Chapter 15: Corpses Littering the Field!

Though the old Taoist longed to take Li Chang'an as his disciple, he hesitated for a long time before ultimately abandoning the notion. Turning to the boy, he spoke, "Your talent is nothing short of wondrous. To have set foot upon the martial path solely through your own reckonings means you have little need for another's guidance..."

"Let us do this instead. I shall be lingering about Sanhuang County for some time. Whenever I find a spare moment, I will carve out some time to guide you in your cultivation."

Li Chang'an could not fathom why the old Taoist chose to take such a roundabout way.

Yet, since it served the exact same purpose as a formal apprenticeship, he had no reason to decline. He nodded at once, saying, "Then my deepest thanks to you, Daoist Master."

The old Taoist waved his hand, a warm smile gracing his face. "The world of the rivers and lakes is far too dull these days. It was no easy feat for an anomaly like you to emerge. I reckon that even if it weren't me today, any martial artist of the Central Plains would refuse to sit idly by and watch your talent go to waste."

...

In the seventh month of the two hundred and thirty-eightth year of the Demon Qing Imperial Calendar, Li Chang'an reached the age of five and a half.

Though his frame was robust and strong, his features possessed an extraordinary, delicate refinement.

True to his word, the old Taoist never broke his promise, arriving punctually at Li Family Village every ten to fifteen days solely to impart his teachings to Li Chang'an.

On the rare occasions when time eluded him, he would dispatch Lyu Changning to pass on the lessons in his stead.

The martial path of this world was divided into six realms; ascending from lowest to highest, they were the Martial Artist, Martial Master, Martial King, Martial Saint, Martial Emperor, and Martial God.

The hallmark of ascending to a Martial Artist lay in drawing the vital breath into the body.

To become a Martial Master, one had to compress the vital energy within the elixir field, condensing it into liquid form.

The sign of a Martial King was the further compression of that elixir field energy into a solid state.

Once a cultivator attained the realm of a Martial King, a vast chasm opened between them and ordinary mortals; a typical Martial King possessed inexhaustible energy and an invulnerable skin, completely fearless even when facing a hundred foes alone.

As for the higher realm of the Martial Saint, the energy within their bodies surged like a boiling sea, every single movement and stance imbued with an astonishing, primordial might unimaginable to ordinary men.

Such a figure was already a grand luminary standing at the absolute zenith of this world's martial path.

Even looking across the entirety of the martial world, a powerhouse of the Martial Saint level might not emerge once in several decades, or even a century.

As for the Martial Emperor and Martial God realms above that, let alone Li Chang'an, even the old Taoist himself was uncertain of how terrifying they truly were, knowing of them only through the records preserved in ancient, dusty chronicles.

It was said that a Martial Emperor could command a portion of the forces of heaven and earth, and to them, ordinary martial artists were no different from mere ants.

In the current martial world, the powerhouse universally acknowledged as the closest to the Martial Emperor realm over the past five centuries was none other than the Great Ancestor of the Demon Qing Imperial Court from five hundred years ago.

From this, one could well imagine the staggering weight carried by the title of Martial Emperor.

Immersed in the vast torrent of martial knowledge poured into him, Li Chang'an was like a young sapling nourished by rain; his progress was nothing short of miraculous, and with very little effort, he broke through from Martial Artist to Martial Master.

...

Meanwhile, it was worth mentioning that in June of that year, the annual ritual to sacrifice to the River God had once again arrived on the agenda.

The Magistrate of Sanhuang County, following his past routine, dispatched men to collect the year's funds and grain.

Yet, unlike in previous years, the provisions collected by Magistrate Chai failed to reach the county seat smoothly; they had barely set out on the road when they were plundered by a band of rebel insurgents.

In truth, this rebel army had been active in the vicinity as early as two years ago, though they had previously confined their havoc to the two neighboring counties; this was the first time they had come into conflict with Sanhuang County in a true sense.

Had it been any other matter, Magistrate Chai might have endured it.

However, a significant portion of the funds and grain meant for the River God's sacrifice was destined to line Magistrate Chai's own pockets.

To rob a man of his wealth is akin to slaying his parents.

Upon receiving the news that the provisions had been plundered, Magistrate Chai flew into a thunderous rage, instantly ordering his men to post notices and reinforce the guards at the checkpoints around Sanhuang County.

At the same time, wanted posters and bounty notices were plastered across every village.

Any commoner who provided the imperial court with information on the rebel army would be directly rewarded with twenty taels of silver, while capturing a member of the rebel forces would yield a reward of fifty taels of silver.

After the news spread, the two Taoists failed to appear for nearly a month.

Just as Li Chang'an was beginning to grow bewildered, he finally spotted a name written in enlarged, bold characters at the very top of the bounty notice at the village entrance: Wang Su.

The name was both familiar and strange.

The old Taoist had never revealed his true name to Li Chang'an, but Li Chang'an possessed a system and had known it many years prior.

No wonder the old Taoist was reluctant to be associated with him; after all this time, it turned out he was the leader of the rebel army.

"How intriguing," Li Chang'an muttered, stroking his chin as the news sank in. His thoughts drifted far into the distance; he seemed to have conceived a method to further expand his influence.

One had to remember that in another year, he would turn six years old.

According to his predestined fate, the entirety of Sanhuang County would be devastated by a great flood next year.

Since time immemorial, natural disasters were invariably bound to human calamities.

Now that he knew the old Daoist was the commander of the insurgent army, Li Chang'an's mind naturally began to stir with possibilities.

—If nothing else, possessing the absolute advantage of foresight, Li Chang'an needed only to hoard a supply of grain in advance. Once the flood erupted, he could seize the opportunity to absorb the displaced refugees and forge his own faction.

However, at the thought of countless innocent commoners potentially losing their homes and wandering destitute, Li Chang'an exhaled a long breath of turbid air and murmured to himself, "Forget it. Though I know it may be futile, I should still do what I can. As for the final outcome, it will be out of my hands."

In the third month of the two hundred and thirty-ninth year of the Demon Qing Imperial Calendar, just before the arrival of the rainy season, Li Chang'an left his home to travel about, spreading the word through the various towns and villages along the lower reaches of the Sanhuang River that a great flood was imminent.

Yet, before he could even pass through a few villages, he was reported by the local inhabitants along the way. A band of yamen bailiffs, treating him as a charlatan spreading delusions to delude the public, chased and beat him for three full miles.

Despite this, he refused to give up. So long as a village lay on the lower reaches of the Sanhuang River, he visited them one by one, leaving his footprints behind.

Regrettably, his words were ignored, and worse, completely disbelieved.

Everyone regarded him as a walking madman. Eventually, he became a 'celebrity' among the villages near the river, and many commoners would drive him away from a great distance.

To this, Li Chang'an could only sigh.

Sometimes it is hard to be a villain, but it is far harder to be a good man.

Realizing that his solitary efforts could not alter the grand torrent of fate, he could only settle for the next best option, making preparations within Li Family Village ahead of time.

Not much time passed.

In June of that same year, torrential rains suddenly battered the lands surrounding the Sanhuang River. Compounded by an evil flood-dragon stirring up the waters and overturning the rivers in the upper reaches, the monstrous deluge breached the embankments. The waters poured forth like a roaring crimson dragon, submerging tens of thousands of acres of fertile fields along both banks.

When the storm finally ceased, the banks of the Sanhuang River were carpeted with corpses; as far as the eye could see, the bloated, rotting bodies of humans and livestock floated in the water.

Children weeping as they clung to the corpses of their parents...

Wives who had lost their husbands...

Tragedies of every shape and form unfolded, like a silent shadow play.

Having led the villagers to high ground well in advance, Li Chang'an had easily escaped the disaster. Yet, witnessing the hellish landscape left in the wake of the natural calamity, his heart felt as though a jar of five spices had been overturned, filled with a complex, unspeakable sorrow.

Beyond all doubt, this flood was not the end of the commoners' tribulations.

On the contrary, it was merely the beginning.

...