Chapter 120: The Setup

The stars were setting in the west as the bright moon hung high in the southern sky. Beneath the night, the city was a tapestry of fading lights and drifting lanterns, thousands of them floating upon the river. It was the season of the Dragon Festival, and Mingzhao was teeming with life.

Standing by the railing of a private chamber, Yuan Yi gazed into the distance. On the Du River, painted pleasure boats glowed with lanterns; some passengers danced with grace, while others plucked at zithers, their melodies enchanting enough to make noble youths cast thousands of gold pieces into the boats.

Mingzhao had once been Jianliang, the capital of the ancient Yue Kingdom. It was renowned as a legendary hub of revelry, a gathering place for scions of noble houses and powerful clans, and the ultimate destination for commoners seeking wealth, status, justice, and opportunity.

Yet, Jianliang never truly offered opportunities to anyone. Because opportunities were things one had to seize for oneself.

After the collapse of Jianliang, the capital remained. Three years ago, it descended from the heavens. The entire capital was divided into four, connected by the waters of the Du. Jiankang was undoubtedly the hub of these waters, and thus, the default capital for the people of Mingzhao.

Travelers and poets from the north and south, self-styled romantic scholars, and wandering swordsmen all converged here along the Du River. Together with wealthy merchants and dissolute noble heirs, they competed to shower the courtesans with gifts, throwing away fortunes just for a glimpse of a beauty's face.

The women on the boats, the roguish wanderers on the riverside pavilions—all caught in the moonlight and reflected in the water—this was the grand spectacle of Jiankang.

Yuan Yi took it all in. City guards patrolled outside the pavilions, while imperial guards kept watch in the shadows. In the largest tavern in Jiankang, noble families and prestigious clans from across Mingzhao gathered, clinking cups and exchanging pleasantries. Some were descendants of the old Yue royal family; others were part of the new aristocracy established by foreign powers.

The reason they had all gathered was, naturally, Yuan Yi. This was the era of his ascension as the master of Mingzhao. He had received the Divine Heart—which granted control over celestial phenomena and the hub of Mingzhao—from Wei Yan, and accepted the mantle of authority passed down by Ji Longdu, becoming the Emperor of Mingzhao.

He looked down at the streets below, at the thousand-mile-long avenues and the countless households. Because of the Dragon Festival, the city was thick with the scent of incense. It drifted and flowed, coalescing into clouds of colorful mist, brilliant and beautiful.

Some ghosts and deities emerged from Fengdu, while local river gods ventured forth from their domains. They paraded through the night, concealing their forms, absorbing the pervasive scent of incense along with the prayers of sentient beings, responding according to their own powers. Mortals and some Qi practitioners remained oblivious, while the truly powerful intentionally steered clear of these gods. It was as if two worlds were split apart.

Yuan Yi held his cup, listening to the chatter behind him with a sense of boredom. At this table, they spoke of business and toasted with wine, but their words were hollow. As the nominal master of Mingzhao, the entire realm was technically his territory. These noble clans were locked in a web of solidified interests, yet their fate rested on Yuan Yi’s decrees.

Because in Mingzhao, the laws of the Ji Longdu era still held sway: both Qi practitioners and deities were to serve the common people and seek their welfare. Thus, upon his inauguration, his palace had been flooded with countless treasures and alluring, enchanting women. He had no interest in such things, so he stood at the highest point of Jiankang, taking in half of Mingzhao at a glance.

Suddenly, a cold wind rose, stirring dark clouds that obscured the stars. Between the river and the sky, a streak of sword light pierced the distance. Beneath its brilliance, several figures appeared, moving with the agility of rabbits and the grace of geese.

"An assassin!" A scream shattered the clamor, and a flash of steel tore through the festivities of the Dragon Festival.

Amidst the figures, blades clashed, and wisps of red mist swirled; the scent of blood quickly permeated the tavern. A peal of thunder rolled through the sky, and amidst the thick clouds, a flash of lightning illuminated a disheveled, half-masked middle-aged man who stepped through the void and descended into the pavilion.

His four-foot-seven-inch blade was carved with strange patterns. At this moment, those patterns seemed to come to life, transforming into various gods, ghosts, and demons above a river of sword qi. It connected heaven and earth, shaping all things with terrifying power. In that instant, the entire tavern was shrouded in a suffocating, lethal intent.

The sword was aimed directly at Yuan Yi. Behind him, the heads of the noble houses gasped, standing up and shouting in fury.

"Audacious!"
"Guards, assassins!"
"Die!"

The assassin, cloaked in thunder, tore through space and appeared before Yuan Yi in an instant. Yet, Yuan Yi seemed not to notice, calmly sipping his wine.

Before the blade could reach him, the assassin felt a surge of intense killing intent from behind. An eye seemed to grow on his back, but he saw no one. It was only after the killing intent erupted that he saw his attacker.

The figure rose slowly from Yuan Yi’s shadow, extending a hand. Magic power swirled, releasing a formidable force that shook the void. Radiant light burst from the palm like a giant vortex, devouring everything beneath it.

"Boom!"

As the dark clouds rolled and thunder roared, a torrential downpour began to brew. A sharp "clang" rang out. Palm met sword. The unleashed power was so immense that a single thread of it nearly toppled the entire chamber.

Yuan Yi raised his hand, pressing down to quell the terrifying force.

"If you want to fight, go far away!"

No sooner had he spoken than a hurricane rose from nowhere within the tavern. In an instant, space inverted and all things rotated. When they stood steady again, they found themselves looking into a circular frame that reflected Yuan Yi’s eyes.

Yuan Yi placed his cup on the table and looked at the others, who had remained calm. "Everyone, shall we watch?"

The heads of the noble families laughed, each projecting a wisp of their consciousness into the wine cup. Inside, two figures appeared. One was the assassin, dressed in white linen, with white hair but a youthful face, holding a sword that shimmered with cold light. His blade was embedded in his opponent’s illusory palm print.

His opponent was an elderly man, as straight as a spear, possessing an air of indomitable pride. Both were cultivators of a level beyond the "Equalizing of All Things."

To be able to trap two such people inside a wine cup with a mere wave of the hand—the extent of this man’s power was terrifying. The noble heads remained composed, though their eyes met in silent exchange, their thoughts unreadable.

If Xu Zhong had been there, he surely would have lamented. Had he not been swapped with Sima Nan through the Art of Shifting Stars, Yuan Yi would not have existed in this world today.

"Liu Song, the Flying Dragon Hand? You were once a personal guard to Emperor Longdu. Instead of purging the rebels and restoring the Yue Kingdom, you degrade yourself to serve a thief as your father?"

The assassin channeled his magic, struggling to free his blade from the void-palm print. He recognized it—the technique was derived from Emperor Longdu’s Miro Void Palm, though it possessed less than a ten-thousandth of the original power. Yet, it was more than enough to hold a sword.

"His identity was personally recognized by Emperor Longdu. I only recognize the Emperor's orders. He told me to obey Yuan Yi, so I obey him. As for whether this is the Yue Kingdom or not, what is that to me?" Liu Song replied expressionlessly.

His signature technique, the Flying Dragon Hand, was designed to strike vital points. There were thirty-six such points on the human body, and thus the technique had thirty-six moves. If struck, one’s magic power and innate energy would be scattered instantly, followed by a fatal blow from Liu Song. Before Emperor Longdu had achieved his cultivation, Liu Song had defeated countless foes with this very technique.

Liu Song circled the assassin more than ten times, striking with palm and claw over twenty times, yet the assassin evaded every move. The sword light the assassin wielded was as sharp as moonlight, flashing before Liu Song’s eyes. His swordsmanship was ethereal and strange; the constant clashing of blades rang out as he parried Liu Song’s strikes. The swordsman’s technique grew increasingly fierce, his speed accelerating, his sword light carving lines across twenty thousand miles, chaotic and dense as a rainstorm. He knew that only by moving at maximum speed could he avoid exposing his flaws.

But Liu Song’s eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s. He calculated the assassin’s every move and sword technique, turning each action into a sequence of numbers and searching for the optimal solution. As the assassin’s speed increased, Liu Song’s calculations became strenuous; white smoke began to rise from his head.

Suddenly, between the seventh and eighth strikes of the assassin’s technique, he found the flaw—the Chaomen pressure point.

Liu Song was overjoyed. With a long roar, he swept forward like a swimming dragon, his arms wide like dragon claws, striking toward the assassin’s Chaomen point. The assassin failed to react in time and was struck by the palm, spitting out a spray of blood.

Liu Song was elated, preparing to press his advantage. However, at that moment, the assassin’s eyes burned like torches. He muttered an incantation, his body withering at a visible rate as he fed his own life to the sword, unleashing his most terrifying strike.

A beam of green light erupted from the blade, soaring into the heavens with blinding speed. Liu Song’s eyes widened in horror. His heart seemed to stop. He twisted in mid-air, retreating frantically while striking palm after palm.

The wine cup was struck by the sword light and split in two. Liu Song and the assassin appeared back in the chamber simultaneously. As soon as the assassin landed, he collapsed into a pile of mangled flesh. In the distance, an explosion sounded—the assassin’s external projection had been destroyed as well.

Liu Song gasped for air. Yet, everyone present saw a scar appear between his brows, running straight through his body. Blood bubbled from the wound, seemingly mixed with other matter. The scar traveled down his nose and lips, slowly splitting his head in two. Liu Song seemed unaware, a look of relief on his face, as if he did not know he was already dead.

No one spoke. No one showed any expression until Liu Song’s head burst like a watermelon before their eyes.

"How disappointing," Yuan Yi clicked his tongue, shaking his head. He flicked his sleeve, brushing off the blood and gore of Liu Song that had splattered onto him.

He sat back at the table. "Continue eating, continue the dance..."

After everyone had dispersed, the assassin’s pile of mangled flesh began to regenerate. Liu Song, meanwhile, peeled away the artificial skin from his body. They had both come back to life.

The two looked at each other and smiled, no longer intent on killing.

"Well done," Yuan Yi nodded, signaling them to sit before him.

"Thank you, Your Majesty!" Liu Song and Qing He knelt briefly before taking their seats opposite Yuan Yi.

"Your Majesty, what is the next step?" Liu Song asked.

"The trap is set. Those who are meant to walk into it will do so," Yuan Yi said, sipping his wine. "But before that, we must pull out all the remaining thorns."

Liu Song and Qing He acknowledged the order and departed. Yuan Yi remained alone in the tavern.

"The Yu Kingdom, the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths, the Sea of Chaos, Fengdu..." He drew a deep breath. "Mingzhao should have nothing to do with these."

As Mingzhao fell, it attracted more and more eyes. Naturally, more factions were colluding with the noble clans within Mingzhao, developing in the shadows. This was something neither Emperor Longdu nor Wei Yan could tolerate.

He needed a pretext to pull out these thorns, purge the entirety of Mingzhao, and then consolidate his rule, transforming it into a sanctuary detached from the world.