Chapter 652: Shared Ambitions Through the Ages (Thanks to Almighty Saint Ming for the Alliance Leader)

Chapter 652: Spring and Autumn Joint Will (Thank you, Saint Ming Da Broader Leader of the Alliance)

The marshy sea of huangliang, countless sea beasts.

Within the realm of the eternal dream, the sun dipped low at this moment.

Golden light, tinged with russet hues, slipped through the window, draping the figure beside it in a regal mantle.

Shang Dongqing, who had long stood at the storm’s eye in the mortal world, now stood with hands clasped behind his back, calmly surveying the ideal city he had personally erected.

No towering spires pierced the sky, no neon lights disturbed the mind. One gaze revealed rows of humble, grey-tiled dwellings, their courtyards scattered like petals in a garden.

Green trees shaded the lanes; pavilions and towers rose in harmonious clusters. Each home brimmed with peace and plenty.

The streets were wide and clean, lined with scholars in blue robes, their steps measured, books in hand. They recited verses aloud, their voices rising and falling like wind through bamboo, faces alight with the joy of uncovering truth.

All things below were refined; only the pursuit of learning was noble.

Such was the city’s law: all labor beyond scholarship was entrusted to trained artisans.

They labored ceaselessly within sealed workshops, crafting cloth, food, and water through sunup to sundown.

Hungry scholars, needing only to chant a passage penned by Shang’s sages, could draw sustenance without payment.

Fair-faced and graceful women of the highest caliber, here reduced to reading companions, stood at street corners with ink and paper, ever ready to offer their wiles to passing scholars.

Even the most base desires of flesh and blood could be satisfied at a moment’s notice.

A clear river wound through the city, its banks adorned with ornate boats. Music swelled, lutes and zithers played, and friends gathered to drink and revel beneath the fading light.

Shang’s gaze followed the river’s course, drifting toward distant mountains. Majestic peaks rose beyond the walls, their summits crowned with vast academies, their forms glowing like visions under the dying sun.

Debates raged among peers; sages chanted scriptures; voices of learning echoed endlessly.

Yet beneath the guise of seeking truth, ambition burned fierce—men vied for office, for power.

At the horizon stood a towering peak, its summit crowned by a colossal stone statue. Its features mirrored Shang’s own.

The Land of Confucian Order, Shang’s Realm of Learning.

This dreamscape, vibrant and whole, was the very reflection of Shang’s lifelong yearning.

Here, his name was inscribed in texts and hearts alike; his words were law, decreed by heaven.

He was no mere mortal, but a saint second to none, the guiding star for all beneath the sun.

“The meeting begins; the guests are nearly assembled.”

A respectful voice echoed behind him.

Shang turned, his eyes sweeping over the gathered figures.

Around the table sat men of varied faces: Zhou Changji, Zhao Keqi, Wei Sheng—his former peers of the “Spring and Autumn Four.” Also present were sons of powerful lords: Liu of Xiyi, Yuan of Chenzhou, Xiao of Langling, Wu of Jiangnan.

Over thirty attended, the core of the Spring and Autumn Assembly.

Their eyes met his not with bowed heads, but with fervent reverence.

“Take your seats.”

Shang inclined his head, gesturing. But one figure remained standing—a man of stature and bearing, claiming the seat of honor.

“Lord, if you summoned us to declare your intent to abdicate and entrust the realm’s defense to our strength, we would not sit, for we would not consent.”

Wei Sheng spoke first, his voice steady.

Zhao Keqi, though unremarkable in countenance—his face narrow, jaw sharp—had eyes like blades, sharp and keen.

“Why do you think I would consider such a thing?” Shang asked, his gaze sweeping the room.

“Our shared vision remains unfulfilled. How could I abandon my duty to you all?”

Zhao’s words, light as spring wind, dissolved the tension. Slowly, they seated themselves.

“We know, Lord, you would never shrink from duty for a moment’s glory.”

Wei Sheng sneered at Zhao, his tone dripping with mockery. “Some are mere cowards, trembling at every shadow. Such fear makes a fool of one who should lead.”

“Say what you will, Wei Sheng.”

“Ten times over, the same. Passion shows on the face; such men are fit only for jesters.”

The two leaned opposites drew near, blades half-drawn, while the others sat unperturbed, accustomed to such strife.

Though rooted in the mighty Empire, the New Forest faction paled beside the rising Spring and Autumn Association’s unity. Yet even here, divisions lingered.

Rank determined allegiance.

Zhao Keqi and the late Xu Haochao, both born of noble houses, wielded influence but few followers—men of high rank, few in number. Wei Sheng and Zhou Changji, their allies, drew strength from the masses, their ranks swelling despite lower status.

Both sought to rebuild the Land of Learning, yet their paths diverged. Words of scorn and jest were common between them.

Without Shang’s steady hand, blood might already stain the halls.

“Enough. No one wishes to hear idle quarrels.”

Zhou Changji, serene, cut the tension. His gaze fell upon Shang.

“Lord, your revenge against the Xu family has echoed through the Confucian Order. The young all speak of your mercy, your justice.”

Zhou’s voice carried weight. “But this matter has grown grave. Your use of agents within Honghu and Liutou may draw the old guard’s ire.”

“What old guard? A brat with no beard, no heritage, dares claim such authority?” Zhao roared. “A yellow-faced child—no!”

Zhao’s face flushed. “A true man does not cower beneath the earth. Zhou, have you knelt so long you cannot rise?”

“Zhao, I know your grief for Xu Haochao. I do not seek blame. But I urge you—control your tongue. A rabid dog bites all it meets.”

“Xu Haochao died for us, for our cause. His death was just. What fear drives you?”

Zhao laughed coldly. “The fear should be yours. Had you not urged the Lord to spare Yang Baotu in Huatou County, the Xu family might yet live!”

“Begone! You dare accuse me of such filth?” Wei Sheng roared. “You think me a traitor, whispering secrets to the Yangs? That we urged the Xu family’s fall?”

“Zhao, such slander needs no proof. Yet when Zhu Pingyuan walked these halls, you two flattered him gladly. Did we not aid Zhu in sparing the Xus, only to see them destroyed? Someone among you betrayed them!”

“Zhao, unfounded accusations against your own—fools’ sport. Such words chill the heart. Do you understand?”

As the clash between factions threatened to erupt, Shang finally spoke.

“It is so.”

Zhao’s voice trembled. He glared at Wei Sheng, then turned away.

“Indeed, I know your hearts differ on this. But Xu Haochao—whether born of nobility or lowly birth—was our brother, our peer. His fate demands our voice, our action. We cannot stand idle.”

The resonance of Yan Dongqing’s voice suddenly soared, “Though the opponent be the Zhū Ming royal house, or the New Donglin faction’s Zhang Fengyue, or Tianxue’s Li Jun, I have nothing to fear. Though it cost me my life, it is but to draw the blade as one swift—without resentment, without regret!”

The moment the words fell, a cacophony of ragged, labored breaths erupted anew.

At once, the figures flanking the long table clenched their fists till their knuckles whitened, their eyes shimmering with tears, as though they yearned to clash with Yan Dongqing in mortal combat, exchanging lives for lives.

“The Long Spear’s words ring true—I am, in truth, the thorn in their eyes, the poke in their sides, and they cannot wait to root me out posthaste.”

“The Leader…”

Zhou Changji opened his mouth to protest, but Yan Dongqing cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“But you must trust that, for our Spring and Autumn Society, this is not a cul-de-sac, but a rare and unprecedented opportunity!”

Yan Dongqing’s voice grew low, “We have long infiltrated the Confucian establishment, feigning courtship with the Zhū Ming royals while enduring their schemes, and bowing in submission to the New Donglin faction’s demands. All this, that we might one day break free from the shackles binding us!”

“Now the hour has come. If we unite in purpose to navigate this trial, the Spring and Autumn Society will no longer be the tool the Zhū family uses to counterbalance the New Donglin faction. Let us forge a common cause, endure the storm—today is the day!”

The assembly prostrated themselves, their voices a synchronized chorus: “For the Spring and Autumn, for the storm we share—command us, O Leader!”

“The gravest threat we face lies with the royal house and Li Jun.”

Yan Dongqing’s gaze swept over Zhao Ke and the others. “You three must now seek an audience with the young Emperor Jiaqi via the Yellow River route, casting off all ties to me, proving you will not conspire with me, and strive to safeguard the brethren within our Society.”

Wei Sheng hesitated, “Leader, I fear he will not so easily believe us…”

“Idiot—has the Leader not already spoken plainly? Does the little Emperor lack alternatives?”

Zhao Ke sneered, “Even if he knows we feign loyalty, he can only grudgingly accept. Unless he chooses to abandon the entire Spring and Autumn Society.”

“Why would he abandon it?”

Wei Sheng blurted, his words barely formed ere Zhou Changji’s hand shot out to restrain him—a fraction too late.

“Some things are innate, unshaped by time. Stature is one such thing.”

Zhao Ke laughed disdainfully, “Do you think Zhang Fengyue left North Zhongjing voluntarily? That he feigned a tour of the realm, or some rumor of a reunion with Zhang Suiyuan during the new year? To covet the world’s stage! Nay, he left this opening for Jiaqi’s consideration, a final trial for the boy emperor. If Jiaqi forsakes the Spring and Autumn Society, Zhang Fengyue will deem him incompetent—and then, the throne itself is endangered.”

Zhao Ke’s brows furrowed like daggers, his posture a command of superiority: “Remember, that monster’s loyalty lies with the Great Ming alone, not young Jiaqi!”

“Leader, even if the little Emperor trusts us, he shall surely plant new blood in the Society, scheming to supplant us. Or, like Wu Jiang, he may turn them into his spies.”

Zhou Changji clenched his teeth, avoiding Zhao Ke’s lofty disdain, and spoke to Yan Dongqing, “If we’ve declared our loyalty, how can we hinder this?”

“The Emperor hungers to know which of the Six Lantern and Honghu branches are ours. Till he unravels that, he dares not act against us.”

Yan Dongqing’s stare pierced him. “As for his plotting to slice us open with a blunt blade, that requires time—not today, nor tomorrow.”

Zhou Changji’s heart quivered, an inexplicable chill creeping up his spine. He hastily shifted the topic: “And Li Jun?”

“Let me handle him personally.”

Yan Dongqing’s tone was flat, “A mere soldier, relying on force to dominate. To confront such a man, one must meet violence with greater violence.”

“You yourself will face Li Jun? How can that succeed?!”

Wei Sheng gasped, “Leader, the gentleman does not stand atop a wall of danger. Should we secure the little Emperor’s trust, Li Jun will face the royal house’s wrath. Why take it upon yourself?”

“Without my presence, the Emperor won’t rest easy following our plan. Though the royal house decays, never underestimate them. Through centuries of upheaval, their shadow has never vanished.”

“Enough with my safety—I’ve made my calculations—let us not dwell.”

Yan Dongqing refused further explanation, nodding to Zhao Ke ere his gaze settled on Wei Sheng and Zhou Changji.

“Till the situation clarifies, the Society falls to your trio. Remember: a nail cannot hold if the wood is not secured.”

“Understood, Leader.” The three bowed.

“For the Spring and Autumn, for the storm we share.”

Yan Dongqing rose, bowing in turn. “Let us meet the challenge together!”

“Let us meet the challenge together!”

Their resounding cry echoed through the dreamscape as Yan Dongqing’s form faded into the mist.

Zhao Ke’s cold eyes lingered on the pair, a sneer escaping his lips, before he and his retinue departed.

“Bullshit, I’ll carve that bastard up someday…”

Zhou Changji gripped Wei Sheng’s shoulder, silencing his muttered curses. “Keep quiet these days. Though the royals shield us, they may sacrifice some of us to Li Jun to vent their fury.”

He glanced around at the gathered figures. “I know what you’re thinking. After this trial, we’ll cross blades with many more. Some will offer us chances. When we become the rulers of the Confucian realm, none shall dare underestimate us—do you understand?”

“Yes!” The thunderous reply resounded, yet the shadows around the long table had vanished like smoke.

How long had passed, till the sun’s last rays yielded to the night’s first stars?

A deafening crash split the air.

Boom!

Zou Qijiu burst through the door, surveying the empty hall. His scowl tightened.

“Damn it, they’ve all fled so fast!”

The tardy Zou Qijiu muttered a curse, striding to the window to gaze upon Yan Dongqing’s statue atop the hill.

“If I can’t catch him, I’ll destroy his den!”

As if summoned by his words, the heavens roared with thunderclaps, splitting the sky like cracked jade. torrents of rain poured through the fissures, as though the Milky Way had inverted, drowning the world.

A deafening wail, akin to a primordial beast’s lament, reverberated through the crumbling dreamscape.

Floods surged, mountains trembled.

Yan Dongqing’s statue was struck by lightning, exploding into shards that scattered to the wind.