Chapter 28: To Gain Is My Fortune, to Lose Is Also My Fate
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“This is the sixth round of torture tonight. What has that young man done to offend Li Zhongting so deeply, to suffer such cruel abuse?”
“Ah, the boy is stubborn indeed. If it were me, tormented again and again like this, I’d rather throw myself against the wall and end it all.”
Locked in another cell, two middle-aged men could not bear to watch Yu Lang’s suffering, whispering to each other.
Yu Lang lay dazed on the cold ground, unsure how many wounds covered his body, how much blood he had lost, or whether he could survive the next round of torture. The only thing he knew for certain was that he could not possibly wait for Du Fu’s rescue; Li Zhongting was determined to torture him to death that very night.
On the seventh round, Yu Lang decided to reveal his last card—a card that should have spelled his doom, but now was his only hope: “Li... Li Zhongting, you should know before my death, my grandfather was Duke of England of the Great Tang, Xu Jingye. When I die, carve my name on my tombstone: Xu Lang, Xu Ziyou.”
“What did you say?!” Li Zhongting’s mind raced. When he and Li Wenshan had plotted against Yu Chaoran, he had stumbled upon scattered clues, but the conclusion was too bold for him to believe. Now, hearing Yu Lang’s confession, he could not suppress his joy. Though the Emperor had pardoned the other branches of the Xu family, he refused to forgive Xu Jingye’s line. If he could capture Xu Jingye’s grandson, it would be a tremendous achievement, enough to secure great rank for his second son!
“Stop at once—no matter what, keep him alive. I must visit Chancellor Li’s private estate!” Li Zhongting hurried off in a carriage to seek favor from Li Yu. Such merit could ensure his lineage would forever enjoy Li Linfu’s protection—a fortune fallen from the heavens.
This was Yu Lang’s final gamble: Li Yu, you damned dog, you claimed you owed me a life—do not break your word.
Li Yu kept his promise. He personally carried Li Zhongting’s severed head out of the Li family’s private prison, rescuing Yu Lang. Li Zhongting’s loyal hounds all bowed before this terror; none dared utter a word.
The villain became the savior.
This time, Li Yu did not mock Yu Lang, but spoke with sincere admiration: “I, Li Yu, have met countless extraordinary people, but you are the greatest. You sold your most dangerous secret to your enemy, placed your life in the hands of a madman like me—truly, you are the real madman!”
Yu Lang laughed heartily: “You’d better kill me tonight, for one day, I will be the nightmare of your Li family.”
Li Yu sighed: “I hope to see that day. Without you, how lonely Chang’an would be. May you survive.”
Yu Lang tried to speak further, but his exhausted consciousness faded, plunging him into a long, deep coma.
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In his dreams, he returned to rain-soaked Nanjing, running from the Ming city wall to Xuanwu Lake, finally collapsing at the shore of Mochou Lake, unable to find Ning Xue. The sky turned crimson, and beneath Beigu Mountain, three hundred lost souls lined up to devour every piece of his flesh. Liang Chaoran called out mournfully—“Lang’er”—his body grew heavier, as if falling endlessly from a sheer cliff, until Qingqing calmly caught him: “You still have me.”
Clouds parted, and a ray of light shone into Yu Lang’s eyes. Tears of joy fell from a gaunt, pale face as Qingqing shouted, “He’s awake! He’s awake!”
Du Fu, weary-faced, leaned in and sighed in relief: “All right, all right, you rascal, you finally kept your life.”
Yu Lang smiled: “If that old bastard wants me dead, his tricks aren’t enough.”
“Fine, fine, you’re mighty indeed. I made a vow: as long as you wake, I, Du, will let you boast for the rest of my days. Once, the world had ten measures of bragging—Du Zimei and you, Yu Ziyou, shared eight, leaving only two for everyone else. Now you alone hold eight tenths—you are the king of boasts!”
The two laughed together.
Qingqing gently helped Yu Lang up, carefully feeding him porridge. Yu Lang felt embarrassed and insisted on feeding himself.
Du Fu scolded: “You’ve been unconscious for thirteen days. Every day Qingqing fed you. Why didn’t you feel embarrassed before? Now is too late—just drink your porridge quietly.”
Yu Lang relented, casting a grateful glance at Qingqing, eating every last drop.
Qingqing said, “I could only help in small ways. To save you, Brother Du Fu brought out his deepest treasures: a Boundless Buddhist Relic and a Daoist Tiger-Dragon Golden Pill—prized by heroes across the world. He even used his own energy to heal you, exhausting much of his own strength. You owe him a great debt.”
Du Fu puffed with pride: “Let me boast a bit—first, the Boundless Relic, that’s…”
“In one night, I dashed four thousand miles, first to Chang’an’s Protect the Nation Temple, and then…”
As he listened, Yu Lang’s eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted back to sleep with a smile.
Seeing Yu Lang asleep, Du Fu chuckled and said to Qingqing, “Go tidy yourself and rest. He has woken once, so his life is secure. I’ll watch over him—when he truly wakes, you won’t want him to see you in a mess and mock you, right?”
Qingqing bowed slightly: “Thank you, Brother Du.” Having witnessed Du Fu’s many great feats, Qingqing recognized him as a figure beyond the three realms, and her attitude became respectful. Though she found him more approachable than before, she dared not be careless.
Qingqing had once followed Li Bai, and her experience differed from Yu Lang’s. She knew that the Three Temperings, Ocean Wandering, and Breaking Illusions were only the lower stages of cultivation. Above them were the upper three realms, and beyond those, Sword Saints, An Lushan, and other extraordinary figures.
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With her keen eye, Qingqing could tell that Du Fu, though profound in his cultivation, had not yet broken through the upper realms. Not to mention the Sword Saints—compared to Li Bai at his peak, Du Fu was still far behind.
Once fully recovered, within only half a month, Yu Lang was lively and vigorous again. Perhaps the Boundless Relic and Tiger-Dragon Golden Pill had worked wonders, for after this illness, Yu Lang felt stronger than ever—he could draw a two-stone bow with sheer muscle, and with his internal energy, easily draw a three-stone bow. He could have been a formidable general.
“The Washing Moon Academy’s results are out!” The servants beat drums and gongs in the streets, calling out.
“Top scorer in the Washing Moon Academy entrance exams—Yu Lang, Yu Ziyou of Jixian Lane! Full marks in poetry, essay, military, and mathematics! The Headmaster himself awarded the highest rank: Heaven A Plus.”
Candidates were rated Heaven, Earth, Black, Yellow, with subgrades from A to D. Heaven A was highest, followed by Heaven B, and so on, with Yellow D lowest. The Academy had not produced a Heaven A student in fifty years, and the addition of “Plus” marked an even rarer distinction.
Deep within the Li mansion, hearing that Yu Lang had claimed the top spot, Li Yu smiled: “Seems my bet was right.” In times of chaos, great clans like the Li family always placed bets on both sides; Li Yu’s own brother was placed at the Washing Moon Academy. If the Li family sank with the court, at least one branch could continue its prosperity.
To ordinary folk, it was the flourishing age of Tang, but Li Yu could clearly see the serious risks brought by the military conscription system. If local powers lost their fear of the center, all it would take would be one spark—then followers would flood in.
Yang Yuhuan stared in disbelief at the top name. She had thought Yu Lang had abandoned the final written exam, yet his wild, unorthodox answers had easily won first place. Seeing her own name marked with a mere Earth C, she felt disappointed; she had made it, but not achieved the result she wanted.
At that moment, Yu Lang was sprawled lazily on his rooftop, basking in the sun, pondering his next meal.
…What should I eat to beat that damned Wu Songru in the upcoming rankings and take first place?
“Eat”—those who dream, speak.
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