Chapter 73: The Road in the Martial World Is Long—Let Us Hope We Never Meet Again!

Cheng Guang had no idea that Old Deng had come and gone.

After another round of cultivation and a short rest, Old Deng never showed up. Not even the daily lesson took place as usual.

Shaking his head with a wry smile, Cheng Guang felt no urge to send someone to fetch Old Deng. After all, Old Deng was a master of the Celestial Realm, a man who stood at the very pinnacle of this world. Such a free-spirited and unrestrained nature was not something that ordinary people could ever hope to emulate.

The following day, except for a brief encounter at the brothel, Old Deng was nowhere to be seen.

By the third day, the last day of their agreed martial training had arrived. At the break of dawn, Old Deng appeared before Cheng Guang.

His hair, already streaked with white, was especially disheveled, as if he’d been racking his brains to resolve some dilemma and, in frustration, had pulled at it until it stood on end. There was a fatigue in his expression, but also a trace of excitement.

For last night, the epiphany Cheng Guang had revealed regarding the cosmic essence of the Celestial Star Array was far deeper than Old Deng had imagined. After catching a glimmer of inspiration from Cheng Guang, Old Deng hurried home, hoping to seize it, to advance his cultivation further.

But inspiration, like time, slips away the more you try to grasp it—the more you chase, the more elusive it becomes. It left Old Deng restless, pacing about, tousling his hair until it was a hopeless mess.

When in doubt, Old Deng decided to return to the basics, to carefully recall the process of Cheng Guang’s cultivation and the unique interpretation he'd formed of the Celestial Star Array.

Cheng Guang’s approach was different from Old Deng’s own. The essence seemed to start from a singular, primal point, exploding outward and giving birth to myriad stars. This was a perspective Old Deng had never considered before. Could a single point, bursting forth, create so many stars?

He pondered all night, yet could not unravel the mystery. Still, he vaguely sensed that Cheng Guang’s understanding might be the true path, even though Old Deng already had his own unique method of cultivating the Celestial Star Array. If only he could seize that flicker of inspiration, perhaps his own cultivation would reach new heights.

After prolonged contemplation, Old Deng resolved to do something against tradition—he would ask Cheng Guang for guidance. Just days prior, he was the master teaching Cheng Guang; now, the roles were reversed, and Old Deng wasn’t sure if the world had gone mad, or if Cheng Guang himself was simply unfathomable.

In the pursuit of the Way, the accomplished lead the way. Old Deng set aside his reservations. As the dawn sky shimmered with pale blue and faint orange, he strode into Cheng Guang’s courtyard, seeking him out.

“Elder Deng,” Cheng Guang greeted him with a respectful smile.

Old Deng waved a hand and coughed, “No need to call me ‘Elder.’ I’ve told you, I don’t care for such titles. Just call me Old Deng.”

Cheng Guang, seeing Old Deng’s easygoing manner, felt no pressure in their interaction. Old Deng was as amiable as a country farmer; there was no point in insisting on formalities.

He greeted him with a smile, “Old Deng, today’s the last day. Is there anything you wish to teach me before you go?”

Old Deng grinned awkwardly, then shot him a look, half-joking and half-exasperated. “You rascal, the only true skill I’ve got is the Celestial Star Array. If your grandfather hadn't shamelessly begged, I wouldn’t have agreed to teach you.”

He sighed, “The martial arts of your Cheng family are too domineering, too reliant on slaughter. To reach their peak, you’d have to tread upon mountains of corpses. Your father was forced to learn them, but when it came to you, your grandfather refused. He treats you better than his own son—perhaps that’s just the way of things between grandparents and grandchildren.”

Cheng Guang could only smile wryly at Old Deng’s muttering and chose not to reply.

After a bit of small talk, Old Deng wanted to ask his question directly, but pride held him back. Instead, he coughed and said, “Cheng Guang, why don’t you try practicing the Celestial Star Array here in the courtyard? I’d like to see if your understanding is up to par.”

Cheng Guang didn’t think much of it. He asked Qingluan to prepare some tea for Old Deng, then began his practice outside.

He had already reached the initial comprehension stage of the Celestial Star Array. Taking a deep breath, he traced the trajectory of the stars with his fingers. In an instant, the pebbles in the courtyard seemed to tremble, drawn by an invisible force.

With eyes closed, Cheng Guang immersed himself in the rising sunlight while sinking into his inner world, feeling every muscle twitch, every nerve pulse. An indescribable aura radiated from him—the unique atmosphere of the Celestial Star Array at its first awakening.

Old Deng’s eyes widened. He saw, as if through a vision, a single black point exploding, spawning countless dazzling stars. Each star circled around Cheng Guang like children. In a trance, he thought he saw Cheng Guang himself become one of the stars.

Could the Celestial Star Array treat oneself as a star?

Old Deng stared, parched-mouthed, at Cheng Guang’s movements, as if Cheng Guang had opened a door to an entirely new world.

Each gesture Cheng Guang made seemed to strike Old Deng’s old face like a slap, making him blush with embarrassment. In name, he was teaching Cheng Guang, but in truth, he was learning from him. Not really stealing knowledge, for he was still the guide, yet Cheng Guang’s path was utterly different—superior, more powerful.

Suppressing any sense of guilt, Old Deng watched in silence. Only after Cheng Guang finished, dabbing the sweat from his brow, did Old Deng reluctantly come back to himself, feeling as if he still hadn’t seen enough.

“How’s my comprehension?” Cheng Guang asked, sipping the tea that Qingluan brought and looking at Old Deng.

Old Deng was silent for a moment. Normal level? There were scarcely any qualified to even practice the Celestial Star Array, and among those, only Cheng Guang had truly entered its threshold. By that standard, perhaps it was “normal”—if “normal” meant being the only one.

But wasn’t that standard a bit too high?

Old Deng’s aged face twitched. “Hmm, not bad.”

Cheng Guang, reassured, thought his own talent wasn’t so poor after all. Old Deng had hyped up the Celestial Star Array as nearly impossible, boasting, “I’ll teach for three days—if you don’t master it, you never will.” And yet, this was the result?

He almost wanted Old Deng to challenge him further.

Just then, Old Deng suddenly asked, “Let me ask you, in your eyes, how do the stars and heavens exist?”

Cheng Guang glanced at Old Deng, noticing that for the first time, the old man looked awkward, almost bashful—his usual carefree self now fidgeting like a shy girl.

Why so nervous, just to ask a question?

Suppressing his amusement, Cheng Guang looked up at the sky and answered, “The stars and heavens are all the same to me, fundamentally made up of atoms and particles. Even the earth beneath our feet, from the perspective of the stars, is just another star. As for us living within it, we’re part of it all.”

Old Deng stared in surprise—he didn’t understand atoms and particles, but he got the general idea.

“So you see yourself as a star as well?” he asked.

“Why not?” Cheng Guang replied.

Not impossible, Old Deng thought, but I’d never thought of it that way myself.

He looked up at the sky, hesitated, and asked the question most crucial to him. “Cheng Guang, in your view, how are stars born? From your aura, I sensed both destruction and rebirth—a black point explodes, giving rise to countless stars. Is that the source of the stars in your mind?”

Cheng Guang nodded. He was a bit uncertain himself; as a transmigrant, he’d learned something about the origins of the universe, and it had influenced his interpretation of the Celestial Star Array.

“But why?” Old Deng muttered. He couldn’t understand—how could an explosion from a black point create myriad stars? What was that black point?

He felt he was close to a breakthrough, but no concrete answer came. Cheng Guang, too, had no real understanding—he only knew what little science he’d picked up: the universe was once a tiny black point, and after the Big Bang, it became what he knew. As for where that black point came from—no one knew.

Seeing Old Deng lost in thought, Cheng Guang laughed and said, “Don’t overthink it. There aren’t so many whys in this world. I don’t know why—it’s just how I see it.”

With that, he left Old Deng, who was still staring up at the sky, lost in thought.

By sunset, Old Deng remained in the courtyard, gazing at the heavens, his eyes deep and unwavering, as if trying to decipher some celestial scripture. He stood motionless, barely breathing.

Cheng Guang couldn’t fathom what he was contemplating, but he instructed Qingluan not to let the servants disturb Old Deng.

The next morning, as the sun rose, its golden light cast deep shadows across Old Deng’s face, accentuating the contours of his features. He had gazed at the sky for an entire day, as immovable as a stone monument, silently witnessing the passage of time.

His face was deeply wrinkled, but in his eyes shone a light as brilliant and steadfast as the stars.

At sunrise, the sky was tinged with red, and Old Deng finally came back to himself, a faint smile playing across his lips. He seemed to have understood something, or at least found peace and contentment within.

A subtle fluctuation rippled from his body. High above, a faint celestial phenomenon began to appear, golden light just emerging. Old Deng, barely interested, waved his hand, and the sign vanished, leaving the world undisturbed.

Yet, across the capital and the entire Great Zhou Dynasty, the spiritual energy of heaven and earth trembled ever so slightly—barely perceptible to most.

In the imperial palace, a majestic gaze turned toward Old Deng. Sensing it, Old Deng smiled and nodded in the direction of the palace. The gaze studied him for a moment, seemingly surprised, then fell silent.

“Celestial Realm—what level now?” a deep, authoritative voice echoed in Old Deng’s ear.

Old Deng smiled, “Second level.”

“Hmm,” the reply came, and after a moment’s silent observation, the gaze withdrew, trembling faintly beneath its calm surface.

Across the realm, in the secret chambers of martial sects and hidden clans, came startled exclamations from aged elders.

“That aura…”

“A Celestial has acted…”

“Seems to be Lord Deng of Wudi City…”

“He’s grown even stronger?”

“After so many years, another Celestial has reached the second level? I never thought the first to break through would be the master of Wudi City.”

All eyes in the martial world turned toward the capital, toward the place where Old Deng had made his move. Yet in the Duke Protector’s estate, in the quiet of the Myriad Phenomena Garden, all was tranquil. The servants sweeping the grounds had no idea a Celestial had just broken through to a new realm under their very noses.

Though a “small” breakthrough, at the Celestial level, each step was a great cycle; not easily achieved. Many, upon reaching the first level, remain stuck for life, never touching the threshold of the second. Even the emperors of the four great dynasties, though all Celestials, are mostly only at the first level.

Old Deng’s breakthrough to the second level now placed him among the highest in the land. In all the mortal world, those of the second level could be counted on one hand—an event of stunning significance.

Yet at the scene, everything remained calm and undisturbed. Only those who had themselves reached the Celestial Realm, or whose spirits were attuned to the world, could sense what had happened.

“Old Deng, are you finished looking?” Cheng Guang yawned as he stepped outside, seeing Old Deng no longer staring at the sky, but smiling, seemingly entranced.

At Cheng Guang’s voice, Old Deng returned to himself and nodded. Looking at Cheng Guang, he felt a bit embarrassed. To be honest, his breakthrough to the second Celestial level was entirely thanks to Cheng Guang’s insights. Without Cheng Guang’s unconventional view, it might have taken him another century to reach this stage.

A single word from Cheng Guang had saved him a hundred years of effort.

Old Deng regretted it. He had only agreed to teach Cheng Guang in order to take advantage of the Duke Protector, but in the end, it was he who had received the greater benefit. Such a debt was hard to repay.

There hadn’t been a new second-level Celestial in centuries, and now Old Deng owed it all to Cheng Guang—a debt he might never be able to repay in this lifetime.

Looking at Cheng Guang, his lips moved, but he found no words, only nodding heavily.

With a grave face, he said, “Cheng Guang, I’ll be honest—with your guidance, I managed to break through a bit. Of course, it’s mostly my own extraordinary talent—after all, I was once the greatest prodigy of Great Zhou—but your insight did help.”

“So, I’ll grant you any request. If you want a princess, a demoness, just ask, and I’ll do my best to bring her to you. Even if you want the Empress of Wei to warm your bed, I might be able to arrange it.”

Cheng Guang couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that all? I have nothing I want, Old Deng. I’m just glad you’ve broken through.”

He took no heed of Old Deng’s offer, but Old Deng grew anxious. “Hey, are you looking down on me? I’m not just boasting—name any request, and I’ll fulfill it.”

All he wanted was for Cheng Guang to let him repay this debt, lest he be asked for favors later and drawn into some trouble. He was just an old man hoping for a peaceful life, ill-suited to storms and strife.

But Cheng Guang seemed utterly unconcerned with his promises. After all, even before this breakthrough, Old Deng was a rare Celestial in Great Zhou. Why did this kid treat him so casually?

Old Deng felt a little frustrated.

“Really, it’s fine,” Cheng Guang insisted. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Absolutely not—each debt must be repaid. You must name one,” Old Deng insisted, grabbing Cheng Guang’s arm so tightly he couldn’t move. It was clear Old Deng wouldn’t let him go until he agreed.

Only Old Deng would dare do such a thing in the Duke Protector’s estate.

“Well, if you insist, how about this: if I’m ever in mortal danger in the future, you’ll save my life?”

Old Deng beamed, immediately letting go as if fearing Cheng Guang might change his mind, producing a sheet of paper and a brush from who knows where.

“Good, that’s a deal. If you’re ever in danger, I’ll save you. Here, let’s sign and seal it—one promise, and we’re even. You owe me nothing, and I owe you nothing.”

He pressed Cheng Guang’s hand to the paper in a bright red fingerprint, then carefully put it away, his face breaking into a radiant smile.

Such an easy debt to repay! The son of the Duke Protector, with bodyguards galore, a grandfather who is the Duke himself, and a father who heads the Lampbearer Directorate—what danger could he possibly face? If trouble did come, even without Old Deng, the Duke himself would intervene.

A perfect bargain!

Old Deng was delighted, and Cheng Guang couldn’t help but laugh at the old man’s eagerness to settle accounts. It was as if he’d been burned by unpaid debts before and was now determined to avoid even a moment’s delay.

Still, it wasn’t a bad deal—having a Celestial as a life insurance policy was no small thing.

Old Deng put away the signed paper, then drew a mote of starlight with his fingertip and tapped it to Cheng Guang’s brow.

“This imprint will let me sense your presence. If you’re in mortal danger, call out with it, and I’ll come to you wherever you are in the world. But you only get one use—don’t waste it.”

With that, Old Deng left without another word.

“I should return to Wudi City. The martial world is vast, Cheng Guang. Let’s hope we never meet again.”

Cheng Guang: “…”

…

Old Deng was gone, as hurried in leaving as he had been in coming.

No sooner had he left than Cheng Zhi Hai summoned Cheng Guang.

“Guang’er, where is Elder Deng?” he asked eagerly as soon as Cheng Guang arrived.

“He just left,” Cheng Guang replied.

Cheng Zhi Hai’s face showed a trace of regret in his stern, tiger-like eyes. “He left so swiftly…”

He sighed, then looked at Cheng Guang. “You haven’t upset him, have you?”

Cheng Guang shook his head, and Cheng Zhi Hai relaxed.

“That’s good—he was already extraordinary, and now… even more so. It’s fortunate your grandfather invited him to teach you before his breakthrough; if we tried now, we couldn’t afford it, no matter what we offered.”

Cheng Guang was unfazed. If only his father knew that Old Deng’s breakthrough was thanks to him—what would he think?

After a few words, Cheng Zhi Hai turned to the main topic, gazing at his son with doting affection.

“Guang’er, the martial examination between Great Zhou and Great Wei is about to begin. I’ve arranged a trial for you, a prerequisite for joining the Lampbearer Directorate—you’re to gather the names and cultivation levels of the Great Wei contenders.”

“But don’t worry—it’s just a formality. I’ve already collected all the information. During the examination, just make an appearance, stroll about, and submit the report afterwards.”

He handed Cheng Guang a thick stack of papers.

Cheng Guang glanced over the materials and looked bemused. Not only did it list names, appearances, and cultivation levels, but even secret martial arts, kill counts, and other details. If he’d had to collect this himself, it would have taken forever.

But his father had already done all the work. All that remained was to show up and play along.

Cheng Guang agreed, his mind drifting to the system’s warnings about the black-robed figures.

He wondered how those black-robed men had infiltrated the Martial Academy. They’d set up forbidden techniques right under the noses of the Lampbearers, leaving no trace even after the fact.

Moreover, not all had been killed—many survived. Perhaps the black-robed men weren’t outsiders, but students of the Martial Academies of Zhou or Wei.

Unfortunately, the system’s hints didn’t specify exactly how many had survived. Otherwise, Cheng Guang could simply check the names and investigate.

He was certain that the number of survivors was significant—if only one survived, it would be far too conspicuous.

Cheng Guang decided to take the documents home and study them for clues about the black-robed men.

Seeing his distraction, Cheng Zhi Hai tried to comfort him, “Guang’er, Elder Deng’s martial arts are difficult to master. Don’t worry if you haven’t picked them up yet. If necessary, I can find you something simpler, but still of good quality. The Blood Sea Mad Blade of our family, for instance, is too fierce and exhausting—not suitable for you. Besides, your grandfather suspects it may limit fertility; why else would our family have only one heir per generation? He’s determined that you shouldn’t learn it, so you can carry on the family line. Under my guidance, your martial arts would progress quickly.”

Cheng Guang’s lips twitched, “Father, I’ve already mastered it.”

“Even if you haven’t, it doesn’t matter…” Cheng Zhi Hai continued to console him.

“I really have mastered it,” Cheng Guang repeated.

Cheng Zhi Hai blinked in disbelief. “You really have?”

Cheng Guang nodded.

Cheng Zhi Hai’s face froze, then his eyes filled with joy. “Of all martial arts, Elder Deng’s Celestial Star Array is the hardest to comprehend. For you to master it means you’ve already set one foot into the Celestial Realm! Guang’er, you have the bearing of a Celestial!”

All the composure of a lord vanished, replaced by pure delight. He was so overwhelmed, he could barely express it.

Cheng Guang, embarrassed by the praise, felt his skin crawl. If his father kept this up, he’d have to dig a hole to escape.

He made a hasty exit.

By the time he returned to the Duke Protector’s estate, it was past noon. The weather was still stiflingly hot.

Qingluan, dressed in a blue flowered skirt, her hair arranged in a misty cloud, looked radiant in the dusk. The jade hairpin she’d bought yesterday, though inexpensive, looked especially lovely in her hair, which she occasionally toyed with.

Seeing Cheng Guang return, she greeted him with delight. “Young master, what did the family head say?”

Cheng Guang sat in the pavilion. Beside him, Bai Shuxuan, as graceful as a black cat, sidled up and rested her face by his hand, inviting him to caress her lips and hair.

Cheng Guang obliged, stroking her head as he laid the documents on the table.

“They want me to join the Lampbearer Directorate, but I have to go through the motions first.”

“Motions?” Qingluan was puzzled.

“Just collecting intelligence. He’s already done it for me—I just need to show up.”

Qingluan laughed, “Seems easy enough, then—nothing for you to worry about.”

Without a word, Cheng Guang began to leaf through the documents, his hand idly stroking Bai Shuxuan’s face.

Each page was filled with names and details.

“Name: Yin Bojun, 23, third-year student at Great Wei Martial Academy, fourth-rank Divine Power Realm, martial art: Heaven-Scorching Palm, mid-grade divine art.”

“Name: Bao Qifeng, 24, second-year, fifth-rank Opening Spirit Realm, martial art unknown, rarely seen in combat.”

“Name: Ji Cunfu, 22, fifth-year, fourth-rank Divine Power Realm, martial art: Wind Commanding Fist, mid-grade divine art.”

And so on. Most of the Great Wei students’ backgrounds were listed, including their years at the academy and the grades of their martial skills—meticulously detailed.

Yet, for some, the “martial art” entry simply read “unknown” or “rarely seen in combat.” Of the thousand-strong team, only about a dozen had such vague entries.

If Cheng Guang didn’t know what was to come, he might have just been mildly curious—how odd that some had never fought. But now, these entries caught his attention.

If the black-robed men were among the Great Wei students, did that mean they were infiltrators in disguise?

To confirm, he needed to check the same details for the Great Zhou candidates.

“Song Yunqi,” Cheng Guang called.

From the shadows, Song Yunqi appeared and bowed, “Young master?”

“Does the Lampbearer Directorate have detailed records on the Great Zhou candidates?” Cheng Guang asked.

“Yes!” Song Yunqi replied.

“Bring me a copy,” Cheng Guang said.

Song Yunqi nodded and left promptly. Strictly speaking, only members of the Directorate could access such intelligence, and even then, there were levels of clearance. But with the young master, rules could be bent.

Soon, Song Yunqi returned with a stack of handwritten notes, the ink still wet, his hands trembling slightly from the effort.

Cheng Guang smiled, “That must have been a lot of work.”

“It’s my duty, young master,” Song Yunqi replied, then melted back into the shadows.

Cheng Guang turned to the list of Great Zhou students.

The first name caught his eye—Qiao Songshan, a fourth-year student, fourth-rank Divine Power Realm, martial art: Overlord Spear, high-grade divine art.

“That oaf is taking the exam too? I wondered why he’d been so quiet lately—must’ve been locked up by his father to train.”

He chuckled and continued reading.

Most of the Great Zhou students were from noble families, with only a few from humble backgrounds. Those from poor families had to fight hard to stand out and were unlikely to conceal their skills.

But surprisingly, many of the poor students also had “unknown” listed for their martial arts. The same “unknown” label appeared frequently among the nobles as well.

Was this a coincidence?

Laying out both lists, Cheng Guang carefully compared the names, focusing on those marked “unknown.”

After a while, he narrowed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

The number of “unknowns” was strikingly similar on both sides.

If those marked “unknown” were the black-robed men, then they belonged neither to Great Wei nor Great Zhou—they were a third force.

Cheng Guang frowned, pondering as he absentmindedly stroked Bai Shuxuan’s hair.

“If it’s a third force, who are they? First, they set up Bai Shuxuan to lure me out and attempt to assassinate me. Then, they massacre the candidates from both kingdoms, sowing chaos. Their methods are ruthless—just what are they after?”

One question after another swirled in his mind, enveloping him in darkness and uncertainty.

After a long while, he exhaled and put away the documents.

There was no rush. No matter how ambitious the black-robed men might be, this time, their target was not him. He was only a bystander, an accidental casualty. If they were too strong, he would avoid them. If not, with his forbidden-breaking elixir, he might even turn the tables.

As he contemplated, the sound of hooves came from outside the courtyard.

Thud, thud, thud.

The hoofbeats approached, steady and powerful.

“Boss!” came a boisterous voice.

It was Qiao Songshan.

…

(End of chapter)