ATEG Chapter 117.1

The divine gaze of the god atop the mountain peak descended. Beneath the clouds, karmic threads lay dense and tangled. The world was like a qin in his hands, every thread of karma his to pluck.

The Seven Emotion Triggers had been fully activated, yet his power had still not fully recovered, for his power had not been lost in this place alone.

The deity extended his hand and set the next game in motion.

……

The capital of Sui.

The martial spirit ran exceedingly strong throughout Sui territory, and nowhere more so than in the capital. Yet though the martial spirit here was fierce, the atmosphere of discipline was equally weighty. Ambushes, encirclements, deliberate humiliations — such things were nowhere to be seen within the city. Any reckless soul who dared to challenge the rules here had best be prepared to face the hostility of the entire city, to say nothing of the capital guards who hailed from Wuying Hall.

The martial culture of Sui had become the Dao of the cultivators who lived here. What they pursued was not brute aggression or mere victory. Combat was only a means; growing stronger was the end. Therefore, anyone who won through underhanded schemes and trickery was held in contempt — yes, you won, but what of your Dao?

To mistake the means for the end was the mark of a short-sighted, greedy, and narrow-minded person. If such individuals were allowed to flourish, they would ruin this rare place of cultivation. And so, every cultivator who had come to the Sui capital drawn by its spirit would actively suppress the emergence of such types.

In the Sui capital, if there were grievances that could not be settled privately without damaging property or disturbing the people, those who wished to fight were required to use the combat stage. Anyone could mount the combat stage, so long as they paid a small fee for its upkeep. The stage was divided into sparring matches and death duels, with sparring further subdivided. During a sparring match, formation arrays set up by cultivators would be activated on the stage, so that even if a combatant failed to hold back, no one would truly lose their life. Death duels required both parties to sign a death contract — life and death were decided on the stage, and grudges were settled off it. If someone insisted on seeking revenge for a person who died in a death duel, they would find their name placed on Wuying Hall’s list, becoming a mark targeted by all.

Because of this culture, the Sui capital had drawn countless cultivators devoted to this path, while those who wanted no part of it had largely left. Only under such rules could they find an environment of peaceful cultivation. Here there were countless like-minded people to spar with, and one need not fear being ambushed in secret retaliation for a duel. And so everyone voluntarily upheld these rules, which meant that despite the capital’s fierce martial culture, public order was remarkably good.

Sui’s capital prospered because of this, and cultivators came and went in an endless stream. In such an environment, Changpu slipped in as quietly as a drop of water dissolving into a river. It was her first time in Sui, and she did not know the situation here well — fortunately, with Yang Cang present and drawing on the resources of the Mingdeng Sect, she quickly gained a rough understanding. But there remained one problem: they had come to Sui to stop the Xuanqing Sect from scheming against Sui Kingdom. They were here now, but… where was the Xuanqing Sect?

The current state of Sui was sound. There had only been the incident a dozen or so years back when the old Sui King and the eldest prince had died suddenly, and then later the small stir caused by the young Sui King — but both matters had been resolved by Ying Bufu, and both had been clumsily plotted with neither beginning nor end, looking nothing like the Xuanqing Sect’s handiwork.

Moreover, Sui’s martial culture made it a difficult environment for spreading any religion.

Unlike Lu Kingdom, where shadows of the Xuanqing Sect had been exposed in hidden corners, Sui showed truly no movement at all. The information Yang Cang had received was already twenty-three years old — he only knew the specifics of Liang Kingdom’s situation, and what he knew of Sui was far from clear. But now that Liang Kingdom’s situation had been settled, they could only feel their way through Sui. The Xuanqing Sect would certainly make a move against Sui; since the territory looked undisturbed on the surface, the problem should lie within the royal palace.

There were no practitioners of the lamp-lighting method within the palace, and Yang Cang was temporarily unable to assist Changpu in this matter. Yet the world often works in strange coincidences. Changpu learned of the affairs within the Sui royal palace from another source entirely.

After arriving in Sui, she had happened to make the acquaintance of a ghost deity. This ghost deity had not cultivated during their lifetime, nor had they become a ghost through lingering resentment — rather, they had attained their form because of their peerless skill with the qin in life, venerated into existence through the offerings of Sui’s qin players.

“The Sui King has fallen ill with a headache ailment,” said Yu Jian.

News from within the royal palace was kept tightly sealed — understandably so. Ying Bufu was now the last of the Ying clan; though Sui appeared stable for now, if a problem with Ying Bufu were to come to light, it would inevitably stir fresh trouble. Yet no matter how thoroughly Ying Bufu concealed it, she could not hide the truth from the palace attendants who lived alongside her day and night. There were qin players within the palace, and among those players were some who had grown close to certain attendants, and through them word had quietly leaked out.

Ying Bufu’s headache ailment was no ordinary illness. She had sought out skilled physicians and even cultivators of great attainment, but all of them were helpless before it.

The palace attendants had all been treading carefully of late. When Ying Bufu’s headaches first began they were not so severe, and she could still endure them; but later the pain grew more and more intense until she was nearly unable to manage state affairs, and her temper inevitably grew more and more volatile. People whispered in private that this was because the Sui King had killed her own younger brother, and that the ghost of her brother Ying Yannian was taking revenge upon her — which was why even the cultivators could do nothing about it.

But recently the atmosphere in the royal palace had loosened slightly. The Sui King had found a cultivator who could ease her headaches, and she showed exceptional fondness for this person. With his mediation, the Sui King was no longer as prone to outbursts as before.

The palace attendants were all deeply grateful to this cultivator, yet he was deeply suspicious. There was no shortage of powerful cultivators in the Sui capital at present — why was it that not one of them could solve the Sui King’s headache ailment, yet this particular cultivator alone could treat it? And why was he able only to alleviate it but not cure it — using this as his excuse to linger endlessly within the palace and never depart?

Changpu furrowed her brow and asked Yu Jian, “Who is this cultivator?”

……

Within the Sui royal palace.

Ying Bufu reclined at an angle on her couch, eyes closed, allowing an attendant behind her to massage her temples. Her face was one of soft, flowing lines — features delicate and beautiful — but her brows were naturally thick and black, their peaks sharply arched, lending her face a quality of hardness and authority. At this moment those brows were deeply furrowed, and those around her dared not breathe too loudly.

A palace attendant walked past, her footsteps too heavy, pressing a sound from the floorboards. Ying Bufu’s eyes snapped open and she looked over with a frown. The attendant was so frightened she dropped to her knees with a thud — and the sound of it only made Ying Bufu’s brow tighten further. The attendant, realizing she had made yet another mistake, trembled all over, not daring to knock her head to the floor, not daring to cry out and plead.

The attendant behind Ying Bufu kept her hands moving and gestured with her chin to the others.

Two sturdy serving men walked over, hauled up the kneeling attendant, and dragged her away. They wore only cloth socks on their feet, their steps light and steady, not making a single sound.

An attendant who had come in from outside moved quickly across the room, passing them in the opposite direction, her own footsteps equally silent. She leaned close to Ying Bufu and murmured something low.

Ying Bufu opened her eyes, her expression softening. “Please show him in.”

A cultivator entered, gliding in gracefully, his hair lacquer-black save for white strands at the temples. He appeared gentle and tranquil, his eyes seeming to hold at once the pure innocence of a child and the soft wisdom of an elder.

Bie Chunian walked to the side of her couch and prevented her from rising. His fingers passed through the air above her, and a few drops of sweet dew fell. The pain behind Ying Bufu’s brows eased somewhat, and she let out a slow breath. “It is fortunate that Zhenren is here — only then can I find a moment’s peace.”

“Your Majesty is blessed by fortune,” said Bie Chunian, unhurried and even, his words carrying with them an innate quality of conviction, so that even the attendant behind Ying Bufu’s couch relaxed with an expression of ‘of course that is so’. “Even were I not present, Your Majesty would overcome this trial sooner or later.”

Yet Ying Bufu gave a smile of indeterminate meaning. “Blessed by fortune.” She waved her hand, and all attendants withdrew save for the one at her back.

“Zhenren — I had the dream again,” said Ying Bufu, closing her eyes. “I saw Yannian again.”

The attendant behind her showed a look of quiet worry. Bie Chunian produced a fragrant pellet; the attendant quickly received it, inhaled to test it, then carefully placed it in the incense burner.

Ying Bufu continued, “He was still the way he looked at three years old. The whole palace was hung with mourning white. He was crying, reaching out his arms to me, asking me where Father had gone.”

Bie Chunian did not speak. He simply listened in silence. The warm, sharp fragrance drifted slowly from the incense burner, and the lines of Ying Bufu’s brow eased by a fraction more. She murmured as if to herself. “But after I took him in my arms, his face suddenly changed. He glared at me with hatred and asked me why I had killed him.”

The hall was so still it was almost like death. The attendant’s hands remained steady, but sweat had appeared on her forehead.

The young Sui King was dead. No one knew how he had died, and no one dared to ask. In the early days when Ying Bufu had just become Sui King, there had been a minister whose mind was not quite clear who had tried to use this fact to pressure and constrain her — but Ying Bufu deflected him with elegant ease. She had not done anything to the man, but later this muddle-headed fellow seemed to want to demonstrate his principles, neglected his duties and delayed her orders, and was consequently stripped of his position and sent back to the countryside to farm.

In short, those who remained by now were all people with clear heads. None asked about this matter anymore. And even if it were asked — what then? The current Sui King was a person of decent character with real ability, and the state of Sui was presently good. If she truly had killed the young Sui King, was one to clash with her over it? Depose her, leave the Ying clan with no one, leave the Sui throne without an occupant, and plunge Sui into chaos — and then what? Having decided to coexist with this ruler going forward, why drag up the past? Dragging it into the open would only make things ugly for everyone.

And so the question of how the young Sui King had truly died was quietly blurred over, with no one paying it any mind.

Yet now Ying Bufu herself had spoken the words aloud.

The attendant’s heart clenched with anxiety. Bie Chunian’s expression remained serene, as though what Ying Bufu had said was nothing remarkable.

Ying Bufu’s voice faded. Her breathing gradually grew slow and deep, and leaning on the couch as she was, she drifted into sleep. The attendant loosened her hair and gently pressed it with a wooden comb. Bie Chunian sat with eyes half-open, seeming to have entered a state of meditative stillness. The hall was frightfully quiet, with nothing but the attendant’s heartbeat growing heavier and heavier.

But before long, Ying Bufu woke. She blinked and asked, “How long did I sleep?”

“Less than a quarter of an hour,” the attendant said softly.

Ying Bufu looked toward Bie Chunian, and said apologetically, “I have been lacking in energy of late. I hope Zhenren will forgive my rudeness.”

“Your Majesty — please take care of yourself,” said Bie Chunian warmly.

He drew a small box from his sleeve. Inside were several fragrant pellets. The attendant received it and, unable to help herself, said, “Zhenren — could you not bring a larger supply?”

Bie Chunian’s expression grew slightly grave. “Medicine heals illness, yet it also burdens the body — it must not be overused. Your Majesty’s condition will improve in time. Using this medicine now to ease the pain is acceptable, but one should not rely on it too heavily. Restraint is essential.”

The attendant could only bow her head.

Bie Chunian then addressed Ying Bufu, “Your Majesty need not dwell on these dreams. They are only dreams.”

Ying Bufu smiled slightly and rose to escort him out. “I understand.”

The very first time Bie Chunian had met her, he had said something of this nature — otherwise she would never have allowed him to attempt treating her. That brother of hers had been nothing but an ordinary person; even if he had truly become a vengeful ghost causing mischief, the cultivators she kept in her service were not there for nothing — they would have dealt with it long ago.

What Bie Chunian had told her was that her headache ailment was a trial of fate, which was why it could not be cured but only alleviated — she must endure it until it passed on its own. This explanation, though worded differently from what other cultivators had told her, was consistent in meaning; with mutual corroboration, she had her own judgment.

Ying Bufu escorted Bie Chunian to the doorway. The illness had worn her thin of late, and her loosened hair had not yet been tied up again — both hair and the wide sleeves of her robe were pulled and tossed about by the wind, making her look frail and pitiable. The attendant wanted to urge her to go back inside but did not dare to speak. Only after Bie Chunian’s figure had vanished entirely from view did Ying Bufu turn and walk back into the hall with her attendant, where she curled up with the hand warmer the attendant had prepared for her, closed her eyes, and appeared to drift off again.

The attendant gently combed through the hair the wind had tangled, when suddenly she heard Ying Bufu speak, “Ah Lu — you know me better than anyone. If one day you find that something is not right with me, go to Mister Xue and have him kill that man.”

Ah Lu started, and said involuntarily, “Your Majesty—”

Ying Bufu’s eyes remained closed. She gave a low questioning hum from her nose.

Ah Lu steadied herself. “I will do it.”

Mister Xue was the one cultivator on the eighth tier of the Yongsheng Tower — the ninth tier had no one. He was the absolute pinnacle of all within the tower. Mister Xue was a martial fanatic who had come running to Sui as soon as he heard about the culture there. Ying Bufu had generously provided for him all this time while making no demands in return, which caused Mister Xue some unease; he went to find Ying Bufu himself, and after a single conversation with her, he settled in again with peace of mind.

At the time of that conversation, it was Ah Lu who stood guard outside the door. And from that conversation, besides securing a patron for Sui Kingdom, Ying Bufu had also secured a teacher for Ah Lu — though Mister Xue refused to acknowledge it. He said that while Ah Lu had natural talent, she did not have the heart for cultivation, and so he would not take her as a disciple, only consent to give her occasional guidance.

Ah Lu did not feel this was in any way a loss. Her Majesty had the wisdom and the will; guarding her Majesty was enough. She was content with this.

But… so Her Majesty had never truly trusted Bie Chunian? She had always assumed Her Majesty was sincerely grateful to him. Yet now she understood what she needed to do. As long as nothing went wrong, she would go on treating the Zhenren with the same respectful courtesy as before. And if something did go wrong… no. Nothing would go wrong. She would stay vigilant. She absolutely would not let anything happen to Her Majesty!

Outside the hall, the two sturdy serving men had dragged the whimpering, trembling attendant to a remote spot and let go. She crumpled to the ground and looked up at them with pleading eyes, trying to reach out.