Chapter 79: Nine Dragons Steal the Heavens!

The martial arts examination between Great Wei and Great Zhou concluded hastily, ending in discord and disappointment. The black-clad men led by Qiu Zhimian disrupted the proceedings, throwing everything into chaos. The entire Great Zhou was shaken to its core by the incident. No one had anticipated that Qiu Zhimian, a figure of high rank and authority at the Great Zhou Martial Academy, would betray his own country, stabbing both Great Wei and Great Zhou in the back during an event so highly valued by both nations.

Even more shocking was his attempt to slaughter all the martial academy students and officials from both countries who participated in the examination. Yet, beyond Qiu Zhimian’s betrayal, another figure emerged to astound the world—Cheng Guang, the heir of the Duke Protector of the Nation.

Accounts of Cheng Guang’s performance during the martial examination, spread by word and letter among the elites of the capital, became widely circulated. Upon hearing of his deeds, many were left astonished, and more than a few high officials drew sharp breaths in disbelief. The heir of the Duke Protector had rarely revealed his abilities before; none had heard tales of his cultivation or prowess. Many had assumed that the Duke Protector’s lineage would fade into obscurity. Yet, unexpectedly, Cheng Guang seized this moment to make a stunning impression.

In private, many were secretly alarmed. The Duke Protector’s residence had always wielded immense power, and now, with Cheng Guang’s remarkable talent and dazzling showcase at the examination, the loyalty of the military toward the Duke Protector grew all the more steadfast. In such a climate, the imperial family of Great Zhou, despite their exalted bloodline, seemed to have little left to compare with the Duke Protector’s house. If ever the Duke Protector’s influence were to overshadow the imperial family, it would take but a word for him to turn traitor and found a new dynasty. Seizing a few princesses could conveniently resolve any questions of bloodline as well.

Thus, a storm swept through all ranks of Great Zhou. Meanwhile, the Empress of Great Wei, after the dust settled, did not linger in Great Zhou. She had never intended to stay long, having planned to leave after witnessing the opening ceremony. But the unexpected event during the examination forced her to remain for a time. Now, discovering that Lin Qingye—the head of the Great Wei Martial Academy—had died within Great Zhou, and knowing how difficult it was for Great Wei to cultivate a warrior of the Ninth Rank Martial Emperor, she could only imagine the turmoil this news would stir back home. With a frosty expression, the Empress returned to her country at once, knowing that the aftermath would require further communication with the Emperor of Great Zhou.

The winds of unrest did not abate; waves of debate surged. Discussion raged over Cheng Guang, the Duke Protector’s residence, the incompetence of the Lamp-Bearing Bureau, who had failed to detect Qiu Zhimian’s hidden machinations—these topics spread like ripples from the capital, sweeping across the land.

...

Late at night, during the hour of the dog. The darkness unfurled like a deep and somber tapestry, cloaking all beneath it in silence. The stars glittered like diamonds on the dark dome above, and the Milky Way stretched across the sky like a ribbon, lending the night a sense of vastness and mystery.

Within the Great Zhou Imperial Palace, at the Hall of Supreme Harmony, moonlight bathed the grand hall in gentle, silent radiance, imbuing it with solemnity and mystery. The Emperor of Great Zhou stood quietly below the dais, holding a scroll in his hands. His face was cold and stern, his eyes brimming with authority as he gazed impassively at the book.

Footsteps echoed, disturbing the hush of the hall. The Emperor turned to see Cheng Zhihai approaching. His imposing expression remained unchanged as he slowly set the scroll aside, his gaze fixed on Cheng Zhihai. Cheng Zhihai came forward and bowed his head respectfully.

“Your Majesty, the Lamp-Bearing Bureau failed to detect Qiu Zhimian’s actions in advance.” Cheng Zhihai took responsibility without excuse, offering no justification for the lapse. In his view, failure was failure; no explanation necessary.

The Emperor regarded him in silence, a low hum of acknowledgment the only sign of response. An oppressive stillness filled the air, the perpetual lamps flickering with a faint fragrance. Under the Emperor’s gaze, Cheng Zhihai felt the weight of pressure. Though they were of the same generation and his wife was the Emperor’s sister, such personal ties held no sway here. Now, the Emperor engaged with him as sovereign to minister, and Cheng Zhihai dared not overstep.

After a long moment, the Emperor picked up his scroll again, reading briefly before asking, “Did you learn anything from Qiu Zhimian?”

Cheng Zhihai nodded and handed over the wooden ring that Cheng Guang had given him. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed when he saw it, a terrifying aura bursting forth from him, sweeping the hall like a raging storm. Standing at the center of this tempest, Cheng Zhihai’s face paled, but he remained upright and respectful. The Emperor’s oppressive presence lasted only an instant before he drew it back within himself, and the hall relaxed once more. Yet his expression remained grim—one could even say ashen.

What had unsettled the Emperor was not only the pile of human bones inside the ring, but also a certain token—the Crown Prince’s Order. The Emperor recognized it immediately; it was the very token of the former crown prince, the Prince of Remembrance, Wu Ji. Years ago, when the Prince of Remembrance had been deposed by Empress Dowager Li, he had attempted to make a comeback, only to be thwarted repeatedly by the Emperor’s iron hand. The Emperor had even considered eradicating the prince entirely, but at the crucial moment, the prince mysteriously vanished. The Emperor had always wondered whether someone had tipped him off, and had sent the Lamp-Bearing Bureau to investigate, but nothing ever came of it.

Though suspicious, the Emperor had ultimately let the matter rest, believing the prince no longer posed a threat, and out of a lingering sense of kinship. But now, seeing the Crown Prince’s Order in Qiu Zhimian’s possession, countless possibilities raced through his mind. There were still those at court loyal to the Prince of Remembrance—Qiu Zhimian among them—who had hidden in plain sight for years, even rising to oversee the vital Martial Academy. Such a traitor, embedded at the very heart of power, had chosen this moment to betray him. If not for Cheng Guang’s luck, Qiu Zhimian might have succeeded in killing him—and indeed, all the students from both nations could have perished as well.

If that had happened, the consequences would have been unthinkable. Both Great Zhou and Great Wei would have gone mad, and the entire realm would have been thrown into chaos. It was a venomous scheme, intended to drive a wedge between the two nations and plunge the court and the land into turmoil. The Prince of Remembrance, it seemed, had not given up hope.

Reaching this conclusion, the Emperor sat heavily upon the dragon throne, his face dark as he perused his scroll. Zhao Jin, ever attentive, approached with a cup of tea.

“Your Majesty,” Zhao Jin intoned softly.

The Emperor did not accept the tea, his gaze instead falling on Cheng Zhihai. “Can you track him down? His current whereabouts?”

Cheng Zhihai, his sword brows and cold eyes resolute, responded at once, “Your Majesty, grant me some time—I will find him!”

The Emperor nodded slightly, his face as calm as still water. Setting aside his book, he finally took the tea from Zhao Jin, sipped it lightly, and addressed Cheng Zhihai: “Three months. If you fail, the Lamp-Bearing Bureau will be given to Zhao Jin.”

At these words, Cheng Zhihai was momentarily stunned; his ever-composed demeanor betrayed a hint of shock. He had built the Lamp-Bearing Bureau from scratch, granted authority by the Emperor but little else. Its constables were like brothers to him; without him, the upper ranks might barely hold together. Yet Zhao Jin could—an old fox, many centuries old, whose youth belied his shrewdness and depth. If Zhao Jin took command, the difference would not be great.

Could it be that the Emperor no longer wished Cheng Zhihai to hold the Bureau? Cheng Zhihai sighed inwardly. In the end, the fate of ministers was decided by the Emperor’s will. High though his rank might be, he had little room to resist or refute. Perhaps the Duke Protector could stand against the Emperor, but he could not.

He had hoped to pass the Bureau to Guang’er, but after so many setbacks—just after getting Cheng Guang into the Bureau—this happened. Cheng Zhihai was deeply troubled, yet said nothing, merely accepting his orders in silence.

Zhao Jin, for his part, was overjoyed. If Cheng Zhihai failed to complete the Emperor’s task, the vast power and wealth of the Bureau would fall into his hands. In his view, it was impossible for Cheng Zhihai to find the Prince of Remembrance in three short months; the prince had hidden for so many years without being discovered.

Cheng Zhihai noticed Zhao Jin’s expression but made no comment. The Emperor soothed him, “The court is greatly dissatisfied with the Bureau and with you, given all that has followed the martial examination. I cannot easily resolve these tensions. If you find the Prince of Remembrance, I’ll have a reason to silence them. If not, take some time to rest and accompany Yuemei. Official changes will wait until after the royal festival.”

Cheng Zhihai’s face did not change as he respectfully accepted this. The Emperor gazed at him, suddenly losing interest, and waved his hand. “Go.”

Cheng Zhihai took his leave. Watching him depart, the Emperor’s expression softened, a trace of weariness appearing as he pressed his brow.

...

It seemed the distance between the Emperor and Cheng Zhihai had grown yet again. The Duke Protector’s power was too great, and Cheng Zhihai had failed to supervise the officials. The Emperor’s words had been reasonable, yet not entirely so... He massaged his temples, lost in thought.

...

Upon leaving the palace, Cheng Zhihai’s once composed expression crumbled. As he walked home, his mood was low and heavy. He had built the Lamp-Bearing Bureau with his own hands, granted only authority but not resources or manpower by the Emperor. Its constables were his brothers in all but name. Without him, few in the upper ranks could maintain order—except, perhaps, Zhao Jin, that ancient schemer. If Zhao Jin assumed command, little would change.

Did the Emperor no longer wish him to control the Bureau? Cheng Zhihai sighed. A minister’s fate was at the Emperor’s word. Even with his high status, he had little room to resist. Perhaps the Duke Protector could stand as the Emperor’s equal, but not he.

He had once hoped to pass the Bureau to Guang’er, but after so much struggle, just as Cheng Guang entered the Bureau, disaster struck. Cheng Zhihai was miserable. He resolved to seek comfort from his wife, hoping to recover his spirits and find the Prince of Remembrance.

As for the prince’s whereabouts, Cheng Zhihai had no clue. The prince had vanished decades ago, as if dead, only now suddenly to reappear—if not in person, then through Qiu Zhimian, a formidable Martial Emperor. It was hard to believe the prince was not pulling strings behind the scenes.

He recalled the mysterious figures who had tried to assassinate Cheng Guang in collusion with Bai Shuxuan, only to be thwarted. Perhaps they too were the prince’s minions. To find the prince, he would have to start with the surviving black-robed men.

Deep in thought, Cheng Zhihai made his way to the Duke Protector’s residence and went straight to Wu Yuemei’s room. At once, chaos erupted—a flurry of blows, a cry of pain.

“Darling, stop! Please stop! What happened with Guang’er was an accident—I couldn’t have anticipated it! I promise, I’ll be more prepared next time, and never let such a thing happen again!”

Her blows lessened, and the atmosphere shifted toward something rather more intimate.

...

In the Duke Protector’s residence, within the Garden of Ten Thousand Phenomena, the moon hung gently in the sky, its misty light draping the night in a veil. A breeze carried the scent of distant flowers and the shimmering light of the lake.

On the bed, Cheng Guang lay with Qingluan in his arms, her hair disheveled, her beautiful face flushed with exhaustion, skin like snow, features exquisite and delicate.

At midnight, Cheng Guang suddenly opened his eyes, rose carefully, and slipped outside to the pavilion.

“Claim reward,” he intoned silently.

[Quest reward: Nine Dragons Stealing the Heavens (forbidden technique)]
[Quest reward: Heavenly Silkworm Robe.]
[Issuing rewards...]

Cold, mechanical voices echoed in his mind. Suddenly, golden light appeared before him, flowing like a river from the void, gathering into two objects: a dragon-shaped piece of wood and a robe pure and white as jade.

As his fingers touched them, they became solid and fell into his palm. Instantly, information about the rewards appeared in his mind:

[Nine Dragons Stealing the Heavens (single-use forbidden technique): Erases all changes within its bounds, creates a prison of heaven and earth, isolates all things, and allows you to seize the bloodline divine power of any being within it for your own use.]
[Heavenly Silkworm Robe: A legendary earthly treasure, resilient beyond compare, able to repair minor damage on its own, protects the wearer’s body, keeps warm in winter and cool in summer, and can transform into any garment you wish.]

Cheng Guang examined them, a smile spreading across his lips. The robe’s ability to mimic any clothing was useful, but its real value was its power to protect and strengthen. He dripped a drop of blood onto it; it absorbed it instantly, forming a bond, and he put it on. At a thought, the robe shifted appearance at will; it could even become the garb of a straw-hatted boy or a ninja from his past life. In his previous world, this would have been every girl’s dream artifact.

But its true worth was in the mysterious power that enveloped him as soon as he wore it, drawing in the world’s energy, strengthening both his spirit and his body. The energy drawn was not great, but it was constant and stable—just wearing the robe was cultivation in itself. It was far superior to the so-called Myriad Insect Image.

Even more importantly, the robe strengthened his soul. In this world, only the imperial family, who practiced the Mystical Path, could enhance their souls; for martial artists, the soul was a forbidden domain, only growing stronger as the body advanced. Otherwise, martial artists’ souls were fragile.

That was why Qiu Zhimian had been so confident in attacking his soul. But Cheng Guang was no ordinary martial artist; otherwise, he might have fallen victim. If he’d possessed the robe earlier, even without soul cultivation, Qiu Zhimian’s attacks would have been useless, defeated by the robe’s mysterious power.

A true treasure!

Cheng Guang delightedly put the robe away and examined the Nine Dragons Stealing the Heavens. It could imprison the world and steal a bloodline divine power from any being within it, though only once—a power of immense value. Bloodline divine powers were the rarest and most formidable of all.

He recalled Bai Shuxuan’s bewitching gaze; any weaker foe would be enslaved by her. Yet even hers was but a flawed version, far inferior to Cheng Guang’s own.

Suddenly, a thought struck him: “Could it be the real heir awakened his bloodline power and thus regained his memories?” There was no fixed method for awakening a bloodline power; only those whose ancestors had reached the level of transcendent beings might pass it down. The real heir’s blood had long been so diluted, mixed by countless transfusions and extractions, that there was no telling what lineage remained.

In such circumstances, for the heir to awaken a bloodline power would be nearly impossible. But just in case, Cheng Guang resolved to use the Nine Dragons Stealing the Heavens on him, to isolate the event when he killed the real heir. Whether or not the heir still had any bloodline left was irrelevant. The forbidden technique would not be wasted.

He resolved to visit White Deer Manor at dawn and finish the matter.

Just then, another message sounded abruptly in his mind:

[In the thirty-fourth year of Zhengsheng, on the twenty-seventh day of the seventh month, the twenty-first day after reaching the Transcendent Realm, you discovered the mastermind behind the black-robed men who disrupted the martial examination years ago, and taught them a profound lesson.]
[You were astonished to learn that the mastermind was none other than the Prince of Remembrance himself. Wasn’t he supposed to be dead? How could he have commanded Qiu Zhimian back then? You recall that Qiu Zhimian was already a Martial Emperor, yet still loyal to the prince. Does that mean the prince never died?]
[You suddenly have a bad feeling, recalling an incident after joining the Lamp-Bearing Bureau: a spatial rift appeared beneath the canal outside the capital, unleashing a horde of demons who, aided by certain insiders, infiltrated the capital.]
[Unknown to anyone, the demons replaced most court officials and attended the royal festival in their stead.]
[At the commencement of the festival, the demons rioted, seeking to slaughter all attending officials and imperial heirs.]
[In that chaos, demon emperors arrived through the rift, attempting to annihilate the core of the Great Zhou dynasty.]
[At the time, you thought it was a demon attack for resources, but in hindsight, something seems off.]
[First, the domains of the human world are sealed; without precise coordinates, demon emperors could not cross the void so accurately into the capital.]
[Second, unless aided, the demons beneath the canal could not have replaced so many officials undetected—not even by the Lamp-Bearing Bureau.]
[How did these demons deceive the Emperor?]
[Now it seems the officials replaced were minions of the Prince of Remembrance; after the demons devoured them, they assumed their forms and, with the aid of mystical treasures, even fooled the Emperor.]
[The prince was ruthless, sacrificing his own longtime followers to lure the demons.]
[His goal was achieved: the Lamp-Bearing Bureau lost the Emperor’s trust, becoming a hollow shell in your hands, no longer the force it had been under Cheng Zhihai, probing the path for humanity.]
[The Emperor, wounded in the battle with the demon emperor, saw his court thrown into chaos, forcing even the Duke Protector to return and restore order.]
[Since then, the martial world has grown ever more tumultuous; the dynasty’s lands shrank to less than one percent of their former extent.]
[Now, under Wu Ling’s leadership, Great Zhou has regained some strength, but most of its lands remain in the hands of the usurping King of Southern Ming.]
[You increasingly suspect that the King of Southern Ming is the Prince of Remembrance, perhaps having killed and replaced him, allying with demons to overthrow Great Zhou.]
[Contemplating all you’ve lost to the prince and the Southern Ming King, your heart seethes with grief and rage, longing for a final battle.]
[But you are powerless; the King of Southern Ming, backed by the demons, is beyond your reach. Under his oppression, Wu Ling’s Great Zhou seems doomed.]
[Your only hope is to one day either slay the King of Southern Ming or cling to his coattails.]
[Two-star quest: Slay the King of Southern Ming. Reward: the legendary sword Tongyou.]
[Two-star quest: Swear fealty to the King of Southern Ming. Reward: a lapdog (hell difficulty).]

The cold, mechanical voice echoed in Cheng Guang’s mind, emotionless and unhurried. He listened, growing increasingly alarmed.

The King of Southern Ming? The Prince of Remembrance? Had the prince pulled a “switch at birth” and replaced his brother? Cheng Guang knew that the King of Southern Ming was the Emperor’s brother, always unambitious and content to live out his days quietly. Cheng Guang had met him once—a kindly old man who would sit in the sun, lost in thought all day. He hardly seemed a ruthless schemer.

Was this all a façade, or had his nature truly changed? Cheng Guang could not tell. One thing was certain: the Prince of Remembrance was not to be underestimated. In the future, he would seize ninety-nine percent of Great Zhou’s territory, nearly supplanting the dynasty entirely.

Cheng Guang suspected that if not for Wu Ling, the empress who upheld the realm, the dynasty would have long since been swept away. The entire Zhou dynasty might dissolve into history’s flood.

“King of Southern Ming, demonkind...” Cheng Guang muttered, rubbing his brow, barely suppressing a laugh. No matter the world, there would always be traitors ready to stab their own in the back. No matter how fiercely the Prince of Remembrance and the Emperor fought, they were at least kin. Yet to invite wolves from outside was inexcusable.

Cheng Guang pondered, but quickly dismissed the matter—it had nothing to do with him. Whether it was the Southern Ming King, the Prince of Remembrance, or the future demon invasion at the royal festival, none of it concerned him. He was but a humble stand-in, wholly unqualified to meddle in the fate of nations or the contest between emperors and demon lords.

Even defeating Qiu Zhimian had been a stroke of fortune, possible only due to unique circumstances. He was still only a second-rank martial artist, on the cusp of third rank—a mere shadow among giants.

He decided to stay clear of such affairs. But then, a thought struck him: Would he be required to attend the royal festival? Would Wu Yuemei have to attend? That worried him. If chaos erupted at the festival, with demon emperors on the rampage, countless would perish. Wu Yuemei’s strength was limited; since marrying into the Duke Protector’s house and giving birth to him, her spiritual power had faded, barely at the sense realm, often weak and frail. According to Cheng Guang’s observations, her royal blood had likely been drained. The royal family controlled their bloodline strictly; while a consort marrying in posed no problem, a princess marrying out would never be allowed to spread her bloodline. This explained why Wu Yuemei had only one son, despite her youth—she could bear no more.

Was the royal house cruel? Perhaps. But it was a means to preserve their authority and advantage. It was understandable, though few could accept it. Without such restraint, the royal blood would have diluted through all the land, losing its potency. In the long sweep of history, most living subjects were likely descended from some imperial scion, though the blood had grown too thin to compare with the true line.

Lost in thought, Cheng Guang glanced at the sky—the horizon was growing pale. Dawn was breaking; he’d sat outside all night without realizing it. Smiling wryly, he prepared to return to his room, only to see Qingluan yawning at the window, her eyes tinged with a hint of complaint.

Qingluan emerged with a brocade robe, draping it over him. “It’s still only February, my lord. Even though you’ve reached the second rank, you should take care not to catch a chill.”

Cheng Guang smiled. “I’m not that delicate, not cold at all.”

Qingluan squeezed his hand, finding it warm, as if he held a fire in his body. She was puzzled but said nothing.

Cheng Guang flicked her nose with a laugh. “Enough, don’t worry. Your lord is sturdy.”

Qingluan giggled. “Last night someone kept saying, ‘I can’t go on, I can’t go on.’”

Cheng Guang blushed and made as if to strike her; Qingluan retreated playfully, sticking out her tongue. Their laughter was interrupted by a voice outside the courtyard.

“My lord, my lord, something’s wrong!” It was Lin Cheng.

Cheng Guang and Qingluan turned to see Lin Cheng rush in, sweating and breathless. Cheng Guang handed him a cup of tea, calm as ever. “Drink first, tell me slowly. No hurry.”

Lin Cheng gulped the tea. “My lord, the coachman’s not right! His whole body’s red hot, muttering strange things—‘I’m not the coachman, I am the coachman, not the coachman, I’m the heir,’ and so on. He’s burning up—when I touched him, I felt scalded.”

“Where is he?” Cheng Guang asked.

“Still at White Deer Manor, passed out.” Lin Cheng replied, face full of remorse. “Yesterday this started. I was told to watch him, not let him die or escape, but not not to hit him. I did rough him up a bit yesterday—maybe that’s why he’s like this.”

Cheng Guang was unruffled. “No worries, we’ll go see him.” He signaled Qingluan to prepare the horses, giving Lin Cheng reassurance.

Casting a glance at Song Yunqi hiding in the shadows—not to alert Cheng Zhihai—Cheng Guang made his intentions clear. Song Yunqi, caught between two superiors, dared not object.

With Qingluan ready, Cheng Guang led his guards and Lin Cheng toward White Deer Manor.

...

(End of chapter)