion who dared to bend his bow and shoot at celestial beings—the Yuanmeng Emperor!
Even peering through the years’ aura, An Le could feel his overwhelming strength; the might of the world’s foremost warrior was indeed extraordinary.
Suddenly, the Yuanmeng Emperor, standing on the chariot, took up his bow, drew it full, and loosed an arrow like a meteor.
The arrow split the Canglang, aiming to shatter the southern-bound tower ships.
A sword light flashed.
Between heaven and earth, a heroic laugh echoed.
On the battlefield across the vast earth, amid heavy armor, a figure in splendid robes, wielding a broken bamboo sword, intercepted the arrow, then charged ahead, invincible, his sword energy splitting mountains and rocks!
Even the heavy armor of the Yuanmeng cavalry could not withstand him!
An Le’s gaze was instantly drawn, locking onto the elegant figure—the unrestrained man.
That year, someone’s heroic spirit soared to the heavens!
That year, someone’s black hair remained ungrayed, eyes still filled with lofty ambition.
That year, someone picked up a broken bamboo sword and dared to confront the world’s strongest—the Yuanmeng Emperor!
“Zhao Huangting comes bearing Green Mountain—let the Emperor see if it weighs enough!”
The man laughed, slashing three times at the Yuanmeng Emperor.
The emperor and he soared into the clouds, sword energy and blood clashing, tearing open the sea of clouds!
After three strikes,
Zhao Huangting spat blood, his bamboo sword falling as he descended from the clouds.
He landed atop the yellow wooden tower ship, leaning on his sword, breaking through the river, calling out to the sky.
“Emperor Yuan, today’s battle was not bold enough.”
“When Great Zhao’s armies march north, I shall return with Green Mountain in hand!”
In the sea of clouds, the golden-armored Yuanmeng Emperor did not pursue, simply standing upon the clouds, gazing calmly.
...
The vision quietly faded at this point.
An Le was shaken to the core, unable to calm himself for a long time. He looked at the bamboo sword, Green Mountain, at his waist, and at the old man beside the candle, his heart surging with emotion.
This was truly the golden age; the unremarkable elder before him had once clashed with the world’s greatest.
Ancient heroism and soaring audacity stirred An Le’s heart.
Before him, azure text slowly appeared.
【Obtained Dao Fruit of Years: Heroic Spirit Guide】
【Note: Heroic Spirit Guide (Dao Fruit): Draws forth heroism in the world, daring mortals to slay ghosts and gods. Consumes heroism to empower oneself, granting special combat strength.】
A strand of golden years’ aura condensed into a Dao Fruit.
An Le was delighted. Upon careful study, he found this Dao Fruit, Heroic Spirit Guide, was much like Fearless Heart—neither could enhance years’ aura.
Faintly, the heroism in the Dao Fruit spilled out, baptizing An Le’s spirit and soul. Moreover, he sensed that if he wished, he could channel all the Heroic Spirit Guide, gaining immense power.
Yet, should he do so, perhaps the Dao Fruit would wither and vanish.
The heroism, naturally flowing from the Dao Fruit, quietly blended into An Le’s aura.
At his waist, Green Mountain trembled, emitting a clear sword’s song.
Beside the desk, the old man immersed in the painting suddenly turned to gaze at the youth by the window.
Spring rain and breeze stirred, lifting Green Mountain at the youth’s waist. Sword song lingered, and faintly, a surge of heroism rose from him.
For a moment, the elder was lost in thought.
As if, in that instant, he saw his younger self in the youth.
...
...
White-walled, black-tiled buildings dotted the mountain’s edge.
A white crane pierced the spring rain, wings beating as it arrived. Countless teachers of the Literary Institute watched in surprise and bewilderment.
As teachers, they naturally understood the meaning of a white crane’s appearance.
A Young Sage Ranking renewal—the crane as proof!
The crane landed in the Literary Institute, transforming into a bamboo slip, delivered to the solitary Third Master in the grass hall.
“Hmm?”
A hint of puzzlement flickered in the Third Master’s aged eyes.
“No challenge has yet appeared, and the Young Sage Ranking already shifts… Rare these many years.”
He murmured, then summoned others to copy the new ranking and publish it.
That night, Lin’an’s night stretched endlessly.
...
...
Qin Prime Minister’s Residence.
Amid pavilions and ponds, the scenery was unchanged.
Spring rain drummed on the black tiles of the idle pavilion, bead-like and crisp.
A charcoal stove boiled water; tea leaves rolled within, releasing a rich aroma.
Wang Qinhe, with the Dragon Spine Blade at his waist, squinted as he sipped fine West Lake Dragon Well tea, enjoying a rain-drenched conversation with Qin Qianqiu across the table.
Qin Qianqiu sat opposite, washing and brewing tea.
Suddenly, a scholar in robes approached with an oil-paper umbrella, whispered a few words in Qin Qianqiu’s ear, and delivered a yellow register.
Qin Qianqiu’s brow knitted. After a moment’s thought, he handed the register—bearing the Young Sage Ranking—to the tea-savoring Wang Qinhe.
Wang Qinhe hesitated, then took the register and glanced through the rankings.
Upon reaching the end, bewilderment flashed across his face.
He’d done nothing… how had he ended up at the bottom again?!
After a time, his gaze sharpened, cold as a blade.
The Young Sage Ranking does change, but to have his rank drop because someone else broke through… this was a humiliation.
Though not without precedent, he was truly unwilling!
Silent for a long while, Wang Qinhe slowly stood, hand resting on the Dragon Spine Blade’s hilt, stepping out from the pavilion into the spring rain.
Blade energy surged; the endless rain was shattered, drop by drop.
“Brother Wang?” Qin Qianqiu rose, unable to suppress his question.
Wang Qinhe’s aura climbed with every step.
“Suddenly at the bottom—naturally, I’ll challenge.”
“My heart is not convinced; my spirit cannot rest.”
“I must see—this youth, just entering the Third Realm, how does he surpass me?!”