Chapter 707: Destiny Cannot Be Escaped

Chapter707: Inescapable Destiny

“Master, nowadays in every prefecture of Southern Zhili the beacon fires blaze everywhere; the Honghu and the Garrison Army have joined forces to slaughter the Red Society, and we have suffered grievous losses.”

“Now within Nanjing the Yellow Millet Ghost Rebellion erupts, aristocratic traitors aid the tigers, remnants of the Legal Order push the fallen into pits, internal and external troubles arise together, and we have reached the crisis of an army at the city gates.”

Although he was utterly unwilling to admit it inwardly, Pei Xianjie still sighed helplessly: “The situation of all‑siding forces has already formed; I fear it can no longer be salvaged.”

“If it cannot be salvaged, then let it be; this turmoil too is due for its curtain to fall.”

The old man’s gentle voice sounded behind him, yet Pei Xianjie chose to turn his back on the open door, unwilling to face it. His expression was full of worry and unease, his hands clutching at his own disordered halo of white hair.

“Xianjie, you ought not be one who cannot let go.”

His words drifted faintly, tinged with a faint smile.

“If now I, Pei Xianjie, am the one who loses, I will have no second thoughts. Even if my head were chopped off, I would not change my countenance.”

Pei Xianjie suddenly turned, his blood‑stained robe fluttering in the wind.

He gazed toward the dimly lit chamber, his eyes widened, locking onto the pair of weary eyes within.

“But seeing these petty clowns dare to act up before you, Master, I cannot accept it.”

Pei Xianjie clenched his fists, his voice low: “We have wasted too much time and opportunity; we ought to have risen in one thrust and torn them out root and branch!”

“But if I had not made so many mistakes, perhaps you would have long ceased to acknowledge me as your teacher.”

In the heavy darkness came the sound of ponderous footsteps, each step spaced far apart, as if even this short distance of a few zhang were extraordinarily arduous for those inside.

Having lost the shelter of his rank and office, time no longer spared him, like a razor‑sharp blade it sliced away the old man’s flesh and blood, leaving only an empty, withered skin sack hanging on his frame, as if a gust could blow him away.

For these past months Pei Xianjie has led the Red Society in action abroad; now, meeting his master again, he never imagined his teacher could have aged to such an extent.

Yet after only a few steps out of the room, Pei Xianjie felt his heart seize with shock and dread, his inner confusion turning at this moment into unspeakable bitterness.

“Master”

“You too have lived a lifetime; why do you still neglect your appearance? If the younger generation saw this, who knows how they would mock you in secret, this old Confucian?”

Zhang Fengyue lifted his gaze to Pei Xianjie, smiling as he teased.

Once remembered as a towering, majestic head of the academy, he now stooped lower than his own shoulders; Pei Xianjie’s throat worked, he swallowed a mouthful of bitter acid, and feigned ferocity: “Who dares laugh at me? See if I don’t skin him alive!”

Though he spoke thus, Pei Xianjie’s hands began to tidy his appearance, snapping a dry twig from nearby and binding his disordered halo of white hair.

Even though he himself is past sixty, before Zhang Fengyue he remains the same obstinate, sharp‑tongued academy troublemaker.

“These past years, you have labored hard.”

Pei Xianjie grinned: “I have never heard you say that before; I am glad to hear it—why not say a few more?”

“You little brat, you’ve grown bold enough to speak to me like this—do you think I’m down to my last breath and can’t handle you? Your meager etiquette is nothing in my eyes!”

The trembling old palm slapped his arm, hardly registering any sensation.

Yet Pei Xianjie exaggeratedly cried out in pain, clutching his arm and stumbling backward.

Amid Zhang Fengyue’s laughter, he lifted his eyes and saw the old man standing beneath an unnamed withered tree in the courtyard.

Man and tree mirrored each other, making it hard to tell which was the person and which the dead wood.

“The current order truly grows ever more numerous, yet ever weaker. Even I, a bona fide Third Rank of the Confucian Order, now suffer moments of blurred vision—how ridiculous.”

Pei Xianjie lifted his hand to wipe his eyes, muttering under his breath.

“Enough; if you truly wish to mourn, wait until the day I close my eyes. Then, if it is not you, Pei Xianjie, who lets out the loudest wail, I will not forgive you.”

Zhang Fengyue rolled his eyelids, scoffing with ill‑humored laughter.

“Over these years, Zhang Shizhen has constantly nagged me, resenting that I keep my words locked inside and never speak them, always making those around me guess—hence the many misunderstandings.”

The old man leaned against the trunk and spoke slowly: “Liu Jingxun is like that, and Li Bufei probably is too. Speaking of it, it’s truly regrettable that we never got to meet face to face in the end; Bufei must have had much he wished to tell me. So today, grandfather and grandson, let us have a proper talk, how about it?”

Pei Xianjie’s lips twitched, yet he could not utter a word for a long while.

“Don’t know where to begin? Quite right; I never taught you this lesson—rather, you have been teaching me all along.”

“Master”

Pei Xianjie finally spoke: “No more words are needed; you must leave Nanjing at once. Zhu Yiyan has hidden for so long, and now he strikes suddenly—surely he has made thorough preparations. You have no need to persist any longer, whether in the Sinful Lands or the Barbarian Territories, as long as you can escape the imperial heartland…”

“But if I were to flee, what would become of them?”

Pei Xianjie’s expression tightened, and he urged anxiously: “Are you worried about Yizheng? Rest assured, even if I must sacrifice this life, I will certainly protect his safety and swiftly send him to join you.”

“If Shizhen heard you say that, he would surely turn against you on the spot. I should never have sent him to the frontier; now his mind is reduced to a single obsession, fearing he will outlive me, his father.”

“You lot have thrown away the essence of Confucian doctrine clean and clear, as if you wanted this old man to send you on your way first. No one thought of leaving me behind; how then could I ever catch up to you?”

Whether it was an illusion or not, in a dazed moment Pei Xianjie felt the old man’s rebukes growing louder.

“I am not asking what I should do, nor what you should do. I am asking what those who have already given their lives for this new policy ought to do.”

Zhang Fengyue straightened his frame; his gaunt body held up the black robe like a banner standing before Pei Xianjie’s eyes.

“Confucians do not believe in gods and ghosts, yet reason resides in the heart. I have lived too long, encountered too many choices—taken the seemingly bright highway of azure clouds, taken the thorn‑choked winding path, once yielded because I lacked skill, once turned back because of regret.”

“Mountain passes piled high, each step arduous. I have chosen wrongly all my life, which amounts to having lost it all. Now this is my final crossing of water and gate in this lifetime; whatever the outcome, I cannot relent.”

Zhang Fengyue spoke solemnly: “Xianjie, among the students of past generations at the New Donglin Academy, you are the cleverest I have ever seen. My thoughts you already understand in your heart; why then press further?”

“What a foul‑tempered, stubborn old man.”

Pei Xianjie wore a helpless smile, shook his head and sighed long, “But there’s nothing to be done—who made you my teacher? Heaven, earth, ruler, kin, teacher; in my eyes I can see only that last character.”

In the distance the horizon’s afterglow was about to fade, and nightfall arrived together with the turmoil.

Many Confucians clad in crimson clouds waited outside the gate, Yang Baize unmistakably among them.

Only Zhang Shizhen’s figure was absent.

As Pei Xianjie turned to leave, his steps halted abruptly; his gaze fell upon the rising flames within the city, and he cried out loudly.

“Master, what do you think later generations will think of us?” “Love me, hate me—let the lords decide.”

The old man flung his wide sleeves, his bearing magnanimous.

The Liaodong snowfields, a thousand li locked in ice, ten thousand li drifting with snow.

“I never expected that the one who would come would be you.”

Chen Qisheng crossed his arms over his chest, stepped upon his sword and hovered aloft, his disdainful gaze casually landing upon Shi Qing.

“Do you think dragging this rabble along can withstand this Daoist master of mine?”

“Certainly I dare not harbor such a lofty hope.”

Shi Qing bowed his hands to heaven, humble in tone: “You are now the undisputed source of the Dao Order; how could these few hundred demon cultivators possibly be your match? His Majesty has expended great thought gathering them together, precisely to present them as a greeting gift to you, Daoist.”

Though called a ‘gift’, waves of substantive malice undulated behind Shi Qing, the gathered divine thoughts surging like a tide, actually scattering the snowfall within a ten‑li radius.

At this moment the remnants of the new Daoist sect resembled a pack of dogs bound with ropes, snarling and clawing under Shi Qing’s command, awaiting only a single order to fling themselves forward fearlessly, to rend and tear Chen Qisheng—who had destroyed all their past—into fragments.

“I know you, Daoist, are a man of deep feeling and righteousness, and would never choose to betray Liege Jun; therefore rest assured, my coming this time is certainly not to drive a wedge between you and Liege Jun.”

“All along, His Majesty’s target has been only Zhang Fengyue alone; he never intended to make you an enemy, nor has he ever taken any action to persecute the old Daoist school. Those earlier frictions were merely trivial misunderstandings.”

Faced with the terrifying azure dharma‑image looming above, Shi Qing’s composure remained steady, and he spoke candidly: “Thus I have come this time merely to discuss with you the future of the Dao Order.”

“Zhang Fengyue seeks to sever the sequence, appearing righteous, yet it is merely selfish ambition, dreaming of establishing a Confucian-sequence divine dynasty where only his Zhang lineage can ascend the sequence. Li Gejun is upright in character, deceived and hoodwinked by the Zhang father and son, truly lamentable. But you are different.”

Shi Qing spoke solemnly: “Li Gejun may act recklessly, for the solitary martial sequence was his own creation; even if he lost it, he would owe no one. Yet you bear a responsibility far heavier than his.”

“The New Dao Sequence lies in utter ruin—now is the perfect moment to revive the Old Dao Sequence. If you still bind yourself with sentiment and continue to aid the tyrant, when the Zhang clan’s position is fully established, how will you then conduct yourself?”

“Should the Zhang family establish a divine dynasty, they will spare no threat; thus the New Dao Sequence will surely fall within their purge. Even if you could escape the imperial heartland, how would you face the Wudang spirits who sacrificed themselves for you? How would you fulfill their wish to rebuild Wudang?”

“Before the sequence, Wudang existed; after the sequence, Wudang will still be there.”

Chen Qisheng’s face remained impassive, unmoved.

“Well said!”

Shi Qing laughed aloud: “Truly, you are the last pure Dao seed of this world. Yet I must remind you: the purpose of cultivation has never been to worship immortals, but to become one yourself! You can relinquish this transcendent sequence power—will the divine aspect behind you consent? Will future Dao followers consent?”

Shi Qing laughed aloud: “Truly, you are the last pure Dao seed of this world. Yet I must remind you: the purpose of cultivation has never been to worship immortals, but to become one yourself! You can relinquish this transcendent sequence power—will the divine aspect behind you consent? Will future Dao followers consent?”

Shi Qing’s tone shifted after successive questions: “Your Majesty does not wish to put you in a difficult position, so I ask little today—only that you, Daoist, observe calmly and await the settling of dust here.”

“If you agree, these demonic cultivators before you will immediately commit suicide to atone; we will also aid you in utterly eradicating all remnants of the New Dao within the empire. Moreover, His Majesty is willing to grant you two provinces as the foundation for the Old Dao Sequence’s mountain gate, assisting your ascent to Sequence Two.”

“Such generous terms, exchanged only for your momentary non‑interference—His Majesty’s sincerity is absolute.”

Shi Qing’s voice trembled without cause; in that instant, countless azure figures materialized beside the New Dao demon cultivators, fist shadows crashing down, eliciting a chorus of wails and screams.

“Ah, why be so foolishly loyal to Li Jun?”

Shi Qing seemed to have anticipated this scene, sighing to himself, indifferent to the demon cultivators being slaughtered behind him.

“In fact, I have long advised His Majesty: a parentless Daoist child like you is born deficient, never understanding how to live for oneself. All your life you are blindly foolish; receiving a kindness from another, you repay it without hesitation, utterly lacking any need for courting.”

Zheng!

A colossal, unmatched sword shadow cleaved from the heavens, the erupting true qi blasting into rolling wind and snow.

Shi Qing stood unmoving, ignoring the descending divine‑aspect sword shadow, his eyes half‑closed, fixed upon the pair of fury‑filled eyes behind him.

“To deal with a being such as you, who can hardly be called human, there is only one recourse: kill you and be done with it.”

Dang!

A faceless, blurred silhouette appeared above Shi Qing’s head, fingers splayed, catching with a single hand the descending divine‑aspect great sword.

Chen Qisheng’s brows knit; he clearly saw countless black motes drifting from the corpses of the Dao Sequence demon cultivators, instantly coalescing into humanoid forms that blocked his assault.

This scene is all too familiar—clearly the fanatic dharma of Zhang Zijue!

“Penetrating every crevice, present everywhere, employing all means—this is the true art of traversing the sequence. All the techniques and positions of the New Dao Sequence are no secret to us.”

Shi Qing abandoned his earlier humility, his bearing now radiant with arrogance.

Behind him, each fallen New Dao Sequence cultivator resembled an opened gate, from which countless zealot rays surged forth, instantly scattering the approaching True Martial spirits that surrounded them, flowing ceaselessly into the phantom apparition hovering mid‑air.

The humanoid figure swiftly solidified—white hair, black robes, icy brows and eyes—unmistakably the deceased New Dao Sequence Second, the Positional Heavenly Lord, Zhang Zijue!

“Since I never managed to slay Zhang Zijue myself, you must feel profound regret; he failed to eradicate your Old Dao Sequence, so he too should die unsettled. Thus today I fulfill your wish.”

Shi Qing chuckled lightly: “I wonder whether you now possess the power to slaughter, before your death, the legion of zealots I have meticulously forged.”

Boom!

A divine‑thought fury surged upward, shattering the divine‑aspect great sword.

Zhang Zijue spread his arms, countless millet‑seal sigils manifesting from the black zealot tide, hurtling toward the heavens!

“Chen Qisheng, your destiny cannot be escaped!”