Chapter 261
Chapter 261
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 261
Chapter Title: Chapter 261 - Finding the bottom
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This probing operation left the ancestors of the Thirteen Families with a profound sense of defeat.
They had originally planned to test the depths of Little Five the Creator before deciding whether to make a move on Chen Shi.
Chen Shi and Li Tianqing had committed all sorts of atrocities. In Qing Province, they had formed the Red Horse Thieves and raided the Thirteen Families' spirit herb fields. On the surface, these spirit herbs belonged to various families, but in truth, they were meant to extend the lives of these ancestors. Chen Shi and Li Tianqing hadn't taken every last herb—only one-fifth—leaving four-fifths behind. Yet that act alone had cost them more than twenty years of life!
How could they tolerate such a thing?
Before dealing with Chen Shi, they first had to probe Little Five the Creator.
They had emerged from seclusion, and their purpose in heading to West Capital had been precisely to probe Little Five the Creator.
They had succeeded in probing Little Five the Creator's depths.
But Little Five the Creator had also probed theirs.
A situation like this should never have arisen.
With the strength of the Thirteen Families, no one should have been able to test their true power.
Yet Little Five the Creator was far too freakish!
That clash in the streets and alleys of West Capital had turned these immortal-like figures into something resembling a brawl between old geezers and grannies. Heaven-shaking, earth-shattering spells and divine abilities had devolved into bare-fisted brawling.
Some had been knocked flat, others kicked over, fingers twisted off, toes stomped, eyes gouged, noses clawed, crotches grabbed—all manner of dirty tricks. Though to be fair, in the heat of desperation, they had resorted to a few low blows themselves. The most crucial point, however, was that Little Five the Creator had come and gone as he pleased. These peerless powerhouses hadn't even been able to hold him back.
As for Little Five the Creator's injuries—their extent or severity—they could only guess.
That was what filled them with the greatest dread.
"Face utterly swept away."
Fei Family Ancestor Fei Yuji let out a sigh, her spirits low.
The others shared that same sense of utter humiliation.
Ma Jun proposed,
"Fellow daoists, it's rare for us to gather like this. Why not find a scenic spot with mountains and clear waters, sit for a spell, and share a light drink?"
The ancestors of the various families nodded in agreement one after another. With Little Five the Creator gone and his injuries unknown, none dared travel alone, lest he launch a surprise attack. If it had been someone like Chen Yindu, they wouldn't have worried—the man had his pride and backbone, after all. But Little Five the Creator clearly lacked any such restraints.
Little Five the Creator was like Chen Yindu in the prime of his youth—but a version unbound by morals or emotions.
They had to stick together, properly discuss countermeasures. No more acting independently.
At the mouth of Wenchang Alley, the little boy holding the umbrella was still looking around, waiting for the scholar to come retrieve it. His playmates ran up, urging him to come play cuju, but he refused once more. Some time had passed since the mob of elders had beaten the scholar, yet he still hadn't returned.
He was just about to set the umbrella against the wall when the scholar walked up through the rain.
"Your umbrella!"
The child exclaimed excitedly.
Little Five the Creator took the umbrella. The child dashed excitedly toward his companions, then suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned back.
"When you fight from now on, don't use just one hand to look cool! One hand against a crowd, and they pin you down. You've got to use both hands, grab one old geezer and pound him nonstop till he's crippled. The other old geezers see how vicious you are, and they won't dare come at you!"
Little Five the Creator's expression turned solemn.
"Lesson learned. How do you know all this?"
"We play cuju on the streets. Run into other cuju kids, we compete. Lose, we fight. Get beat enough times, you figure it out."
Little Five the Creator nodded slightly, finding the advice quite sound.
"Let me buy you some soy milk."
"No way!"
The child bolted off.
Though rejected, Little Five the Creator felt no anger. He opened the umbrella and headed to Wuchang Street for soy milk, a trace of melancholy in his heart.
"I said it myself: anyone clashing with me, their spells and divine powers wouldn't leak so much as a shred of their might. And yet... it leaked anyway. A passerby trying to break up the fight got pulverized by the shock. I lost."
His injuries were severe, but what vexed him most was the death of that intervening passerby.
Though the man hadn't died by his hand, the leakage of power proved his own mastery still fell short—his control wasn't fine enough.
He excelled at everything, save for his standards being too exacting.
Back when he'd researched alongside Chen Yindu, the man had pointed this out too, saying he obsessed too much over details while skewing on the big picture.
Little Five the Creator sat in the soy milk shop and folded the umbrella away. Inwardly, he thought,
"But I just can't change."
His injuries remained grave—grave enough to kill, perhaps, but not here in a soy milk shop. So he drank anyway.
It was one of the few pleasures he'd enjoyed since arriving in the capital.
In West Capital, any number of eyes tracked his movements, but he paid them no mind.
Former East Factory Supervisor Feng Tianhuan—Eunuch Feng—visited Yan Manor once more, seeking out former Cabinet Grand Secretary Yan Xianzhi.
Eunuch Feng sat in his wheelchair, with two maids crouched beside it, diligently kneading his paralyzed legs.
"Lord Yan, have you seen the business of the family ancestors ganging up on Little Five?"
Eunuch Feng inquired.
Yan Xianzhi sighed, looking rather drained.
"I saw. Nothing but a pack of dozens of old geezers and grannies piling on one young scholar. All that Great Ascension perfection, those peerless masters—face completely obliterated."
He gave a wry, helpless laugh.
Among them were even four ancestors from his own Yan Family, beaten with swollen faces and covered in wounds.
As a former Cabinet Grand Secretary and a Void Returning Realm expert himself, Yan Xianzhi fell short of the family ancestors in raw power, but his insight and discernment remained sharp. He could tell that what looked like an old folks' street brawl had in truth been perilously dangerous. After all, even the treasure safeguarding West Ox New Continent's qi fortune had sensed the threat and unleashed its might. No one with eyes could dismiss this clash as ordinary.
Eunuch Feng leaned to the side.
"My lord stepped down as Grand Secretary before Little Five even reached West Capital—sparing yourself needless risk and infamy. The current Grand Secretary, Zhang Fuzheng, bears that infamy now. He's the one tearing his hair out. With Little Five stirring things up like this, the Thirteen Families will likely compromise with him and reveal who seized the Innate Dao Embryo."
He smiled faintly.
"Lord Yan, if you don't reclaim that Grand Secretary seat soon, Zhang will have it locked down for good."
Yan Xianzhi chuckled.
"Is Zhang's position really all that secure?"
He lifted his teacup for a sip, smiling.
"When he's at his wits' end, he'll come begging me to take it back. As for you, Old Feng—how do you plan to reclaim the East Factory? How to return to your seat as Grand Eunuch Seal Holder?"
Eunuch Feng raised a leg and kicked one of the leg-rubbing maids aside.
"I was crippled by Chen Yindu, but my service and merits outweigh it all. Going back as Seal Holder? Perfectly justifiable, no?"
Yan Xianzhi eyed his legs.
"Those legs have been crippled for a decade now, haven't they? Still not healed?"
"Not healed."
Eunuch Feng replied gravely.
Yan Xianzhi glanced at the maid kicked aside.
"If you say they're not, then they're not. The headaches right now—Little Five's one mess, the palace examinations another. Zhang can't sort them. When he can't, he'll have to find someone to clean up the stall."
Eunuch Feng said,
"Lord Yan, who do you think will be this year's new top scholar?"
Yan Xianzhi replied testily,
"The metropolitan exam hasn't even happened—how should I know who the new top scholar will be?"
He paused a beat.
"The Young Master has very high acclaim. My Yan Family's sect leader sent word: we've discussed with the clan elders. If the Young Master vies for top scholar, the Yan Family will stand aside and lend full support."
Eunuch Feng arched a brow, chuckling.
"Yan Family offers full support—what of the other families?"
Yan Xianzhi laughed and swore good-naturedly.
"You eunuchs love nosing about. How should I know the other families' decisions? Though... the Thirteen Families are branches of the same tree. If that's the Yan Family's stance, the others will follow suit."
He waved a hand, dismissing the maids attending them, and said leisurely,
"The Young Master needs great momentum, needs hype—a justification for his rise, so the masses revere him, so he gathers the people's hearts and minds. Only then can he ascend the throne and revive Great Ming. The Thirteen Families need a leader they can rally behind, to shake free of constraints from above."
Eunuch Feng's expression sharpened. He fell silent for a moment.
"Can it be done?"
Yan Xianzhi sank into silence himself, sipping his tea slowly.
He set the cup down and murmured softly,
"If we don't try, it'll never happen. The era of the True Kings ended over six thousand years ago. The heavens are changing—not like days of old. West Ox New Continent needs a new True King."
Eunuch Feng exhaled a breath of stale air and lightly drummed his fingers on his legs. A spark ignited in his eyes.
In the past, there had been no chance.
But now, the heavens were changing!
That vacant True King throne in the court—someone would have to claim it someday!
The Young Master was the one chosen by the Thirteen Families!
"Then what of Chen Shi?"
Eunuch Feng asked.
"I hear Chen Shi's come to sit the jinshi exams too. Pass jinshi, and it's on to the palace exam. Only one top scholar—give it to the Young Master, and it can't go to him."
Yan Xianzhi said,
"Then Chen Shi can only take second place."
Eunuch Feng grinned.
"I hear the Young Master and Chen Shi are on the outs. One of the Young Master's Fuzheng Pavilion simas died over it. Do you think Chen Shi will meekly play second fiddle for that runner-up spot?"
Yan Xianzhi reached for his tea, only to find the cup empty. He set it down and said flatly,
"What choice does he have otherwise? Even passing juren was a grace from the court—without it, he'd still be a mere scholar. Giving him runner-up is mercy enough."
He clapped his hands, summoning a maid to refill his tea.
Eunuch Feng covered his own bowl, waving off a refill, and chuckled.
"The man's got over a hundred demons inside him. He makes a fuss, drops dead on the spot to spite you—what then?"
Yan Xianzhi smiled faintly.
"That's Grand Secretary Zhang's headache. I'm just idling at home these days."
"Slick! Truly slick!"
Eunuch Feng burst out laughing.
"You just wait till Zhang Fuzheng can't handle it and comes begging. Then you reclaim the Grand Secretary post and resume as Chief Minister of the Cabinet!"
Central wilderness of West Ox New Continent, Southwind Province.
Southwind Province was renowned for its year-round south winds. The winds here had three peculiarities.
First peculiarity: the winds were ferocious. Their roar resembled oxen bellowing and dragons chanting. Gales swept through, hurling sand and stones, uprooting trees by the roots, sending thousand-jin boulders tumbling faster than galloping steeds.
Second: the winds came abruptly. With no warning whatsoever, they would erupt into raging blasts, impossible to guard against.
Third: strange things rode the winds. Folks often spotted packs of exotic beasts stampeding atop the gales. Others glimpsed tall, gaunt silhouettes standing stock-still amid the gusts. And then there were the elusive evils that appeared and vanished like phantoms.
Chen Shi found an ancient temple and drew wind-fixing talismans, hanging them on all four walls.
Blackie Pot foraged for firewood and built a campfire. Hu Feifei cranked the wooden spit, turning the flea pig over the flames. It had already roasted to a golden sheen, fat sizzling and dripping.
Nuan Nuan gulped down saliva while brushing sour fruit pulp over the flea pig.
They'd found the stuff outside—sour enough that one taste filled the mouth with it and set saliva flowing nonstop. But it ought to make fine basting for flea pig.
Sun Yisheng glanced outward. The sky hung yellow, like a desert suspended overhead.
"Looks like more wind on the way."
Over the past few days, Blackie Pot had carried his primordial spirit to the underworld, using the Sheep-Horn Heavenly Spirit Lamp to treat his wounds. The injuries to his spirit had lightened considerably.
At that moment, voices drifted in from outside.
Chen Shi peered out and saw a stream of juren rushing for the exams arriving—dozens in total, mostly indigent scholars bent under book crates. Spotting the temple, they lit up with joy and quickened their pace.
Though Southwind Province lay at the heart of West Ox New Continent, it was parched beyond measure, crops scarce, population thin. Only the provincial capital held around a million souls; elsewhere, people were a rarity. The province's post roads lay in long disrepair, broken and forsaken. Traveling them in yellow-sand weather meant easy disorientation. This ancient temple was one of their precious few havens.
Chen Shi opened the door and ushered them in.
"I've drawn wind-fixing talismans. No need for you to add any."
The juren filed in, travel-worn and dusty, thanking him profusely.
Some stamped their feet and patted the dust from their clothes, only to get shooed outside by several female juren, who laughed,
"Go pat it off out there—can't you see folks cooking?"
So out they went to beat themselves clean of dust before returning.
Chen Shi studied the juren. Their faces glowed red from windburn and sunburn, lips cracked and dry—they must have trekked Southwind Province for quite some time.
"Where are you folks from?"
Chen Shi smiled.
"Judging by your accents, not all from one place."
One female juren stepped outside the door, undid her hair, and shook out the sand.
"We come from several provinces—Zhen, Gui, Bi. Been on the road since early last year!"
Her accent was thick; it took careful listening to make out her words.
Another juren said,
"We didn't start together. Met on the way, banded up. Over a hundred at first. Hit by spirits, then bandits a few times—down to just this many now."
Chen Shi saw they had no water, so he fetched some from the little courtyard and offered it around. Hu Feifei sliced off some roasted flea pig meat and passed it out too.
The group thanked them effusively and sat on the ground to eat.
The female juren coiled up her hair and asked,
"Little brother, your accent—you're from New Township way, right?"
Chen Shi said,
"Yes, from New Township."
Someone puzzled,
"Why take this road from New Township? Isn't it a detour?"
Chen Shi said,
"The other passes through Gong Province—not safe."
Realization dawned on the group. They chimed in,
"Gong Province is definitely unsafe. Better the longer route to skirt it."
The wind rose outside, howling. Everyone hurriedly shut the doors and windows.
Chen Shi had hung wind-fixing talismans on the walls—even with doors and windows open, no wind could enter. The howl grew louder; massive stones rumbled and rolled in its grip.
Voices spoke outside the door, yelling for them to open up. Some juren moved to comply, but Sun Yisheng stopped them.
"Not people outside—evil tickets. Southwind Province winds often carry these things. They talk to you in the gusts—begging help or chatting idly—to drop your guard. Let one in, and it'll cost your life. Easy to spot: lie flat at the door crack and peer out. No feet."
Everyone dropped to the ground and peered out the crack. Sure enough, whatever stood outside had no feet.
Sun Yisheng smiled.
"It's just a swirling mass of wind. Of course no feet."
The group admired him deeply.
"You two look pale as ghosts. Injured, perhaps?"
One juren stepped forward with a smile.
"I've studied medicine a few years. Maybe I can help treat you both."
Chen Shi thanked him.
"My nascent soul took a hit. His primordial spirit's wounded. Afraid it's beyond treating."
The juren jumped in alarm and said hurriedly,
"I can't treat that kind of injury. You've done us a favor, and I meant to repay it, but my skills are too limited. I wouldn't dare try."
Chen Shi smiled.
"A trifle. No need to mention it."
As they spoke, the wind's howl tapered off. Moments later, it died entirely.
Everyone opened the doors and windows. Outside lay a thick blanket of soil, dotted with stones of all sizes strewn across the wilderness like pieces on a chessboard.
A few boulders lay near the temple too. Nuan Nuan started toward them for a closer look when suddenly they sprouted four legs each, heads popping out, and bolted away.
Nuan Nuan gaped, dumbstruck.
"Southwind Province stone birds. Winds too fierce for flight—their wings degenerated. Now they just sprint on legs."
One juren, familiar with the creatures, explained,
"When the wind hits, they retract legs, wings, and head into their bodies and tumble along with it."
"What's that?"
Someone pointed into the distance.
Everyone looked. Against the yellow sky, trails of fire streaked toward them.
Chen Shi eyed the firelight, a vague familiarity nagging him. Then realization struck.
"Cannons! Red Yi cannons!"
The juren all went pale.
They were just heading to the capital for exams. Why the cannon barrage?
Cannonballs inscribed with Great Five Thunders Talismans hurtled through the air. Even before they neared, thunderous power detonated, crackling with electric light!
The Red Yi cannons' target was none other than the ancient temple they occupied!