Chapter 129: Longxiao (补更 12)

The court officials were taken aback. Though each had their own reasons for demanding punishment, even the high-ranking ministers loyal to the Li Clan had only argued that Li Hao, being young and favored, was naturally impulsive and overconfident—hardly the kind of justification that would earn praise for lofty ambitions or patriotic spirit.

What?

To hear such words from these old, stuffy scholars—men who prided themselves on Confucian virtue—was astonishing.

Grand Tutor Zhao Shugong bowed respectfully. “Your Majesty, not long ago, a student of mine returned from Qingzhou City bearing a poetry anthology. He insisted the verses within were all composed by the young master of the Li Clan. After thorough verification, there is no doubt—these works are authentic!”

“Oh?” Emperor Yu raised an eyebrow, surprised. The boy could write poetry?

But then he chuckled inwardly. If the lad could already play chess at such a level, poetry was hardly a stretch. In his mind, chess was far more difficult than verse.

Still, he dared not reveal this thought to the scholars gathered before him. To do so would only spark endless debate—each one clamoring for logical justification until their heads split.

“Holding this anthology,” Zhao Shugong continued, lowering his voice, “I feel nothing but shame. We scholars spend our days immersed in the classics, gazing upon the vast rivers and mountains of the realm—yet in the end, we are outshone by a child who sits quietly in his courtyard all day, possessing both talent and heart. I am truly unworthy to stand before Your Majesty.”

The officials stared, utterly stunned.

Had the old man truly been bewitched?

When had they ever heard him utter the word “shame”?

They were usually the ones to twist logic and argue against all reason. Now, he was admitting defeat?

Emperor Yu, intrigued, pressed, “My loyal minister, don’t keep us in suspense—tell us, what is it that moved you so deeply?”

Zhao Shugong nodded, then withdrew the poetry anthology from his loose sleeve and presented it with both hands. As Emperor Yu’s attendant, Chu Jiuyue, took it, Zhao Shugong turned sharply toward the Liangzhou Commander, his sleeve whipping back like a blade.

“You claim father and son must not fight—that is wrong.

Yes, their conflict defies the moral order—but no reason, no excuse, is acceptable? That is where you are mistaken.”

“My Emperor honors ritual, but I do not worship dead tradition!”

“Otherwise, we would all be nothing but ancient, rigid fools!”

Wouldn’t we?

The martial generals shifted uncomfortably, silently scoffing.

Zhao Shugong’s gaze burned with intensity as he continued, “Tell me, gentlemen—can one who speaks these words be called truly patriotic?”

“Only to die on the battlefield for one’s country, why must one return wrapped in horsehide?”

“And one who says, ‘Since ancient times, who has escaped death? Let my loyal heart shine through history!’—is he not patriotic?”

He raised his voice, echoing through the imperial court:

“Do not speak of titles and honors—when a general rises, ten thousand bones are crushed!”

His eyes locked onto the Liangzhou Commander, voice trembling with emotion:

“This is not a call to silence ambition. It is a lament for the fallen soldiers—a heart full of sorrow, not glory!

Tell me, what kind of man is he who sees the world so deeply, yet holds titles so lightly?

And how many among you could ever do the same?”

Silence fell.

Some were stunned, others seethed inwardly—Why this look? As if we all care only for rank and title!

The Liangzhou Commander’s face darkened.

Those lines had struck him hard.

He had hated Li Hao not out of personal grudge, but because he feared the fall of Sky Gate Pass and the suffering of the people of Liang Prefecture.

But that line—“Why must one return wrapped in horsehide?”

As a man who had seen too many battlefields, too many soldiers left unburied, his eyes welled up.

That was the truth of their hearts—those who fought and died, who endured, who gave everything…

They couldn’t speak it. They had no words.

Meanwhile, Emperor Yu had begun flipping through the anthology. His expression grew solemn, his silence heavy.

“Even if he is patriotic, a loyal general—still, he drew sword against his own father. That is an undeniable fact,” someone finally spoke.

Zhao Shugong turned to the speaker, a cold smile curling on his lips. “It is undeniable. But is a fact always truth?”

The man froze, caught off guard. His mind faltered—stunned by the question.

That was the way of the scholars—always able to turn a phrase and leave one speechless.

“A flower in the mirror, a moon in the water—what you see is not real.”

Zhao Shugong’s voice was icy.

“Even if it were true—does the Execution Martial King himself bear no fault?”

“Would sending his son to Heavenly Gate Pass not be punishment enough?”

“Tell me, who among you would dare serve there?”

Silence.

The argument had begun about father and son. Now, the fire had turned toward them.

“A youth with such pure devotion,” Zhao Shugong declared loudly, “who cares so deeply for the common people—how could he not show mercy to his own father? There must be deeper reasons. We must investigate thoroughly before passing judgment!”

The officials who had originally demanded punishment exchanged uneasy glances.

With the Hanlin Hall now on his side—and the weight of the scholars behind him—this argument was lost.

“Just a few poems?” another voice cut in, a cold, indifferent military commander. “Words on paper. Anyone can say them.”

Zhao Shugong sneered. “Then tell me—what do you really mean?”

“I am a soldier. I know war, not verse. But I can speak plainly: We serve the Emperor with our lives. That is our oath.”

Zhao Shugong’s voice dripped with disdain. “If your heart were not filled with fire, you could never write poetry like this. Your empty slogans are what anyone can repeat.”

The scholars had read the anthology. They had seen the depth—each poem a mirror of the soul.

To them, the boy’s character was clear: a man of integrity.

If he were corrupt, even a single poem might have slipped through—but not dozens. Not with such consistency.

They had doubted at first. Only after endless inquiries, endless verification, did they finally believe—these poems were all the work of one man.

And now, among these rough, war-hardened generals, there had emerged a youth of such literary brilliance—so profound, so moving—that even the great scholars were left breathless, humbled.

“A single man, fighting three thousand miles, one sword, holding back a million troops!”

At that moment, Emperor Yu’s voice—soft, yet resonant—rippled through the court.

The officials felt their hearts stir.

What power in those words!

Emperor Yu’s eyes glimmered with light.

The prodigy from Qingzhou—the nameless genius—now stood clearly in his mind.

“Excellent poetry. A worthy son!” Emperor Yu smiled, his praise genuine.

Even those who had wanted to argue again fell silent, their expressions shifting.

When the Emperor spoke, the matter was settled.

All they could hope for now was that the blizzard beyond the frontier would finally break the boy’s spirit.

The court adjourned.

In Qianming Palace.

Emperor Yu walked slowly toward the inner garden, Chu Jiuyue bowing slightly behind him.

“You saw that child at the True Dragon Banquet,” Emperor Yu said casually, pausing beneath a flowering tree—its branches bare save for one solitary blossom, dusted with snowflakes.

Seeing it, he thought of a line from the poetry anthology:

“When autumn comes, on the eighth of the ninth month, my flowers bloom—then all others wither.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

The boy played chess with ferocious precision.

To write such a poem—so full of killing qi, so merciless—was not surprising.

Chu Jiuyue paused, then replied, “I observed the child’s demeanor—free and easy, yet his spirit was calm, not at all reckless or proud. The cause of the incident that day… was indeed the Buddha Lord’s direct disciple who first sought his life. Though subtle, I sensed it.”

Emperor Yu’s eyes flickered. “The Buddha Lord…”

He looked toward the horizon, voice barely a whisper.

“The snow has begun. I wonder… how is he holding up beyond the border? Rumor says the Execution Martial King has withdrawn all troops from there. He must have understood my earlier hint—intending to abandon that post.”

Chu Jiuyue said nothing. He knew when silence was best.

“If you have time,” Emperor Yu added, smiling faintly, “go there. I hear the boy left in haste—without even his side sword. Bring him one.

Give him this one—Longxiao.”

Chu Jiuyue’s heart jolted.

Longxiao—the number one sword among the Ten Greatest Swords Under Heaven.

The Emperor’s fondness for this young man ran deeper than he’d imagined.

“Yes,” he replied, bowing deeply.

“Heavenly Pole may not fear the boy’s death… but I do,” Emperor Yu murmured, chuckling.

“Tell him—if he grows weary, he may return to Emperor Yu Province. I grant him entry into the Outer Hall of Qian Dao Palace, to study alongside the princes.”

Chu Jiuyue’s pupils contracted. He remained silent, bowing once more.

…

…

Liang Prefecture Frontier.

Heavenly Gate Pass.

Only a small earth mound remained—Cangya City.

Snow fell in thick, relentless sheets, blanketing the camp tents and the corpses of demon beasts from yesterday’s battle.

“Snowing,” Li Hao paused, setting down his brush. He used his Control-Objects power to shield the parchment, preventing the snowflakes from soaking the paper.

“Snowy days aren’t good for fishing…”

He murmured, gazing toward Qingzhou—wondering if it was snowing there too, if the lake had begun to freeze…

“Today, the two of you should consider leaving,” Li Hongzhuang said to Li Hao and Li He.

Li Hao’s gaze flickered. He looked at her, silent.

Li Hongzhuang smiled faintly. “When you raided their lair yesterday, did you ask about Dragon Mountain Dharma Ground? There are more than one Great Demon in the Three Immortal Realms. You killed Chi Hu Jun. The old dragon’s steed—they will retaliate!”

“For years, they’ve held back. I suspect it was deliberate.”

Li Hao nodded. “Any idea why?”

“There are several possibilities. First: to demand more living sacrifices from the Beilin Kingdom. Second: to slowly wear us down. After all, breaking through Heavenly Gate Pass isn’t worth much—the Dragon Gate Road is already under their control. They can enter freely, just not in large numbers.”

“On the contrary, keeping us trapped here allows them to drain us endlessly.”

“Or… the old dragon may bear a grudge against our ancestral spirits.”

Li Hao nodded. So Li Hongzhuang knew too.

“But today,” she continued, “they’re coming in fury. They won’t hold back.”

As she spoke, the ground trembled violently.

All three turned toward the camp’s edge.

At the horizon’s edge—shifting into view—loomed several towering, monstrous figures.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end