Chapter 38: Stepping Across the River to Slay the Dragon!

The Taihu Lake water system, along the upper reaches of the Tiyang River.

Li Chang'an thrust his head out from the depths of the water, scanning his surroundings with a keen eye, and only scrambled back onto the riverbank after ensuring that all was clear.

The gaunt, withered figure from moments ago—the one addressed as the Banner Master—must have been a formidable warrior of at least the Martial King realm; the sheer density of the true qi coating the man's body had cast a suffocating pall of danger over Li Chang'an, even from dozens of meters away.

It was a stroke of fortune that the bed of Taihu Lake was riddled with countless subterranean rivers; after twisting and turning through the deep currents, Li Chang'an had luckily slipped into one of these hidden channels, navigating its labyrinthine bends before finally throwing that persistent, haunting shadow off his scent.

Checking the chest of secret martial manuals to ensure they remained undamaged, Li Chang'an exhaled a heavy breath of relief and gave a cold, derisive snort. "Hmph, a Martial King, is it? Just wait until I figure out how to compress true qi into a solid state, then we shall see who breaks first!"

In this current era of withered and dying martial arts, a single Martial King was a force grand enough to garrison an entire province.

For the Demon Qing imperial court to dispatch such a powerhouse specifically to deal with a minor rebel leader like himself was akin to dropping an atomic bomb on a mosquito—a ruthless, absolute crushing from a higher dimension meant to leave no way alive.

Had it not been for Li Chang'an's exceptionally swift reflexes, he would almost certainly have perished on the spot just now.

After briefly regulating his physical condition, Li Chang'an hired a horse carriage and embarked on the journey back to Sanhuang County; driven by an irrepressible urgency, he began devouring the secret manuals inside the chest while the carriage was still en route.

Three centuries ago, the martial world of the Central Plains had flourished with unparalleled grandeur.

The contents of the chest now resting in Li Chang'an's hands were the crowning legacy of the Qingxiao Pavilion, compiled to preserve the final sparks of the Central Plains' martial arts; it encompassed every method of cultivation from the novice warrior to the Martial Saint realm, alongside the personal journals of the Pavilion's own Martial Saints—all meticulously selected, the very essence among essences.

To Li Chang'an, this was nothing short of a monumental trove of martial experience.

Because of this, he became utterly entranced, spending an entire month immersed in the grand chest of texts, yet he had still not fully digested all of it.

On this particular day, as Li Chang'an sat reading inside the carriage, a pattering, drizzling rain suddenly began to fall outside.

The sound of the rain grew heavier by the minute, forcing the coachman to pull over and seek shelter at a dilapidated courier station; staring out at the darkening skyline, the old man let out a heavy sigh and muttered, "Alas, more poor souls are bound to suffer!"

Li Chang'an lifted the curtain, casting a glance at the coachman, and asked, "What is the matter?"

Seeing Li Chang'an peek out, the driver hurriedly bowed his head and said, "Young master, the rain out there is far too fierce. Shall we wait out the storm before resuming our journey?!"

Li Chang'an kept his eyes on the torrential downpour and replied, "That is not what I meant. What did you mean just now when you said more people are bound to suffer?"

The coachman held a favorable opinion of him, so upon hearing the inquiry, he hesitated for only a fleeting moment before lowering his voice to speak. "You might not be aware, young master, but along the upper reaches of the Sanhuang River dwells a demonic flood dragon capable of summoning wind and rain; a few years back, the government even canonized it as the River God. Every monsoon season, it stirs up tempests to breach the dikes and flood the fields!"

Li Chang'an froze, the horrific plight of the common folk along both banks of the Sanhuang River during last year's floods flashing vividly across his mind once more, and he said in a instantly freezing tone, "It destroyed a levee just last year, drowning hundreds of thousands of people, and yet it dares to repeat its malice this year?"

The coachman wiped his weathered, sun-darkened face and shook his head. "Young master, you underestimate that demonic dragon far too much. Even before it received the imperial court's titles, it dared to wreak havoc throughout the nearby waters, let alone now, when it bears the blessing of the dynasty's official merit!"

At this point, he paused, his voice dropping into a barely audible whisper. "Haven't you heard that a band of rebels rose up near Sanhuang County last year? This year, that demonic dragon will surely tear open the river mouth, destroying the dikes and submerging the fields!"

Hearing this, Li Chang'an's brow furrowed tightly into a deep knot, relaxing only after a long, drawn-out silence.

...

In the fifth month of the two hundred and forty-second year of the Demon Qing Imperial Calendar, the torrential rains returned once more.

The waters of the Sanhuang River swelled so violently they seemed to hang inverted in the sky, while the faint, resonant roar of a dragon echoed between heaven and earth.

Gazing at the endless downpour that seemed as though it would never cease, hundreds of thousands of common folk throughout the various counties and prefectures along the lower reaches of the river lived in a state of perpetual dread.

The wretched misery of the previous year's floods and subsequent plagues remained etched into their minds; back then, every household still possessed some hoarded grain, and as long as they survived the sickness, there was still a morsel to eat.

But this year was different; having just survived a catastrophe, the people had been praying for the heavens to open their eyes and grant a bountiful harvest to alleviate their burning desperation.

If the river waters burst their banks again, the populace for nearly a hundred miles along both sides of the Sanhuang River would be forced to flee as starving refugees.

No one would survive.

...

Under these dire circumstances, the rebel army, having nurtured its strength and bided its time for nearly half a year, finally made its move.

The imperial court had deployed tens of thousands of government troops from two neighboring counties to encircle the rebels completely, yet they had consistently refrained from launching any substantive offensive.

Previously, Li Chang'an had not understood their strategy, but now, seeing the river waters rising to the sky, he realized the government forces were likely waiting for the deluge to strike, using the nature's wrath to prevent the rebel army from scattering into other towns.

In other words, they intended to rely on the cataclysmic flood to dissolve the rebellion into nothingness.

To this, Li Chang'an would naturally never let them have their way.

—Amidst the wild wind and raging rain, upon the turbulent surface of the river, several thousand rebel soldiers appeared like mere ants within the rolling waves, moving slowly yet resolutely toward a ferry crossing.

Along both banks of the river, several thousand local peasants from the surrounding areas of the Sanhuang River watched this spectacle with unblinking eyes, every single one of them involuntarily holding their breath.

Days ago, the rebel army had posted notices declaring their intention to march to the ferry to slay the dragon.

In the beginning, none of the coastal inhabitants believed it.

Yet in the end, harboring a fragile hope born of half-belief and half-doubt, they had gathered atop the river dikes, yearning to see if the rebel army would truly do as they claimed—enforce justice on behalf of heaven and slay the wicked flood dragon that had plagued them for so many years!

At this very moment, the eyes of every peasant were filled with absolute tension, mingled with the faint, desperate hope of a drowning man grasping at a literal straw!

...

Once the river dike was secured by his forces, Li Chang'an stepped out from the ranks, walking alone against the raging current, long saber in hand as he trod upon the waters.

"Boom!"

As he drew closer, the dragon's roar within the river grew increasingly high-pitched and resonant, sounding at first like the tolling of a monumental bronze bell, and then like the crashing of thunder.

Amidst the surging floodwaters, a monster over twenty meters long—resembling a serpent yet not a serpent, a dragon yet not a dragon—thrust its massive head above the surface, unleashing a furious roar directly at Li Chang'an.

Legend held that a serpent would transform into a flood dragon after five hundred years, concealing itself within lakes, deep pools, reservoirs, river tributaries, and underground caverns.

A flood dragon would cultivate for a thousand years, and after enduring its celestial tribulation, it would follow the Yangtze River into the Eastern Sea to transform into a true dragon; this perilous journey of ascension was known as "the dragon's march."

The creature before him had originally intended to ride the currents down from the celestial lake further upstream to achieve its draconic ascension, only to be unexpectedly wounded midway, forcing it to entrench itself within the vicinity of the Sanhuang River.

It had intended to resume its march once its strength was restored, but by some unknown method, the Demon Qing imperial court had managed to enlist it, turning it into the "River God" worshipped by dozens of surrounding counties!

Now, this notoriously evil River God opened its bloody, cavernous maw toward Li Chang'an, its ferocious, malevolent aura rushing forward like a howling hurricane!

...