Chapter 525: The Water that Capsizes the Boat Is the Tears of the Common People

Chapter 525: The Water That Overturns the Boat Is the People’s Tears

The Imperial Ancestral Temple of the Great Xia Palace was a rather peculiar place.

Xia Longyuan rose from the grassroots, much like Zhao Changhe, as if he had suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Zhao Changhe at least had a “traceable” origin in Zhao Village, where the villagers were slaughtered, and his parents and relatives likely died in that incident. Not only was this attested to by the famed chivalrous woman Yue Hongling, but Chief Tang had also personally heard Zhao Changhe curse Luo Zhenwu and mention it, which could basically be taken as credible history.

But Xia Longyuan—truly no one knew where he came from or who his parents were. After unifying the realm, he did not follow tradition by posthumously honoring his parents, nor did he even establish an ancestral temple, leaving it without a single spirit tablet.

He also did not perform ancestral rites. Every time the Ministry of Rites brought up “the ancestors,” they could not finish the sentence.

Only Zhao Changhe knew that Xia Longyuan’s family in the present world were still alive and well, not dead. Who would go out of their way to set up a spirit tablet and curse their own family to die?

He should have come from the same era as Zhao Changhe, but had been placed here by the Blind Woman twenty or thirty years earlier. Given Xia Longyuan’s understanding of time and space, he should know that there was still a chance to return to the starting point, where his parents still lived—only he would be older than them. Whether he still harbored any desire to return was unknown; judging by how much fun he was having now, probably not.

Under such circumstances, it would have been better not to build an ancestral temple at all. An empty one only invited criticism. Yet Xia Longyuan still built one, meaning: “I will eventually die; the temple can be used later.”

Thus, in any other dynasty, the ancestral temple would have been a place of solemnity, but in the Xia dynasty, it was merely tended by a few palace maids, cold and desolate.

When Huangfu Qing first entered the palace, she had also suspected this ancestral temple, but upon discreet investigation, she found nothing.

Now she knew—it wasn’t that there was nothing to find, but that her cultivation at the time was insufficient to detect the trick. Now, having broken through the three secret treasures, she could sense something and “guess where the real Xia Longyuan was.”

The reason Xia Longyuan had built the ancestral temple in this location was clearly because there was a secluded secret realm here, and the temple’s architecture formed an extremely special formation, balancing concealment with a currently undetermined special function.

It was quite possible that the choice to establish the capital here and the palace’s location were both related to this.

Huangfu Qing led the young couple to the ancestral temple. Gazing at the inexplicably appearing teleportation formation in the center, she stared for a long time before saying softly, “Better not enter. Let him come out to talk.”

Zhao Changhe shook his head. “Pointless.”

Huangfu Qing glared at him.

Zhao Changhe smiled. “If you’re worried, stay outside and coordinate.”

Huangfu Qing thought for a moment, nodded slightly, and suddenly vanished: “If you two can’t come out, within a breath, the capital will turn to ashes.”

This was a warning and a threat to Xia Longyuan—yet he did not respond.

Xia Longyuan was not without concerns. After observing for so long, Huangfu Qing could at least confirm one thing: the current Xia Longyuan still needed to maintain the existence of the Great Xia Empire. No matter how precarious, it didn’t matter—as long as it existed.

This likely involved some method related to the fate of the mortal world, which Huangfu Qing could not yet analyze, but she knew something of the sort must exist. Otherwise, many of Xia Longyuan’s actions would be utterly inexplicable.

Zhao Changhe might have blindly overestimated Xia Longyuan’s strength, but in the hearts of this world’s elites, as long as a person had desires, he was not invincible—no matter what those desires were.

Thus, almost everyone was watching Xia Longyuan, waiting for him to show signs of weakness.

He was indeed not invincible.

Zhao Changhe took Xia Chichi’s hand, and the two slowly stepped onto the teleportation formation. A soft white light flashed, and they vanished instantly, while the formation’s glow on the ground also disappeared, as if it had never existed.

When the white light faded, they found themselves in an extremely peculiar scene.

Xia Longyuan sat cross-legged on a high stone platform. The platform was square, nine tiers high, each tier proportionally smaller than the one below. Even the ninth tier was still several dozen zhang wide, making the seemingly tall nine-tiered platform appear rather low and squat.

Around them was a dark dome, like a round lid covering all directions. Above, star charts flickered, outlining the forms of the celestial constellations.

Zhao Changhe’s first thought was “Night Emperor,” but he quickly realized it was not.

This was essentially the worldview of “round heaven and square earth” in cultivation—a necessary path for “overlooking the world” and “controlling heaven and earth.”

The Night Emperor was merely the one who had walked farthest along this path, hence the title, but it was not exclusive. Xia Longyuan was clearly also on this path, and how much he had incorporated from the White Tiger Saintess and the Azure Dragon’s intent was unknown.

In any case, seeing such a dome, Xia Chichi’s eyes grew more furious: “You cast aside my mother like a worn-out shoe, yet you use her cultivation intent. The world’s best, huh.”

Xia Longyuan was not angered. Even when Xia Chichi had earlier said “you’re not worthy,” he had not shown anger. Instead, he smiled slightly, looking at Xia Chichi with a hint of kindness: “Your insight is shallow; your opportunities are lacking. Look at Zhao Changhe—he wouldn’t raise such a question. Come up and talk.”

Zhao Changhe squeezed Xia Chichi’s hand, signaling her to calm down, then took her hand and leaped up, landing directly on the platform.

Xia Longyuan’s eyes showed some surprise as he carefully examined Zhao Changhe: “Your cultivation is faster than mine was back then—much faster.”

Zhao Changhe said flatly, “I’m honored.”

Xia Longyuan chuckled. “I told you before: if you dislike me and want to kill me, then come and do it yourself. You’ve been fast, but there’s still a long way to go.”

Xia Chichi glanced at Zhao Changhe in surprise. Back in Kunlun, Zhao Changhe had told her about his meeting with Xia Longyuan, including the beginning and end of her mother’s story, but he had not mentioned this line.

Had Zhao Changhe already expressed dissatisfaction with Xia Longyuan back then? And Xia Longyuan hadn’t even been angry. The relationship between these two men seemed very peculiar—in their conversation, Xia Longyuan used “I” throughout, never once “We.”

Then Zhao Changhe said, “At the time, I disagreed with your views, but I certainly wouldn’t have called for your head. You gave me things, treated me well, especially that line ‘Isn’t a father-in-law still a father?’—it made me feel warmly toward you. That line showed me humanity; you weren’t as indifferent to Chichi as I had imagined. Later, when others said you were my father, I didn’t deny it as vehemently as before. Indeed, a father-in-law is still a father.”

Xia Chichi’s tangled thoughts about what she should say were scattered by their conversation. She became intrigued, found a protruding stone on the ground, sat down, and silently watched them talk.

Xia Longyuan laughed softly. “You didn’t deny it so much—wasn’t it partly to borrow the prince’s identity? Like using the Dragon Sparrow, or wooing Tang Wanzhuang.”

Zhao Changhe: “...Partly, I admit.”

Xia Longyuan nodded and suddenly smiled. “Good. I hate people who pretend to be saints. You openly admit your selfishness—at least you’re not hypocritical. Sit down. Why stand in front of me like that, trying to look taller than me?”

Zhao Changhe did not sit. He stood straight and said, “The sea clans couldn’t have only one divine or demonic soul. You acted rashly, even disregarding Cui Wenjing’s and my lives, just to crush an ordinary Imperial Realm Yin Spirit. I want to know why.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“You look after your gods and demons; I look after my mortal world. I said it before: if you don’t care, I will.”

“And when I become part of what ruins your mortal world, you’ll curse me to the heavens?”

“Exactly.” Zhao Changhe said, “Cui Wenjing protected your rivers and mountains; Zhai Muzhi poisoned the southwest. You ignored Cui Wenjing but protected Zhai Muzhi. Doing such rotten things makes you no different from the worst of tyrants. If you’re not going to do it, and you have no interest, can’t you just let someone who wants to do it take over? Whether it’s Chichi or someone else—even if you handed it to Tang Buqi, I think he’d be better than you.”

Xia Longyuan’s eyes held amusement. “Do you know that for the words you’ve said to me and the attitude you’ve used to curse me, I could kill you ten thousand times? Is this how you barge through the martial world—so reckless?”

Zhao Changhe stiffened his neck. “Throughout history, more than one or two upright ministers have been killed for cursing tyrants. If fear of death keeps people from speaking out, then humanity might as well be destroyed.”

Xia Longyuan burst into laughter. “You actually see yourself as an upright minister...”

Zhao Changhe said, “I can’t beat you, so I have to be an upright minister.”

The implication: if I could beat you, I’d have beaten you long ago.

Xia Longyuan still wasn’t angry. He shook his head with a wry smile.

Zhao Changhe said, “But Old Xia... I didn’t know what I wanted to say to you when I came to the capital. Now, after this round of conversation, I’ve sorted it out.”

Xia Longyuan nodded. “Go on.”

“If I said, ‘The water that overturns the boat is the people’s tears; you won’t know until the flood comes’—would you find it cringey, laughable, and sneer at it?”

Xia Longyuan was still smiling. “I like cringey words. As for whether it’s cringey or not—that’s just because their blood has gone cold. Mine hasn’t.”

Zhao Changhe was startled, then felt a bit amused despite himself. True—the most cringey person in the world might be Xia Longyuan himself.

Xia Longyuan said, “You seem to be cursing me, but really you’re trying to persuade me to take charge... truly acting as an upright minister. How strange.”

“What’s strange about it? Why else would I come to the capital? You’re my father-in-law, after all... Even if it’s useless, I’ll say what needs to be said. Whether you listen is up to you.”

“My father-in-law, after all”—these words made Xia Longyuan’s expression shift slightly. He looked at Xia Chichi again, but she wasn’t looking at him; she was staring intently at Zhao Changhe.

Xia Longyuan sighed and slowly said, “Then go on. I’m listening.”

Zhao Changhe had a thousand words, but they stuck in his throat, and he didn’t know how to say them.

After thinking for a long time, he finally felt that saying anything more was pointless. It all boiled down to this: “Don’t be too confident. Don’t really think you’re invincible, that everything is just a monkey show, and that if you want to fix things, you can smooth it all over. I’m telling you now: if you die, it won’t necessarily be at the hands of gods or demons—it will be from the heroes rising up in this mortal world.”