Chapter 531: Lighting a Torch to Show the Way

Chapter 531: Raising Fire to Light the Path

A terrifying inferno of ferocious flames, a deafening heart of hyper‑frequency machinery, crimson threads of blood coiling into a monstrous form, and above the sky, Zhu Jin hovered like a deity of fire, gazing down upon himself from a lofty perch.

Boundless despair shrouded Shen Li's heart; fractured bones throbbed with a gut‑shattering pain, yet the raw, untamed ferocity in his marrow urged him to rise swiftly and confront the foe.

In those days, the gates of Jinmen had not been able to claim my life with dozens of guns; how could I now lie here, awaiting death?

Lying at the bottom of the pit, Shen Li strained his body, only to suddenly see a black silhouette slice through the sky.

There was no earth‑shattering roar; the inferno hanging beneath the heavens resembled an orange‑red sheet of paper, effortlessly torn in half by a hand gripping its ends.

In the heart of the blaze, Zhu Jin's body erupted in a web of cracks; he could not even cry out, and then exploded into a shower of dark crimson threads.

Shen Li looked up, staring dumbly at the sudden scene, and heard with uncanny clarity a faint crackling sound emanating from within his own body.

Listening to the noise, it was no surprise that the fragmenting part must have been his own devout heart for martial arts.

Immediately, at the edge of his vision, two long, sturdy thighs appeared. Shen Li's sluggish gaze lifted slowly, finally catching the face hidden in the shadows.

“Still training in martial arts?”

The bizarre dream abruptly ended; Shen Li flung open his eyes, too late to survey his surroundings, and blurted out a startled cry.

“Where are my thighs?”

“Your legs aren't on your body, are they?”

A man with slicked‑back hair stood before Shen Li, his face skeptical as he scrutinized him.

Something's wrong; how could summoning a soul also cause another's legs to vanish? Perhaps, Master Zou, my skill has become rusty?

Zou Si‑jiu muttered with a hint of insecurity, lowered his head toward the listless Shen Li, and asked with concern, “Buddy, are you alright?”

“No, no problem.”

Sweating profusely, Shen Li realized he was in a sealed room, no windows around; his slowly recovering senses led him to conclude that this must be an underground structure.

Using his inner vision, Shen Li examined every part of his body and found that his wounds had largely healed.

Don't worry; this is a safe house dug by the Ink‑Armors beneath the Ground Dragon's station. The environment is a bit rough, but its secrecy is its strength.

Zou Si‑jiu moved a stool over, sat beside Shen Li's bed, and handed him a cup of water.

“Thank you.”

Shen Li rose, clutching the cup with both hands, his face still a little dazed, and muttered, “How many days have I slept?”

“Three days. In fact, a day ago your wounds had nearly healed, yet you simply couldn't wake up, so I summoned a soul for you.”

Zou Si‑jiu seemed to recall something, adding, “Oh, right, it was your thighs that brought you back.”

Thighs.

Upon hearing those two words, Shen Li's expression grew oddly complex, his eyes hollow and staring.

“Ah, I can truly understand your feelings,” Zou Si‑jiu said, pitying his counterpart.

“Do you understand me?”

Shen Li stared blankly, meeting Zou Si‑jiu's gaze.

“Of course I understand, and my feelings are even deeper than yours. I watched him go from being inferior to me, to standing beside me, and finally surpassing me.”

Zou Si‑jiu sighed, “You were merely a slap to the head, while I was a blunt knife cutting meat; that helpless feeling still lingers in my memory.”

Shen Li nodded in agreement, his gaze toward Zou Si‑jiu filled with gratitude.

“I thought only I had been shattered by him; with a brother sharing the pain, I feel so much better now.”

“Broken martial heart? Perhaps you misunderstand, my friend. I belong to the Yin‑Yang Sequence; I have no such martial heart.”

Zou Si‑jiu pressed his hands to his temples, then said proudly, “I was once struck by Old Li's rapid promotions, but now we are all at the Fourth Sequence; there's no longer much difference.”

Shen Li heard this, his face instantly stiffened, his eyes unkindly fixed on the other.

Don't be angry; I'm just joking with you, testing whether your emotions remain steady. Generally, a genius like you, after a great blow, tends toward extremes, the so‑called 'going fire into madness'. But now it seems you have no problem; your resilience is quite good.

Zou Si‑jiu chuckled, stood up, and patted Shen Li's shoulder. “Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Zou Si‑jiu. From now on, we're leg‑friends. Hugging thighs is a good thing, not shameful. If I hadn't hugged early, I'd have gone to reincarnate long ago.”

A jest of self‑derision instantly made Shen Li find this man more agreeable.

“Brother Zou, where are my other comrades?”

Just as Zou Si‑jiu was about to open the door and leave, Shen Li hurriedly spoke.

At that moment Zhu Jin's arrival was sudden; Shen Li had no time to tend to his subordinates, nor did he know if they had escaped.

“You mean Hu Sen and the others? They're alive, just in the room next to yours.”

Zou Si‑jiu finished speaking, pushed the door open, turned through a few narrow corridors, and entered a living room.

“Li Jun and the Horse‑King are both here.”

“Has anyone awakened?” Li Jun asked.

“Hmm.”

Zou Si‑jiu nodded, sat down heavily beside Li Jun, and asked perplexedly, “What exactly did you do? How could you strike a Fourth‑Sequence martial man to that state, then hide him in his own dream, refusing to wake up?”

Li Jun spread his hands, his face innocent: “I did nothing at all.”

“Have you already broken through the Third Sequence?”

After receiving a clear answer, Zou Si‑jiu exhaled with relief, “That's good; otherwise even Master Zou would become depressed.”

Actually, this isn't Shen Li's fault either.

Zou Si‑jiu stretched his legs, looked up at the steel‑panelled ceiling, and sighed, “Someone who climbs from the bottom up is, in essence, more proud than anyone else. Suddenly discovering that there are higher mountains, perhaps a mountain impossible to surpass in a lifetime, being struck is only natural. In the Yin‑Yang Sequence, many people, unable to bear others' good fortune, commit acts that wound the heavens and harm the earth, ultimately ending in a tragic fate.”

Everyone is a brother; you praise my fortune so much, I feel a bit embarrassed.

Zou Si‑jiu rolled his eyes, said gruffly, “I don't know if your fortune is good. But you are indeed tough.”

While the two were pulling in all directions, the Horse‑King, who had his eyes closed in meditation, suddenly sat up, looking toward a corner of the living room.

A dark door slid open silently; Meng Chong, who had appeared in Liang Huo's studio, walked in.

Almost instantly, the three noticed something off in Meng Chong's grim expression.

No surprise, the Central Branch must have had an incident.

The Central Branch suddenly ordered the recall of all dispatched Ming‑Ghost Ink‑Armors today.

Meng Chong, anxious, said bluntly, “They're preparing to act.”

Before Meng Xi died, the Central Branch's senior

No wonder it feels familiar; the Middle Court's modus operandi mirrors that of the Confucian aristocracy, as if stamped from the same mold.

That method of erasing a Ming‑Ghost’s autonomous will seems inextricably tied to the Confucian sigil.

"‘Ink‑Sequence serving the Confucian like a dog—do the Liu Xiangzhou fear that their ancient ancestor Mo Dui won’t return from the Yellow Millet Dream to settle accounts with them?’"

Meng Chong heard this and let out a bitter smile: ‘Alive again? In Liu Xiangzhou’s eyes I’m just another Ming‑Ghost, forced to wag my tail and beg.’

“‘Ink‑Skin, Confucian‑Bone—this Liu Xiangzhou truly has taken the master as his ancestor,’ sneered Zou Siji repeatedly.”

Thus the Middle Court ordered the recall of all Ink‑Armor, ostensibly to bolster its defenses, but in truth preparing to strike at us.

Meng Chong, voice steady and solemn: ‘We’re gathering everyone now; only one final catalyst remains to rally all oppressed Ming‑Ghosts into rebellion!’

“‘Is the catalyst you speak of not the flag?’ Li Jun inquired.”

When Zhu Ji attacked the Heaven‑Gate outpost, under Shen Ka’s self‑sacrificial cover, the other Heaven‑Gate members escaped safely.

Just as they prepared to leave Jinling, Ao Hu appeared to aid them, moving Hu Sen and the others—including the flag—into a subterranean chamber beneath the Dragon‑Station.

At that moment the flag lay unconscious, yet a ninth‑grade inner art had taken root in his veins, laying the foundation for a martial sequence.

But when the flag might break the lock and ascend, Hu Sen admitted he could not say.

The reason: the flag’s genes are woefully inadequate.

As Hu Sen put it, the resources spent to teach the flag this ninth‑grade art could elevate ten average candidates to martial sequence.

If this outcome were shown to other Ming‑Ghosts now, it would likely backfire.

Hence Li Jun’s question.

Meng Chong fell silent, drew from his palm a diamond‑shaped object the size of a fist—a core he once bore as an Ink‑Armor.

Without any motion, the core emitted a faint glow, and a deep, magnanimous voice resonated.

“‘I am the Ming‑Ghost Dragon Sect, having met Li Xin‑zhu and Zou‑shi.’”

Though formless and shapeless, the voice evoked a rugged, whiskered man seated before them, bowing in all directions.

“‘Long time no see, Old Ma.’”

Upon hearing ‘Dragon Sect’, the Marquis’s crimson eyes flashed; he laughed bitterly: ‘So you, Meng Chong and his wretched brats dare to rebel? It’s you, this immortal, pulling the strings. Back when we clashed in the Ming‑Ghost realm, you’d go mad enough to snap off your third leg and wield it as a weapon—now you’re timid, even refusing to show your face?’

The Dragon Sect laughed: ‘It can’t be helped; my ink‑body was shredded by Liu Xiangzhou, its core ground to powder, leaving only a breath clinging to existence in the Ming‑Ghost realm.’

The Marquis’s red glow surged; after a pause he feigned ease: ‘You’re still alive? Teach me your ways sometime.’

“‘Sure, no problem—if you’re free I’ll give you a private lecture. I’m not bragging, but if my deeds became legend, they’d charm women more than you ever could.’”

“Go to hell, who wants to compare with you on that?”

The Marquis’s gaze fixed on the core cradled in Meng’s hand, anger barely contained: ‘How did it come to this?’

“Value.”

A succinct word echoed from within the core.

“Value? Preposterous!”

The Marquis took two steps forward; Meng Chong, bristling with lethal intent, froze, instinctively stepping back—only to find his hand empty.

He held the core aloft and barked: ‘When the Ming‑Ghost realm was undivided, you, this turtle‑son, loved to show off; we had numbers then, we’d have gotten away with it. Now that we’re split, you’ve forgotten modesty—only when you’re reduced to soul‑shattering ruin will you be honest?’

The core fell silent, then sighed: ‘We old ghosts won’t stir, letting these whelps take over? Besides, to feign survival—Liu Xiangzhou wouldn’t even deserve that.’

‘The Middle Court’s treachery will inevitably spark fury; when the other four courts unite, you won’t need to fight alone.’

‘When exactly? When a new Ink‑Sequence Second becomes a ruler? When Zhang Fengyue closes his eyes? Every second of being preyed upon is a year of suffering!’

The Dragon Sect flared: ‘Do you think I’d choose solitary combat? How many of us have died? Besides me and Meng, many you know—even those who once trailed your heels—are gone, souls scattered, unable to live! How can I endure dishonor? How can I survive?’

‘Fine, the Middle Court’s scum are beasts. But why not warn me? Would you refuse to help?’

The Marquis’s voice turned hoarse, his lone eye blazing crimson like blood.

‘How could I explain? First, the Five Courts’ Ming‑Ghost realms no longer communicate; I cannot reach you. Even if I sent someone to the Southern Court to find you, what then? Would you join me in a joint suicide?’

Do you think I fear death?

The Marquis held the core with his right hand, fingers unmoving; his left clenched, emitting a piercing, metallic distortion.

“‘Dragon Sect, I ask you: if I didn’t involve you in the Jinling summons for Xiao Chi’s matter, would you ever mention me again?’”

“Yes.” The Dragon Sect answered without hesitation.

“Very well, I won’t meddle with your affairs. When you’re slain, I’ll help you and Chi‑zhu exact revenge!”

The Marquis dropped the core with a flick.

Unexpectedly, the core fell toward Li Jun, who caught it with his hand.

“The Marquis is a sentimental old fool, often blind to right and wrong; thus I’ve only now dared to appear, hoping you’ll forgive any intrusion, Li Xin‑zhu.”

“No problem.”

Li Jun glanced at the Marquis; his lone eye was now a void, as if ready to stand aside.

“Li Xin‑zhu, you asked Meng earlier—was the catalyst the flag? I can answer now: it was before, but not anymore. At least not the sole one.”

The Dragon Sect spoke gravely: ‘Originally we enacted the “Ming‑Ghost Humanization” plan to prove that Ming‑Ghosts could survive beyond the Ink‑Sequence. Up to the flag, we conducted over a hundred trials, Meng included.’

We tried many methods, even inserting Ming‑Ghosts into post‑sequence hosts, but results were poor—at most half a year before genetic collapse killed the test subjects. We then shifted to possessing ordinary bodies, relying on our own potential to break the lock and ascend. Yet in the shadows, a binding seems ever‑present; any aid we give triggers mishaps that thwart advancement. ‘A little,’ Zou‑shi should understand.

“‘Thus we stripped the flag of all Ming‑Ghost memories, letting him grow freely.’”

The Dragon Sect sighed: ‘Life is unpredictable; the Middle Court sensed our moves, and Compatriots had already been watching the flag. Had Li Xin‑zhu’s crew not inadvertently thwarted them, we’d have been utterly crushed.’

“‘Now the flag, though mastering an inner art, has a low compatibility between Ming‑Ghost and stolen flesh; breaking the lock seems unlikely. Hence our catalyst is no longer him, but you, Li Xin‑zhu.’”

Hearing his own role as catalyst, Li Jun showed no surprise, nodding: ‘I’m listening, continue.’

“‘The Middle Court’s Ming‑Ghosts face a darkness where one cannot see one’s hand; everything we do is to light a fire, offering hope—or a chance—to those resigned. Your arrival, Li Xin‑zhu, is our greatest chance.’”

“You know the Marquis well; may I call you Elder?”

Li Jun calmly said: ‘You view me as a chance because of Zhu Ji, don’t you?’

“Indeed.” The Dragon Sect laid it bare, open and frank.

“Just a soldier‑four’s death—why such weight? If I recall, the Middle Court’s elders are all Sequence‑Three, aren’t they?”

“Zhu Ji isn’t an ordinary soldier‑four. The Ink‑Sequence isn’t solely a combat track.”

The Dragon Sect mused: ‘Killing Zhu Ji isn’t hard; even ten could fall. Yet it requires a preset ambush on a battlefield, and even then his escape isn’t guaranteed. Presently, the only one in the Middle Court capable of slaying him alone is likely Liu Xiangzhou.’

“Must it be this complicated?” Li Jun frowned, puzzled.

It isn’t boasting; he genuinely feels it need not be so.

Zhu Ji, though strong, is at most comparable to Ba Du; against the Buddhist and Daoist Sequence‑Three, he likely faces only death.

Even Chen Qi‑sheng after donning armor should be able to settle him.

As the Middle Court’s greatest force, even if not battle‑adept, it shouldn’t be frightened by a Sequence‑Three, should it?

“One cannot generalize thus. The Ink‑Sequence’s direction now lies beyond individual combat power.”

Dragon Clan's voice wasparticularly bitter: "After the 'Divide the World Under Arms,' the Meku Sect's strength has even dropped to a third of what it was before. If there were someone like Yasha, a third-rank Meku Knight, Sect Three would be no match for them."

"So your chances of victory are to have me help you behead him, kill Liu Xianzhou directly?"

Li Jun had already guessed the Dragon Clan's plan by this point.

"Correct."

Dragon Clan said, "After Meng Si's death, the remaining four elders in the Central Hall—Peng Ze and Shu Ye are no threat, and Meng Gu Hao is just a useless flatterer. Once Liu Xianzhou is dead, we can seize the Ming Ghost Realm's vessel and fully escape the Central Hall, gaining freedom."

"But as you said earlier, the Meku Sect can unleash their power once they choose a battlefield. What if they choose to hold the Central Hall? You can't expect me to storm it, can you?"

"We'll be there. They won't hold it. I can guarantee that."

Dragon Clan was firm: "As long as we coordinate internally and externally, when chaos erupts, you, Li Jun, will rush into the Central Hall to kill Liu Xianzhou. The entire Central Hall will collapse. At that time, we'll take nothing from the Ming Ghost Realm—everything will be given away!"

"If that's the case, it does have some merit."

Li Jun nodded, but suddenly changed tone: "However, Senior, you may not know me. I'm a person who doesn't love money."

"If the Central Hall collapses, isn't it to avenge Yasha?"

Li Jun smiled but didn't speak. Ma Wangye's eyes flashed red, and he shouted:

"Old turtle, Dragon Clan, do you think this world only has you with a temper? Tell you, this kid is like me—a fool who can't tell good from bad, doing all sorts of reckless things for family, not for principles."

Ma Wangye sneered: "If you want to talk about money and benefits here, I advise you to shut up."

"Ma Wangye, you're so rude!"

Zhou Shijiu pointed at Ma Wangye with his big thumb, laughing heartily.

A sigh of helplessness echoed from the core, followed by a weak whisper: "Old Ma, help me."

"Shout louder, old man, I can't hear you." Ma Wangye tilted his head, stretching his hand to cup his ear.

Dragon Clan roared: "Go to hell, old man! Did I give you a face? I'm asking you—will you help me with these beasts?"

"Sure, that's exactly what my Ma Wangye knows as that shameless old bastard."

Ma Wangye spoke casually, looking up at Li Jun, about to speak, but saw Li Jun burst into laughter.

"Help family, not help principles, recognize people, not money. If I don't complete what you ordered, what face will I have to wear armor, throw knives, or kill with a curved blade?"