Chapter 673: This Prince Will Lead You

Zheng Fan reached out, took the stuffed bun, and bit into it.

The dough had just the right softness. The shredded-radish filling was seasoned perfectly. Most of all, when he bit through both wrapper and filling together, the texture was extraordinarily satisfying.

The buns he used to eat during New Year back home in his previous life had somehow been made by Old Tian with the delicacy of fine pastries.

"How is it?" Tian Wujing asked.

Zheng Fan shook his head.

"Still a little short."

Tian Wujing was not angry. He merely nodded.

Zheng Fan swallowed the mouthful, set the remainder of the bun back on the table, and did his best not to look at it.

He picked up his chopsticks and began fishing food out of the hotpot as he said, "Tian Tian likes the buns we make at home too. My wife steams them herself. Give him a bowl of clear soup and he can put away four in one meal."

"Four?"

These were not little baozi or tiny mantou. Each one was large and substantial.

"Mm. The little fellow's had a huge appetite since he was small. Yu Huaping says he's a born Spirit Child. He's very jealous of you."

A faint smile appeared at the corner of Tian Wujing's mouth.

"He should be."

Obviously, Old Tian had personally examined Tian Tian's constitution before.

Anything Yu Huaping could see, Tian Wujing could hardly fail to notice.

In terms of vision and breadth of knowledge, how could Yu Huaping's jianghu experience compare with the old aristocratic Tian Clan or the imperial court?

And when it came to personal ability, aside from standing at the summit among Martial Artists, Tian Wujing also dabbled in arcane arts.

Heaven only knew what else he merely "dabbled" in.

Even these stuffed buns had turned out this well.

"The Sword Saint wants to take Tian Tian as his disciple."

"Oh?"

No parent would reject a Sword Saint taking their child as a disciple.

It meant another layer of protection.

Another powerful backer.

That saying about a man in the jianghu being unable to control his own fate was mostly jianghu people putting gold on their own faces.

It was people in court who truly faced endless helplessness and compromise.

People of the jianghu could actually act with far fewer scruples.

For example, suppose one day the sovereign ordered a minister to die, and the head of a great household led his entire family to suicide without daring to resist.

He had to consider the interests of others who shared his clan name. He had to consider the teachings of the sages he had studied all his life. He had to consider that imperial grace was deep as the sea.

To a jianghu man, all of that was a joke.

You want to die? Fine.

Don't drag my disciple down with you.

Then he could charge in alone and take his disciple away.

The Sword Saint had precisely that kind of ability.

"But Tian Tian refused."

"Refused?"

"He said he wants to practice the saber."

"The saber?"

Tian Wujing looked at Zheng Fan.

"Uh..." Zheng Fan steeled himself and continued, "I'll teach him properly."

"Mm."

The pressure Marquis Zheng felt when saying that was anything but small.

After all, Old Tian also practiced the saber.

"That's good," Tian Wujing added.

He was pleased by the idea.

His son learning the saber under Zheng Fan, with Zheng Fan serving as both teacher and father, would make their relationship complete.

He hoped his son would grow up to live more like Zheng Fan.

A boy's dreams were usually nothing more than peerless martial skill or ten thousand armored riders under his command.

But neither of those things was true happiness.

Because Tian Wujing himself had already achieved both.

"Keep eating."

Tian Wujing rose and left the pavilion.

Zheng Fan continued eating.

At the same time, he picked up the half-finished stuffed bun he had set down earlier and ate that too.

Then, after hesitating for a moment... he really was hungry.

In the end, Zheng Fan took two more buns from the steamer and used them in place of rice while laying waste to the hotpot.

There were not many people beneath Heaven who could make the Southern Prince of Great Yan personally cook for them. Marquis Zheng had no intention of being polite.

Once he got going, he almost drank the hotpot broth too.

After eating his fill, Zheng Fan stood and wandered through the courtyard.

When he passed the mourning hall, he lowered his hands.

It had been tidied since his previous visit and looked plain and austere.

There was barely any ash in the incense burner.

Zheng Fan walked over, intending to light two sticks.

"No need. She didn't like all that smoke and soot."

"All right."

Zheng Fan nodded.

But he still knelt and kowtowed.

"Can you play Go?" Tian Wujing asked.

"I'm terrible at it. If Your Highness wants to play, I'll keep you company."

"Then forget it. No fun."

"Fine. Next time. Next time I'll practice after I get back. My skill will definitely improve."

"Forget tomorrow. Come with me to Mount Tianhu now. Tomorrow morning, we leave the city and return to the capital."

"You walk. I'll follow."

Tian Wujing looked at Zheng Fan.

"You're already a Marquis, yet you still talk so glibly. Aren't you afraid people will laugh at you?"

"In front of you, what do I have to be embarrassed about?"

At this point... they were family anyway.

Soon afterward, one Prince and one Marquis, the two men holding the greatest authority in Jin under Great Yan, rode two Pixiu straight out of Litian City.

The Sword Saint did not follow.

His duty was to protect the Marquis of Pingxi.

And when the Marquis of Pingxi stood beside the Prince of Jingnan, unless the Prince himself fell first, no one could harm him.

Besides, Jingnan Army camps covered the area inside and outside Litian City.

No organized outside force could possibly enter.

Even if a few petty assassins somehow slipped through, what could they accomplish?

The Sword Saint was happy to enjoy a rare stretch of leisure.

...

The Daoist temple on Mount Tianhu had burned to the ground in the great fire several years ago.

Zheng Fan had visited once the previous year.

Now he had come again.

Actually, without the wooden fish and temple bells on the mountain, it was rather pleasant.

The mountain had become a mountain again.

The two Pixiu were left halfway up the slope.

Tian Wujing and Zheng Fan climbed the stone steps together.

On the way, they passed the pavilion said to stand near the place where Du Juan had fallen from the cliff.

Tian Wujing did not stop deliberately.

He merely looked twice, then continued upward.

Marquis Zheng had entered the proper state of mind long ago.

Wherever Old Tian went did not matter.

He would simply follow behind.

Both men were in excellent physical condition.

Marquis Zheng, at the very least, was a Sixth-Grade Martial Artist. Climbing a mountain was hardly tiring.

They did not rest even once.

Their pace never changed.

Eventually, they reached the summit.

From there, they could clearly see the ruined remains on the slope to the southwest.

Tian Wujing sat down directly on the ground.

Zheng Fan saw him do so and sat opposite him.

Old Tian closed his eyes and said nothing.

Zheng Fan leaned back on both hands, made himself comfortable, and looked around as though he had simply come out to enjoy autumn.

The grass and leaves below the mountain had long since yellowed, but green still remained on the heights.

When April's blossoms have all faded from the mortal world,
Peach flowers at the mountain temple are only beginning to bloom.

They sat there for quite some time.

Seeing that Old Tian still had his eyes closed, Zheng Fan simply lay on his side and involuntarily yawned.

Mountain wind swept past from time to time.

To an ordinary person, it carried a chill.

To someone who practiced martial arts, it was just comfortably cool.

Gradually...

Marquis Zheng closed his eyes too.

Old Tian might have been thinking, or emptying his mind, or at the very least meditating.

Marquis Zheng genuinely fell asleep.

Because his sleeping posture was less than proper, he even began lightly snoring.

The mountain wind stirred the vegetation with soft rustling sounds, but there were only two people in this place.

Against the surrounding stillness, the snoring was quite clear.

Tian Wujing opened his eyes.

He looked at the man sleeping soundly before him.

Slowly, he shook his head.

A faint smile touched his lips.

He opened one palm.

A soft current of wind swept over, lifted a nearby mat of vines, and gently draped it over Zheng Fan.

Tian Wujing was the devil who had exterminated his own household.

Among the common people of Great Yan, his reputation was terrible.

No matter how magnificent his military achievements, even storytellers in little teahouses would often finish a tale about him by remarking from the side that across history, men who behaved in such a fashion rarely came to a good end.

Every man in the Jingnan Army stood before him in absolute respect, hardly daring to breathe too loudly.

And yet this fellow... only this fellow... could eat better and sleep more soundly when he was beside Tian Wujing.

Like a child who had finally found true security.

In truth... that was exactly what it was.

One sleep, then awakening to a new world.

New customs.

New scenery.

A group of Demon Kings with wildly different personalities beside him.

Everything had been unfamiliar.

Why had Zheng Fan spared no effort gathering experts into his residence and keeping layer after layer of security around himself?

For no reason beyond a lack of safety.

But in front of the Prince of Jingnan...

Zheng Fan would naturally let down every defense.

He did not sleep long.

A little over an hour.

When he awoke, he felt refreshed and deeply satisfied.

Marquis Zheng pulled away the mat of vines covering him, sat up, and stretched.

Ahead... a figure stood at the cliff's edge.

Still not done admiring the scenery?

Marquis Zheng rubbed his eyes and wondered whether he should sleep a little longer.

"Zheng Fan."

Unfortunately... even with his back turned, there was no hiding what happened behind him from Tian Wujing.

"Here."

Zheng Fan climbed to his feet and walked behind him.

Thirty years of fame are dust and earth;
Eight thousand li beneath cloud and moon.

"How did you think of a line like that back then?"

"Man Jiang Hong" was extremely popular in the Yan army.

No.

More precisely, it was extremely popular in the armies of the other states too.

Because what the poem carried was not merely tragic heroism. It also held the surging passion of soldiers straining to rise and wash away old humiliation.

That emotional foundation did not fit the Yan army very well after so many years of continuous victories.

It fit the defeated Chu and Qian armies much better.

The poem had first spread from a carriage.

Four people had been sitting inside it at the time:

Hero Chen.

The Swordsmith.

Zheng Fan, before he had been made a Marquis.

And the Regent of Chu.

The Regent had liked the poem enormously. At the time, Zheng Fan's public identity had been that of Master Yao's final disciple.

In that age, famous literary men composed poems for the powerful, while the powerful used their influence to spread those poems.

That was simply how things worked.

And the background of the poem's creation had been beneath Yupan City, where the Chu people, killed and captured, had lowered their heads in humiliation and signed the peace agreement.

So the poem spread very quickly.

What the Regent had never expected was that not long afterward, Zheng Fan would tear away his disguise and abduct the Regent's own younger sister.

Spilled water could not be gathered again.

More or less.

The poem spread to the State of Yan as well, though naturally the line about "feasting on the flesh of Yan barbarians" was changed.

The Yan court did not indulge in literary inquisitions.

Besides, this random adaptation, combined with everything that happened afterward and the Regent's rare willingness to pretend ignorance of it all, left Yan commoners and nobles alike feeling extremely pleased.

It was said that the Emperor of Yan had once summoned Zhao Jiulang and ordered him to copy out the poem so it could be hung in the inner chamber of his imperial study, the place where the Emperor rested after working.

During Zheng Fan's previous journey to the capital, he had entered the imperial study but not the inner chamber.

So he had no idea whether that rumor was true.

Naturally, he also could not confirm whether His Majesty the Emperor of Yan was secretly one of his fans.

Tian Wujing's question, however, was perfectly natural.

He understood Zheng Fan's temperament.

Poems and lyrics were supposed to sing what lay in a man's heart.

This poem did so more clearly than most.

And yet no matter how one looked at it, it did not resemble Zheng Fan's own state of mind.

"Your Highness, poetry is merely a plaything. I told you that before."

Tian Wujing had asked similar questions in the past.

Zheng Fan obviously could not admit that he had plagiarized it.

So he could only dodge with a more sophisticated excuse.

Yao Zizhan had once gotten hold of several "poems by the Marquis of Pingxi" that were circulating outside.

After reading them, he had been so furious that his beard bristled and his eyes bulged.

He had even cursed in his home dialect:

"A disgrace to letters! A disgrace to letters!"

Poetry and essays were supposed to be elegant pursuits.

Fine, you were a military man and insisted on writing them.

Fine, yours were good.

But did you really have to hammer one line here and another there, deliberately reducing this elegant art into casual scribbling?

How was anyone else supposed to play?

Or, more specifically... how was Yao Zizhan supposed to keep using poetry to freeload food and drink?

"I like that poem very much," Tian Wujing said. "It resonates with me."

Zheng Fan instinctively swallowed.

Please don't.

Brother.

The original author of that poem did not end especially well.

"Your Highness, I recently wrote another one. Very appropriate to the present moment. It's exactly about now. Would you like to hear it?"

Zheng Fan felt obligated to drag Old Tian out of the emotional atmosphere of "Man Jiang Hong."

Please, anything but more resonance.

Tian Wujing turned and looked at him.

"Your poetry is genuinely excellent, provided the reader doesn't know you or isn't familiar with you."

"..." Zheng Fan.

"But that doesn't prevent me from listening. Recite it."

Zheng Fan nodded.

When autumn comes, on the eighth of the ninth,
Once my flower blooms, all others die.
Its sky-soaring fragrance floods Shangjing;
The whole city is clad in golden armor.

The theme of this poem was extremely simple, clear, and direct.

Once I become powerful enough, I'll overturn every last one of you.

Tian Wujing closed his eyes and savored it for a while.

"It's fortunate that I know you treat poetry as a plaything. If someone else wrote this..."

Marquis Zheng asked cautiously, "They'd get chopped?"

Tian Wujing shook his head.

"Too rigid and it breaks easily. Seeking only momentary satisfaction and leaving yourself no room will inevitably end with something that rises suddenly and collapses just as swiftly."

Zheng Fan opened his mouth.

Wasn't that exactly right?

"In dealing with matters, and in dealing with people, unless there is truly no other choice, you should always leave yourself some room. You have always done this well."

"Your Highness, isn't that wrong? I've always preferred uprooting the grass and roots together."

"The restraint is in your heart, not in the outward form."

"Yes. I understand."

Dusk deepened.

Zheng Fan kept waiting for Tian Wujing to say they should descend the mountain.

But Old Tian remained there, admiring the sunset.

In the distance, great banks of cloud had been dyed red, as though soaked through with blood.

"Once we enter the capital, the court will probably demand that you hand over part of your authority. Territory, perhaps. Or a division of your military power. With you personally in Yanjing, they can use open and upright methods."

"Your Highness, what should I do?"

The Blind Man and Savage King had guessed this possibility long ago.

Central governments had an instinct for concentrating power.

Although the court of Great Yan had operated for years largely according to the will of the Emperor, the authority of the central government itself had already been firmly established.

In other words, whoever sat in that position would instinctively try to reclaim some authority from regional military powers, provided those powers had not openly rebelled.

While the Emperor of Yan still lived.

While Zheng Fan himself was in Yanjing.

While the tide was rising and momentum stood behind the court.

It truly was an open stratagem.

Once the Emperor of Yan died, the authority of the central government would inevitably fall along with the change of sovereign.

Whether the Crown Prince or Little Sixth ascended, neither could prevent that decline.

If they chose another prince, or truly had no fear of a child ruler bringing doubt to the state and placed Little Seventh on the throne like some Fu Lin, the decline would be even greater.

Even if Old Tian had not raised the subject now, Zheng Fan would have found a chance to ask him on the road to Yanjing.

This matter depended primarily on Old Tian's attitude.

Just as Old Tian himself had once said:

He was still here.

To put it plainly, Zheng Fan could never have expanded to his present scale without the Prince of Jingnan deliberately allowing it.

If Tian Wujing had wanted to plant his own men inside Zheng Fan's camp or divide his forces, he had possessed more than enough ability to strangle the whole thing while it was still a seedling.

The world believed this was because the Heir of the Prince of Jingnan was being raised under Zheng Fan, and all the Prince was doing was sending wet-nurse money to support his own son.

But in truth... only the people involved understood that it was not like that at all.

"Simple. Answer an open stratagem with an open stratagem. After entering the capital, whoever dares make trouble for you to your face, hit him directly. Injure him. Kill him. Cripple him. It doesn't matter. This Prince will be standing behind you. The sky will not fall."

Why did this feeling seem so familiar?

When Zheng Fan had crippled the Third Prince last time... hadn't the situation been much the same?

"Your Highness, I understand."

"Mm. The sun has gone down."

"Should we descend?"

"We should. But before we do, there is one more thing."

"What?"

"Your cultivation has been stuck at Sixth Grade for a very long time, hasn't it?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

It had indeed been a long time.

"In truth, the hardest threshold on the martial path is Fourth Grade into Third Grade. It is much like court rank: Fourth into Third is the hardest step. But once you cross it, the entire situation changes. Still, there is also a gulf between Sixth and Fifth Grade. At Fifth Grade, whether Martial Artist, swordsman, or Qi Refiner, one can already be called a minor grandmaster. A grandmaster must have conviction of his own, a Dao of his own. You break through with conviction. You break through with the Dao. Do you understand?"

"Your Highness, I understand," Zheng Fan answered with a bitter smile.

He truly did.

The Marquis Residence had no shortage of experts, and the Sword Saint was there to advise him.

Besides, when it came to vague and half-philosophical theories, Zheng Fan understood more of them than most people ever would.

That was precisely the problem.

Perhaps it was truly his personality.

Perhaps it was his instinctive love of comfort.

On a battlefield, if the situation demanded a death charge, Zheng Fan could do it.

In the past, he had done it often.

But now, even on a battlefield, he had the Sword Saint and A’Ming protecting him, while the Demon Kings watched over him constantly.

His status had risen.

He had three women at home.

Life was good.

And the better it became, the more he cherished it.

It was not as though Zheng Fan had never gone out to temper himself.

He had done so several times over the past year.

But beyond sharpening his saber technique and his instincts in killing, his cultivation had not advanced.

Of course, this did not mean one had to constantly brush against life and death in order to break through.

That was merely the most direct method.

The true root was firm conviction.

At least, that was Zheng Fan's understanding.

And he did not have it.

Yes.

He did not.

Living freely and playing through the mortal world was his true goal.

It was also the shared aesthetic of the Demon Kings.

Put plainly... at heart, he was only playing around.

And if someone treating the whole affair like a game could simply play and play and advance effortlessly through every realm, that would be too disrespectful toward the rules of this world.

It would also be cruel to those ascetics whose entire wills were devoted to the path.

Still... the moment Old Tian raised the subject, hope inevitably rose in Zheng Fan's heart.

From the sound of it... could Old Tian help him?

Enlightenment by touch?

Transmission of cultivation?

Tian Wujing pointed toward the road down the mountain.

"Descend."

The scene resembled years ago beside the Wang River, when Zheng Fan had walked among a shore covered in floating corpses and nearly fallen into qi deviation, while Tian Wujing followed behind him.

Zheng Fan nodded.

He turned and began walking downhill.

But in the next instant... a palm landed on his shoulder.

The palm was warm.

Zheng Fan's mind tightened.

He was about to continue down when he suddenly saw Old Tian's back in front of him.

Tian Wujing had somehow already begun walking ahead.

He was in front.

Zheng Fan kept descending.

Then Tian Wujing's voice sounded from behind him.

"Can you see it?"

Zheng Fan's body trembled.

Instinctively, he wanted to turn around.

He stopped himself.

Vaguely... he understood.

He lacked something.

That was why his cultivation had remained stuck.

He could not advance.

He could not even see the road and remained lost in fog.

Old Tian... was filling in what he lacked.

This was not enlightenment by touch.

It was not transmission of cultivation.

Old Tian was using his own back ahead of him... to show Zheng Fan the road.

This was already beyond anything a Martial Artist could accomplish.

This was something only a truly mighty Qi Refiner could perform.

An immortal pointing the way.

The point of showing the path... was to reveal the Dao.

Old Tian's voice once again came from behind him.

"Remember this scene. Remember this stretch of road. I am not saying that one walk down the mountain will make you break through. But keep it in your heart. From time to time, take it out and chew it over again. Gradually, your realm will become clear. Your talent was never poor. You may simply have had things go too smoothly and lacked certain experiences. But that is not a mistake. Smooth sailing is something everyone envies. How could it be wrong? Deliberately searching for a pit and jumping into it would be the real obsession. That would truly be unnecessary. If your fate is good, then accept it. Accept it without guilt. Accept it openly. This Prince wants to see you live your entire life at ease."

"Your Highness..."

"Do not rush. Do not panic. This road... this Prince will lead you down it."

[End of Chapter 673]