ATEG Chapter 122

Li Quan was plucking the strings. He played in a loose, unhurried manner, the music subtle and ever-shifting — at times as bleak and desolate as a great snowfall sweeping the sky, biting and cold; at other times drawn out and murmuring, like two people seated together in quiet conversation, unhurried and at ease.

The qin has three tones: the heavenly tone, ethereal and transcendent; the earthly tone, deep and far-reaching; and the human tone, like speech. Li Quan’s qin always played the human. Joy, anger, sorrow, fear, love, hatred, desire — all seven emotions were present, plucked to the finest and deepest places of the heart.

This made Duji feel that Li Quan was not a true qin master. The qin has three tones, yet he took only one — he did not voice the heavenly, he did not reach the earthly; he used the qin merely as an instrument for plucking the seven emotions of the mortal world.

When Li Quan’s mood for playing had quieted, Duji pushed over a warmed cup of wine and sighed. “Playing a qin like this, traveling the four directions at a time like this — what is it you seek?”

“What I seek…” Li Quan drained his cup, idly turning it in his hands, and then suddenly smiled. “Is a justice without flaw or filth.”

This was a boast no less audacious than Duji’s own ambitions.

But was the pursuit of the Dao not itself an audacious road to begin with? Was the wish to attain immortality and transcend the cycle of reincarnation not itself an audacious desire?

If one dared, with a mortal body, to yearn for the vast and elusive Great Dao — then why should one not dare to hope for this as well?

I have seen great calamity fall upon Heaven and Earth. I will not seek to preserve only myself and step aside, nor struggle bitterly for my own passage alone — I rise up, audacious, and wish to bring peace to all under Heaven.

The warm sun shone bright, and flecks of fine snow drifted down, like scattered stars glinting in the light. Duji looked up at the snow, and it was as if he could hear the cold, resolute ring within the qin’s melody.

“Is this your wish?” he murmured softly, then turned to look at Li Quan, his eyes bright as stars. “If that is so, why not come and help me?”

Li Quan looked at him with a smile, a meaningful depth in his gaze. “As whom are you inviting me?”

“As myself,” Duji answered.

From the moment he had decided to invite Li Quan, he had already resolved to reveal his identity honestly. Duji, Xu Huan — both were one and the same person. This was a secret known only to Tushan Tiao. But this disguise, worn during his years of weakness, no longer needed to be concealed. What did it matter if all under Heaven came to know that the Xuanqing Sect’s leader and the King of Liang were one and the same?

He was no longer the Xu Chang who could only rely on the Disciplinary Bureau’s maneuvering to draw breath in the cracks between the great powers. The many wayward cultivators within Liang’s borders had been swept clean by the Xuanqing Sect; the displaced refugees scattered by the great calamity had resettled in towns and villages across the land; the Disciplinary Bureau was bowing its head to him. Liang was on the verge of falling entirely into his hands. And so, if his identity was to be revealed — beginning with Li Quan — what was the harm?

He could see that Li Quan was no ordinary person. He wished to establish a new order amid the chaos of Heaven and Earth; Li Quan sought a justice without flaw or filth. These two things could become one and the same.

“Duji is me, Xu…”

A ripple of spiritual essence flashed and vanished, cutting off his words. Duji caught that flicker of light — a message had reached him. He read it, and his brow furrowed.

“You have urgent business. Go ahead,” said Li Quan, holding his wine cup, smiling with easy calm.

Duji gave him a slight nod. He felt that even without explanation, Li Quan seemed to have sensed something — and was simply waiting for him to say it aloud himself. He flickered and disappeared from where he stood.

The snow began to fall more heavily, the fine star-like flakes giving way to great goose-feather drifts. The sky turned a vast and blinding white, blotting out the sunlight.

Li Quan poured himself a cup of wine, watched the snow, and slowly drank it down.

****

In the Liang royal palace, Xu Huan sat in a small hall, a stately cloak framing that strikingly beautiful face, the force of his presence so overwhelming that those below him dared not lift their eyes to meet his gaze directly — they only bowed their heads respectfully, smoothing out the curled corner of a map.

It was a map of Great Yin and the various kingdoms. Xu Huan’s cold fingers moved back and forth between Sui and Lu, though his gaze fell upon Yin.

He had received the same report through both the Xuanqing Sect and Liang — the Xuanqing Sect’s version arriving somewhat earlier, Liang’s somewhat later — both concerning the Sui King’s order to launch a punitive campaign against Lu. As the ruler of a kingdom, his gaze could never be confined within Liang’s borders alone; in the other kingdoms and in Great Yin alike, he maintained sources of information.

The two reports differed slightly, but taken together they gave a fairly complete picture of events.

Yin Tianzi, citing Lu’s insolence, had ordered the Sui Kingdom to send troops against Lu. And the Sui King had actually issued a royal decree calling the entire kingdom to arms — within a matter of days, she had mobilized an army and was prepared to cross the Huai River to strike Lu. Lu was caught completely off guard. But the water spirits of the Huai River blocked the Sui army’s advance, and the campaign against Lu came to nothing. The Sui King recalled her general and disbanded a portion of the army, seemingly having abandoned the idea of attacking Lu.

(TL: Yin Tianzi = Son of Heaven of Yin / Yin Son of Heaven. 天子 (tiānzǐ) – “Son of Heaven,” a title for the emperor or supreme ruler)

There were many suspicious elements in this affair. Why had Yin Tianzi suddenly demanded an attack on Lu? The alleged insolence of Lu was almost certainly a pretext — the Lu King, unless he were a fool, would never execute an envoy from Great Yin, even if that envoy had cursed him to his face in open court. The supposedly slain Yin envoy might not even exist at all; otherwise, Lu could not possibly have been caught so entirely off guard. And judging by the manner in which Lu had recovered from the great calamity, the Lu King was clearly no incompetent fool who would do such a thing. Yet the choice had not lain with Lu — it lay with Sui.

This was a ploy to set the snipe and the clam fighting, that the fisherman might profit. Perhaps the Lu King saw through it, but the choice was not his to make. And had the Sui King truly not seen through it? A person who had risen to the throne as a woman and stabilized an entire kingdom — how could she not perceive the problem? If she had not, then how had she withdrawn her forces so swiftly and decisively? But if she had seen through it, why had she committed the full strength of her nation against Lu in the first place? If this was all a performance staged for Great Yin’s benefit, it was far too costly — the mobilization and withdrawal alone must have consumed immense resources in men and materiel, a price too steep to readily appease Great Yin in return. This kind of ruinously self-defeating blunder did not seem like something a person capable of holding Sui steady through the Wuying Hall could devise — unless… she had no choice but to issue that order to attack.

Xu Huan’s eyes darkened. Had someone coerced her, or taken control of her? Was it Great Yin’s doing? If it was not Great Yin, then Yin Tianzi who thought a single decree could set Sui and Lu at each other’s throats was far too naive — unless, before issuing the decree, he had already been certain that Sui would march.

Yet in the end, the campaign of Sui against Lu had not come to pass. The sudden appearance of the Huai River water spirits to block the way was one reason; the Sui King’s swift and decisive withdrawal was another. Some other force was moving to obstruct Yin Tianzi’s schemes. Who were they?

Yin Tianzi had moved against the Sui King rather than the Lu King — apart from geographical reasons, could it also be because of the powerful presence of the Divine Court within Lu’s borders? After all, Yin Tianzi’s proclamation had stated plainly that Lu had shown contempt toward the divine. And the force that had moved to stop him — was it the Divine Court? The Huai River water spirits belonged to the Divine Court; though the gods of the Divine Court generally did not intervene in mortal affairs, so as not to interfere with mortal fate, if Great Yin was leveling its blade at Lu and casting covetous eyes upon the Divine Court, it would be reasonable for the Divine Court to act.

Why had Yin Tianzi suddenly begun scheming against the vassal kingdoms? Why had the Divine Court come into conflict with him?

He needed to know all of this. He needed to bring Liang fully under his control as quickly as possible. His gaze had to reach beyond Liang’s borders.

****

In Liuying City, Yang Cang withdrew the heart flame burning in his palm and slowly exhaled.

He had just finished communicating with Changpu. Though they had been a step slow, Bie Chunian’s plan had still failed. There were others within Sui still under Bie Chunian’s control — but with this window of time now gained, there would be opportunity to root them out one by one. What he could not help but wonder, though, was why the Huai River water spirits had come when they did.

The Sui King suspected that it was the Lu King who had moved the Divine Court to act. But Yang Cang could not help thinking of Li Quan, who had given him guidance in that ruined temple. The counsel to contact Changpu, to unite the Mingdeng Sect, even the means to draw upon the power of the Flame Lord — all of it had come from Li Quan’s direction. Even the lamplight conjured after he had recited the name of the Dan Yao Rong Guang Che Ming True Lord had failed to illuminate Li Quan’s true identity.

Li Quan had also pointed him toward two other matters: his own anomalous ghost-body, and the stone. He had not yet been able to see through what obsession the anomaly foretold, nor did he understand the stone’s true identity. But just as the Heavenly Maiden Wuyou’s hints and the unfolding of events in Sui had shown — these were patterns he could not easily see through. All he could hold onto was his own heart.

Yang Cang closed his eyes. He thought of what Changpu had told him of the Bie Chunian she had encountered.

He had not asked Changpu to inquire. But he did, in truth, want to ask Bie Chunian the same question: Why?

He had been shaped, piece by piece, by Bie Chunian — theirs was a relationship truly like that of father and son, of master and disciple. It was Bie Chunian who, on the day he lit his heart flame, had entrusted him with the Mingdeng Sect’s oath; who had told him what the true Xuanqing Sect had once looked like; who had led him from one place to another across the land…

After discovering that a hollow-skinned, flesh-swapped impostor of the Xuanqing Sect existed, Yang Cang had wished to restore it to what it had once been — not because the Mingdeng Sect’s oath demanded it, but because it was his own desire. But Bie Chunian, whose cultivation ran far deeper and who had known of the Mingdeng Sect’s connection to the true Xuanqing Sect far longer — why had he turned to serve under this counterfeit, hollow imitation? And why, after moving to prevent Yang Cang from obstructing the Xuanqing Sect’s plans and trying to kill him, had he then rejoiced to find that Yang Cang had not died?

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

Chaihuo stood outside, looking at him with nervous urgency. “Sir — I… I think I just lit my heart flame.”

Yang Cang was surprised for a moment, then felt a warm happiness rise up for him. Chaihuo had studied under him for a long time, yet had only ever managed to learn the most basic, introductory methods, and had never been able to truly light his heart-flame. But now that he had succeeded once, he would always be able to find his way back to that second time.

Chaihuo still wanted to demonstrate it on the spot, but the more anxious he became, the more the flame refused to kindle.

“Don’t be nervous,” Yang Cang reassured him. “Take your time.”

Chaihuo was sweating on his forehead, and said urgently: “Sir, I really did — I really did light it just now!”

“I know. It’s all right. Everyone starts by succeeding once, and then gradually learns to hold onto it,” Yang Cang said with a smile.

Yet Chaihuo appeared deeply anxious and afraid, as though terrified that the lit heart flame had been nothing but a fleeting illusion he would never be able to reach again.

“Sir, I managed it in front of Old Zhao’s spirit tablet. Let me go and try again — can you come and watch?” Chaihuo pleaded. Old Zhao was the lame old man who had formerly overseen the funeral parlor, and who had taken Chaihuo in during his most destitute and wretched days.

Whether the heart flame could be lit had nothing to do with whether Yang Cang was present — but Chaihuo’s emotions were too turbulent. It was likely because he had longed so desperately to succeed for so long, and had failed so many times, that now, having succeeded once, he clutched at it like a drowning man clutching a piece of driftwood, terrified it would slip away.

Seeing Chaihuo’s distress, Yang Cang agreed. “I’ll go with you. Don’t be afraid — having succeeded once means you will always be able to find your way back to it.”

Chaihuo’s heart was still beating violently. With his emotions so turbulent, it would be even harder to recapture the state in which the flame had first been lit. Yang Cang accompanied Chaihuo to the spirit tablet of Old Zhao and continued in a gentle, soothing voice. “It’s all right, you—”

Spiritual essence blazed into life. Eight spirit-locks erupted from the earth without a sound, binding Yang Cang fast to the spot where he stood.

Chaihuo, who had kept his head bowed all this while, now raised his face. Upon it, alongside the nervousness and unease, was guilt.

Yang Cang’s eyes went blank and hollow. The stone rolled from his arms and was pinned to the floor by a stream of spiritual essence, urgently calling to Yang Cang with his consciousness — but Yang Cang did not respond.

“I’m sorry,” Chaihuo murmured, reaching behind the spirit tablet and drawing out a thick iron nail, about a palm’s length long.

The nail was a dark, rusty red, as though soaked through with blood, and it was saturated with a terrifying blood-evil energy. Though it was an ordinary object, it was capable of harming ghost-creatures. Chaihuo held it like a dagger — he had trained in martial arts, and his movement was practiced and swift. He lunged at Yang Cang and drove the nail toward his heart.

A luminous, overflowing radiance blazed into being. The blood-soaked iron nail was stopped by a warm, clear light. Somehow, Yang Cang had already come back to himself. An invisible yet unyielding heart flame kindled upon his body. He looked at Chaihuo with a complicated expression. “Why?”

Chaihuo let out a hollow laugh and dropped the iron nail. The eight spirit-locks could not bind Yang Cang for long; he had only one chance.

“I never really managed to light my heart flame at all,” Chaihuo said.

Yang Cang sighed quietly. Chaihuo had only been luring him to a place where the spirit-locks had been laid in advance — but that was not what had driven Chaihuo to want to kill him. And the spirit-locks capable of detaining him for even a brief moment would not have been something Chaihuo could have obtained on his own.

Chaihuo went on. “I met someone. He told me he knew the truth of how my entire family was killed, and that he could help me take revenge.”

But that person had required Chaihuo to kill him in exchange. Yang Cang guessed at the condition, and sighed as he asked, “Who was this person?”

“He said his name was Bie Chunian.” Chaihuo said, his face ashen white. “He gave me this formation and the iron nail, and told me what to do. He said that if I succeeded in killing you, he would help me take revenge. If I failed, but had made a genuine effort, he would still tell me the identity of my enemy — though it would be an enemy utterly beyond my power to match. He said that if I relied on myself alone, in this life, in the next, or in the countless lives that follow, I would never have any chance of taking revenge. And they would never face any retribution. The matter would simply end like this, with no resolution whatsoever. Because there is no longer any justice in this world. The causality of justice has already been destroyed.”

“So even though I am very sorry to you, and have no true desire to kill you, I would still make the effort.” Chaihuo said. He had been trembling earlier, but now he had gone numb.

Yang Cang looked at him with a grief-stricken gaze. He now understood why Chaihuo had never been able to light his heart-flame. It was not that Chaihuo lacked goodness — but the hatred within him was too heavy. Heavy enough that for the sake of revenge, he was willing to do anything. In a single day, his whole family had died — his father and mother, his brothers and sisters… his mother, in her final moments, had fought to send only him to safety. How could he not hate? How could he not seek revenge? And so when this opportunity appeared, he had been willing to kill Yang Cang, who had helped him, and would have been willing to kill other innocent people — one or two, ten or a hundred — as long as revenge could be his. The hatred had smothered his goodness, and so that small flame of the heart could never break through to light.

“He also told me that as long as I said one sentence to you, even if I failed, you would never kill me,” Chaihuo continued.

Yang Cang asked quietly, “What sentence?”

“He said: ‘This is the answer,'” Chaihuo said.

This is the answer. Yang Cang closed his eyes.

Chaihuo could never have killed him — even with spirit-locks and a blood-evil iron nail, the chances of success had been nearly nonexistent. Bie Chunian had only wished to send this version of Chaihuo before him, to let him see it for himself.

This was the answer. The answer to why.