Chapter 925: Contending with Heaven

Zheng Fan had been stuck at Fifth Grade as a Martial Artist for a very long time.

From the earliest days, the Demon Kings had understood that their Master’s constitution had nothing to do with the sort of useless trash one found in stories.

His physical aptitude was actually quite decent.

Naturally, it could not compare with those true favored sons of Heaven, but if you threw him into jianghu, he would still be capable of sticking his head above the crowd.

Back when Zheng Fan first began walking the path of a Martial Artist, his rapid progress had attracted quite a bit of attention. But as his status continued rising, as the armies beneath him grew larger, and as more powerful personal guards gathered around him, the world gradually stopped discussing Prince Pingxi’s own cultivation very much.

The men of court cared more about the eastern Jin iron cavalry beneath his command.

People of jianghu cared more about the existence of figures like the Sword Saint at his side.

As for ordinary people...

Well.

Among the commoners of Yan and Jin, Prince Pingxi’s personal martial prowess had long since been inflated to a level no lower than Prince Jingnan’s in his prime. After every major war, storytellers in teahouses loved narrating how Prince Pingxi had battled some terrifying enemy for three hundred rounds until mountains collapsed, the earth split, and rivers flowed backward.

Among commoners of other states, Prince Pingxi’s battlefield record had already turned him into something resembling a demon who would gladly eat two pairs of virgin boys and girls at every meal. Naturally, nobody there was stingy when exaggerating his personal strength either.

But only the people truly close to Prince Pingxi understood how stubbornly he himself remained attached to improving his cultivation.

Ever since awakening in this world, Zheng Fan had carried on his shoulders the hope that one man’s cultivation could drag the entire group upward.

The Sword Saint knew Zheng Fan had never stopped practicing his saber and tempering his body every single day, no matter the circumstances. His persistence had not shifted in the slightest as his status changed.

Of course, there was another reason.

Whenever the Prince was not campaigning, he was usually extremely idle inside the Residence.

If he did not carve out half a day for martial training... he would look even more idle.

Still, Fifth Grade was already roughly equivalent to the traditional meaning of the “peak of an ordinary Martial Artist.”

Going any higher truly was no longer something a master could simply teach.

Sometimes... all one could rely upon was accumulation piled up until nobody knew where the end lay, followed by one perfectly timed stroke of fortune.

And now...

Zheng Fan had finally used that surge of emotion to smash through the obstruction in his cultivation and step into Fourth Grade as a Martial Artist.

At that instant, the three... more precisely, four Demon Kings present all became excited at once.

The higher one climbed, the more each Grade became a world unto itself.

For the Demon Kings, every rise in Zheng Fan’s cultivation meant recovering a larger share of their own former strength, because the proportional base itself had grown.

The simplest arithmetic was this:

Under normal circumstances, Demon Kings who had recovered alongside Master to the level corresponding with Fifth Grade could use their vast experience, bloodline traits, and other special abilities to fight evenly against an ordinary Fourth Grade expert. If they caught the opponent by surprise, they might even cut off his head.

But if they could recover alongside Master once he entered Fourth Grade... that meant the Demon Kings could possess strength corresponding to Third Grade.

Third Grade.

In this world... setting aside an existence like the Sword Saint, and setting aside whatever monsters might still be hiding in seclusion... that was already near the ceiling.

Someone whose strength was no weaker than Third Grade could travel almost anywhere, provided he did not deliberately go looking for death.

A’Ming immediately drained the red wine in his cup.

In this atmosphere, he could no longer maintain his usual elegance and calm.

This time, he did not even bother letting the wine linger over his tongue so he could savor the flavor more carefully.

His tongue would need to conserve strength.

There were more important things ahead that required licking.

Xue San clenched both fists in excitement, almost ready to shout aloud.

Fan Li’s eyes widened like bronze bells.

Then... he suddenly remembered something.

At that exact moment, Third Master exclaimed in delight:

“A’Li, see that? Master advanced! He advanced!”

“Mm. We’re two rounds behind now.”

“...” Xue San.

Third Master sighed.

But very quickly, he forced his spirits back up.

“It’s fine. That just means the two of us have more room to improve than they do.”

...

The Emperor looked at Zheng Fan in confusion.

“You advanced a Grade?”

“Mm.”

“No, hold on, surnamed Zheng. So all that buildup just now was so you could let me watch you show off one more time before I return to the capital? Did you deliberately hold yourself back until this moment just so you could advance in front of me?”

The Prince reached out and placed one hand on the Emperor’s shoulder.

Then... used force.

“I...”

The Emperor staggered.

A moment later, the Prince had lifted him clean off the ground, leaving his body completely off balance.

Wei Zhonghe’s hands instinctively turned twice.

His chest rose and fell.

But in the end, he still chose not to act.

“Ji Old Sixth,” the Prince said.

“What are you trying to do?”

“Truthfully, I don’t particularly want you to die. Even if you do die, don’t die this quickly.”

“Oh. Put me down.”

Zheng Fan did not release him.

He continued holding the Emperor aloft like an eagle carrying prey.

“Half a year. At most half a year. I’ll send people to the capital, or I’ll go personally, and treat your illness.”

Only then did Zheng Fan let go.

The Emperor landed, threw both hands forward, and managed at least not to fall face-first into the dirt.

In the present age, Prince Pingxi was probably the only man alive who dared treat the Emperor of Great Yan like this.

The Emperor stood.

Turned.

Then kicked directly at Zheng Fan’s knee.

The Prince lifted one leg.

Their shins collided.

“Shit! Surnamed Zheng, you bastard, you actually dared kick back!”

Thud!

The Emperor dropped onto his backside.

His lower leg was already swelling red.

For an ordinary man to trade kicks with a Fourth Grade Martial Artist... the outcome had been decided before the exchange even began.

Wei Zhonghe still stood there without moving.

The same principle applied as before.

Before they crossed the Wang River, if Prince Pingxi genuinely wanted to assassinate the sovereign, it would have been absurdly easy.

There was no reason for Wei Zhonghe to jump forward now and perform some meaningless “defense of the Emperor” directly in Prince Pingxi’s face.

Still... watching his own master get bullied like this did leave a bitter feeling inside him.

Though his master himself seemed to be enjoying it somewhat.

Zheng Fan crouched down.

He leaned his face close to Ji Old Sixth’s.

In truth... there was a method to treat Ji Old Sixth.

More than that, there was even a method to increase the odds of success.

The answer was simple:

Make the Demon Kings participating in the operation stronger.

Then the surgery would naturally become much more stable.

And the only way to make them stronger... was for Zheng Fan himself to advance.

He genuinely had not deliberately waited until this moment to break through.

It was simply that Ji Old Sixth’s “last words” and “arrangements” had pushed the emotions and atmosphere to exactly the right point, naturally creating the opportunity Zheng Fan needed.

Zheng Fan had always possessed the ability to send the Sword Saint into sudden enlightenment.

Not easy.

This time, he had finally caught one such opportunity for himself.

The result... was rather good.

Look at how much effort he was putting into saving this bastard’s life.

And the bastard still refused to appreciate it.

Truly asking for a beating.

Ji Old Sixth rubbed his shin and glared furiously at Zheng Fan.

“Half a year,” Zheng Fan repeated.

“Surnamed Zheng, I already told you. I am the Emperor. My words are golden law. My mouth holds Heaven’s decree. I said I would rather take the solid five years in front of me than risk dropping dead just to gamble for more time. I...”

“Half a year from now, it won’t be fifty-fifty anymore. Maybe eighty-twenty. Maybe ninety-ten. Maybe it’ll be more like catching a cold. Some people do nothing and recover on their own. Others swallow medicine after medicine and still die in the end. If that were the situation... would you still refuse treatment?”

The Emperor fell silent.

He swallowed twice without meaning to.

“What you’re saying... is true?”

“Heh.”

“If that’s really the case, then I... We... I suppose... could try.”

At fifty percent, the decision was no different from tossing a coin.

Under those odds, the Emperor could never gamble.

But once the probability of success became overwhelmingly favorable, the old “zero or one” argument no longer applied in the same way.

After all... if fortune truly hated you enough, you could choke to death drinking water.

The reason Zheng Fan wanted half a year was that he needed time to work with the Demon Kings and push their recoveries upward as well.

Advancing the Demon Kings had long since stopped being as easy as it was in the beginning.

Half of them still had missed lessons to make up.

There was no chance they could recover everything overnight.

At best, half a year was the outer limit.

What if the tumor inside Little Sixth’s brain worsened before then?

“Surnamed Zheng, the truth is, I have always believed what you say. Truly.”

The Emperor sat cross-legged on the ground.

“You said I don’t have long to live. Ten years at most, five more likely. You said the treatment only had a fifty-fifty chance. You said you could raise the odds after half a year. Whatever you say, I believe. I don’t even understand the illness you’re describing, but I still believe you.”

Perhaps... that was the power of one’s established image.

Zheng Fan was an extremely lazy man.

And one thing lazy men hated most was removing their trousers just to fart.

So no matter how unbelievable his words sounded, no matter how difficult they were to understand, the Emperor’s first reaction was always:

All right.

I believe you.

“In truth, it’s rather good,” the Emperor said, pressing his lips together. “Being the lonely man at the top isn’t pleasant. With you around, even if you’re in eastern Jin and I’m in Yanjing, I still feel like there’s someone keeping me company.”

“I only don’t want you dying so early because it would delay the plan to wipe out Qian and Chu.”

“Yes, yes. I know. I know.”

The Emperor struggled to rise.

Only now did Wei Zhonghe finally step forward and help his master upright.

“Surnamed Zheng, sometimes I imagine what Great Yan would look like if I had never met you that time I went to Marquis Zhenbei Residence to deliver congratulations. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?”

Zheng Fan badly wanted to tell him:

Actually, I can imagine it.

You die.

Then your son takes the throne.

From the look of things, your son fails to stop the collapse too.

He probably ends up killed by Tian Tian personally.

Great Yan falls.

Several generations of effort go up in smoke.

That... is the ending where I never appeared.

“Rough soldiers usually don’t believe in fate, right?” the Emperor continued. “I don’t believe in it either.”

Wei Zhonghe helped the Emperor onto the carriage.

Half the Brocade-Clad personal guards followed the carriage to continue escorting the Emperor across the Wang River.

Once the carriage began moving... the Emperor lifted the curtain.

A cigarette rested between his fingers, while Wei Zhonghe beside him clumsily worked a fire striker to light it.

The Emperor turned his head.

He looked back at Zheng Fan standing outside.

Then smiled.

“I don’t believe in fate because I think this so-called Mandate of Heaven... is nowhere near as magnificent as you, surnamed Zheng!”

The Emperor left.

The carriage left.

The procession left.

Zheng Fan remained where he was for quite a while.

Pixiu came over and gently rubbed against him, asking whether it was time to head home.

Zheng Fan did not climb onto his back.

Instead, he reached into the specially made saddle and took out a board and pieces.

Then he shouted toward the Sword Saint standing not far away:

“Old Yu! Come play a game with me.”

...

A bonfire rose.

The board was placed.

The stars shone brilliantly overhead.

Prince Pingxi forcibly dragged the Sword Saint into playing ten full games of Gomoku.

Only after the tenth game had been decided did the Prince brace both hands behind himself on the ground and release a long breath, as though finally setting down part of a burden.

“Because of the Emperor’s illness?” the Sword Saint asked.

The Prince shook his head.

“Yes and no.”

“You and the Emperor truly are close.”

“I’m actually a coldhearted man.”

“Are you?”

“I am.”

“Then what was today?” the Sword Saint asked while gathering the pieces. “That feeling earlier almost resembled the day I drew my sword outside Snow Sea Pass. I’m curious. What kind of blazing emotion could force you this far?”

“It isn’t only emotion. It’s like this board.”

The Prince pointed at the black and white pieces still scattered across it.

“A game resembles life. And the board itself resembles a destiny whose boundaries and corners were carved long ago.”

“It’s Gomoku,” the Sword Saint reminded him again.

“Same thing. Same thing. Don’t obsess over details.”

The Prince looked up at the stars.

“Old Yu, have you ever had one of those moments when you felt like a piece on this board? Like everything, every single thing, had been decided by Heaven long ago?”

“No.”

“...” Zheng Fan.

The Sword Saint had relied on his younger brother for survival as a child, then met his master, entered a sword school, and rose with extraordinary speed.

Whenever he had spare time, he wandered jianghu.

He went to Chu to demand a sword from the Swordsmith.

He went to Beifeng Commandery in Yan to spar with Li Liangshen.

Free and carefree.

He had even killed more than one so-called “Emperor.”

He truly had achieved what it meant to roam jianghu without restraint.

There was a saying that once a man entered jianghu, he could no longer control his own fate.

But if your martial arts were strong enough... then at least within jianghu, you really could do almost whatever you pleased.

“Cooperate with me a little,” the Prince reminded him.

“If you force me to name one time, then probably after I entered Shengle City.”

After entering Shengle City... his life truly did seem to become a piece upon this board.

He acquired all sorts of bonds.

Again and again, one shamelessly thick-skinned man managed to persuade him into doing things.

But those bonds... were ones he himself had chosen.

After wandering freely outside the board for so long, the piece had genuinely begun to miss this small square of ancient wood.

“I’m really fighting Heaven,” Zheng Fan said. “The old bastard up there seems to dislike me somewhat.”

The Sword Saint corrected him.

“Not somewhat. It dislikes you very much.”

“Exactly. So the more it wants one thing, the more I want the opposite. If Heaven wants someone dead, then I’ll insist on keeping that person alive. If I’m going against it... I’ll go against it all the way.”

The Prince picked up a black stone.

Raised it.

Held it toward the sky.

And narrowed his eyes.

The Sword Saint smiled.

“But in the end, a piece still belongs on the board.”

“Hahahahaha...”

The Prince burst into laughter.

After a while, he finally calmed himself.

He wiped away the tears laughter had brought to the corners of his eyes.

Then said:

“But I... was never part of this board to begin with.”

...

Not far away, Xue San, A’Ming, and Fan Li sat around another bonfire, quietly discussing their own plans.

Xue San said:

“I think from now on, if Master wants to save that Emperor, he’ll probably spend a lot of time watching us and helping us recover. How could any surgery happen without me?”

Xue San looked down at his own hands.

Once Master possessed stronger subjective motivation... things ought to become easier.

“I can control blood flow. I can manage transfusions. I can monitor the various indicators too.”

A’Ming felt he should have plenty of use as well.

It was an operating room.

Everyone could squeeze in.

In this round of recovery, whoever could claim one seat at the operating table would obviously possess an advantage.

Fan Li slapped his own forehead.

“I can too.”

Xue San and A’Ming both looked toward him.

Third Master laughed outright.

“What can an idiot like you possibly do?”

Fan Li lifted the axe resting across his knees.

He gave it a gentle swing.

“I can open the skull.”

...

The Emperor’s return to the capital produced no substantive change in Fengxin City.

The soldiers and civilians continued doing whatever they had already been doing.

Once the framework and details had been laid down in advance, all of eastern Jin entered a period of rapid recovery and operation. At the same time, people of every ethnicity from every direction continued flowing inward and becoming part of that system.

Cuiliu Fort had only been a starting point.

Shengle City had only been a trial.

Snow Sea Pass had only been a blueprint.

But after reaching Fengxin City... one thing after another had gradually become reality.

A true atmosphere of power and prosperity was taking shape.

The Blind Man wore a dark-blue robe and stood atop the battlements.

Not far away...

Master and the others were returning.

Siniang stood beside the Blind Man.

Normally, one almost never saw her holding her own biological son. Most of the time, she simply handed Zheng Lin over to Demon Child and the Princess Consort of Prince Fu with astonishing freedom.

“Blind Man, the Emperor’s Eastern Inspection seems to have worked very well for the Ji Clan.”

The Blind Man nodded.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve already shifted my thoughts onto your son. From the small, you can see the large. Once your son reaches adulthood, there is no chance he’ll willingly live beneath another man. Under that premise—or during that period—unifying All Xia first is only natural. The bigger the board, the more exciting the game becomes. Or the table-flipping.”

Siniang laughed.

“Heh. So even you made a concession.”

“Master is still Master, after all. We are subordinates. How could we truly go against his wishes?”

By then... the procession had already begun entering the city.

Qu Peiluo led armored troops from the City Patrol Office in maintaining order around the gate.

Xue San and Fan Li sat on horseback waving their arms and legs around in obvious excitement.

“Look how happy they are. Even the way A’Ming is drinking looks a little frivolous...” The Blind Man smiled. “Master must have reached Fourth Grade.”

Siniang noticed the same detail.

She was not worried.

As Master’s wife, and as the mother of Master’s son, her position had long since risen beyond that of the other Demon Kings.

But just as Siniang turned to go down and greet the father of her child... she stopped.

Without turning around, she asked the Blind Man:

“Was the Emperor’s operation really fifty-fifty?”

The Blind Man raised one finger.

He tapped his forehead.

“The tumor inside the Emperor’s brain is benign. The location is excellent and the surrounding structure is safe. So the surgery itself... is not especially difficult.”

“You’re playing with fire.”

“Every surgery carries risk. If the essence of it is zero or one... then what difference does it make whether you call the odds fifty-fifty or anything else?”

[End of Chapter 925]