Over Lake Wangyue, the sky was bright and the waters crystal-clear. Qingdu Peak stood proudly in the midst of the lake, stone steps winding up the mountain. Before the steps of the great hall stood an old man cloaked in a grey-blue mantle, pacing anxiously in circles.
Li Xuanxuan waited for a moment before finally spotting a spear-bearing man landing before the hall. Possessing a cultivation at the ninth level of Qi Refinement, the newcomer clasped his hands and bowed respectfully. "Siwei greets the Master."
"How fares the riverbank?" Li Xuanxuan helped him up, urgently pressing for news.
This man was none other than An Zheyan's son, An Siwei—dignified, composed, and striking in appearance. Hearing the question, he lowered his voice. "What was seen earlier was no falsehood. From the Fei family northward all the way to the Great River, the sky is awash in rouge-pink, petals numbering in the millions, mingled with colored glaze, golden sand, and various spiritual materials. It has drawn swarms of cultivators scavenging across the land; human figures are everywhere. Those from the north say it is the anomaly marking the fall of Shakya cultivators."
Stroking his beard, Li Xuanxuan felt his heart sink. His hands tightened as he replied, "Those of the Shakya path are exceedingly skilled in reincarnation. If they were forced to perish, the battle must have reached a critical juncture."
"The young master said the same," An Siwei replied.
An Siwei was naturally referring to Li Xijun, who had still been scouting along the riverbank. Before his voice even finished fading, frost and snow fluttered before the hall. Li Xijun strode into the hall through the wind, the Han jade pendant at his waist, his face still somewhat pale.
Li Xuanxuan inquired after the situation. Li Xijun returned the courtesy first, then spoke softly. "A great number of Masters have likely fallen. The riverbank seems to be suppressed by some spiritual treasure, and the situation looks far better. Demonic cultivators were circling around earlier, but not a single one remains now."
Li Xijun's words put Li Xuanxuan much more at ease. The old man raised his brows to gaze into the distance, suddenly perceiving a surge of white-gold qi floating in the north, and immediately grew alert. "This metallic qi is even more chillingly cold than Seventh Brother's Geng metal. Could it be a high-level cultivator of the Dui-metal path?"
Li Xuanxuan could not yet see the distant figures clearly, but seeing lightning, rosy clouds, and the bright golden qi of clear yang, combined with Li Xijun's words, his heart relaxed at once. The old man had lived with his heart in his throat for most of the night, and an uncontrollable joy surfaced on his face. "Ancestors protect us! From the looks of it, this is a great victory!"
It was indeed a grand triumph!
The group rode the wind to welcome them. Li Xijun lagged just half a step behind Li Xuanxuan; feeling the clan jade pendant at his waist resonate with light, he finally set his mind at ease and turned aside to pay his respects as a junior.
Li Xuanxuan first caught sight of the spear-wielding Li Qinghong. Though she maintained her usual valiant bearing, a trace of worry hung between her brows. Flanking her were Li Ximing and Li Xizhi; though somewhat drained, they did not appear heavily wounded.
His heart settled, and only then did he turn his attention to the white-armored cultivator in the center. The man wore a dark helmet with a tiger-head visor that covered both cheeks, looking exceptionally formidable. His pupils were pale white, his hair and beard snow-white, appearing in the prime of his years.
The deathly white patterns on his cheeks and neck flickered with light, so piercing that one could barely keep one's eyes open, making it all the harder to study his countenance. Li Xuanxuan only felt his posture strangely familiar, thinking to himself in wonder.
The old man gradually recognized his own juniors, counting each person, yet did not perceive Li Xuanfeng's figure. Instead, he found this white-armored man, flanked by the others who stood respectfully aside, his stature seemingly exalted to the utmost. The old man immediately said, "We must receive him with proper solemnity; let us go greet him together!"
Once the cultivators arrived before them, the white-armored man had already spoken, saying softly, "No need for ceremony."
His voice was usually resonant and clear, yet Li Xizhi and Li Qinghong looked dejected and did not answer first. Li Ximing also looked toward the man in the center. Li Xuanxuan was filled with doubt, but then heard a slightly hoarse voice:
"Elder Brother."
A drop of clear dew rolled down Li Xuanxuan's grey-blue garments. Over the lake, an autumn dew began to fall across the sky, pattering down sharp and cold. The sound made the old man look up immediately. Meeting those eyes, he stammered blankly:
"Xuanfeng...?!"
Yet the man's countenance appeared only in his early thirties. In an instant, Li Xuanxuan was dragged from breathlessness into the past. The old man let out a choked sound, his face flushing slightly. "Seventh Brother..."
Li Xuanxuan had once governed a clan and was no ordinary old man. He quickly deduced the truth from his juniors' expressions, hurried down the steps, and led the white-armored Li Xuanfeng into the hall. "Why not enter the peak first?"
Li Xuanfeng took his seat, looked around at the younger generation, and surprisingly brought up one matter first, speaking softly: "It seems Mount Bianyan was not necessarily a good place. The Real Persons' calculations are ever-shifting. If the riverbank was held, where else could the demonic cultivators go?"
He rested his hand on his sword, stepped forward in the hall, thought for a moment, and said with interest: "Slaughtering the Shakya hosts on the riverbank frightened the northern cultivators into retreating. Thus Mount Bianyan sank without a ripple; the Chi family's direct line and their forces were entirely wiped out there. Si Yuanli upheld the immortal decree and added fuel to the fire. Even if cloaked in righteous pretexts, the feud between the Si and Chi clans has already been born."
The graceful, dignified youth nodded slightly, displaying his habitual composed manner, and said softly, "The Yu clan was dismembered by the Chi family, and only Yu Yuwei could resolve it. With his earlier death, it will be even harder for them to rise."
Li Xuanfeng nodded, remarking softly, "It seems there truly were schemes at play! Only, stationed at the rear, I could hear little news. Perhaps Chi Zhiyan played a good move. But if this was the calculation of the Violet Palace, there will be quite a show to watch!"
His iron-hard countenance held more composure than his father's, yet lacked the overbearing ferocity of having slaughtered multitudes of cultivators; his words were cold:
"The Ning clan hangs solely upon Ning Wan. Ning Heyuan likely has no chance of survival. With the Ning clan falling into the hands of Ning Hejing, they cannot be lightly trusted.
"In the Four Commanderies, the Yuan clan was originally an adherent of the Chi family, yet Yuan Tuan and Yuan Chengdun were harmed by them; how could they harbor no resentment? Huyuan is kind but weak; Hudu is venomous and ruthless. Once the situation changes, they might well be swayed.
"The Lingu clan has deep roots and lingering ambitions, dominating the South Sea for generations, and are nobles of Wuyue and Shanyue, allied through marriage with Xiukui. Si Yuanli will surely court them heavily; they can be allies.
"If I die, the noble clans of Jiangnan will surely rejoice, and Qingchi will fall into the hands of Si Yuanli and Lingu Lanying. Though Si Yuanli has his benevolent moments, he is by no means indecisive; changes will surely come.
"Xizhi... our Li family has exhausted three generations to attain the status of a Jiangnan noble clan. The Chi family's excessive power is already apparent. Si Yuanli will certainly make use of you. In sect affairs, you must take the initiative yourself."
The deathly white patterns on Li Xuanfeng's face had already faded. His eyes were sharp and spirited. Having just slaughtered the Shakya hosts, his suppressed killing intent had turned into an indescribable majesty. His armor set off his martial divine presence, like an immortal general descending from some celestial palace.
His gaze swept across everyone's faces and settled upon Li Qinghong, his voice softening. "Qinghong, if I am no longer here, only you in the family are skilled in battle. Thunder techniques are fierce and violent; remain peacefully within the sea to deter those of ill intent, and do not get too entangled in the sect's internal strife.
"Qinghong, that Helian Changguang was already slain by me. There is no need to worry."
Li Qinghong's apricot eyes reddened slightly. She nodded, not interrupting him. Li Xuanfeng's pupils shifted, his voice very calm.
"In the struggle between north and south, I have killed without count. Murong, Helian, Kongxi, Beimin—blood debts from all have fallen to my hands. Now that I pass away, their resentment will be temporarily pacified. Disciples of the family must not head north unless necessary, lest they be harmed."
Li Qinghong stepped back thoughtfully. Li Xuanfeng opened his eyes, looked toward Li Xijun, and lowered his voice slightly. "You have a heart devoted to the Dao of the sword, but sadly you are burdened by our family. Not everyone possesses the bearing of a sword immortal; even Wang Xun had to travel the world. You may wander as well."
Li Xijun faintly saw flakes of golden sand rolling beneath his feet. Understanding that Li Xuanfeng did not have much time left, he could only nod repeatedly.
"Ximing, how much certainty do you have of reaching the Violet Palace?"
Li Ximing paused slightly and answered, "Less than twenty percent."
"That is not high. Do not rush for quick success. Where is Minghuang?"
"He has gone to the Eastern Sea and has not yet returned."
"This junior is only worried about Uncle Yuanqin..."
"No matter. He knows his limits."
The white-armored man finally looked toward Li Yuanyu. Li Ximing then turned to look at Li Yuanyu as well. Li Yuanyu had always feared Li Xuanfeng, keeping his head bowed and not daring to speak. The man before him only asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes."
"Bring the genealogy."
Li Ximing immediately withdrew. In less than two breaths, he returned holding a purple jade slip with a book placed beneath it. Li Xuanfeng took them gently, casually set the jade slip on the table, and took the book in hand.
Metallic qi condensed in his hand, turning into a pen woven of gold and silver. He turned only a single page, which was none other than the [Shū Branch]. The brush tip landed on the paper, lifting and flicking.
Li Xuanfeng exhaled a breath of metallic qi, paused his words, and untied the pouch at his waist, releasing its seals. With his other hand, he gave a light pull and drew forth a white bow.
This white bow had transformed from Jin Geng. Li Xuanfeng scrutinized this bow that had accompanied him in battle his entire life, gently stroking it. The two words "Jin Geng" on the bow faded away, shifting and undulating until they transformed into two words: 【Shenbai】.
He placed the items into Li Xijun's hands, saying hoarsely, "Keep this golden bow in the family... let these items remain in the clan, and let Yuanyu take that position."
"Seventh Great-Uncle, be at ease."
"I know what to do."
Below the hall, all the juniors lowered their gazes and wept, yet the man gave a ringing laugh. He lifted up Li Xuanxuan, who was weeping uncontrollably, and with a light wave of his sleeve, swept everyone else out of the hall. The hall doors slammed shut with a boom. He laughed:
"Elder Brother... Uncle did not care for wine, so we three brothers never dared drink much. Now that the great matters are settled, we might as well get thoroughly drunk!"
A golden flagon appeared in his hand. He dropped a few crystalline Wanling flowers into it, set out jade cups, and smilingly filled the cup for the choking old man. Though his voice was slightly hoarse, it carried the heroism of a veteran of countless battlefields.
A Wanling flower floated in the wine.
Yet his heavy gaze never left his younger brother's face, his eyes slightly red, as if studying him.
"Xuanfeng! Back then, the main seat... should have belonged to Xuanling and you!"
Li Xuanfeng smiled softly, his voice gentle. "Xuanling was the same back then. Once was enough; there is no need to repeat it."
The two joked, cursed, played drinking games, and wagered cups.
Drip, drop...
Patter...
Their laughter even drowned out the weeping outside the hall, resounding through the mountain. Never had Li Xuanxuan been so carefree and wild.
The two brothers laughed and cried, their ringing voices never ceasing—now speaking of the blue sword and the white edge, the casting down of Lieyun; now of throwing swords and shooting at trees, the youthful dash of their early days; now of subduing the viper and the fall of the Shakya, the great whale beneath the setting moon.
Speaking of shooting the Tangjin Lord, drinking three cups first; arrows illuminating the Chengshui Tomb, raising cups to toast one another; speaking again of tearing apart the Yan monster general, pounding the table and striking the goblets, slaughtering all eighteen Shakya Masters, and draining a great draught!
"Could it be a Real Person of the Jinyu Sect? What does that have to do with our family!"
The radiance within the hall grew fainter and fainter, yet the old man's voice remained high and impassioned.
Li Qinghong gradually stemmed her tears, her apricot eyes lowered. Only one figure remained cast upon the hall doors. Everyone looked up, listening to him scold or curse, weep or laugh, yet no one ever answered him again.
Li Xijun and the others all stood outside the hall. The woman lifted tear-filled eyes, perceiving an intensely brilliant radiance flooding the entire hall, two figures cast upon the doors earlier having now dwindled to one.
The autumn dew in the sky fell like rain, urgently drumming against the roof ridge. Cold wind swept across the mountain, rattling the leaves as it brushed past everyone, yet not a single person channeled their magical power to shield themselves.
She quietly stepped forward and cautiously pushed open the hall doors. The interior was warmly illuminated by starlight and moonlight, the dark stone steps clearly distinct. The old man leaned against a pillar, his head bowed in slumber, wearing only a white inner robe—fortunately, the grey-blue mantle was gently draped over him.
Li Qinghong did not enter. She bowed deeply, her voice somewhat muffled, whispering softly in farewell.
Before her was a scene of disarray: the table was splashed with wine, while the opposite side was clean and neat. A jade cup sat squarely at the edge of the table, filled to the brim with clear wine reflecting the moonlight, looking as though it had never been touched.
Her gaze moved slowly across the dark table. The only dim object in the entire hall was a two-finger-wide talisman resting on the corner of the table, its patterns intricate. Everything else was tidy and clean, as if the host had merely stepped away from the table.
Li Qinghong looked up. The heavy clouds in the sky had dispersed; night was deepening, and stars flickered. In the distance, the lake waters surged with turbulent waves, and several dark reefs broke the water's surface, reflecting specks of metallic luster.
Clear, heavy autumn dew rolled down her robes, swirled twice in the cold earth, and gradually gathered into a stream, washing the mud down the stone steps and leaving behind a chilly, pristine clarity.
Chapter 615