Chapter 706: The Final Act Begins

Chapter 706: The Final Curtain Rises

“On the fifth day of the first month in the fourteenth year of the Jiaqi reign, I met with Wang Qi at an appointed place in Tianmen, inside the most renowned pleasure house in the city.”

“He played host and saw me through a night of debauchery. It wasn’t until dusk the following day that we finally began our conversation.”

“He had by then become a rising star in the Martial Order, a man of no small fame, yet he still walked alone. I asked him if he had any thoughts of establishing his own school. He told me he hadn’t yet triggered that quest from Ao Hu. Those words I did not understand.”

“I asked him what he would do if one day all the sequences within this empire were to be purged. He replied that by then he would have already completed his main quest here, and it would be time to leave this empire and venture freely into the world beyond.”

“As he said this, Wang Qi’s face was filled with anticipation, as though he could hardly wait to be on his way.”

“I felt that he seemed to treat this world as nothing more than a fleeting dream. A sudden unease seized me, for it felt like a precursor to being possessed by the Yellow Millet Ghost. Could it be that even an independent Martial Order practitioner could not withstand the erosion of the Yellow Millet?”

“Out of concern, I voiced my doubts, hoping to help him see reality. But his answer caught me entirely off guard.”

“Wang Qi said, with profound meaning, that walking through this mortal world, be it real or false, is all a game.”

“I still did not fully grasp it, but deep down I thought maybe that was not such a bad thing.”

“That night, we resumed our revelry, and it lasted three whole days.”

“To be honest, I seemed to have grown rusty in the very field where I once excelled. That is something I must keep an eye on.”

“On the twenty-fourth day of the first month in the fourteenth year of the Jiaqi reign, the situation grew ever more tense. Along the road I saw too many riots and smoke of war rising on all sides. I vaguely sensed that this turmoil was nearing its end, so I began preparing to return to the Ink Academy.”

“When I passed through Cangzhou, I happened to meet someone who was not on my planned list of interviews: Donzhu.”

“He had come all the way from the borderlands, hunting down a former Dharma King of the old Buddhist Order. This man had joined forces with remnant demon cultivators of the new Daoist Order, plundering the people of the borderlands to build his own Buddhist realm. This method of sequence promotion had already been proven wrong—how could anyone still practice it?”

“He told me to stand aside and let him first complete the decree issued by the Ten-Direction Bodhisattva before we could talk at leisure. The entire battle made cold sweat pour down my back. I can only say that these borderland Martial Order practitioners truly fight with merciless brutality.”

“That was the first time I conducted a conversation with a severed head lying beside me. That simple, hearty borderland man saw nothing wrong with it. On the contrary, he eagerly pressed me for stories about the Baihu’s experiences in the Wa Region.”

“The Yellow Millet Ghost disguised as Mingzhi Qingxiu, Arare Yo driven mad by love, the scheming Tokugawa Hiroshi, and Toyotomi Enkyo who died in foolish loyalty... and that night in Edo, when a thousand Jinyiwei forgot life and death and fought drenched in blood.”

“When he heard of Qianhu’s departure, he suddenly smashed the head beside him with a punch, splattering filth all over me. Afterwards he apologized, saying he could not contain his indignation on behalf of his grandmaster and had lost control for a moment. Of course I could understand—even I, whenever I recall the Qianhu, still feel a surge of hot blood that will not settle.”

“After finishing the tales of the Wa Region, he told me what the Baihu had done for them in the borderlands. Donzhu’s command of the Ming language was not very fluent; he stumbled along for a long time, sometimes growing anxious when he could not make himself clear, his face turning a dark red.”

“But one sentence of his I remember vividly. He said that ever since the Baihu came to the borderlands, he had unburdened the saddles from their backs, snapped the ropes around their necks, given them swords and guns to fend off wolves, and given them cotton clothes to shield them from the wind and frost.”

“He said life in the borderlands now was full of hope: the fields were thick with highland barley, the mountains were covered in flowers, and the breeze carried the fragrance of butter. He already had a child, still very small, but that child would never again be treated as goods or cattle. That dark era had passed—dawn had come to the borderlands.”

“In the desolate wilderness, there was no mellow wine to soothe the dust of travel, only a blazing bonfire. That borderland man, however, began to sing on his own accord, his voice deep and sonorous, spreading in all directions. I closed my eyes and clapped along, yet in my mind I saw windblown grass and waves, revealing herds upon herds of cattle and sheep.”

“Suddenly I understood why Hecang Jia had spoken those words. In the dreamscape I would one day build, there should be a tale from the borderlands—a warrior who burst into a banquet of countless Buddhas, shattered the shackles of slaves, hacked off the heads of those who gnawed bones and ate flesh, melted the frozen ice with Buddha’s blood, and enriched the barren land with Buddha’s flesh.”

“After we had exchanged stories about the same protagonist, I asked Donzhu whether, having finally entered a sequence, he would be unwilling to give it up.”

“He did not care, he said, because before this they had never possessed anything anyway. But he would never relax his clenched fist, and would defend his homeland with his life.”

“Yet if the power of the sequence were truly lost, what could the impoverished, backward borderlands rely on to resist? Does the existence of sequences truly mean nothing?”

“Is severing the connection between heaven and earth truly right?”

“At our parting, Donzhu sang me a farewell song, but my mind was too distracted to listen carefully...”

“On the last day of the first month in the fourteenth year of the Jiaqi reign, the eve of another New Year, I finally returned safely to the Ink Academy.”

“After the four branches of the Ink Order merged, this place has become like a bustling city...”

The voice emanating from the desk stopped abruptly.

“I told Xiao Bai back then that making you an undercover agent was a waste of your talent.”

Demon King Da handed the desk back to Lin Jinjiang, who was sitting on a low stool, and said with a smile: “Keep at it. If you really build this dreamscape, it will be no small feat. But let’s get this straight—you have to let me try it out first when it’s done. I want to have a good time.”

“Thank you for your understanding, sir.”

Facing his former superior, Lin Jinjiang seemed somewhat restrained, offering an awkward smile: “I thought you would scold me for neglecting my proper work.”

“How could that be? Is fighting and killing the only proper work? If that were the case, these rusty old mechanical bones of mine would have been picked apart long ago, and I’d have died in some godforsaken place.”

Seeing Lin Jinjiang about to set up the desk again, Demon King Da’s expression tightened.

“You’re not expecting me to do it, are you? When it comes to stories, I’ve never done anything worth mentioning. As for the situation, I can’t make heads or tails of it either. If I open my mouth and spout nonsense, I’ll only make a fool of myself. Let me spare myself the embarrassment.”

“You were the Baihu’s guide when he first entered the Wa Region. How could anyone underestimate that weight?”

“Stop flattering me. That butcher Li Jun? Don’t talk about guiding him—back then, I was living in constant fear, worried that he would turn the entire Oyama City Jinyiwei station upside down.”

Demon King Da waved his hand: “If you want to gather material, you should go to Li Jun, Zou Sijiu, Chen Qisheng—they themselves...”

“I’d like to, but right now no one knows where they are,” Lin Jinjiang said with helpless resignation.

“You can go find Zhao Qingxia. That kid is now the joint student of the four elders of the Ink Order, the future juzi of the Ink Order. He certainly knows a lot.”

“Why would someone like him bother with a nobody like me?”

Lin Jinjiang gave a bitter laugh. Hardly had he finished speaking when someone pushed open the courtyard door and walked in.

“Who’s looking for me?”

The newcomer was a straight-backed young man, plainly dressed, twirling a palm-long miniature sword between his fingers.

He was none other than Zhao Qingxia, now the universally recognized young master of the entire Ink Academy.

Demon King Da seemed very familiar with Zhao Qingxia and was not surprised by his sudden visit. He teased: “Isn’t this our little juzi? What brings you to my humble place today?”

“Don’t make fun of me, sir. Before Brother Jun left the Ink Academy, he specifically told me that apart from Zhang Fengyue, you are the only old man he still acknowledges. He said I must take good care of you, so I came to see if you need anything. But it seems I’ve arrived at just the right time?”

Zhao Qingxia had shed all his former greenness; his every move now carried a steady poise.

“If I’m not mistaken, you must be Lin Jinjiang of the Miscellaneous Order?”

Zhao Qingxia made a polite bow: “An honor to meet you.”

“You know of me?”

Lin Jinjiang quickly stood to return the greeting, his expression one of surprise.

Given Zhao Qingxia’s current status in the Ink Order, for him to know of such a minor figure as Lin Jinjiang was certainly unexpected.

“I heard your name mentioned several times recently when I was supplying goods to Fan Wujiu, Hecang Jia, and the others.”

Zhao Qingxia, evidently no stranger to the place, found a low stool and sat down with a smile: “They speak highly of you. They say you might become the originator of the Miscellaneous Order. I was curious, and I never expected to run into the very man today.”

“You got word that Lin Jinjiang had returned to the Ink Academy and came specifically to corner him, didn’t you?”

Demon King Da saw through Zhao Qingxia’s intention at a glance. He leisurely rose and walked toward the door.

“All right, you youngsters chat. I need to go maintain this mechanical heart in my belly. This old body is rotting away—who knows how many days I have left...”

“What business do you have with me?”

With only the two of them left in the courtyard, Lin Jinjiang asked in confusion.

“Nothing too important.”

Zhao Qingxia pointed at the desk propped on the ground: “I came to ask if I could have a talk with you, like Xie Bi’an and the others. Brother Lin, could you possibly save a spot for little brother in your plan?”

“Of course there is.”

Overjoyed, Lin Jinjiang immediately began adjusting the images on the desk.

“Come to think of it, you’re the first person to come to me voluntarily for an interview. May I ask why?”

“The reason is simple: because one day, I might die.”

Lin Jinjiang's movements suddenly halted; his gaze locked onto the screen, not daring to lift his eyes.

“How can this be?”

“This is reality.”

Zhao Qingxia's pessimism was something Lin Jinjiang had not anticipated, as he heard the other speak in a deep voice: “Now this Ink City, on the surface, seems many times more prosperous than the former East Court; new Ink Sequences emerge in an endless stream every day. But beneath the ground, the Ink Academy is now filled with lamentations.”

“Now the Land of Yellow Millet Dream has been occupied by Zhan Shun's ghostly followers. The Yellow Millet Will, with forty percent of its constraints released, can accurately identify us; any rash entry will invite relentless pursuit and possession.”

“A large number of research projects thus cannot proceed; many important techniques and methods have to be abandoned in frustration. Not only that, but many achievements are constantly being stolen by the Yellow Millet Ghosts.”

Zhao Qingxia slowly said: “Now the Ink Sequence is a beast trapped in a cage. If we cannot find a new breakthrough, we will sooner or later be completely consumed. The final outcome will either be working as a dog for the Zhu family, or waiting for Zhang Fengyue to eliminate the Sequence and start everything from scratch.”

Lin Jinjiang was shocked by the words; he had never imagined that beneath such a flourishing exterior, there was such a dangerously volatile situation.

“Is there no way to replace the function of Yellow Millet, or bypass Zhan Shun's blockade?”

“When Yellow Millet was built back then, the Ink Sequence used all its resources. Over the years, it has always regarded Yellow Millet as the foundation of development, the very 'Vocation' of survival. The two are deeply entangled; casting off this dependence cannot be done overnight.”

“As for bypassing the blockade, there are ways to do it. But we dare not try it lightly, because a single misstep would end up benefiting others at our own expense.”

Zhao Qingxia smiled slightly: “So it's appropriate for me to leave some last words in advance, isn't it?”

Lin Jinjiang momentarily did not know how to answer; he could only silently toy with the clearly already adjusted screen.

“Where shall we start talking?”

Zhao Qingxia straightened his hat and composed himself, his expression calm.

Suddenly, a violent explosion came from the distance.

Boom!

The ground vibrated without cease; panicked shouts rose one after another around them.

“What happened?!”

Lin Jinjiang's face changed abruptly; the documents at his side tipped over and fell.

In the screen that faced the sky, an enormous whale soared up, swam and circled, raising its head in a furious cry.

“This day has finally come.”

Zhao Qingxia sat unmoving, exhaling a long breath of relief.

In Liaodong, amidst the snow and ice.

A huge Dharma Image appeared; it raised a hand and pressed down, instantly suppressing the raging blizzard.

A Daoist flew in the air on a sword, clad in silver armor, with green Daoist patterns spiraling around his body.

“It has begun.”

Chen Qisheng cast his gaze across this world, “just wondering who dares to oppose me.”

In Chengdu Prefecture, the sky suddenly darkened; a sudden cold wind and rain instantly engulfed the entire city.

Shop signs that had been lit in advance cast enchanting glows, yet failed to attract the hurried passersby.

An ordinary black umbrella stopped amid the crisscrossing crowd; the man beneath it shook raindrops from his pant legs and let out a soft sigh.

“Zhu Yiyan couldn't hold back anymore. Can it be that he needs to kill Old Man Zhang with his own hands to fulfill his ritual requirements?”

“But no matter what he wants, the Zhu family has already made its move. Zhan Shun, you Yellow Millet Ghost, will you stand idly by or join in hitting someone when they are down?”

The umbrella lifted slightly, revealing Zou Sijiu's face. He looked at the rain falling from above, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up.

“You definitely want to take it all, but after all this time, who knows how many Yellow Millet Ghosts you've accumulated? Can you handle consuming the authority that I, Zou Sijiu, possess?”

A biting cold wind swept through the street. Zou Sijiu released his fingers, letting the black umbrella in his hand be carried into the sky.

He raised both hands and slowly wiped his temples; around him, in the void, petals of exquisite beauty continuously bloomed.

The Imperial City of Great Ming.

He Zangjia rushed up to the rooftop in a stumbling panic and saw a figure sitting cross-legged on the terrace.

“After killing so many underlings with careful selection, I've finally finished tempering the last technique, [Concealment of Heaven].”

Li Jun looked up into the distance at that towering imperial city that seemed to touch the sky.

“Zhu Yiyan, you are so impatient. I wonder what rank you have advanced to? And how many of my punches can you withstand?”