Chapter 679: Not Bad, That's Enough

Chapter 679: Not Bad Enough

"Word just came that Zhang Xiji has already taken a group of Tianqui Star Lords northward."

On the high tower, Pei Xingjian pressed his hands against the railing, his wild mess of white hair tossed into disarray by the night wind. From his lofty vantage, he looked down upon Yiyang, now completely transformed into a city of the Dao.

Though it was deep into the night, the city was still ablaze with light, the thunderous sound of ritual drums and Daoist chants mingling with murmured sutras that echoed endlessly in one’s ears.

"Oh."

From behind Pei Xingjian came a flat, indifferent response.

"You really have no heart, boy. Aren't you the least bit worried?"

Pei Xingjian's words scattered in the wind, sounding somewhat indistinct.

"Although my father is also Second Order, the Confucian Sequence is not as adept at combat and slaughter as the Dao Sequence. And he's stubborn. Back in the New Donglin Academy, he was always muttering things like 'our bodies, hair, and skin are gifts from our parents.' He had a strong aversion to mechanical limbs and prosthetics. While he never banned them outright, he himself never altered a single hair on his body his entire life."

Pei Xingjian frowned deeply. "His body is now nearly at the point of exhaustion. If he truly faces Zhang Xiji, I fear he won't withstand the other's onslaught."

"I understand all that, but isn't Li Jun still there?"

A figure approached.

Zhang Siyuan mimicked the older man's posture, pressing his elbows onto the railing, his body leaning even lower than Pei Xingjian's. Through his slightly open collar, specks of blood were visible on his white inner robe.

The injuries he had sustained in the Battle of Chengdu Prefecture had still not fully healed.

"And besides him, there's also the Merchant Sequence's Shang family."

"To put it bluntly, they’re not family."

Pei Xingjian shook his head. "People's hearts are hidden behind their ribs. Don't be fooled just because we all seem to be in the same boat now—there's no telling when they might suddenly turn around and bite you."

"I’m not familiar with Shang Sigu, so I can't be sure. But Li Jun is definitely not that kind of person. If he had wanted to make a move, the grass on my grave would probably be tall enough to hide me by now."

Zhang Siyuan turned to look at the stern-faced old man and suddenly broke into a grin.

"Uncle Pei, if my father were here right now and heard you say these things, he'd be overjoyed."

Zhang Siyuan recalled, "You don't know, but back when you stormed out of the Ministry of Rites in a fit of pique and declared you were severing your teacher-student relationship with the old man, the lamp in his study never went out the entire night."

Pei Xingjian took a deep breath at these words, holding it in his lungs for a long time before slowly exhaling.

"Our paths are different; we cannot work together. I simply couldn't stomach the filthy things the New Donglin Party and the aristocratic clans were doing. Rather than staying there and making myself a nuisance, it was better for me to pack up and leave, out of sight, out of mind, and spare your father the dilemma of having to choose sides."

"What dilemma could he have? Who could put him in a dilemma? He brought it all on himself."

Zhang Siyuan curled his lip. "The old man's biggest flaw is that he always bottles things up. He clearly wants to make changes to the Confucian Sequence himself, but he just can't bring himself to speak openly about it. As if saying it out loud would cause a mountain of trouble, and all it did was make you stew in anger for all these years."

Zhang Siyuan made a mock bow and grinned. "A son can pay his father's debts. Let me apologize to you on his behalf."

"Enough, you little rascal. Don't try to placate me with your clever words, making me look like some petty, narrow-minded woman."

Pei Xingjian shot him a look of exasperation. "Your father naturally had his own considerations and concerns. You, a brat who uses 'Art of Numbers' as your gun sight, what right do you have to criticize him?"

"My mistake. I was being ungrateful."

Zhang Siyuan grinned and nodded repeatedly.

"Besides, the time wasn't right back then. If your father had rashly pushed for new policies without external pressure, the Confucian Sequence would have splintered in an instant. It probably couldn't even maintain the state it's in now."

"That's why I say, only my Uncle Pei is truly magnanimous and far-sighted. With just a few words, you've cleared up all my confusion."

"..."

Pei Xingjian looked resigned. "Sometimes I really wonder whether you're actually the teacher's son or not. Where did you learn this skill of flattery? From Li Bufeng, or from Liu Jinxun?"

"You forget, I was raised on scraps from a hundred homes."

Zhang Siyuan, instead of being ashamed, spoke with pride. "If I didn't have even this bit of discernment, I'd have starved to death in some corner long ago."

"So stop trying to comfort me here. But you—after your father cast you out for all those years, don't you hate him?"

Pei Xingjian's gentle gaze rested on the man's smiling face.

"If I said I didn't hate him at all, I'd be lying. I could have been one of the empire's top playboys, with wealth and power at my fingertips, even able to summon and dismiss Third Orders at will. I could have been as overbearing as I pleased. But instead, I spent so many years without a father or mother, not having enough to eat or wear, enduring the scorn of others. No one would be happy about that."

"You don't know how miserable I was back then. Forget rare delicacies—I barely even got to eat natural grains, oil, or eggs more than a few times a year. Even the synthetic garbage that those black-hearted farmers from the Agricultural Sequence concocted tasted like a feast to me. And when I was done, I couldn't bear to throw the bowl away; I'd fill it with water and keep it, so I could take a few sips later."

"When the hunger got unbearable, I'd have to steal and snatch. When no one was looking, I'd pounce, grab whatever food there was, and shove it into my mouth. Then I'd throw myself on the ground, curl into a ball with my arms over my head, and let them kick and beat me. Sometimes, if I was unlucky and someone landed a kick in my stomach, I'd throw up not just that day's meal but even yesterday's, and I'd have taken a beating for nothing."

"So tell me, which of the Confucian Six Arts did I learn? Only 'Archery.' In my eyes, a gun could reason far better than any mouth. If anyone didn't listen, I'd just blow their head off. Dead people were always obedient."

Zhang Siyuan's words flowed on endlessly, as if he wanted to pour out all the bitterness in his heart.

Down below, the Daoist chants of salvation and deliverance continued to sound.

Up high, the wind carried his words, full of the bitterness of the human world, no one knew where.

"In all those years, just to survive, I worked as a laborer, set up stalls, ran with gangs, and served as a guard. They say there are three hundred and sixty trades in the world, but the paths I could see back then were only a few narrow, cramped trails."

"Even then, countless people were blocking the way ahead, while those behind shoved endlessly forward, and I was crushed in the middle, unable even to catch my breath."

"Still, it wasn't all bad times."

Zhang Siyuan looked nostalgic, smacking his lips. "I think the most comfortable years were when I worked as a sweeper in a Confucian temple in a remote little town in the Ministry of Southern Rites. Not much work, three meals provided. During the day, I'd sway my head and drone along with the classics, and at night, I'd sneak into the temple's Dream of the Yellow Millet."

"Back then, I thought, damn, the Yellow Millet Dream is really something! You could have whatever you wanted. The only bad part was the chill when you woke up—I'd have to lie in bed for half an hour in a daze before my body warmed up."

Zhang Siyuan craned his neck and shouted: "Uncle Pei, be fair. Is this how anyone should treat their son?"

"That old bastard really is no good. Only thinking about himself, eating and drinking well, while letting his own son wander and suffer. I say, we should lock his memories, seal his powers, and throw him into this world too, so he can taste the warmth and cold of human feelings!"

Pei Xingjian cursed viciously, but there was a faint smile in his eyes.

"No need for something so harsh. I'm tough-skinned; a little hardship doesn't hurt. But he's so old already, he couldn't take that."

Zhang Siyuan scratched his head with an embarrassed grin, then looked up at the deep, starless sky overhead.

"Hate? Yes, I definitely hated him. I used to think that if I ever made it big, I'd find the old man, stand right in front of him, and curse him out for three days and three nights straight. If he had other sons, even better—I'd personally break their arms and legs to vent my anger."

Zhang Siyuan's eyes went blank as he muttered, "But when I finally recovered my memories and my identity, I suddenly found I didn't hate him as much anymore. Because I understood why he did what he did. I also knew the hardships he endured, different from mine, but even greater."

"At most, I'd occasionally slap myself and curse, 'Why do you have to be so understanding?' Did I get so used to being a downtrodden poor man that I can't even act like a spoiled brat anymore?"

"Aside from that, sometimes I feel puzzled, like there's a piece missing from my memories."

Zhang Siyuan turned to Pei Xingjian. "Tell me, if the old man really abandoned me as a small child, how did a little kid like that survive? Why does it seem in my memories like I was already a half-grown boy from the beginning?"

Pei Xingjian looked as if he had expected this question, and said teasingly: "So after all that rambling, you were hoping to get me to tell you what you've forgotten, weren't you?"

"Just tell me. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad. I just don't want to always feel like I'm missing something."

Pei Xingjian knew that Zhang Siyuan had probably already guessed somewhat.

But his years of drifting had left him lacking confidence, afraid that the truth wouldn't match his expectations.

And yet, if he didn't ask, it would always stick in his throat, unforgettable.

"You did leave that home in the capital when you were very young."

Pei Xingjian paused. "But before you turned twelve, your father took your hand and traveled with you across most of the empire. However, he didn't unlock those memories for you. Perhaps he didn't want too much of his own shadow in your life."

"That old man always overthinks things. As the saying goes, a father and son fight together on the battlefield. If he truly wanted to sever the connection between heaven and earth, it would only be right for me to hold his horse and carry his stirrup. And now, after all this roundabout path, I'm still doing the same things."

"It's different."

Pei Xingjian shook his head gently. "Standing shoulder to shoulder doesn't necessarily mean you share the same path. You have your own thoughts and ideals. The reason you do these things now is because filial piety weighs heavier than reason in your heart. But after we elders are all settled into dust, you too will one day ride the waves for your own convictions."

"Right now, you are still the teacher's son. But when that day comes, you will be just Zhang Siyuan. Understand?"

“Mmm, I understand it all.”

Zhang Siyuan buried his head, making it impossible to read the expression on his face.

“But Uncle Pei... this old man being my father, he actually did quite well, didn’t he?”

Pei Xingjian nodded heavily and laughed heartily: “If the master could hear these words, he would surely be even happier!”

Dong!

Melodious chimes echoed through Yiyang City, proclaiming the arrival of another midnight hour.

Looking down from the tall building, the streets teemed with densely packed figures no larger than fingertips, jostling shoulder to shoulder as they streamed toward the Yiyang Daoist Temple at the city’s center.

“Boundless dragon and tiger, the Celestial Master bestows blessings!”

“Boundless dragon and tiger, the Celestial Master bestows blessings!”

The gathered voices surged into the heavens, the acrid scent of incense thick and pungent.

“When young, I knew not the taste of sorrow; I loved to ascend the storied tower. To ascend the storied tower, to compose a new verse I feigned sorrow. Now I have tasted sorrow through and through; I wish to speak but then desist. I wish to speak but then desist, yet instead I say: a fine cool autumn it is! The ancients’ words have a hell of a lot more flavor than those of today’s people!”

Zhang Siyuan laughed aloud, propped himself on the railing, and leapt down from the heights.

Boom!

The once-lively Yiyang Daoist Temple in the distance was engulfed by erupting flames; panicked screams instantly drowned out the city’s Daoist chants!

The fierce gust that swept over caused the old man’s robes to snap and rustle.

Pei Xingjian gathered the disheveled hair from his temples with both hands, carefully twisted it into a topknot atop his head, and spoke in a cold voice.

“Kill!”

Under the Yellow Millet Dark Sea, the dream realm stretches unending.

Beneath the boundless deep sea, a colossal beast—head of a tiger, body of a whale—roamed freely.

Perhaps unable to bear the lifeless, desolate emptiness of the seabed, the beast suddenly accelerated, lashed its tail, and burst through the surface, roaring at the sky.

Boom!

A thunderbolt ripped through the clouds, its ghastly white lightning illuminating every detail of the beast’s massive form.

Within its wide tiger eyes, light and shadow swirled like a bizarre and dazzling world—tall buildings stood, lights blazing.

At the bottom of the left and right eyes stood faint, minuscule figures, their genders indistinguishable yet clearly divided, staring each other down across the bridge of the tiger’s nose.

Bang!

The enormous body crashed back into the sea, sending towering waves more than ten zhang high raining down like a deluge.

Splash! Splatter…

“This rain just won’t let up, will it? Damn annoying.”

The man cursed under his breath, shook the raindrops from the back of his hand, and tucked it back into his sleeve. Yet even so, the clinging dampness refused to leave, making him deeply uncomfortable.

With no other choice, the man quickened his pace.

“On the eighteenth day of the seventh month of the third year of Jiaqi, the Peace Hotel in Jinmen will host an unprecedented boxing match. The participants are Kunlun slaves from foreign lands and Wokou pirates from the Zone of the Condemned—both are contemptible slaves steeped in evil. The victor will be granted a path to survival…”

An advertising billboard at the street corner broadcast the impassioned announcement.

The man showed no interest whatsoever; without a moment’s pause, he turned and ducked into an alley. Keeping his head down, he stepped around the sewage and pushed open the courtyard gate of a residence deep in the alley.

The courtyard was small, only a single simple compound.

No sooner had the man crossed the threshold than a sharp stench of decay and blood assaulted his nostrils.

“…Life and death may be fated, but wealth and rank are not in Heaven’s hands! Bet more, eat more; bet little, gnaw a weed. Peace Hotel sincerely invites you to come and witness this thrilling and brutal fight of contemptible slaves.”

The distant advertisement could still be faintly heard. The man’s heart sank; he dashed into the courtyard and kicked open the main hall door with one blow.

Bang!

Damp cold air rushed inside. A young Confucian scholar in luxurious robes sat on a chair directly facing the door, head drooping, utterly motionless.

Between his legs was a pulpy mess of flesh and blood—clotted and dried blackened bloodstains had formed a solid lump.

The stench of blood and rot that pervaded the entire courtyard originated from this.

“Boss, it’s me, Lu Hu. I found the person.”

The man clenched his fists until they cracked, and muttered in a low voice: “But he’s already been killed by Tianque.”