Chapter 676: Entering the Game with One's Body

Chapter 676: Setting Himself as the Bait

“Are you really planning to enter Dragon Tiger Mountain to kill Yan Dongqing?”

“I am.”

“Knowing the tiger is on the mountain, you still walk straight into its lair?”

“When I was just Rank Four, I never backed down. There’s no reason for me to hesitate now that I’ve reached Rank Three.”

It was an unassuming traditional Ming-style courtyard just outside the old capital of Jinling.

The sky was dim, and the spring rain fell endlessly.

Pat-pat-pat, the raindrops descended from the square patch of heaven framed by the encircling walls, striking the door-screen at the center of the courtyard and splashing up tiny droplets.

Zou Sijiu, bored beyond measure, was squatting on the steps. Beside him, a young Daoist kept his hands tucked into his sleeves, leaning lazily against a pillar.

They had originally set out from the Eastern Courtyard, heading straight for Jiangxi Province, only to receive a message from Li Jun midway, asking them to meet him in Jinling.

When they arrived, they realized that Zhang Fengyue, who was supposed to be in his fief, had quietly returned to the Empire’s heartland without anyone noticing.

The two appeared to be daydreaming, but in truth their ears were pricked, listening intently to the conversation happening inside.

“You went out of your way to have me detour to Jinling just to persuade me not to enter Dragon Tiger Mountain?”

Zhang Fengyue laughed at the question. “I don’t have the leisure to play the mediator. On the contrary, I’d be quite happy to see Zhang Xiji’s Dragon Tiger Dao Kingdom turned upside down. And if your blade were sharp enough to slaughter that old turtle, so much the better.”

Li Jun asked, puzzled, “Then what do you mean by summoning me here today?”

“What do you make of Yan Dongqing seeking refuge on Dragon Tiger Mountain?”

“Simple. Yan Dongqing is obviously trying to divert trouble. He’s using Zhang Xiji’s hand to protect his own life.”

“And why do you think Zhang Xiji is willing to offer him shelter? For an ordinary Rank Three of the Confucian Sequence to go up against you, a lone Rank Three—it hardly seems like a worthy bargain.”

Li Jun frowned. He had considered the very question Zhang Fengyue raised.

“Because Yan Dongqing has value worth exploiting.”

“You’re talking about factional strife, aren’t you?”

Seeing Li Jun nod, Zhang Fengyue neither confirmed nor denied. He picked up the teacup beside him, took a sip, smacked his lips, and muttered that it was nowhere near as good as Dungzhu’s butter tea.

He glanced at the intermittent curtain of rain under the eaves. “This rain is like a child peeing—dawdling and uneven. Not the right time yet to go out and kill someone. How about we take it slow?”

Li Jun said flatly, “I’m listening.”

“Those who choose ‘Ritual Arts’ as their specialization are, without exception, arrogant and self-opinionated. Yan Dongqing is the cream of that crop—ambitious, and never content to be anyone’s groom for life.”

The old man spoke unhurriedly. “He came from poverty but was gifted beyond measure. With no clan background, he had talent and ability that far surpassed those born into powerful families. He loathed the way the New Eastern Forest Party had virtually monopolized government positions. All of this exactly suited the Zhu family’s needs.”

“After latching onto the Zhu family as his great tree, Yan Dongqing bypassed the Ministry of Personnel through the system of ‘Attending Officials,’ clinging to imperial power to achieve rapid breakthrough in Sequence. The same goes for the men of the Spring and Autumn Society who died at your hands.”

“But Yan Dongqing also knows that even if the imperial house one day regains its strength, it will never give him a chance to form his own party. The hounds are killed once the hares are bagged—that is to be expected. So he chose, decisively, to leave the Zhu family, using the Spring and Autumn Society—which the Zhus had painstakingly built—as his stake at the gaming table. He gambles for his freedom, to win the capital to establish a new party.”

Li Jun couldn’t help asking, “If the imperial power can so easily produce a batch of advanced Confucian Sequence practitioners, then why does it still have to beg for help from you, old sir?”

To Li Jun, this method of advancement seemed far too insubstantial.

In his understanding, advancement in the Martial Sequence was purely about breaking through with fists and feet, carving a path through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

Whether it was the deadly combat of a thug, the blood-drinking bone-chewing of a lone warrior, or the killing and pacification of a peacemaker—all were achieved by trampling on the bones of enemies.

Even other sequences—the mutual devouring of the Mohist Sequence’s Ghost-Seeing, the craftsmen’s innovation and development, the New Dao Sequence’s cycle of reincarnation trials, the Old Dao Sequence’s foundation-forging, and the Yin-Yang Sequence’s back channels, privileges, and rules—at least had something concrete to show.

In short, all were more substantial than something like ‘imperial power.’

If the imperial house truly had such power, how could it have sunk to its current state?

“How many people can be produced depends on the strength of imperial power, and the strength of imperial power depends on the vitality of popular sentiment. As for popular sentiment—it has never been something imperial power can control.”

“You think popular sentiment is empty and false, Li Jun, because you have never lived the life of an ordinary person. But if you view it as a kind of faith, perhaps you will understand.”

Zhang Fengyue spoke gravely. “Popular sentiment has never been mere empty talk. It is every stitch of thread, every leaf and tile. It is the joy of a farmer sitting on a ridge looking at his crops in the field. It is the excitement of a herder woman seeing her livestock deliver young. It is returning home in silks and laying new tiles on the ancestral house. It is the health of one’s family. It is a disabled youth fitted with a new prosthetic leg. It is a naive girl in a Yellow Millet Dream wearing a brand-new dress.”

The white-haired old man said slowly, “The rise of the imperial dynasty was also the will of the people over thousands of years. When popular sentiment is strong, imperial power is strong. When popular sentiment withers, imperial power withers. A shallow stream cannot accommodate a thousand competing sails, but a mighty river can nourish all. The Zhu family leads the Great Ming Empire, so they can act as the conduit for popular sentiment and use imperial power to forge the Confucian Sequence, which itself depends on popular sentiment for survival.”

“A well-governed world—that is the purpose of the Confucian Sequence’s existence. But in today’s chaotic Great Ming, how much of the people’s hearts does the imperial house still hold? How much of the people’s hearts does the Confucian Sequence still hold?”

Zhang Fengyue gave a long sigh. “A single Spring and Autumn Society is the limit of imperial power. Likewise, that the Confucian Sequence today still has me, a Rank Two, is already its limit.”

“Yan Dongqing thinks that if he can just break free of imperial control, accumulate fame, and wait for an opportunity to establish a new party, he will have a chance to advance and break through the Sequence, to stand against me and split the Confucian Sequence. That is why he chose to borrow the power of Dragon Tiger Mountain—he believes Zhang Xiji will protect him for that reason.” “But he is wrong. If this era of chaos continues, the Confucian Sequence will only grow weaker. There will never be another Rank Two.”

Zhang Fengyue paused, then added with a bitter smile, “After all, in this chaotic world, it is us scholars who are the least needed.”

It was perhaps for this reason that the Confucian Sequence was called one of the ‘Three Teachings’ alongside Buddhism and Daoism.

Popular sentiment and the way of the world were to them what the incense before the temple gate was to the gods.

Li Jun was silent for a moment, then asked in confusion, “Then why didn’t you get rid of these people long ago? Why did you let them grow so strong?”

“Temporary cure that festers for centuries versus a one-time permanent cure—if it were you, which would you choose?”

Zhang Fengyue asked with a smile, but left Li Jun no time to answer, waving his hand and laughing. “I’ve strayed too far. Even if this is just idle talk, we can’t let it ramble on aimlessly, or we’ll still be talking about the bitterness and hardship this time tomorrow.”

“No matter how Yan Dongqing struggles, the path he took is wrong. His end can only be death. Even if you don’t kill him, Zhang Xiji will eventually realize he has no value worth using. He hasn’t seen it yet only because he is deceived by the Yellow Millet—that is the flaw of his Dao integration with the Yellow Millet.”

Li Jun frowned. “Can the Yellow Millet really become like a person, with its own consciousness?”

“I’m not sure either. But a thousand years ago, who could have imagined there would be neon lights on these grey bricks and black tiles today?”

Zhang Fengyue laughed heartily. “Perhaps one day someone will stand before me and claim to be the Yellow Millet—that is not impossible.”

“For now, Yan Dongqing is blind, and Zhang Xiji is a fool.”

The old man’s tone shifted; the smile on his face faded. “Who do you think is the one pulling their strings from behind?”

“The Eastern Palace,” Li Jun answered without hesitation.

“Exactly.”

Zhang Fengyue looked at Li Jun and teased, “So it seems the Martial Sequence is not entirely composed of brainless brutes.”

“I don’t use my brain because most of the time, fists work better than brains.”

Li Jun rolled his shoulders and smiled. “If I were Rank Two now, even if the Eastern Palace managed to pull me into a dream, it would only be to get beaten to death by one punch. What need would there be to scheme or play mind games?”

“Hahaha, crude words but the reasoning is crude too. Nine out of ten things in this world go wrong—where would we find so many ‘ifs’?”

Zhang Fengyue said, “The Eastern Palace wants the Yellow Millet to reclaim all the stolen authority, to completely break the shackles that bind it. So their little games make perfect sense.”

Stolen, reclaimed, shackles, liberated…

The words fell into Li Jun’s ears, making him feel that when the Yellow Millet was first established, the families involved must have had some idea of what it might become, and so chose to suppress it by dividing up its authority.

Before one wave could settle, another was already rising.

What a nuisance.

Li Jun set aside these distant concerns and focused on the matter at hand.

“So your meaning is, if I enter Dragon Tiger Mountain, besides dealing with Zhang Xiji, I also have to guard against the Eastern Palace?”

Contrary to Li Jun’s expectation, the old man shook his head at this. “The Eastern Palace’s real target is not you.”

“Zou Sijiu?!”

A thunderbolt seemed to strike Li Jun’s mind; his eyes suddenly darkened.

Slap.

Zou Sijiu, squatting outside the door, felt a kick to his rear, and looked up to see Chen Qisheng's mocking half-smile.

“Hear that, you prophet? This time they’re after you. You probably don’t have many days left.”

“What do you know, brat?”

Zou Sijiu seemed utterly unconcerned about being schemed against, his face showing no relief at seeing through their ploys; he merely brushed off his trouser legs, stood up, shoved his hands into his pockets, slightly raised his chin, and gazed slantwise at the gloomy sky beyond the eaves with a melancholic and profound look.

“Master Zou, I've been waiting for this day—too long, indeed.”

Used to the other's cynical demeanor, Chen Qisheng was startled to see such a deep expression on Zou Sijiu's face for the first time.

“Old Chen, to you this is a scheme, but to me, it's goddamn respect!”

Zou Sijiu exhaled and spoke heavily, “All these bigwigs are fighting tooth and nail, and it's all because of me, Zou—”

“Not him either.”

The voice that followed from inside the door was like a hand gripping Zou Sijiu's throat; the unspoken words stuck in his chest, immediately flushing his face bright red.

“Master Zou, don't speak. I understand what you're thinking, brother.”

An arm wrapped around Zou Sijiu's tense shoulder. The Daoist, mimicking his pose of staring slantwise at the sky, said in the same deep tone, “You've done well enough.”

Zou Sijiu gritted his teeth: “Stinky Taoist, don't be sarcastic here. I ask you, do you want a one-on-one fight?”

“In the real world, the Dream Master is fighting Lord Mu one-on-one; you're the first in history. So, let me, your Daoist master, give you a three-breath head start. If I don't make you kneel and beg for mercy within five breaths, you win.”

“...”

“If the mission of the Eastern Palace is to liberate Huangliang, then how could their target not be Zou Sijiu?”

Inside the room, Li Jun said, “He now holds twenty percent of the authority of the Confucian Sequence.”

“This is also a choice between a temporary fix and a permanent cure. Zhan Shun thinks the same as I; he also wants a final solution.”

“You mean...”

“Their target is me, old man.”

Zhang Fengyue laughed heartily: “So, Li Jun, this time I'll serve as bait for you. How much we can gain in the end depends on the ability of you, the Reformer Lord!”

Suddenly, the two who stood arm-in-arm under the eaves turned their heads in unison, struck fully by the old man's heroic fervor.

“Old Chen, you think we can't... be less gutsy than an old man?”

Zou Sijiu muttered to himself, his memories abruptly cut short, and a fierce aura suddenly arose between his brows!

He raised his right arm, his open five fingers aimed at the various lords of the Eastern Palace standing in midair, and clenched his fist fiercely.

A new dream forcibly expanded, pulling everyone except Zhan Shun and Yuan Mingfei out of Yongle Grotto-Heaven!

After Yuan Mingfei appeared, the Dream Master rule on him had left its silence.

This time, he was going to fight six!

“I never imagined that the Buddhist Sequence, in such a dilapidated state, could still produce a Sequence Two. Zhang Fengyue's 'Art of Numbers' is truly mind-boggling, that he could find a way out for you even in this.”

The shifting features on Zhan Shun's face froze into a peaceful smile.

“But now, within Huangliang, how much strength does this Bodhisattva of yours still have?”

As his words fell, the rivers and streams at the foot of the mountain immediately stirred up a terrifying raging tide, heavily battering the mountain body, shaking the earth and rocks, sending debris tumbling.

Thunder rumbled, the sky split as if leaking, and what fell was no longer a torrential downpour, but evidently seawater with a strong briny smell.

A strong rejection enveloped Yuan Mingfei's body. At this moment, she seemed no longer the Bodhisattva who saved all beings, but a heinous criminal who had committed a grave sin, arousing the fury of heaven and disgust of earth, wanting to crush her into pieces.

Yuan Mingfei ignored everything around her, merely turning her palm lightly.

A piercing cold wind swept in from the southwest, freezing the surging evil waves, freezing the backflowing dark sea, freezing the collapsing mountain.

Fluttering heavy snow instantly covered all the mud and filth within the entire grotto-heaven.

The high mountain beneath Yuan Mingfei's feet rose from the plain, piercing straight into the sky.

“Whether I can fight or not, you'll know when you try.”

“The wind from the borderlands can actually blow into Huangliang one day. The Ten Direction Bodhisattvas... truly interesting.”

Zhan Shun laughed: “But I have no interest in fighting you today. I'm merely curious: Zhang Fengyue went to great lengths to help you complete your sequence, and now you abandon him just to save Zou Sijiu. If he dies—”

“Yuan Mingfei, can your Buddha's heart rest?”