The Madman’s Choice

Wang Lin respected the Madman’s choice, for he knew that every soul bears its own burden. He had no right to dictate the Madman’s path. As a friend, he had offered guidance, roused him from slumber. Now, the direction of his steps was for the Madman alone to decide, needing no further prompting.

Wang Lin, too, had his own road to tread. He yearned for the Realm of the Caves, for the Vermillion Bird Star, for the land of his birth.

“Perhaps, our next meeting shall be in three centuries hence…” Wang Lin mused, striding across the heavens towards the distant horizon. Though he possessed the mightiest cultivation in all of Immortal-Astral, some mysteries remained elusive: the Ancient God Realm, the machinations of Sky-Bearing Child, and the resurrection of Wan’er.

Beneath the vast celestial canvas, a shadow of doubt crossed Wang Lin’s eyes. He wondered if those long-lost souls he sought truly desired to awaken their memories, to follow him back to the Realm of the Caves.

“Perhaps, oblivion is kinder… to be reborn anew upon this Immortal-Astral continent, that might be their truest salvation…” Wang Lin murmured, the image of Zhou Ru taking form in his mind, a testament to such a choice.

“I cannot impose my will upon their destiny.” Wang Lin sighed, halting in his journey. He gazed into the distance, towards the place where Situ Nan dwelled.

***

Wu Xuan, a mortal kingdom nestled in the northern reaches of the Central Prefecture, within the domain of the Sky-Wax Continent. Four such kingdoms shared the continent, their borders marred by perpetual skirmishes. Though full-scale war remained at bay, the frontier regions echoed with the clang of steel and the cries of conflict.

The four empires, ever vigilant, kept the embers of discord from erupting into a raging inferno.

At the juncture of Wu Xuan and Zhou Lin, a formidable host of soldiers was encamped, their tents stretching as far as the eye could see, a testament to the grim realities of mortal existence.

Near the kingdom’s border, beyond the camp’s gate, stood several thousand armored warriors, their heads held high, arranged in neat columns. A few figures of higher rank, generals and scribes, stood apart, their eyes fixed on the horizon, awaiting some momentous arrival.

Before long, the thunder of hooves echoed from the distant road. A squadron of black steeds, like a whirlwind incarnate, descended upon the scene. They swept past the ranks of soldiers, halting mere yards from the assembled dignitaries. A rider, clad in armor, leaped from his steed, falling to one knee, fists clasped in obeisance.

“Report!”

“The Southern Prince’s entourage is but a hundred leagues hence!” The soldier’s voice rang clear, then fell silent, awaiting further orders.

“Maintain reconnaissance! And let the vanguard sally forth to escort the Southern Prince from a hundred leagues!” An elderly general, his face etched with authority, stood at the heart of the group. His eyes flashed with purpose as he issued his command.

A middle-aged officer at his side bowed in deference, then spun on his heel and departed. In his wake, over ten thousand soldiers surged forth from the camp, mounted on warhorses, kicking up a storm of dust as they raced towards the approaching prince.

“My Lord Marshal, this Southern Prince… I fear his intentions are less than honorable.” A worried scribe spoke softly to the old general.

“Rumor has it that the Southern Prince indulges in extravagant pleasures, his passage marked by fear and awe.”

“I have even heard whispers of a vast harem, palaces built in defiance of the Emperor himself…” The scribe hesitated, leaving the unspoken accusation to hang in the air.

The old general remained silent, seemingly deaf to the concerns of his advisors. He stood motionless, yet his eyes flickered with a cold light, a flash of chilling resolve that transformed his countenance into one of formidable might.

As the frontier marshal, he commanded nearly half a million soldiers, and yet, being of common birth, he was the subject of envy and suspicion. Were it not for Wu Xuan’s reliance on his unwavering victories, he would surely have been stripped of his command long ago.

“It is said the Southern Prince is arrogant and obsessed with his status. If his arrival is not met with sufficient fanfare, he will be displeased… My Lord Marshal, should we not send more soldiers to greet him?”

“My Lord, I concur! Let us send ten thousand soldiers to welcome him, lining the road for a hundred leagues, that he might witness the might of our army!”

“My Lord, hesitate no longer! The Southern Prince is a vile creature, ever seeking to undermine your authority. We must…”

The old general furrowed his brow, and raised his right hand. An immediate silence fell upon the assembly, all eyes drawn to him, a testament to his unparalleled authority within the camp.

“My soldiers are the heroes of decades of bloody battles. I will not have them debased by pandering to this Southern Prince! A thousand soldiers of the vanguard, and my presence here, shall suffice!” The old general’s voice rang with unwavering conviction, brook no dissent.

His words stilled all objections, and his officers bowed in agreement.

“Southern Prince…” The old general muttered, gazing into the distance, a sneer twisting his lips. He despised the title, for in his eyes, the man who bore it was unworthy.

***

A hundred leagues distant, a lavish carriage, easily ten yards in length, lumbered along the road, drawing a long train of attendants and wagons that stretched for nearly a league. Around the procession, a company of warriors, clad in simple garb, kept watch with an air of haughty self-assurance.

The strains of music drifted from within the massive carriage, interspersed with the giggles of women, suggesting a scene of riotous revelry.

“Well done, dancers! I shall reward you handsomely!” A man’s voice roared in laughter, mingled with soft moans of pleasure.

The guards surrounding the carriage appeared indifferent to the sounds emanating from within.

After several more leagues had been traversed, a young attendant, clad in a green tunic, sat perched upon the side of the massive carriage. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and announced in a shrill tone:

“By order of the Southern Prince, cease the march!”
At his words, the serpentine caravan groaned to a halt. From the foremost, gargantuan carriage, emerged a stream of comely women, each possessing a beauty that could sway kingdoms. Yet their attire was disheveled, hastily donned, and weariness clung to their faces as they stumbled from the vehicle toward those at the rear.

Scores of these women appeared, perhaps fifty in all, a bewildering number to have been crammed within the confines of a mere ten-yard carriage.

As they departed, another wave of equally alluring women emerged from the rear carriages, replacing those who had left in a bizarre rotation. The newcomers clambered aboard, and before long, the sounds of lascivious music, wanton moans, and coarse masculine laughter echoed once more from within the moving train.

The long procession continued, but it was not long before the thunder of hooves heralded the arrival of a welcoming party, a mere handful of soldiers from the forward camp. From the lead carriage, a disdainful snort could be heard, barely masking its contempt at the paltry reception.

Nevertheless, the caravan pressed onward, escorted by the meager guard. An hour passed, and the opulent procession, still pulsing with its undercurrent of lewd whispers and stifled gasps, finally came into view of the main army encampment.

As they drew nearer, the licentious sounds grew ever more distinct, reaching the ears of every soldier present, drawing a deep frown from the weathered old general. Displeasure etched on his face, he strode forward, followed by a cohort of attendant scribes, his presence radiating a palpable aura of martial power. His sudden appearance sent a ripple of tension through the carriage guards and warriors, who sensed the general’s deadly aura, a palpable dread that sent tremors through their bodies.

“Halt! South King…” The guards, despite their fear, surged forward, while a thin, high-pitched voice emanated from a green-clad servant perched atop the lead carriage.

“Who are you to speak!” The servant’s words were cut short by a gruff voice from the general’s side, a middle-aged lieutenant, his eyes blazing with a predatory light.

At his command, the assembled soldiery fixed their gaze upon the hapless servant, an invisible wave of killing intent washing over him. His face paled, and he found himself unable to utter another syllable.

“Simmons! What is the meaning of this?!” A booming voice roared from within the lead carriage, interrupting the tense standoff. As the voice spoke, the lascivious sounds abruptly ceased.

“Old General Simmons has come to welcome the South King,” the old warrior declared, his voice resonating with authority. He stood ten yards from the carriage, his words measured and deliberate.

A moment of silence hung in the air, then the silken curtains of the carriage were thrown back, revealing a middle-aged man. His eyes were shadowed with fatigue, a testament to nights of debauchery. He glared at the old general, a flicker of resentment passing across his face, before forcing a sickly smile.

“Ah, Simmons! My valiant war hero! With you guarding the frontier, Wu Xuan is secure! I have come on royal orders to bestow rewards upon the brave soldiers of the borderlands!”

“Is that so? Then enter the encampment. Please, be my guest!” the old general replied, his gaze cold and unwavering. His steely eyes pressed heavily upon the South King, causing beads of sweat to form upon his brow under the weight of the oppressive, murderous intent emanating from the assembled troops.

“No… I can do it outside… No need to go inside. ” The South King stammered, plastering a nervous smile on his face.

Unbeknownst to all present, high above in the heavens, Wang Lin observed the entire scene with clear sight. His gaze remained fixed on a single figure: the old general, Simmons.

“Never became a king, but became a great marshal…” I wonder how he will think after his previous life memory is opened…” Wang Lin smiled, a joyful smile.