Chapter 48: For Generations to Come

“Brother Xin, these bastards are so eager to catch you—are they after you, or after your sword?”

“What do you think? Stop talking nonsense and eat!”

Judging from the conversation between the two disciples of the Supreme Heaven Sect, the news of the Night March of the Underworld Soldiers and Ao Tian’s corpse transforming into a demon seemed to have spread across the entire world. Yet there was a point within all this that Lu Xin couldn’t make sense of.

The Night March of the Underworld Soldiers concerned the entrance to the Netherworld, and Ao Tian bore clues to the Grass of Resurrection. Either matter would be considered a great secret, something any yin-yang master would keep buried deep within, never uttering a word. What’s more, that night there had even been a sighting of a divine weapon—Yanfu and Ji Yunmeng would certainly never have spread the news. If the two sect leaders kept silent, what disciple would dare spread rumors?

“Could it have been Yuchi Baolin? Unlikely. The imperial court would be even less willing for matters of ghosts and gods to become common knowledge. If the people learned there was a gate to the Underworld in Mount Lingyang, that would be disastrous.”

Lu Xin ate as he recalled the events of that night, always feeling that something was amiss. It wasn’t until the Yang sisters arrived that he remembered a scene he’d nearly overlooked.

Back then, Yuchi Baolin, two elders of the Supreme Heaven Sect, and two grandmasters from Hundred Flowers Valley—all five had broken into the ranks of the Underworld Soldiers. Afterwards, people from the Five Elephants Sect approached to form an alliance with Yang Xiu and Yang Qin. The two sisters had barely left when a disk-shaped white light appeared above the formation of Underworld Soldiers. It was this very light that blasted a great pit in the wilderness. Ao Tian was hurled into the earth, then underwent corpse transformation!

“That light was clearly not Yanfu’s magic, nor did it resemble any divine power from Hundred Flowers Valley. Yet it was this light that triggered Ao Tian’s corpse transformation. Could it be that Yanfu and the others didn’t notice anything strange at the time?”

“You mean, Ao Tian’s sudden transformation into a raging corpse was the work of someone behind the scenes? A conspiracy?”

Upon hearing Lu Xin’s speculation, Yang Xiu suddenly set down her chopsticks, her expression turning peculiar. Sixty years ago, a Night March of the Underworld Soldiers had also occurred in Xuanzhou City. At the time, during the Southern and Northern Dynasties, the land of the Nine Provinces was in chaos and warlords ruled their domains. Few paid any attention to a small procession of underworld soldiers in little Xuanzhou. Yet, terrifying events had occurred back then too, though few knew the truth.

The Yang sisters were among the few who knew what had happened six decades ago.

“Sister, hearing what Young Master Lu just said, some things do seem too coincidental. Father said that when the Underworld Soldiers halted at Wenchang Town, a dreadful bell began to toll. Not long after, a white light, shaped like a moon disk, flickered above the army. Yet at that time, it did not attack Ao Tian. Tell me, could these two lights have been the work of the same person?”

“The same person? And after sixty years… If that’s truly the case, then what unimaginable cultivation must this person possess!”

Yang Xiu’s expression changed utterly; she clearly preferred to believe the appearance of the two white lights was mere coincidence. Otherwise, it would be too terrifying. That would be a force able to shatter the five-element magic of a Heaven-merging grandmaster, appearing once every sixty years. If not coincidence, then everyone might have fallen into a carefully woven trap.

Sixty years ago, and now, sixty years later—it was the same.

“The third year of the Zhenguan era. Sixty years back… That would be the first year of the Chen dynasty’s Taijian era in the south, the fifth year of Northern Qi’s Tiantong era, and the year Emperor Yang of Sui was born… Heavens, what a turbulent time that was.”

The scholar, listening to the conversation, could not interject and so counted on his fingers. When they mentioned that Emperor Yang of Sui was born sixty years ago, the Yang sisters exchanged a shocked glance, then lowered their heads and said nothing more.

Lu Xin had been unconscious for three days and had just woken up; in truth, he couldn’t eat much. The table of food, weighed down by the somber atmosphere, was barely touched. Even the gluttonous scholar only sipped a little wine, rarely picking at the dishes, let alone eating. The two disciples of the Supreme Heaven Sect left the tavern before the others, destination unknown. Lu Xin intended to bid farewell to the Yang sisters then and there, but Yang Xiu was determined to take him to Wuzhou for detoxification.

“Ao Tian’s flesh has endured three thousand years uncorrupted. In such a span, who knows how much foul energy it has absorbed from heaven and earth? Once transformed, the corpse is exceedingly poisonous. Though the old physician’s acupuncture is skillful, it can only force the poison into your meridians, keeping it from attacking your heart and lungs. But if you two use martial arts or magic, the poison will surely flare up. By then, only an immortal could save you.”

“That’s right, Brother Xin, look at me—I’ve yet to top the imperial exams, haven’t taken a wife, you can’t die before me! And besides, the ladies have been so gracious—what an honor for you two logs. Zangzhou, Manzhou, Wuzhou… these are all ancestral lands of the Miao people, boundless mountains, shrouded in mystery. If you won’t go even under these circumstances, you’re the biggest fools in the world.”

The scholar, upon hearing they’d be traveling to Wuzhou, was nearly beside himself with approval. Yue Buhui, watching from the side, could not resist another round of mockery.

“Tch, you just want to see the girls, don’t you? So lecherous. I say you aren’t planning to make it to the imperial exams at all.”

“Bah! What would a neither-male-nor-female fox demon like you know? The mystical Miao territories, the vast mountains—I’ve dreamed of seeing them all my life. Forget it, I’m not arguing with a monster. Brother Xin, let’s go, don’t mind him.”

“Then we’ll trouble you, ladies.”

…

Qinxi Town lay between Xuanzhou and Chizhou, with a river leading straight to Lake Panyang. According to the sisters, so long as they circled Lake Panyang, they’d enter Jiangzhou, then west to Yuezhou, and finally into Dongting Lake. Following the tributaries of Dongting, traveling by boat, they’d reach Wuzhou. Yang Xiu said this was the fastest route to Wuzhou. Even so, the entire journey by water would take ten days to half a month.

Such travel would be unbelievably troublesome for someone like Lu Xin, who came from 2018. But in truth, from ancient times through the late Qing, travel across the Nine Provinces was always thus. This, perhaps, was why so many legends abounded of “ascending to the heavens in broad daylight” or “the great roc flying ninety thousand miles.”

The Yang sisters found a cargo boat at the Qinxi pier, the boatman a young man barely past twenty, from a family of generations of boatmen. Lake Panyang lies in the middle and lower reaches of the Yangtze, the largest freshwater lake in Tang territory, its water system ramifying in all directions and connecting a dozen surrounding prefectures. Since ancient times, the area has thrived on commerce, bustling with travelers.

Though young, the boatman was steady at the helm, having grown up navigating the lake and its tributaries. Perhaps it was exhaustion from the past days’ ordeal, but the Yang sisters fell asleep soon after boarding. Yue Buhui, seemingly on a boat for the first time, played by herself outside the cabin. Lu Xin and the scholar, unable to sleep, chatted about what they’d seen and heard.

When the conversation turned to the former Emperor Yang of Sui, the usually carefree scholar grew uncharacteristically indignant.

“When Yang Guang was made Prince of Jin, he led the campaign south and toppled the Chen dynasty. Upon his ascension, he campaigned against the Tuyuhun, fought Goguryeo three times, reformed the bureaucracy, established the imperial examination system—a ruler as accomplished as the present Emperor Taizong! Later generations curse him for harsh levies and disregard for the people, yet they unceasingly enjoy the Grand Canal he built. Today’s scholars claim to learn from history, but they refuse to weigh merits and faults, blindly slandering the previous dynasty, currying favor with the Tang court.”

Staring out at the river, the scholar’s eyes were bright and impassioned. His tone was rarely so earnest, each word infused with his own views on governance. In all the time Lu Xin had known him, he’d never seen him so serious, discussing court affairs and the fate of the realm.

“As the ancients say: cultivate oneself, regulate the family, govern the state, bring peace to the world. It seems, Brother Tu, your heart holds more than just beauties and feasts, ha ha ha…”

“Brother Xin, don’t judge me like that fox. Ever since I resolved to study and make a name for myself, my belly may be filled with books, but my heart has always carried the fate of the people. Now that His Majesty Taizong has opened the examination, seeking those who can assist him in governing the realm, I must become a presented scholar in Chang’an. Since the founding emperor took Guanzhong, it’s only been little more than a decade to this third year of Zhenguan. Looking back at the former dynasty, conquering a realm is easy, ruling it is hard. Yang Guang’s fate is still fresh in memory. A dynasty’s fall is a small thing; the people suffering in war is the real tragedy. Emperor Taizong is a ruler of lofty ambition—if I can assist him, why shouldn’t the Tang last for a thousand generations?”

The scholar grew more impassioned as he spoke, striding to the stern, brimming with heroic spirit, gesturing over the waters. Watching his back, Lu Xin couldn’t help but recall his own cousin.

Two years ago, on a street in Xiaoxi Town, Lu Tingfang had spoken in just this way, bold and full of youthful ideals. It is, perhaps, the dream every young man should have—to stand above the multitudes, if not as king, then as one whose voice is heard.

But that was never Lu Xin’s dream.

“A thousand generations? Brother Tu, do you truly believe there can be a dynasty that will last forever, never to perish?”

Standing at the stern, watching the waves churn, Lu Xin suddenly asked. The scholar fell silent for a few seconds, then threw back his head and laughed.

“Of course there will be! From the First Emperor of Qin to Yang Guang, what ruler did not wish for immortality and endless reign? Without such ambition, how could we scholars hope to aid a wise sovereign, save the world, and bring peace to the land? Brother Xin, only when the realm is at peace can the people live and thrive. A dynasty that endures for a thousand generations—perhaps there has never been one, nor is there now. But I believe in five hundred years, in a thousand years, it will come.”

“A thousand years from now? Ha ha… let’s hope it’s as you say, Brother Tu. This was a fine conversation—if we had wine, I’d toast you!”

Lu Xin leaned against the mast, one arm draped over the scholar’s shoulder, both laughing heartily. Though his companion was somewhat cunning and a touch lecherous, he had never lost the scholar’s heart within him, always thinking of the people’s welfare and the fate of the land. Such a man was worth befriending.

Yet just as Lu Xin laughed, the scholar, who only a moment before had been brimming with high spirits, suddenly shivered and crouched down.

“Brother Xin, let’s save the boasting for later. Look behind us—who are those people on that boat?”