The two brothers of the Yi family were truly like night and day. One rigid, the other cunning.

Yi Xingchen, a man of romantic disposition, had been a favored son of heaven in his youth, renowned alongside Li Zhengshu. His path to prominence had been remarkably smooth, leading him to a seat in the Political Affairs Hall, a towering figure at the pinnacle of Qi’s power. His two sons, however, possessed only middling talent, a fact that many lamented for him.

Yet, Jiang Wang felt a different sentiment. He believed both Yi family brothers were truly good men. Of course, while coming and going, he recognized Yi Huaimin’s attempt to ensnare him in a small scheme to confirm his “suspicions.” Having weathered countless storms, the Marquis Jiang was hardly one to be caught in such a simple trap. He would never admit to any connection with those remnants of the Withered Glory Courtyard. Who in the world didn’t know that he, Jiang someone, maintained a clear distinction from the Buddhist sect? Great Master Kusho had wept and pleaded for him to shave his head and enter the monastic life, and he had steadfastly refused! Furthermore, the Capital Patrol Inspection Office had already conducted its investigation. This old master Jiang was as pure as freshly fallen snow! Yi Huaimin’s malicious speculations were truly detestable!

In contrast, Bao Zhongqing’s purposeful visit with his wife held a different kind of significance that Jiang Wang could discern. This heir to the Shuo Fang Earldom was clearly not content with merely being an earl’s successor. He yearned to raise the Bao family banner in various fields and expand his own influence. This visit to the Bo Wang Marquisate was more than just a courtesy; it was a subtle declaration to the Bao family internally, to those outside, and to his wife’s maternal family, the Chong Xuan family, with whom the Bao family had contended for years.

Now, with Chong Xuan Zun already a Marquis of military merit, and Chong Xuan Sheng soon to inherit the title, it was only natural for this friend of the same generation, this heir to an earldom who was also about to become a father, to shoulder greater responsibilities. If Jiang Wang’s guess was correct, in any major event that unfolded in Qi henceforth, this brother with a pockmarked face would surely make his presence known and intervene.

However, these were the internal affairs of the Bao family, matters unrelated to him, Jiang someone. Not long after Bao Qing departed, Gao Zhe arrived, representing the Jinghai Gao family. Although both Jiang Wang and Chong Xuan Sheng had long since fallen out with this individual, the relationship between the Chong Xuan family and the Gao family, after all, still persisted. And today, Chong Xuan Sheng was already the master of the Chong Xuan family; he could no longer use youth as an excuse. Many matters could no longer be dictated solely by personal likes and dislikes. Gao Zhe’s visit to offer condolences could only be met with welcome; there was no reason to turn him away. Thus, Jiang Wang reluctantly offered another polite exchange.

These routines of welcoming and seeing off were what he detested the most on a daily basis. The Buddhist sect spoke of the “Eight Sufferings,” and one of them was the “suffering of meeting with those you resent and hate,” the agony of being forced to endure the company of those you despise. He had always been one to clearly distinguish between love and hate; those compatible stayed, those incompatible departed. But as his status rose and his experiences grew, he found himself less and less at liberty. The deeper one delved into the mortal world, the more entanglements one accumulated. For instance, to transcend after reaching the pinnacle of the official path, one of the key requirements was to sever these very entanglements.

Of course, if he were within the confines of his own Wu An Marquisate, he could simply close his doors and cultivate, indifferent to the world, and no one could fault him. But today, serving as the host for the Chong Xuan family’s guests, he could only suppress his inclinations. The connections of a top-tier powerful family like the Chong Xuan family were extraordinary. The old master, a hunting horse of the court, commanded countless former subordinates. Despite the funeral being repeatedly kept low-key, the stream of visitors offering condolences at the gate was unending, and every one of them held an identity of consequence.

During the three days of lying in state, Jiang Wang felt as though he had encountered almost every prominent figure in Qi. It wasn’t until Chong Xuan Sheng personally carried the coffin back to the Chong Xuan family’s ancestral land for burial that he ceased to follow. Only Fourteen accompanied Chong Xuan Sheng; aside from those of the Chong Xuan lineage, no one else could set foot upon the Chong Xuan family’s ancestral land at this time. According to the established rules, Chong Xuan Sheng must first, in the presence of the family elders, formally inherit the position of Chong Xuan family master at the ancestral land. Only then would he return to Linzi to inherit the title. This was also why the Chong Xuan family elders held such high status; their limited involvement in court politics served as the family’s bedrock.

The old master had meticulously arranged everything before his passing, and with Chong Xuan Chu Liang accompanying him, it was likely that no ripples would disturb the proceedings. What slightly surprised Jiang Wang was that Chong Xuan Zun also did not journey to the Chong Xuan family’s ancestral land. In the now sparsely populated Bo Wang Marquisate, the two youngest Marquises of military merit in contemporary Qi rarely shared a conversation.

At that time, Jiang Wang was waiting in the courtyard where he had accompanied Chong Xuan Sheng in keeping vigil all night. The courtyard featured a small pond, with a pavilion within and a stone bridge connecting it to the shore. Jiang Wang stood upon the stone bridge, gazing quietly at the water’s reflection, recalling some events from a long, long time ago. Chong Xuan Zun also approached.

“You didn’t go to Qiuyang County?” Jiang Wang returned to his senses and inquired. Chong Xuan Zun’s forehead was still bound with a mourning band. He lightly brushed the hair from his forehead, as if wiping away a hazy mist, brightening his distant, mountain-like eyebrows and eyes. Even in such a sorrowful time, it evoked the feeling of vibrant green mountains.

“There are many people who support me at the ancestral land,” he said calmly. “There’s no need to make my fat younger brother think about these matters again, nor is there any need for those who shouldn’t think further to do so.” For a very long time, he had been the undisputed candidate for the position of Chong Xuan family master. Looking back a few years, Chong Xuan Sheng had still been met with setbacks at every turn. Thinking of it now, it truly felt like a dream.

Jiang Wang remained silent. Chong Xuan Zun similarly gazed at the surface of the water and continued, “Moreover, this is originally the affair of the new Bo Wang Marquis.” The clear pond water reflected two figures in plain clothes. In the gentle ripples, each possessed their own unique bearing, each held their own solitary mood.

Jiang Wang could roughly understand. From today onwards, the Champion Marquisate and the Bo Wang Marquisate were formally separated. The old generation had passed away; this was a natural progression. And it was better to divide clearly sooner rather than later, otherwise, as Chong Xuan Zun had said, some people would always “think further.” There was no other reason; Chong Xuan Zun was simply too outstanding, naturally a grand vessel. Even if he did nothing, many would still clamor to board.

Jiang Wang asked, “I heard you refused the invitation from the Blood River Sect?” He had naturally heard of this matter while in the Southern Border, though not the specific details. True Person Moving Mountain, Peng Chongjian, had already formally succeeded as the Blood River Sect Master; this was no longer a secret. As for the subsequent attitude of the Qi Court, he had been sent east and west to avoid further involvement, and thus no longer concerned himself. Old Mountain Separate Manor’s words and actions were already beginning to spread outwards.

“It wasn’t sent,” Chong Xuan Zun still gazed at the pond water, not turning back. The sound of the Wu An Marquis’s footsteps gradually faded into the distance. Like many departures of people and things, it was surprisingly calm, without a ripple.

He was intimately familiar with this courtyard. On a day with suitable sunlight, the old master would lean back in his recliner, lazily basking. His old dad, then, would pull up a small stool and sit beside him, diligently pouring tea and water, massaging his shoulders and legs. Dad’s conversations invariably revolved around the matter of the master’s position. Within three sentences, he would touch upon the state’s power, constantly urging the old master to abdicate and yield to the worthy. The most worthy, of course, was first his eldest son, the Chong Xuan family’s eldest grandson. He would ask the old master to choose from amongst them, asserting that any choice would be correct. The old master would usually scold him while laughing. And he, Chong Xuan Zun, would often sit on the stone steps connecting the small bridge to the shore, quietly reading a leisurely book, rarely interfering in the father and son’s conversation.

Once, it had been such an ordinary time. Now, reflecting on it, it felt like the moon in the water, unreachable. Chong Xuan Zun, alone in this courtyard, on this stone bridge, sighed lightly, ever so lightly. He rarely sighed. Just as he had watched countless falling leaves without sorrow. Just as he had quietly listened to many songs without sentiment. Yet, on a certain day, on this remarkably ordinary afternoon, he suddenly recalled many memories from the past. Thus, this pool of autumn water evoked such melancholy.

He walked down the stone bridge, then walked back up. He paced back and forth on those stone steps several times, before finally leaving without looking back.

Chong Xuan Ying left this courtyard, walked to the exterior of his old dad’s resting room, pondered for a moment, then pushed the door open and entered. Grand Master Chong Xuan was lying on the rocking bed, his eyes open, staring blankly at the canopy above, lost in thought.

“Grandpa has been sent to the ancestral land for burial. The funeral is over,” Chong Xuan Zun said softly, approaching the head of the bed. Chong Xuan Mingguang grunted weakly.

“Go,” Chong Xuan Zun said. Chong Xuan Mingguang’s eyeballs shifted slightly. “Go where?”

“Don’t you have your own house?” Chong Xuan Zun said. “Coming to my place is also fine.” Chong Xuan Mingguang closed his eyes. “This is my home. I’ve lived here since I was a child for many years.”

“Alright, alright,” Chong Xuan Zun said. “I’ll help you buy the yard of the east neighbor as well and merge them for you. Then, I’ll invite Great Craftsman Xu to design it. Do you know Great Craftsman Xu? The Heavenly Fragrance Cloud Pavilion is his work. I’ll bear all expenses. I guarantee your house will become the most luxurious residence in the north of the city.”

“This isn’t about the house!” Chong Xuan Mingguang sat up, muttering while searching for his shoes. “The main thing is I’m too unaccustomed.” Chong Xuan Zun half-squatted down, helping him put on his boots while saying, “Little Fat said that he will still keep your room for you. You can come back to live whenever you want, for as long as you wish. But I think, what kind of person is Father? He’s a lifetime of utmost attention to matters. How can he, after the family has divided, still rely on his nephew’s home?”

“Yes.” Chong Xuan Mingguang nodded very emphatically, still snorting, “I, the venerable elder of the Chong Xuan family, whose business is so good, how could I lack a place to live? Little Fat nephew, ridiculous, ridiculous. Too worried!”

By this time, his boots were on. Chong Xuan Zun made a gesture of invitation. He stood up, but stood up too abruptly, feeling dizzy for a moment, swayed a bit, then sat back down. The enthusiasm on his face suddenly vanished, replaced by a touch of sadness as he looked at Chong Xuan Zun. “Am I old?”

Chong Xuan Zun looked at him seriously. “Father is still very handsome.” Chong Xuan Mingguang’s eyelids drooped slightly. “Father… afterwards… no father.”

Chong Xuan Zun said, “Grandpa only cared about the family his whole life. That fat younger brother of mine still has some ability. He won’t disgrace the name of the Chong Xuan family.” His voice was very calm, naturally possessing a power to soothe emotions.

“Just some petty cleverness,” Chong Xuan Mingguang hummed. “Don’t even compare him to me. Even compared to you, he’s a bit lacking. I’m truly worried about the family’s future!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Chong Xuan Zun agreed. “But since the wood has already become a boat, Father, give your son some face and don’t argue with him anymore.” Chong Xuan Mingguang glared at him. “How could I argue with a junior? Is your dad the kind of person who only has a good appearance but no substance?” He paused for a moment, then asked again, “But do you say Grandpa can rest assured?”

Chong Xuan Zun’s tone was serious. “Little Fat lacks only martial prowess. I will teach him without reservation for three months. Grandpa knows this.” Chong Xuan Mingguang was somewhat melancholy. “Just afraid you won’t teach him well. He’s also too stupid.” Chong Xuan Zun said helplessly, “Then later, when you have time, you can personally guide him a bit.”

“Forget it, forget it,” Chong Xuan Mingguang waved his hand. “I’ve also thought it through. Children and grandchildren have their own blessings. Your grandpa before he passed away…” He stopped here, as if remembering something, and sighed deeply.

Chong Xuan Zun didn’t understand. “What is it you mean?” Chong Xuan Mingguang didn’t speak.

“Just say what’s on your mind,” Chong Xuan Zun urged. Chong Xuan Mingguang stared directly at him. “My dad is gone. Your dad will also be gone afterwards.” Chong Xuan Zun felt as though he had been scolded and remained silent for a moment.

“Dad is thinking, ah,” Chong Xuan Mingguang sighed at length. “Wait until Dad is also gone afterwards. How will you be alone in this world?”

“That’s easy to handle,” Chong Xuan Zun said. “As long as you cultivate to the Divine Manifestation realm, your lifespan will reach five hundred and eighteen years. Your days will be long.” Chong Xuan Mingguang gave him a resentful look, rested for a while, then said, “Dad isn’t that he can’t cultivate, it’s mainly that his ambition isn’t here.”

“A few days ago, I saw you cultivating by yourself late at night. I still thought you were full of ambition,” Chong Xuan Zun said.

“That’s not it. Your grandpa was gone, I said I would strive a bit to let him leave peacefully. The result you’ve seen, heaven envies talent. Heaven dares not let me succeed. Furthermore, cultivation is something that cannot be rushed. It depends on fate. Some people cultivate diligently their entire lives and achieve nothing. Then there are sages who study diligently with white hair, yet in one step they derive the Dao. Where does your dad lack? Dad will start reading next year, and it’s not necessarily that he won’t succeed. You are still young now and don’t understand this inner reason. Wait until later when you have time, then we’ll talk about this matter.”

Chong Xuan Mingguang talked on and on, patting his thigh. “Dad is mainly worried, ah.” He stole a glance at Chong Xuan Zun’s expression, his hint very obvious. “Wait until you are also old afterwards, who will take care of you?”

Chong Xuan Zun said calmly, “You’re overthinking. I am a Divine Manifestation cultivator. I won’t grow old until I die. Furthermore, reaching the Grotto-heaven realm is not a problem for me. I can live at least one hundred and two hundred and ninety-six years.”

“Oh, then never mind,” Grand Master Mingguang stood up and left.

March, early spring. A bloody rain, heavy with sorrow, fell upon the mortal world. The earth was hazy; amidst the dim red blood rain, a ruined city lay silent, devoid of life. Within the city walls, everything was desolate and withered. Collapsed houses were everywhere, and greenish-black corpses lay scattered, minced flesh resembling broken autumn leaves, silently decaying. The once bustling streets were now a picture of desolation. The sandy roads, once filled with the comings and goings of people, were now silent. All that remained was a mixture of minced flesh, dust, and blood-soaked paper, indistinguishable from one another, a shocking sight.

Not far away, a damaged carriage lay deep in the mud, filled with sadness. Only an abandoned rabbit doll hung on the carriage shaft, swaying in the wind. Its white fur was already soaked a wet red, filled with an eerie strangeness. Its cloudy eyes seemed to retain some resentment, staring alone at the mottled stones ahead. There, a figure lay.

It was a youth of thirteen or fourteen, his clothes tattered, covered in dirt, a damaged leather pouch tied to his waist. The youth squinted his eyes, motionless. The bone-chilling cold from all sides pierced through his tattered clothes, assaulting his entire body, gradually stealing his body temperature. Even when the rain fell on his face, his eyes did not blink, staring with an eagle-like coldness into the distance.