Chapter 69: Interesting, Very Interesting

Duke Protector’s Residence, Myriad Phenomena Garden.

The courtyard stretched deep, lush with verdant trees and resplendent blossoms. Rockeries, ponds, winding paths, pavilions, and towers—all were present, creating a landscape of elegance and tranquility. Year-round, the garden brimmed with life and fragrance, lending the grand estate an air of refined serenity.

Amid the garden’s tranquility, at a pavilion, Cheng Guang sat by an intricately carved stone table. Sunlight streamed through the lofty plane tree leaves, gilding his jade-like face and accentuating the handsome lines of his features with a golden glow. Before him, a teapot brimming with emerald-green tea sent wisps of fragrant steam curling into the air.

Cheng Guang poured the tea with practiced grace into a porcelain bowl, lifted it to his lips, and savored the warm, mellow infusion. His gaze was as clear as a polished mirror, reflecting the beauty around him, while his heart, like the tea, remained calm and deep.

“I suppose Qingluan and the others should be finishing about now.” He sipped his tea again, set the cup down, and murmured to himself. His slender, fair fingers tapped the stone tabletop with elegant rhythm—like the plucking of zither strings—still carrying faint traces of tea’s aroma.

Lost in thought, a cold, emotionless voice suddenly echoed at his ear:

[Mission complete.]
[Reward: One random Divine Visualization Scroll (Enshrined Deity Rank)]
[Randomizing...]
[Selection complete. Reward: Visualization Scroll of the Manifest Sage Lord of Clear Origin!]
[Claim reward?]

Hearing the voice, Cheng Guang’s eyes flickered with delight. It seemed the royal bloodline within the young lord had been thoroughly extracted. His appearance had changed. Cheng Guang was now curious what the true heir looked like after all this.

There was still some time before Qingluan and the others would return. Unhurried, Cheng Guang raised his tea again, letting the pure fragrance linger in his mouth, then responded silently in his heart.

“Claim!”

As the thought fell, he suddenly felt a mysterious golden radiance manifest in his mind, coalescing into a scroll. Within, the outline of a humanoid figure gradually emerged. Before he could see its features clearly, darkness engulfed his vision.

All at once, his sight was swallowed by night. But then, amidst the infinite black, a flame ignited, brilliantly blazing. Beyond the fire, he could just make out a divine presence suspended in the void—noble and elegant, as if standing atop a mountain peak, towering and unmeasurable. Its form was not one a mortal could fathom, as if all time and space had been condensed into a single instant.

The deity’s eyes glowed with golden light—deep, boundless, as vast as the starry sea. Their gaze seemed to pierce through all illusion, glimpsing the very origin of the cosmos. The figure was indistinct, ethereal.

“Visualization Scroll of the Manifest Sage Lord of Clear Origin!”

As this realization struck, the vision in his mind lasted but a moment. He had not even seen the divine figure clearly when an immense, suffocating pressure crashed over him. Even if it was but a drop in the ocean, it was more than he could bear. Dizziness seized him, his mouth parched, his chest constricted as if something was wedged there, and he nearly retched.

Maybe only a few breaths passed, or perhaps a long time, before he snapped back to himself, eyes opening to a golden glint, chest heaving for breath. Beads of sweat as large as beans rolled down his forehead. A cold wind swept through, chilling him to the bone.

He realized then that his robes were soaked with cold sweat, penetrating his inner garments entirely.

“What kind of existence is an Enshrined Deity’s visualization scroll? Just a glimpse, and I can hardly withstand it! But... the benefits are already remarkable!”

He sat dazed upon the stone stool, his gaze on the teacup before him but his mind delving inward to inspect his spirit. Upon his spirit, a flush of red was spreading amidst the pallor.

In the path of spiritual cultivation, a second-tier Yin Spirit is white; the third-tier Yang Spirit is red. Cheng Guang had only just entered the Yin Spirit realm a few days ago. Even with the ancient royal bloodline of Great Xia flowing in his veins, drawing the world's spiritual energy with ease, swift advancement was still challenging.

No matter how much energy one poured into body and spirit, there was a limit. Each day’s cultivation had its ceiling. Many never reached their limit in a lifetime, but Cheng Guang, in just these few days, frequently brushed against his own.

The body could be forced past its limits and healed with elixirs or spiritual food, but the spirit was different. If one pushed too far, the spirit would be damaged, and its recovery took far longer than the flesh’s. Moreover, a wounded spirit left one restless and uneasy—its drawbacks far outweighed any gain.

Thus, Cheng Guang always cultivated steadily, never rushing. For him, this pace seemed slow, but if other royal scions knew, they would spit blood with envy. Who could break into the Yin Spirit realm in less than a month? Even the current Emperor of Great Zhou, Wu Shang, took a full year.

And Cheng Guang? Less than a month—ten times faster. He was unaware of such comparisons, but he knew he was not slow, and still, to reach the Yang Spirit realm would take two or three months.

But now... a mere glimpse of the Manifest Sage Lord of Clear Origin’s visualization scroll had elevated his cultivation by a great margin! His spirit was already beginning to transform toward the Yang Spirit realm.

Once there, his spiritual arts would multiply, and his spirit could leave the body for much longer—far stronger than before.

He was shaken. This system reward, the Manifest Sage Lord of Clear Origin’s visualization scroll, was perhaps even stronger than he’d imagined. An Enshrined Deity’s scroll—rare indeed in this world.

Focusing his mind, he dared not gaze too closely at the god’s image in his mind, merely brushing it with his perception. Even so, the terrifying aura it radiated filled him with joy. Moreover, he sensed he could invoke some of this god’s powers—though what he could wield was limited by the deity’s strength.

Delighting in this treasure, he suddenly grew wary, restraining his mind and letting the image fall dormant within his consciousness.

No matter what, this scroll was a precious, rare artifact.

He stood, only to be struck by another wave of dizziness that nearly sent him stumbling. He hurriedly sat back down. “I only glanced at the scroll for a moment—less than a breath—and my spirit is so depleted...” After some rest, he forced himself up and made his way, step by step, toward his room.

His spirit was drained, his mind exhausted, eyes growing dazed. If not for his will, he would have collapsed into slumber on the spot.

Supporting himself, he made it to his bedchamber. What was usually a short walk now felt endless. In the shadows, his bodyguard, Song Yunqi, noticed something was wrong and rushed out to steady him.

“Young Lord, you... ah, what happened to your face? Why do you look so unwell?” Song Yunqi had been watching silently and hadn’t seen anything unusual, so why had Cheng Guang’s face suddenly turned so pale? Was the tea poisoned? That didn’t seem right.

Song Yunqi appeared puzzled, unable to understand. Cheng Guang waved him off, indicating he was fine. With Song’s help, he got to bed, made up an excuse to send Song away, and let his heavy head fall into deep sleep.

As he slept, the divine image in his mind glimmered faintly, as if the god was gazing upon Cheng Guang’s spirit. A sphere of light emerged from the image and slowly merged into his spirit.

In that instant, his spirit became more complete, more attuned to his body.

At the same time, in his dream, unfamiliar memories surfaced—glimpses of bygone days.

The first scene: a stormy night, the world shrouded in darkness. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the empty, ruined palace of a once prosperous dynasty. What was once a peaceful, warm home was now nothing but broken eaves and shattered walls.

Howling wind swept dust through the air, roaring like the abyss itself, eroding the lifeless palace. Rain lashed the earth, every drop a testament to the world’s cruelty.

On that stormy night, a man in imperial robes clutched his empress and their newborn, huddled in a corner, trembling.

“Run, run! You must run!”

Outside, horses thundered through the rain. In the ruined palace, princes, princesses, nobles, maids, and servants were buried beneath rain and rubble. Their cries mingled with the storm, but no one answered.

The emperor looked into the terrified eyes of his child, pain filling his heart. He knew they could not stay—they must escape. With trembling hands, he set the child down, grasped his gentle consort’s hand, and led them onward into the unknown.

He did not know where to go—clambering over collapsed buildings, around fallen trees, searching for shelter from the storm.

But then, ironclad soldiers surrounded them. The man bowed his head, tears glinting in his fierce eyes.

“How could Great Chu fall? How could my dynasty perish...?”

He could not accept it, but reality was cruel.

He laid aside his imperial dignity and knelt before the soldiers, begging only for his child's life.

Cheng Guang saw a tall figure step forward and take “him” into their arms.

A few words were exchanged, but the rain and wind drowned them out.

At last, the emperor gave a bitter laugh, took up a long blade, and slit his own throat. His cultivation was strong—ordinary weapons could not harm him, but the tall figure assisted, the blade slicing his throat.

He died, collapsing in a pool of blood.

His consort, weeping torrents, her gentle face wracked with sorrow, whispered, “Child, don’t be afraid. You will live. You must live...”

Her voice faded. Cheng Guang could not hear the rest, only see “himself,” a child, reaching out small hands to wipe her tears.

She pressed her lips together, said nothing more, her heart shattered. Grief filled her eyes as she handed him to the tall figure.

“Live, child, live... Peace and safety, year after year. My child, may you know peace all your life...”

Softly, she drove a blade into her own abdomen, blood blooming red across her white dress—like a rose about to wither.

And then—

Darkness.

When the scene brightened again, Cheng Guang saw the setting had changed. In a dim cell like a prison, a newborn child stared blankly at his surroundings. The oppressive darkness smothered him; he wanted to cry, but the sound would not come. It felt as if no one in the world cared for him.

He remembered his mother’s gentle face, his father’s broad back, their loving voices—now all gone. He did not know where they were.

He wept, tears falling like broken beads, his cries echoing helplessly in the empty cell. He missed his mother’s scent, his father’s embrace, the warm sunlight, fresh air.

There were no windows, only a dim lamp. He knew nothing of day or night or the passage of time. It felt as if the world had forgotten him, leaving him alone in a corner, ignored.

He could not understand why he was here, only wishing to go home with his parents. He remembered them lying in blood, though he did not understand death, thinking them only asleep.

When he awoke, he found himself in this fearful place, his eyes full of terror and helplessness. He had only just been born, and already knew the world was not fair.

Tightly, he clutched a jade pendant—his father’s gift—which brought a little comfort.

Suddenly, a tall figure entered, exuding an oppressive aura.

A bad man.

His face was stern—never a good omen.

“Child, we need your blood.”

The words were both resigned and resolute.

He didn’t know what it meant, but sensed nothing good. He looked into those cold, authoritative eyes and saw a cruelty he had never known. His heart broke, tears streaming down as he cried and struggled in vain. No one listened; he was pinned to a table.

His tears fell onto the jade, eyes staring at the dim ceiling, filled with despair. The world had abandoned him.

“Don’t worry, child, you won’t die. Your parents traded your blood for my protection of your life.”

“Don’t be afraid.”

The tall man, for once, showed patience, softly comforting him. Soon, he felt his blood being drawn, a chill spreading through his body.

He also heard another child’s cry, younger than himself, but louder, as if someone would help if he cried enough.

Despairing, he stopped crying.

“Father, this child is after all a prince of Great Chu. If word of this spreads, our Duke Protector’s house will become the enemy of all the royal houses...”

“Don’t fret. You know Guang’s condition—his Zhou royal bloodline is exhausted. If he doesn’t cultivate the spiritual path, martial arts alone will lead nowhere... Besides, you know this child’s blood is especially concentrated.”

“It cannot be wasted. The risk is worth it!”

“But, father...”

“No more. The deal was struck with the Emperor of Chu. Even if the world knows, what can they do?”

The old man’s tone was resolute and stern.

The other voice fell silent.

In the dark cell, apart from the trickling of blood, there was no sound.

...

All these memories, long buried, now surfaced in Cheng Guang’s dreams.

Finally, these scenes merged into a young man, looking every bit a coachman—carefree, yet full of sorrow, as if seeing these memories for the first time, weeping and transformed into a figure of tears.

“I was already dead. I shouldn’t linger in this body. Now that my elder brother has awakened my memories, I’ll no longer hide. May brother live well for me. My mother’s hope was for my safety. As for the theft of my bloodline, I hate it, but it was my parents’ decision, and the Duke Protector exchanged it for my life. I cannot blame others. Only... why did Great Chu fall? Why did the dynasty perish? Why are my parents gone...?”

His words dissolved into sobs.

From prince to humble coachman, he had never wept—until he saw his dynasty destroyed, his capital trampled, his land shattered by iron hooves.

He wept for Chu, and for the parents who died to ensure his safety.

As he wept, his form transformed into a stream of light, shooting into Cheng Guang’s brow.

Perhaps because this body was originally his, or perhaps because Cheng Guang had never truly possessed it, as the light merged, all exhaustion vanished, his spirit became keen, his soul greatly strengthened, and his thoughts grew clear and orderly.

Once the young man faded, Cheng Guang had not yet recovered his senses.

Peace and safety, year after year—a lifetime of peace. How difficult that is...

A complex look crossed his face. In this world, without power or backing, even survival was a luxury.

He sat on his bed, sighing, dazed. After the fusion of memories, he found himself inexplicably missing the mother of this body, someone he had never truly met. He longed to throw himself into her gentle arms and weep out his hardships.

He seemed to see her, smiling gently, jade hand caressing his forehead, soothing his temples.

“You’ve worked hard,” she murmured.

He fell silent for a long time, then suddenly chuckled and shook his head, suppressing the emotions brought on by the awakening memory, regaining his composure.

But the young man’s crying still echoed in his mind: “Why did Great Chu fall...?” The dynasty was gone, and so was home. For him, with no home, there was nowhere in the world to belong.

The same was true for Cheng Guang. He took a deep breath, straightened, and spoke as if to himself or to another:

“To live well is not just your wish, but mine as well. But as for your longing to restore Chu, I cannot help you. I have no means to revive a dynasty or found a new empire.”

After a while, he sat quietly. He now understood his predecessor’s origins—not just any prince, but the scion of a fallen dynasty. The Great Chu imperial family had always been a single line. The late emperor loved only one, built a thousand-mile peach orchard for her, married the contemporary divine maiden—on their wedding, the world rejoiced; at the prince’s birth, the heavens trembled.

The Chu Dynasty had always been among the strongest in the world, second only to one. At that time, Great Zhou was only fourth. No matter how powerful, Zhou could never break Chu’s defenses. How could such a mighty dynasty fall?

Cheng Guang pondered, “Yes, how did Chu fall...?” A dynasty so strong could not have fallen easily—was there some secret he did not know?

Murmuring, he recalled that Chu’s fall had shaken the world—its loss reduced the strength of the human realm by a third or more, almost half the strength of humanity itself. If Chu still stood, demons would not dare even a glance.

That was the confidence Chu inspired. Yet, a dynasty that had defended humanity for generations, sought no power, was not brought down by demons nor internal strife—but by its own kind.

How fantastical.

His mind swirled with questions, but there were no answers.

His head throbbed. He was, in many ways, stubborn—once a question took root, he would not rest until it was answered.

Night fell, and he lay awake, restless. His strength was pitiful; his only recourse was to move forward, step by step.

At the very least, he needed to seize control of the Duke Protector’s power, for only then could he secure his foothold in this world.

He pondered, planning his future. The true heir was not yet entirely dealt with, but the situation was under control.

Now he only needed to wait for Qingluan to return and finish up. As for the true heir, he could not be killed yet—he lacked the means to seal off the celestial omens that would accompany a royal’s death. The only solution was to make the heir unrecognizable, unable even to prove his own identity, and deal with him later when the time was right.

Where to send him? If he was a constant threat, Cheng Guang would rather kill him outright.

Then, a thought dawned—wasn’t he himself just a coachman? Why not swap identities? Now that the heir’s appearance had changed, he’d no longer draw attention. If he still looked the same, people would notice everywhere—a real blunder.

With that, Cheng Guang had a plan. He would wait for the heir to be brought back, then use the Bewitching Gaze to control his mind, erase his memories, cripple his martial roots, and the problem would be solved.

Satisfied with his plan, he opened his eyes and looked out the window.

As dawn crept over the horizon, the sky gradually brightened. A faint blush of peach spread across the heavens, waking the sleeping earth. Sunlight streamed through the carved windows, filling the room with golden warmth. The latticework on the windows glowed, intricate as a painting.

Unknowingly, the night had passed in silent contemplation. With his cultivation, a sleepless night was nothing. He rose.

With Qingluan away, the courtyard was much quieter—he disliked servants fussing about, so he washed up alone and wandered into the Myriad Phenomena Garden.

The pond glimmered in the sunlight, fish darting among the ripples. Birds sang from the rockeries, adding life to the peaceful morning. The stone paths were dappled with light, whispering stories of ages past. The verdant growth swayed gently in the breeze, as poetic as any ancient verse.

Servants bustled about the antique buildings in the distance, the mansion stirring to life.

Cheng Guang settled in a pavilion; soon a servant brought him fine, warm spiritual tea. He planned to drink, then practice martial arts.

At that moment, a commotion arose outside the garden gate.

A loud, boisterous voice rang out: “Young Lord, Young Lord, I’m back!”

Lin Cheng burst in, unable to contain his excitement after only a few days away. He had stopped by his home to speak with his parents, but hurried back, feeling immensely filial for “passing by without entering.” Still, he thought he should ask for leave and visit properly next time. His two younger brothers were now practicing martial arts—should he recommend them to the Young Lord? But would it look like favoritism?

His silly face flickered with excitement and indecision.

Cheng Guang barely glanced at him before shifting his attention past Lin Cheng, to Qingluan and Bai Shuxuan—both picturesque beauties, their mere presence a sight to behold.

But his gaze soon landed on the battered, bruised servant behind them.

This man, clothed in a tattered blue robe, hair matted and unwashed, limbs thick, skin cracked, features unremarkable—Cheng Guang recognized at once.

The true heir?

He looked baffled—never had he expected the true heir’s arrival to look like this.

Cheng Liunian glared at him, fury in his eyes.

“You $#@$!”

Raging, he was about to curse when Lin Cheng, prepared, slapped him hard across the face, silencing him. His already bruised visage now had a crooked mouth, as if his jaw was dislocated.

Lin Cheng grinned. “Sorry, went a bit hard.” He reached over and, under Cheng Liunian’s resentful gaze, snapped his jaw back into place with a crisp crack.

Cheng Liunian howled, trembling uncontrollably.

Cheng Guang looked on in bemusement.

“How did he end up like this?”

Lin Cheng shrugged, equally confused. “No idea. Young Lord, you wouldn’t believe it—he used to look exactly like you, but this morning, his appearance changed! Now he looks like this. And he started raving madly, talking nonsense the whole way back to the capital. I got so annoyed, I hit him a few times. Maybe a bit much,” he added, with a hint of pride, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘Didn’t I do well?’

Cheng Guang couldn’t help but laugh. Lin Cheng’s straightforward ways were certainly useful—a little extra discipline for the true heir could only help.

He turned to Qingluan. “No trouble on the road?”

She nodded respectfully. “None, Young Lord.” Then handed him a stone ring—a storage treasure of limited space. Glancing within, he saw it filled with royal blood, faintly gleaming gold.

So this was the extracted royal bloodline. Cheng Guang had little interest in it now; he had the ancient Great Xia bloodline, and mixing the two could introduce impurities. Better to hold onto it for now.

He put the ring away and turned to Cheng Liunian, who looked utterly broken, staring dully at Bai Shuxuan.

He could not believe his only connection to the Wu clan, the jade given to him by her, had been taken by Bai Shuxuan. He had trusted her with all his secrets, but now—betrayed. Not only Bai Shuxuan but Qingluan too. Even the simple-minded guard had pretended not to recognize him. All a lie, all absurd.

He was losing his mind.

If it had only been Qingluan and the guard, he could have accepted it. But Bai Shuxuan—his light, his hope, the one for whom he had endured everything—she had betrayed him.

Staring at her cold face, his heart was torn to shreds.

Who was Bai Shuxuan, really? What was her connection to the coachman before him? Countless questions tormented him, tearing his love apart.

He felt himself falling into an icy abyss, shivering with pain, as if pierced by a thousand arrows.

Tears streamed down uncontrollably; he tried to stifle his sobs, but grief overwhelmed him.

He felt abandoned, cast into darkness. It was a pain beyond words.

“Damn it, beast, beast! Damn coachman, I’ll kill you! How dare you look like me! I’ll kill you! How dare you bring me openly into the mansion, how dare you!”

Face twisted with rage, he screamed, tears pouring down.

Lin Cheng twitched, then kicked him squarely in the face. Cheng Liunian cried out, flew backward, teeth flying and blood spraying, collapsing to the ground, twitching.

The onlookers remained indifferent. The servants, seeing this, muttered that the lunatic was courting death, talking to the Young Lord that way. They expected the Young Lord to erupt in fury and did their work in silence, afraid to draw his wrath.

Yet, the Young Lord merely chuckled softly, a faint smile on his handsome face, clapping his hands gently.

“Good, good—how interesting. ‘I’ll kill you’—now that’s amusing.”

His smile grew radiant, but those nearby felt a chill down to their bones. Lin Cheng, closest, shuddered and quietly edged away.

He did not know why, but his Young Lord seemed truly angry—and, for once, had murderous intent.

...

[Ten thousand words again—I’ve done my best.]
(End of chapter)