Chapter 85: One Must Show Respect to One’s Elders at Home (Please Subscribe)

When Cheng Zhihai returned to the Duke of Zhen’s residence, it was already late afternoon.

He walked through the expansive estate, heading to Cheng Guang’s Garden of Myriad Scenes, where he immediately spotted Cheng Guang laughing and chatting with Qingluan in a pavilion. Cheng Zhihai approached with deliberate steps, coughed twice to announce his presence, and drew Cheng Guang’s attention.

Cheng Guang turned at the sound, glancing toward his father. “Father? Has the matter been resolved?”

Cheng Zhihai nodded gently, his gaze filled with affection and pride. “Guang’er, your information about the location was correct—it was indeed the smuggling point for the demon clan. There was even a demon emperor involved. Last night, His Majesty intervened and forced that demon emperor back to the Eighth Demon Domain. For the time being, there should be no more disturbances from the demon clan.”

Hearing this, Cheng Guang felt a weight lift from his heart. Without the involvement or aid of a demon emperor, even if the Reminiscent Prince wished to stir up trouble at the upcoming royal ceremony, it would not be so easy. A few minor demons were hardly enough to shake the Zhou Dynasty. If the Reminiscent Prince were wise, he would lie low and not reveal himself further.

As Cheng Guang pondered this, Cheng Zhihai patted his shoulder with satisfaction and admiration. “Guang’er, your discovery of the demon clan’s whereabouts was a great merit—many interests were entangled here. Even if I were to directly promote you to Silver Lantern Constable in the Lantern Division, no one would object.”

“But your cultivation is still too low. With such a low cultivation, handling cases in the future won’t be so easy. Guang’er, you must focus on improving your strength.”

Cheng Guang nodded with a smile. In fact, he had never been lax in his cultivation. All power rests on strength; without it, the Duke of Zhen’s household would not enjoy its current authority, and all wealth and prosperity would be nothing but a castle in the air.

For Cheng Guang, in this world, strength alone afforded a sense of security.

Cheng Zhihai seemed to recall something else and advised, “Guang’er, since you uncovered the demon clan, the demons and the Reminiscent Prince behind them may hold a grudge against you. Stay within the estate for now to avoid any accidents.”

He wore a troubled look. If it were anyone else, he could take precautions, but against the Reminiscent Prince, his options were pitifully few. For one, he had no idea where the Reminiscent Prince currently resided. For another, he didn’t know the full extent of the prince’s followers.

Take, for example, Principal Qiu Zhizhen of the Zhou Martial Academy—a figure of the ninth rank, almost on par with himself—who turned out to be one of the Reminiscent Prince’s men. Had Qiu Zhizhen not been exposed during the recent martial contest between Zhou and Wei, he might never have believed that such a significant figure was secretly orchestrating treason.

If even Qiu Zhizhen was so deeply hidden, how many more like him might there be in the court?

Neither Cheng Zhihai nor the Emperor of Zhou dared to imagine, but both knew: unless these parasites were purged, the dynasty would never know peace.

The Reminiscent Prince had to die.

Finishing his advice, Cheng Zhihai left. Every moment was precious to him now; the sooner he uncovered the prince, the sooner his heart could rest easy. If, after a month, there was still no trace of the prince, losing his position in the Lantern Division would be the least of the consequences.

Cheng Guang watched his father depart the Garden of Myriad Scenes, but his mood was not as heavy. To him, the Reminiscent Prince was already exposed. Though he had disguised himself as the King of South Ming, it would not be so simple to ferret him out completely.

Having uprooted the demon clan lurking beneath the canal, Cheng Guang knew he was now a thorn in the prince’s side. Yet even had he done nothing, he would still be marked for death: the prince’s quickest route to chaos in Zhou was to kill him. If not for the guards around him and his habit of rarely leaving the capital, the prince would have tried to kill him many times over.

Pouring himself a cup of tea, Cheng Guang watched the swirling liquid, pondering how to make contact with the King of South Ming.

Even leaving the capital was difficult, let alone traveling ten thousand miles to the king’s fiefdom. Even if his father agreed, the guards would never dare allow such a journey—too much could go wrong, and their lives would be forfeit should any mishap occur.

Sipping his tea, Cheng Guang concluded that meeting the King of South Ming—or rather, the Reminiscent Prince—would not come easily.

As he considered this, he suddenly recalled something: his father had said the demon emperor had been repelled to the Eighth Demon Domain. Did that mean Bai Shuxuan had returned there as well? He shook his head with a wry smile; he’d expected Bai Shuxuan might seek him out in the future, but now it seemed unlikely.

He felt a strange emptiness—perhaps from having grown used to petting the fox, and now experiencing withdrawal.

Just then, a vibration came from his chest. With a soft “hmm,” he produced a token—one Qin Beifeng had given him yesterday, said to be a way to contact Qin Yanqiu. He hadn’t yet found a reason to use it, but now the other side reached out first.

“Is it Miss Qin?” Qingluan, dressed in blue, her hair tied in a ponytail, her fair face both charming and spirited, had clearly guessed the token’s purpose.

Cheng Guang nodded, infused his energy into the token, and saw a single line appear: “Are you there?”

He nearly laughed aloud. Who would have thought this icy Qin Yanqiu would start a conversation like a lovesick puppy: “Are you there?”

He responded, “No.”

There was a pause, as if his reply had nearly made the other side choke. After a while, the token vibrated again: “My father wants me to chat with you, to get familiar. I’d like to, but I’m usually very busy, so I won’t have much time.”

Cheng Guang raised an eyebrow, amused—she was laying the groundwork for ignoring him in the future, wasn’t she? He rubbed his chin, oddly reminded of chatting with a girlfriend in his previous life—always “very busy.”

Not interested in continuing, he simply replied, “Oh,” and put the token away.

Qingluan watched him, curious. “Young Master, aren’t you going to talk more with Miss Qin?”

He shook his head. “No need. I’d rather chat with you.”

Qingluan blushed. Dressed in martial attire, she exuded a heroic spirit. Today, she’d applied a light touch of makeup, her lips rosy, appearing even more beautiful—a gentle fragrance lingering about her. She had carefully transplanted many lovely flowers in the courtyard, decorating Cheng Guang’s chambers until they were almost indistinguishable from a maiden’s boudoir.

And Cheng Guang didn’t mind at all. Her thoughtfulness, her subtle touches, gave him a sense of belonging in what had originally been a stranger’s room.

The evening wind caressed the pavilion after the rain.

Embracing Qingluan’s delicate form, Cheng Guang gazed at the dimming stars. He suddenly recalled that his spiritual path had reached the Yang Spirit Realm; though by day he couldn’t leave his body for long, the night allowed it. The Imperial Divine Cultivation Method mentioned that when the spirit left the body, one could see what mortals could not—such as demons.

Demons, some hidden well, might deceive martial artists. But as long as a spiritual cultivator wished to investigate, no demon could escape their gaze. Not all demons were found only in the Eighth Demon Domain; sometimes, the world itself birthed them. An anonymous travelogue in the library recorded that the world was rife with spirits and ghosts: grasses, woods, anything could gain sentience, whether in wilderness, rivers, cities, or crowds.

However, homegrown demons differed greatly from those of the Eighth Demon Domain—they had little inheritance or tribal sense, and most behaved themselves. Any who caused trouble were swiftly destroyed, for they had no escape to the Demon Domain.

“I wonder if there are any demons in the Duke of Zhen’s estate?”

Curious, Cheng Guang, holding Qingluan, let his spirit leave his body and drift through the vast residence. The estate was immense, far larger than those of other nobles—a testament to the Duke’s achievements.

He sensed the fiery vitality of many martial experts, like furnaces burning the void. Cheng Guang kept his distance; spiritual cultivators, though powerful, could not approach high-ranking martial artists while disembodied—their blood energy could burn a spirit as the sun would.

The closer to the Divine Power realm, the hotter the furnace. At the fifth rank, martial artists could even see spirits and ghosts.

“Martial and spiritual cultivation each have their strengths. Mastering both, I surely surpass my peers.”

He wandered until he neared the southeastern courtyard, Cheng Zhihai and Wu Yuemei’s quarters. Before even approaching, he saw a dazzling, searing vortex of energy, like a blazing sun—Cheng Zhihai’s furnace. Almost suffocated, Cheng Guang hurriedly retreated.

He continued his search but found no demons in the estate—what demon could survive in such a perilous place? Returning to his body, he embraced Qingluan, inhaled her fragrance, and felt at peace. Sensing his comfort, Qingluan wrapped her arms around him and fell into a deep sleep—no greater tranquility than this.

The next morning, as spring’s end brought gentle sunlight and blushing clouds, Cheng Guang practiced in the courtyard. After a while, Qingluan woke, smiled, and helped him wash. As he was about to ask her to fetch breakfast, a commotion arose outside.

Qingluan went to inquire and returned, astonished. “Young Master, the Princess of South Ming has come to visit.”

Surprised, Cheng Guang recalled the system task: either slay the King of South Ming or join him. It was impossible to kill such a powerful royal outright, so he intended to fulfill the alternative—join him and claim the reward. He hadn’t expected the princess to seek him out so soon.

After freshening up, he followed Steward Wang to the southeastern courtyard. The Princess of South Ming was family—a sister-in-law to Wu Yuemei—so the meeting was informal.

In the modest reception hall, many had already gathered.

“Dear Mingxian, you’ve been in the capital for days but never left your residence. I wanted to invite you, but you never came. Today you arrive suddenly, without notice—I wasn’t prepared at all,” Wu Yuemei said gently, a bit embarrassed.

Mingxian, the Princess of South Ming, laughed softly, her voice flowing like a spring in the morning woods. She looked barely twenty-seven or eight, radiant in a pale blue gown embroidered with silver apricot blossoms, her figure graceful and alluring—a beauty famed throughout the realm.

Wu Yuemei admired her sister-in-law. Even with a mysterious background, the princess’s bearing and conduct were above reproach—her beauty rivaled even the empress, her nobility innate.

If the King of South Ming were not the emperor’s sole beloved brother, countless would covet such a beauty.

Wu Yuemei sighed with worry. “Zhihai left early for the Lantern Division. He’s been overwhelmed investigating the Reminiscent Prince…”

The Reminiscent Prince was, after all, her brother—a prince who ruined his chance at the throne and nearly the dynasty itself. She believed Emperor Wushang’s ascension was for the best, and though some conservatives objected, most accepted it. Wushang kept even the opposition in office to show his vision for Zhou.

The prince’s survival and return had thrown the realm into chaos once more.

The princess’s brow furrowed at the mention of the prince but quickly relaxed and smiled. “No matter. It’s good that the matter may be resolved. I was hoping to see Guang’er, too—it’s been so long.”

Wu Yuemei smiled, thinking her son’s recent achievements had drawn the princess’s attention: exposing the demon clan and defeating the martial academy’s principal. “Where is Guang’er?” she asked.

“Steward Wang has gone to call him, Madame. He should be here soon,” replied the attendant.

Wu Yuemei smiled. “It’s been ten years since you saw him—he’s grown into a fine man.”

The princess covered her lips, “Time flies. I may not even recognize him now.”

“You’ll know him at a glance,” Wu Yuemei assured her.

Just then, Cheng Guang entered. His gaze swept the hall, landing at last on the princess veiled in fine silk. Her willow waist, snow-white skin, and alluring figure were impossible to ignore—one could scarcely imagine the delight of embracing her.

Cheng Guang recognized her at once.

He regarded her with no familial deference, his gaze bold and unrestrained. The princess stiffened, shifting slightly, uneasy under his scrutiny, but she dared not make it obvious with Wu Yuemei present.

She hadn’t expected the storied heir of the Duke of Zhen to behave so audaciously—even toward his own aunt. Her curiosity turned instantly to aversion. Was his discovery of the demon clan simply luck, not wisdom?

Rising, she approached him, her fragrance enveloping him. Cheng Guang squinted, studying her carefully. The King of South Ming was hardly a paragon of virtue; by extension, neither was the princess. He made no attempt at propriety, instead using his spiritual senses to scan her thoroughly.

She possessed no trace of demonic aura—human, not demon, both outwardly and within. Nor did she show signs of martial or other cultivation—perhaps she had never practiced at all.

As she drew near, her exquisite face lifted in a gentle smile. “This must be Guang’er—so handsome, surely many young ladies must be smitten.”

She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder, then turned to Wu Yuemei. “Does Guang’er have any betrothal? If not, I can introduce him to some fine girls.”

Wu Yuemei laughed, “He is engaged, but if you know good candidates for concubines, send their portraits. As long as their character and family are suitable, we can arrange meetings.”

Cheng Guang, wary of the princess’s motives, shook his head. “Mother, there’s no need for so many wives.”

Wu Yuemei frowned. “We’re counting on you to continue the family line. Qin Yanqiu will often be away with the army—how many children can one wife bear?”

The princess added with a playful glint, “I have many fine candidates—let me know if you’re interested.”

Wu Yuemei nodded, “Send their portraits, Mingxian. If they’re suitable, they can meet.”

Cheng Guang, unconvinced, pointed at the princess. “Mother, unless they’re as beautiful as my aunt, I’m not interested.”

Wu Yuemei sighed, “Guang’er, you jest. There are few like your aunt in all the land.”

Cheng Guang shrugged, glancing at the princess with mockery. “So, let’s forget it; after all, my aunt couldn’t possibly marry me as a concubine.”

The princess’s face changed, stunned by his boldness, her chest heaving with anger.

Wu Yuemei, not catching the nuance, merely tapped his forehead. “You mustn’t tease your elders—show proper respect.”

... (End of chapter)