Chapter 65: This Is What Comes From Lack of Restraint

The young man named Flowing Years merely sneered indifferently at Old Deng's words.

“Trouble?”

“Not to speak of the entire world—even within this Great Zhou, there are only a handful who could kill me.”

Old Deng seemed long accustomed to the young man’s boastful tone, so he simply rolled his eyes and didn’t respond further. Yet his silence did nothing to dispel the anger simmering inside Flowing Years. Glaring after Lin Cheng’s receding figure, he clenched his teeth in secret frustration.

That man was clearly a guard from his own estate, yet failed to recognize him!

Would you believe it?

Flowing Years gritted his teeth, vowing to himself that once he returned, he would ensure everyone in the Duke Protector’s Manor remembered his face well. Imagine—going out and not even being recognized by your own people!

And as for that guard...

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing within. He was already considering how best to torment the fellow upon his return. As the heir of the Duke Protector’s Manor, one of the most powerful nobles in the Great Zhou dynasty, how could he tolerate being insulted by a mere servant? Had it been another noble with a greater temper, the offender’s bones and sinews would have been torn out, and even the extermination of his entire family would not have been considered excessive.

Though the rise of the current Emperor Wu Shang had seen the status of the nobility challenged by those of humble origins, the dignity of the aristocracy remained inviolable, not to be scorned or slighted. Commoners who offended a noble rarely met a good end—let alone a mere servant, who counted for even less than a son of lesser birth.

Guard was a flattering term; in Flowing Years’ eyes, they were nothing more than household servants, utterly beneath notice.

Though his anger was at its peak, he could do nothing for now. The man hadn’t even recognized him—what else could he do? He would have to wait until he returned to the manor.

Yet that stable hand, the substitute in the manor, seemed to be acting very strangely lately... To think he could leave the estate and visit the Flower Pavilion, even enjoying the company of courtesans—did he really believe himself the true heir of the Duke Protector’s Manor?

For some reason, an unease crept into Flowing Years’ heart. He took a deep breath, forcing down his irritation, and continued along the official road heading toward the capital.

Given their strength, it would take a day or two to walk to the capital. With a carriage, they might arrive sooner. But now, neither he nor Old Deng had so much as a coin to their names—what choice did they have but to walk every step back to the capital?

Old Deng seemed to notice Flowing Years’ dour mood. He merely gave him a genial glance, saying nothing more.

In truth, Old Deng wasn’t particularly close to this young man—only recently had they crossed paths in the fields, both dressed as vagrants, and a certain kinship had drawn him to Flowing Years. After some time together, he discovered that although the young man had never practiced cultivation, some kind of force seemed to reside within him. Old Deng had once tried to probe it, but was swiftly repelled by an unfamiliar energy.

When Flowing Years told him he was the heir to the Duke Protector’s Manor, Old Deng had believed him at first. But later, seeing that Flowing Years had none of the bearing of a noble heir and no powerful guards by his side—especially since news from the capital told of the real heir’s recent exploits—Old Deng dismissed the claim as mere daydreams.

The road to the capital was dull, and Old Deng, with nowhere better to go, simply accompanied Flowing Years. His own destination was the Duke Protector’s Manor after all.

“Sigh, that old fellow Cheng insisted on dragging me out for this. Why can’t you teach your own grandson, instead of leaving it to me?” Old Deng followed behind Flowing Years, grumbling inwardly, his face troubled, as if hiding some secret.

...

The Duke Protector’s Manor.

After encountering Flowing Years and Old Deng on the road, Lin Cheng memorized the direction they were heading and rushed back without pause.

“Heir, heir, I’ve found them!” Lin Cheng hurried up to Cheng Guang, who sat serenely in a pavilion, sipping tea.

Cheng Guang set down his cup and looked at Lin Cheng, his expression unchanged. “You’ve found them? Where?”

Lin Cheng answered, “On the official road near Tianping Village. That’s close to my hometown, so I know the place well. The person you described was heading for the capital—at their pace, they can’t have gotten more than ten miles by now.”

“Their location is confirmed, then.” Cheng Guang nodded. He was familiar with Tianping Village—he’d recently reviewed maps of the area, and knew it lay near White Deer Manor, just a hundred miles from the capital. At the heir’s walking speed, that was about right.

Cheng Guang was confident Lin Cheng had not mistaken them. Turning to the poised and capable Qingluan, he said, “Qingluan, it’s up to you now. You’re the key to gaining his trust. Work with Bai Shuxuan to probe his abilities and lure him back to the manor. Leave the rest to me.”

Qingluan nodded calmly, her beautiful features betraying no anxiety. “Then I’ll go right away.” Cheng Guang waved her off, and Bai Shuxuan followed.

Naive Lin Cheng still didn’t understand why his master cared so much about a beggar who merely resembled him. Was it that the heir resented sharing his looks with such a person? Lin Cheng couldn’t fathom it, so he simply obeyed.

Soon, the group departed from the Garden of Ten Thousand Images. The lively garden fell silent once more.

Cheng Guang poured himself another cup of hot tea, taking a slow sip. His trap was set. He wondered with genuine curiosity how the real heir would respond. Since his arrival in this world, he had yet to meet the true heir, but that didn’t prevent their inevitable clash.

He was only a substitute—if he wanted to survive, he would have to kill the other.

Cheng Guang considered his plan flawless, except for the unpredictable element: would someone unexpected appear at the real heir’s side?

The system’s mission hints had mentioned the heir would meet a “benefactor” on this journey. Who could this person be, to warrant such a title even for someone at the pinnacle of power in the Great Zhou? That individual must be extraordinary.

He had taken this into account in his scheme—otherwise, sending only Bai Shuxuan would have sufficed to turn the heir into an obsessed admirer and resolve matters. But now, Qingluan accompanied her, to account for that unknown.

Lost in thought, he suddenly sensed a chill. Looking up, he saw the sky had grown overcast, as though a storm was coming.

...

Outside the capital, along the official road.

A fine drizzle began to fall from the sky. Threads of rain descended, draping the broad road and the distant silhouette of the capital in a gossamer veil.

The air grew colder. Raindrops clung to the branches along the road, hastening the autumn leaves’ descent.

Travelers, sensing the impending rain, hurried along the road. Old Deng had no umbrella, but with his cultivation, no downpour could chill him. Flowing Years, on the other hand, had no such strength. After being soaked only a short while, he turned pale, shivering violently.

Old Deng sighed. “Flowing Years, why are you in such a rush to reach the capital? We’re almost there—let’s find shelter. If we keep going, the rain will only get worse.”

Flowing Years ignored him, pushing on stubbornly. The rain meant nothing to him; his heart was colder still.

He didn’t know what had happened in the capital or within his own manor. Why, after being absent so long, had his father not realized the stable hand was an imposter, nor sent anyone to find him? He couldn’t understand it.

The recent slight from the guard had only stoked his impatience to return. Every minute and second was torture.

“Old Deng, if you’re cold, go find shelter. I need to get back quickly—this rain won’t kill me,” he snapped, striding ahead.

Old Deng trailed behind, shaking his head. He’d only wanted to keep the lad from falling ill, but Flowing Years thought he was the one who felt the cold. Amused, Old Deng fell silent, curious how long the boy would last.

After barely a quarter of an hour, Flowing Years could endure no more. He dashed from the road, diving into a haystack in a nearby field, shivering so hard even his nose ran.

The sight made Old Deng want to laugh. “Didn’t I tell you? Should’ve sheltered from the start.”

Flowing Years’ face was pale. He tried to retort, but another sneeze wracked his body, and he curled up wordlessly.

After some time, as warmth slowly returned, he glanced at Old Deng, noticing how the old man seemed unaffected, his clothes soaked but his composure undisturbed.

“That’s odd, Old Deng. Aren’t you cold at all? You’re just an old man—no matter your cultivation, your vitality should have faded by now. How can you be so unaffected?”

Old Deng chuckled. “You’re still too young, boy. Indulgence exhausts the body’s furnace. I, on the other hand, guard my essence—rain or snow, even in the dead of winter, I feel no chill.”

He spoke with pride. Flowing Years couldn’t help but retort, “Nonsense. I guard my essence too—why don’t I have such abilities?”

Old Deng gave him an odd look. “You? There’s hardly any essence left in you. What do you have to guard?”

Flowing Years’ expression changed, as though his secret had been uncovered. He stared at Old Deng, speechless.

Old Deng sighed. “That’s why I tell you to show restraint. You’ve drained yourself dry. Not even an iron man could withstand that.”

At this, Flowing Years fell silent. In truth, Old Deng was half right. He did lack vital essence, but not because he’d exhausted himself. At some point, it had simply vanished.

No matter how much he desired women, he was powerless to act. Only he knew this secret—not even his father or the Duke himself were aware, for he guarded it jealously. Such a shameful matter was unspeakable for the heir of the Duke Protector’s Manor.

Over the years, he’d tried countless remedies and tonics, all to no avail. Already troubled, he was further tormented each time Cheng Zhihai returned from outside, putting him through endless trials. Sometimes he wondered if Cheng Zhihai had deliberately caused his ailment, to prevent him from sowing the manor’s bloodline among the courtesans.

That was why he’d finally decided to leave: to escape Cheng Zhihai, and to see whether his condition truly stemmed from the man.

Yet after all these days, his body showed no sign of change—only deepening his despair.

Did this mean… Cheng Zhihai wasn’t responsible?

If not, then who?

The thought darkened his mood further, and the turmoil caused by the stable hand’s impersonation only added to his frustration.

Just then, the sound of hooves rang out beyond the haystack, accompanied by a gentle voice.

“There are people here, it seems. Why don’t we shelter from the rain nearby? This haystack may be crude, but it will keep us dry.”

Hearing this, Flowing Years was instantly elated.

“That… that’s Qingluan’s voice!”

He leapt to his feet and peered out, spying a group huddled under a haystack in the rain. Among them, a woman in blue, her hair neatly tied, her features lovely and pure, immediately drew his gaze.

“Qingluan?” Old Deng, following Flowing Years outside, narrowed his eyes at the newcomers.

“Oh… intriguing…”

...

(End of this chapter)