ATEG Chapter 126

Heavy snow bent the bamboo, and within Dingxi City, heaven and earth blurred into one color.

Tao Xi wore a coarse gray-brown paper fur coat, hunching his shoulders and chest, blending inconspicuously among the commoners shoveling snow.

Dingxi City was a small city on the border of Liang Kingdom. The land was rocky and unsuitable for farming, and the city had been built here solely because of its geographic position, serving as a military fortress. But later, as the terrain changed, the fortress lost its significance. Now there was nothing noteworthy about the place at all — it was so unremarkable that even the Disciplinary Bureau had no need to concern itself with it. The forces that might eye Dingxi City lacked the power to seize it, and those with the power had no interest in it.

Yet within this unremarkable little city, a royal bloodline had been kept.

After the previous Liang King, Xu Chang, murdered his father to seize the throne, he sent all his other brothers far away. Having gained power through dishonorable means, he was inevitably more wary of his brothers. He enfeoffed them one by one to remote and barren little cities like Dingxi City — this was certainly a precaution against them, but it was not without a measure of protection as well. Dingxi City could not sustain extravagant pleasures, but it was also far from dangerous strife.

Tao Xi had come to Dingxi City precisely for this royal bloodline.

Dunxi City and Dingxi City — one could tell from their names that both had been established to stabilize Liang Kingdom’s western defensive line. The two cities were far apart, but compared to going elsewhere, this was already relatively close, and it would make it convenient for Tao Xi to travel to Lu Kingdom afterward. Tao Xi’s second reason for choosing Dingxi City was that Xu Rong — the brother Xu Chang had banished here — was a man of extraordinarily prolific descendants.

He had collected many beauties for himself, and over these twenty-plus years, they had borne him nearly a hundred sons and daughters, most of whom had grown up healthy. These children had already given him a considerable number of grandchildren.

Such a large and flourishing family was extraordinarily convenient for Tao Xi. The guards around Xu Rong were no weaklings, but those guards had no way of watching over his every descendant. Tao Xi was a Seven-Pattern Officer within the Disciplinary Bureau, and with his methods, quietly taking a little blood from this person, secretly obtaining a little from that one… none of them would notice. Gathering from several people over several more days, Tao Xi quickly accumulated enough to last Xu Kang a lifetime.

He was now preparing to leave. To avoid being detected by the Xuanqing Sect, Tao Xi had been cautious throughout his journey. Now that he had obtained the blood, he was even less willing to stumble at the final step.

Heavy snow had been falling for the past few days. In addition to clearing snow within the city, a stretch of the main road outside Dingxi City also needed to be cleared. Tao Xi blended among the work crew and exited the city — but his eye suddenly caught a familiar figure. 

Duan Xiayun? What was she doing here?

Duan Xiayun was a Six-Pattern Officer within the Disciplinary Bureau — upright in character and swift in action, but she almost never took missions requiring her to leave Liang Capital. She had not participated in the current mission to find Young Master Kang. This was common knowledge within the Disciplinary Bureau. Her superiors also never assigned her tasks that required leaving Liang Capital, because she had a sick child.

Duan Xiayun’s child was called Duan Xiaomiao. Duan Xiaomiao had not grown up as vigorously as his name suggested; instead, like a seedling under a scorching sun, he had nearly withered. He had been born with an incomplete soul, which meant his mind had never been able to mature. His body had grown to adulthood, but his mind remained forever like that of a six-year-old child. If it were only this, Duan Xiayun — capable enough to become a Six-Pattern Officer — could not cure him, but she could at least ensure he lived out his life in peace. However, the problem of Duan Xiaomiao’s incomplete soul did not manifest only in his mind. His soul was unstable within his physical body, and without the bronze lock that Duan Xiayun had refined to hold it in place, Duan Xiaomiao’s soul could leave his body three times in a single day. For ordinary beings, having the soul depart for too long was not good, but brief departures did not cause serious problems. Yet Duan Xiaomiao’s soul was incomplete, and every departure was a torment. Even now, with Duan Xiayun’s magical treasure suppressing the soul, every time his soul stirred was still agonizing.

Duan Xiayun was a cultivator and did not view life and death the way ordinary people did. If Duan Xiaomiao had merely contracted some other incurable illness, she would have let him go — living was only suffering, so why force him to linger? But the issue with Duan Xiaomiao was his incomplete soul. Even if she let him go in this life, with an incomplete soul in life, his ghost-form after death would also be incomplete. Even if he smoothly re-entered the cycle of reincarnation and was reborn elsewhere, his soul would still be incomplete. She was, after all, a cultivator of no small cultivation — but if Xiaomiao were reborn into an ordinary family, what could they do? How many lifetimes would Xiaomiao have to endure before he encountered a chance to be cured? And throughout that process, could his soul sustain even greater damage?

Duan Xiayun was a cultivator, but she was also a mother.

She had kept Xiaomiao alive by force of will, and had been searching all this time for a way to cure him. She had joined the Disciplinary Bureau precisely to seek out more possibilities. Anyone within the Disciplinary Bureau who might conceivably help had seen Xiaomiao — Tao Xi had gone to see him too. He was a very well-behaved child. It was a pity there was nothing Tao Xi could do. The Disciplinary Bureau had no means to cure Xiaomiao, and everyone had tacitly agreed to let Duan Xiayun take as many Liang Capital-based missions as possible.

So why had she suddenly left Liang Capital and come to this remote Dingxi City?

Tao Xi instinctively surveyed his surroundings, and upon closer observation, he did indeed notice something amiss. The work crew had gone off together to collect tools, with those who knew each other naturally clustering together while strangers naturally drifted apart. Duan Xiayun appeared unacquainted with the few people around her, yet these people remained clustered tightly around her.

Is she being held hostage? was Tao Xi’s instinctive reaction. He had not wanted to entangle himself in complications, but Duan Xiayun was his colleague, and there was a child like Xiaomiao to consider…

Tao Xi did not hesitate long before making his decision. Xu Kang was important, but not so important that no risks could be taken at all. Duan Xiayun and Duan Xiaomiao were both living people.

He contacted Duan Xiayun covertly using the Disciplinary Bureau’s unique method. Amid the great calamity, spiritual essence was in turmoil, and the traces of techniques were difficult to conceal, so he merely touched Duan Xiayun’s perception and then used the mortals’ secret code to ask whether she needed help.

Duan Xiayun kept her head half-lowered and did not glance in his direction. Her fingers moved slightly, as if merely curling unconsciously against the cold wind. Tao Xi had already deciphered the meaning: it signified nothing wrong, no need to intervene.

Tao Xi relaxed somewhat, but his bewilderment only deepened. Since Duan Xiayun was fine and did not need help, she must have come here of her own accord. Had the Disciplinary Bureau really assigned her to such a remote mission? Could conditions within the Bureau have grown so dire? Even if personnel were stretched thin, a few high-ranking individuals would have to remain in Liang Capital — no one would compete with Duan Xiayun for stay-in-Liang-Capital assignments. Did this mean there was not a single Six-Pattern Officer left in Liang Capital? Or had the Disciplinary Bureau changed leadership, and the new person was unwilling to accommodate Duan Xiayun’s circumstances?

No — if that were the case, Duan Xiayun would have been even more likely to ask him for help, so she could finish the mission sooner and return to Liang Capital. It was also possible that Duan Xiayun had left Liang Capital specifically to seek a cure for Xiaomiao. There might be someone or something in Dingxi City that she believed could help Xiaomiao’s condition.

Tao Xi turned this over in his mind while his face betrayed nothing. Like the ordinary people around him, he hunched against the cold, sniffling from time to time. He picked up his tool and walked out of the shed — that tool was only a piece of nearly rotted wood. Most of the snow-clearing tools in the shed were equally crude, yet even so, fewer than half of the workers had received any tools at all. The rest were empty-handed, but their snow-clearing tasks would not be lightened on that account.

Some experienced workers had brought tools from home — nothing more than small broken boards the size of a palm, but still better than nothing. Those who had brought nothing had no choice but to scoop snow with their bare hands. Before long, their hands would be frozen and swollen red as carrots, then agonizing chilblains would set in.

Under the overseers’ watch, the laborers began clearing the ankle-deep layer of snow to either side of the road, bit by bit. According to Tao Xi’s plan, it was already time for him to leave. But Duan Xiayun was still here. Although she had signaled in code that everything was fine, those people had remained constantly clustered around her — the situation was genuinely abnormal.

Tao Xi frowned inwardly, and used another method to convey to Duan Xiayun that he was preparing to leave. He was afraid his movements might interfere with her affairs, and this was also a second confirmation — if Duan Xiayun needed help, she could hint for him to stay longer. But Duan Xiayun did not.

Fine, then. Though still somewhat uneasy, Tao Xi conceded that he might be overthinking it. He was also carrying a mission of his own right now and could not linger here.

He scooped up a thick layer of snow with his board, following behind a frail laborer who was cupping snow with his bare hands, and walked together toward the roadside. A dirty snowdrift had already piled up at the edge of the road. Using the snowdrift as cover, Tao Xi slipped the board into the laborer’s hands, then vanished without a trace.

The laborer’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Where had this board come from? Had there been someone beside him just now? A gust of cold air rushed in, and he quickly shut his mouth. No matter where the board had come from — with this, at least he wouldn’t have to use his bare hands.

One of the droopy-eyed cultivators among the group directed a question at Duan Xiayun via divine consciousness. “Was that just now someone from the Disciplinary Bureau?”

Tao Xi’s departure had concealed itself from ordinary people, but not from them.

Duan Xiayun’s expression was stern and cold. “It has nothing to do with you.”

“Then kill him,” the cultivator said viciously. They were fugitives — they could not afford to be discovered.

Duan Xiayun gave a cold laugh. “His cultivation far surpasses mine. If you’re confident you can prevent him from sending word, by all means go after him.”

The sinister-faced cultivator glared at her in silence. It seemed Duan Xiayun was indeed acquainted with that man. If she were willing to help, he was alone and off his guard — it might not be impossible to succeed. But Duan Xiayun clearly had no intention of helping any further.

“We need to tend to our injuries,” he said again, his gaze roaming the laborers with a hidden, cold calculation. The quality was less than ideal, but something was better than nothing — the cold of deep winter could kill, and a few deaths would draw no attention.

“If you dare refine blood-offerings here, I will kill you,” Duan Xiayun said icily.

“Duan Xiayun!” the man ground out through divine sense, “You’ve already broken your vow — what exactly are you still holding onto?!”

But Duan Xiayun refused to yield. These wanted criminals of Liang Kingdom dared not show themselves openly and were all injured besides, so they could only back down. “We wish to leave as soon as possible.”

Winter nights fell especially early. By the time the moon hung at its zenith, the other cultivators around Duan Xiayun had already disappeared. Those Luo Sect survivors had slipped beyond Liang Kingdom’s borders. Before leaving, they had delivered what they had promised, along with a cold sneer. “You’ve already broken your vows. Your bones are hard — I wonder how long you can stay that way.”

Beneath the moonlight, Duan Xiayun made her way back to Liang Capital alone. Her expression remained cold and hard, yet it concealed a quietly exhausted weariness.

****

Quqiu City, Liang Royal Palace.

The brazier burned bright and hot. Outside the windows, snow fell in sweeping flurries.

Stacks of registers lay piled on the writing table. A wolf-hair brush dipped in ink and wrote across the pages by itself, while Li Quan idly hung his head, his slender fingers scratching at the scruff of a squirrel sitting on his knee.

The little squirrel’s coat was a rich orange — grown thick and soft for the winter — and it lay on Li Quan’s knee with its eyes blissfully narrowed. The creature was no spirit; it had not even awakened a soul. Several days ago, a sudden heavy snowfall had left it frozen stiff outside, and Li Quan had casually picked it up and brought it in. Once it recovered, it remembered this place, and began coming back every few days, bringing friends to eat, drink, and warm themselves by the fire — that brazier had been lit for them.

The palace door was suddenly pushed open, and the sounds of wind and snow swelled abruptly. Xu Huan walked in, turned and shut the door behind him, cutting off the cascading snowfall.

The cluster of little squirrels raised their heads alertly, then leapt away from the brazier in a series of bounds and vanished, leaving only the one on Li Quan’s knee — torn between the urge to follow its kin and its reluctance to leave Li Quan. Li Quan gave it a gentle nudge, and it bounded away as well. The brush on the writing table continued its diligent writing; dividing one’s attention was no great feat for a cultivator.

“What is it?” Li Quan asked.

The cause-and-effect threads within Liang Capital were tangled and obscured. Because of Hundun, cause and effect within Liang Capital were nearly impossible to see clearly. The threads around Xu Huan seemed to vanish into a black void — he bore the name of the Xuanqing Sect Master, and how could Hundun possibly leave him unattended? Ordinary people might consider a title without actual power to be an empty thing, but in the perception of cultivators, so-called fortune, cause-and-effect, and destiny were all bound to names. Hundun understood perfectly well that for Changyang — who commanded cause and effect — a single name was enough to accomplish a great deal.

Xu Huan was walking his own path, a path that ran counter to Hundun. Controlling a single person was not difficult for Hundun, but he wanted to maintain the brightness of the flame while also controlling the burning — how could it be certain the flame would not suddenly flare up and scorch its hand?

Li Quan noticed the scroll Xu Huan held in his hand. Xu Huan set it on the table with a furrowed brow. “There is a case…”

The brush on the table stopped, was set into the brush rest, and the registers were moved aside one by one. Xu Huan looked at these registers, lost in thought for a moment. They were all drafts of law — he had asked Li Quan here to help him review them. What he intended to enact was not merely Liang Kingdom’s law, but his own foundation. He wanted to establish a comprehensive and just legal code, but it could not be put into practice — at least not yet.

Even cause and effect, sometimes, required lifetimes to bear fruit. What could a small Liang Kingdom achieve? A mortal kingdom could only pass judgment on its subjects within their lifetimes. Beyond that — if a cultivator of great power committed crimes in Liang, could Liang Kingdom truly pursue them regardless of the cost?

Yet Xu Huan had first established this register — one that would perhaps lie sealed for a thousand, ten thousand years.

Because reality demanded compromise, and compromise was the surest way to erode a person’s convictions. He needed to remember his true purpose, to remember why he had started all of this.

And he had already begun to compromise. Liang needed a law that could be implemented, one that worked efficiently. If the new law cut too deeply into the interests of those in power and provoked fierce resistance, a law that could not function was nothing more than empty words on paper. This was not something any single person could push through by force — it required the recognition of Liang Kingdom’s people, required voluntary acceptance. So he could only compromise first, calibrating to the degree the most powerful figures within Liang could tolerate.

He had compromised greatly. Beneath the seemingly just surface of the new law, far too much leeway had been left to those with wealth and power. Yet even so, for those long accustomed to privilege, the new law was already the absolute limit of their concessions. Had they not already witnessed the ruthlessness of the new Liang King, they would never have endured even this much.

And to win even this much, the new law would not revisit past offenses. That is to say — no matter what crimes had been committed in the past, even if they came to light now, as long as they had occurred before the new law took effect, they would not be reckoned with. The new law was not entirely just, but it was a beginning.

Xu Huan’s eyes were half-lowered, his cold fingers rubbing together as he said, “I have long wanted to reclaim the authority held by the Disciplinary Bureau, and someone has now handed me exactly the opening I needed.”

The Disciplinary Bureau held the power to disregard royal commands and was bound to the very fortune of Liang Kingdom. Xu Huan had long wanted to deal with them, but had never had sufficient cause. He could suppress them but not dismantle them outright. Now, however, cause had arrived…

Li Quan slowly leafed through the scroll on the table, the threads of cause and effect flickering within his eyes. The threads connected to Xu Huan were invisible, but the parts unconnected to him still unfolded before him like the pages of an open book.

The first page of that book began from a time before the great calamity had yet arrived…

At that time, Shezhou City was still the Luo Sect’s territory. The Disciplinary Bureau found this repugnant, but there was nothing they could do — who had told them to be negligent in the past? Getting the Luo Sect to spit out meat already in its mouth was no easy matter. Still, the two sides had dealt with each other for a long time and understood each other’s limits, and the Disciplinary Bureau had no choice but to stomach its disgust and deal with the Luo Sect.

That Duan Xiayun appeared in Shezhou City was not for any Disciplinary Bureau mission. She rarely left Liang Capital, but it was not impossible — when necessary, she would entrust Xiaomiao to a friend’s care for a few days. Now was one such necessary time: the Luo Sect possessed a means to cure Xiaomiao.

“What do you want?” Duan Xiayun asked.

“He must enter our sect,” the Luo Sect cultivator replied.

“That is impossible,” Duan Xiayun refused flatly. “Name another condition.”

“I consider this demand entirely reasonable. Ancestor Luo Sheng has given him a second life — is it not right that he should revere Ancestor Luo Sheng as his father and mother?” the hemp-robed cultivator said.

“Xiaomiao is only an ordinary person. You have no reason to want him. What I can offer is worth far more than he is. Name a condition that requires me to act — as long as it is within my power,” Duan Xiayun replied.

Duan Xiayun could not accept their demand. The Luo Sect revered the Eternal Progenitor and believed all people in the world were the Progenitor’s children, who should revere the Progenitor as their own father and mother — their birth parents being merely instruments through which they had come into the world. Duan Xiayun knew perfectly well what the Luo Sect truly was at its core. If Xiaomiao fell into their hands, he would only become a tool for them, and his fate would not necessarily be better than it was now.

Beyond that condition, Duan Xiayun could yield on much. She could offer things of far greater value. She could accept an unequal exchange. Any technique, any magical treasure, any rarity she possessed… the entirety of what she had accumulated in her cultivation to this point.

But the hemp-robed cultivator was unmoved. He spread his hands. “Then please seek a better offer elsewhere. I wish your son an early release from suffering.”

That negotiation ultimately fell through as well. The Luo Sect, at the height of its power, had no shortage of what a Six-Pattern Officer could offer. What they valued was the position itself — the identity of a Six-Pattern Officer within the Disciplinary Bureau.

Due to the unique cultivation method of the Disciplinary Bureau, it was nearly impossible to plant a spy within their ranks or to induce any of them to defect. But if they could control Duan Xiaomiao, it was essentially equivalent to controlling Duan Xiayun. For now, the Luo Sect did not need Duan Xiayun to commit outright violations — merely some borderline hints would suffice. And once she grew accustomed to that, it would become easier for her to cross more serious lines in the future. When the time came that the Luo Sect truly needed to use her, they would of course show no mercy. Even if Duan Xiayun steeled herself to abandon this son, the Luo Sect’s loss would not be great.

But Duan Xiayun understood this just as clearly — which was precisely why she would never agree to the Luo Sect’s terms.

“I investigated her,” Xu Huan said.

After receiving the case brought to him, he had personally looked into it. Dismantling the Disciplinary Bureau was no small matter. The current lack of strong resistance was because others merely thought he was suppressing the Bureau out of personal displeasure — no one had considered that he intended to abolish it outright. A centipede dies but never falls down; how much more so an institution that had coexisted with Liang Kingdom for seven hundred years? If he could not strike decisively in a single blow, handling it afterward would be far more difficult.

The opening that could dissolve the Disciplinary Bureau had to strike at its very core. What was the Disciplinary Bureau’s core? Their vows as their discipline, their loyalty as their bond, and the protection of Liang Kingdom.

The opening handed to Xu Huan was perfect in every respect — save for one thing that lay beyond the matter itself.

“Duan Xiayun… she has never made a single error before.”

Xu Huan knew what kind of people Liang Kingdom’s officials were. The Xu clan had long grown weak — nominally the rulers of Liang Kingdom, but in reality sharing it with every faction of power. When the ruler is weak, vassals grow bold: accepting bribes, colluding with heretical sects, enslaving the common people… this had become the norm in Liang Kingdom. There were precious few clean officials; a clean official could not even fit into the system and would inevitably be driven out.

As for the Disciplinary Bureau — in Xu Huan’s eyes, they were no different. The ministers stole the kingdom; the Disciplinary Bureau stole Liang’s fortune. The only difference was that the Disciplinary Bureau was constrained by their vows, so their methods were more circuitous. A thorough investigation would reveal few truly clean hands. But Duan Xiayun had genuinely never done any such thing. Everyone knew her character was upright and she acted strictly by the rules. This inflexible nature had caused her grief at first, but she had never changed.

And it was this Six-Pattern Officer who had escorted the Luo Sect’s fugitives out of the border. Under the new law, this counted as treason — a crime of extermination of the clan.

Xu Huan could not help but feel troubled. If judged strictly by culpability, she was cleaner than ninety percent of Liang Kingdom’s officials. Yet the premise for the new law’s enforcement was that past offenses would not be revisited. The new law had only just begun to be enacted, and everyone was watching. If the very first case was let off lightly, the new law — established at such cost — would only be looked upon with contempt. People would think, as they always had: Oh, what does a new law matter? One can still escape consequences just like before.

Re-establishing the authority of the new law after that would be extraordinarily difficult.

****

Duan Xiayun did not know that what she had done had already been discovered. She had only just returned to Liang Capital, preparing the things needed to treat Xiaomiao. A mortal’s lifespan was inherently limited, and with Xiaomiao’s incomplete soul he could not cultivate — she could wait no longer. 

Over a month ago, the Luo Sect had attempted a blood sacrifice in Shezhou City, only to be uprooted by the Xuanqing Sect with lightning speed. Upon receiving this news, Duan Xiayun immediately requested leave and set out for Shezhou City. The Luo Sect’s fall was her best chance at obtaining the method to cure Xiaomiao — but the dread weighing on her heart was even heavier. By the time she received word, it was already far too late. All these years she had persisted in dealing with the Luo Sect, never abandoning hope. Yet who could have imagined the all-powerful Luo Sect would collapse in a single day? If that method had been lost in the chaos, finding it again would be like searching for a needle in the ocean.

Duan Xiayun rushed to Shezhou City. Her premonition proved correct. The city was already under the Xuanqing Sect’s control. Before suffering total defeat, the Luo Sect had destroyed its own stronghold, burning its secrets, its crimes, and its legacy all together.

Xiaomiao’s hope was gone.

She thought of Xiaomiao’s face, and could not keep the guilt from rising within her. She could not give him a healthy body, nor a complete soul. Perhaps she should have agreed to the Luo Sect’s terms back then — at least he would not have had to suffer like this in his next life…

But it was all too late now.

****

Li Quan had finished reading through the scroll.

When Duan Xiayun left Shezhou City, she had encountered several Luo Sect survivors who had slipped through the net. They had offered her the cure in exchange for her helping them escape Liang Kingdom.

Under the new law, this was the grave crime of treason, and all six vows she held within the Disciplinary Bureau had inevitably been broken. She could not bring Xiaomiao out of Liang Capital before the matter was concluded — that would be too easy to expose. So after seeing the Luo Sect members off, she had still needed to return to Liang Capital. To avoid discovery, she had to conceal the fact that her vows were broken.

The reason the Disciplinary Bureau held such power within Liang Kingdom was precisely because its members were bound by their vows — once a vow was broken, it was difficult to conceal. Therefore, when a member of the Disciplinary Bureau had broken their vows through treason and successfully concealed it, the Disciplinary Bureau itself no longer had grounds for its existence.

This was an exceptional opportunity for Xu Huan, one he had virtually no reason to refuse.

Duan Xiayun’s fate hung upon his single thought. If he dealt with her, the new law’s enforcement would proceed without unnecessary obstruction, the Disciplinary Bureau could be dissolved with justification — and this was indeed a crime that Duan Xiayun herself had committed.

Xu Huan’s eyes were lowered, his cold fingers tracing slowly across the table.

“You came to me to help you make a decision?” Li Quan set down the scroll.

Xu Huan’s gaze followed this to the writing table, where he saw those registers — the legal codes he and Li Quan had established together.

“You have already decided to come to me. Do you really need me to make the decision for you?” Li Quan curved the corner of his mouth. He swept a hand across the writing table, and the registers returned to their places. The wolf-hair brush on the brush rest dipped itself in ink, floated to the page, and resumed writing.

Xu Huan stilled. He had come to seek Li Quan, had he not, hoping for his counsel? Yet as his gaze fell upon those registers, understanding came to him of its own accord. He had long known what Li Quan sought, had long known what kind of choice Li Quan would make. Allowing a few Luo Sect survivors to escape was a crime, yes — but not one deserving of this. If she were used to abolish the Disciplinary Bureau, she would not survive.

“Yes,” he gave a low, quiet laugh, “since I had already decided to come find you, why should I still need to ask?” Had he been willing to use Duan Xiayun’s life to pave the road for Liang, he would never have come to find Li Quan at all.

Having a fellow traveler was a luxury. In his lifetime, the people he could truly trust were few. His mother was already gone. Ah Ci had become his enemy. Aunt Tiao’s time with him had been brief, and she never spoke of the path of cultivation. Li Quan… they had not known each other long, yet they walked similar roads. At their first meeting, Li Quan had perceived the pent-up anguish within him and broken through it with the music of a qin. The next time they met, he already had the rough outline of a path forward — and then he discovered that the road he had chosen lay remarkably close to the one Li Quan walked.

The path could not deceive. If one had not truly walked an enormous distance along it, traces would inevitably show in speech and conduct. He had already met with Li Quan many times, had talked through many things. He believed he had not misjudged this man — here was someone who could walk the same road beside him. He could ask Li Quan to help him perfect his foundation; he could also share with Li Quan in the virtue and merit built through Liang Kingdom.

“Then slower will just have to be slower,” Xu Huan let out a breath. This had never been something that could be rushed.

Perhaps as the King of Liang, he should not hesitate to sacrifice someone else for the sake of a greater cause. But if, whenever the road ahead showed thorns, he only ever chose the easier path, drifting imperceptibly further and further off course — by the end, could he still find his way back to the right one?

Li Quan glanced at him with a smile. The power of Hundun still shrouded Xu Huan, but within that black void that seemed to swallow everything whole, a thread of cause and effect had quietly extended itself — tenacious, a soft and gentle azure-white hue, like a tiny leaf-sprout, struggling up from beneath deep mud.