Luan Juzi cast a sidelong glance at the tall-crowned elder standing a seat away from the Emperor of Dali. The elder immediately rose and began to invoke the Lu family's esoteric yin-yang arts, veiling the surroundings from any distant spiritual or magical scrutiny. Only then did Luan Juzi speak, his voice sharp as a blade:
"This catastrophic calamity most likely stems from covert sabotage by 'other factions,' if not outright collusion. Perhaps A-Liang's coincidental arrival was no accident but the result of secret intelligence passed along. It just so happened that soon after Qi Jingchun's death, A-Liang descended upon Dali. Among the myriad schools of thought, surely some resent the smooth alliance of our Mo family branch and the Lu family's yin-yang sect, aiding Dali in swallowing the entirety of East Baoping Continent!"
The Emperor of Dali unclenched his fists and rubbed his cheek, his expression ice-cold as he sneered:
"A magnificent upheaval unseen for a millennium—a chaotic era of war!"
Luan Juzi lowered his voice with a cautionary note:
"Now that matters have reached this point, despair is a luxury we cannot afford."
The man clad in official robes smiled wryly and shook his head:
"No, I won't despair. Whether ten years or fifteen, there remains much to accomplish. Reflecting on the humiliations and scorn Dali's emperors have endured across Baoping Continent, my internal wounds pale in comparison."
Though his words sounded nonchalant, he forced down a rising mouthful of fresh blood, bowed his head, and rubbed his neck with trembling fingers. A grimace of ferocity and regret flickered across his face—yet the ferocity lingered long after the regret faded, leaving only helpless resignation behind.
Before ascending, this man had employed a supreme secret technique to covertly sever the emperor's heart meridian, shattering his Bridge of Immortality. Once a vigorous hidden tenth-floor cultivator, he was now reduced to a state of alarming frailty. Moreover, although the White Jade Capital still stood, half of its twelve flying swords lay destroyed, and the whereabouts of the remaining six were unknown. In short, the once devastatingly lethal White Jade Capital was now but an empty shell—a mere ornamental pillow, intimidating in name only, incapable of slaying even a fifth-tier cultivator.
At this moment, a flustered Song Jixin approached the trio, calm once more but probing:
"Luan Juzi, Master Lu, can you tell me what exactly has transpired? Why can I sense no trace of any flying sword?"
The White Jade Capital's twelfth floor housed twelve flying swords: Incense, Pillar, Mountain-Guard, Sea-Shield, Peach Branch, Thunder Roar, Purple Lightning, Scripture, Sanskrit Chant, Majestic Qi, Crimson Ornament, and Cloud Pattern. Crafted with the might of half a nation, each was a true national treasure of the Dali dynasty.
Among them, Incense and five others—linked to the golden body manifestations of six Dali gods—had been destroyed alongside their divine avatars. Yet logically, the other six mountain and river gods who had yielded the way had no part in the battle. Even if the swords had not returned to the White Jade Capital, it was inconceivable for them to vanish without a trace, leaving Song Jixin—the sovereign of the twelve swords—bereft of spiritual connection.
Luan Juzi glanced toward the solitary White Jade Capital tower, then sighed deeply before revealing the grim truth:
"The six flying swords were all seized by that ascender on his way up. Though not taken to the heavens, he likely discarded them in unknown places. They are lost to us for now, and even if found, whether we could reclaim their power remains uncertain."
Song Jixin was but a youth, suddenly thrust from a lowly illegitimate son in Mud Bottle Alley to a prince of one of the continent's foremost dynasties. Bewildered in the capital, dragged inexplicably here, he had suffered much before gaining acceptance from the twelve flying swords. For the first time, he dared to hold his head high before that despicable man—only to end in utter futility.
Upon hearing the grim news, tears welled up, and he bit his lip fiercely, bloodstains smeared across his face. Luan Juzi found no words to comfort the youth. The old man himself was almost as stunned, barely able to believe it.
The Mo family, including its roaming knights, had long adhered to the founder saint's creed of aiding the weak against oppression. Yet under Luan Changye, who had pored over the chronicles of countless dynasties and witnessed the rise and fall of empires, he concluded that blindly supporting the weak was futile. In a century of chaos and contending warlords, backing the weaker states only multiplied casualties, whereas strong dynasties' unification brought far less bloodshed.
Thus, Luan Changye sought a worthy dynasty and ruler to realize his ambitions. He found Emperor Song Zhengchun of Dali and was not disappointed. Though the campaign against A-Liang had grievously damaged Dali's zenith, Luan Changye never faulted the endeavor itself, only the failure to outwit 'heaven's scheme.' Even pitted against shadowy powers, he dared to gamble everything on an irresistible tide destined to sweep the world.
The Emperor of Dali laughed:
"Could you two check if there are any breaches in the White Jade Capital? If that fellow left a contingency, I might just bash my head in. It'd give me a chance to have some private time with Song Mu. But mind, no eavesdropping—we fathers and sons need some family talk, so please understand."
The two elders promptly rose, one smiling assurance, the other fearful refusal. The emperor looked toward the stubborn youth, tapped the nearby step, then quietly crushed the jade pendant at his waist, saying solemnly:
"Sit. From now on, I am your father, Song Zhengchun, and you are my son, Song Mu… or just Song Jixin. The passing of flames and gathering of sparks is a fine omen; Song Yuzhang's naming may be plain but thoughtful."
The youth obediently sat beside him. The emperor sighed:
"Must admit, the Gao family of the Great Sui has had remarkably good fortune. And you, boy, have an exceptionally foul crow's mouth."
When alone, the youth felt unease. Though he feigned courage, Song Jixin truly perceived the man's iron grip over Dali from the attitudes of his uncle Song Changjing, maid Zhi Gui, and the two old gentlemen. His apparent generosity and ease belied a deep-seated, almost arrogant confidence—much like the swordsman A-Liang's attitude toward East Baoping Continent and the world.
The man smiled:
"The remaining six flying swords that left the tower and city? Since they haven't returned, they are gone. Gone is gone; the sky won't fall."
Song Jixin's fury surged:
"Gone is gone?! How can you say that so lightly! Luan Juzi and Master Lu told me those twelve swords symbolize Dali's undeniable influence over Baoping Continent's fate…"
But the youth dared not speak further. He quickly remembered—the creator of White Jade Capital and its swords was not himself, but this resigned man beside him.
The man gazed at the distant palace roof, adorned with crouching beasts arranged in order, and softly said:
"For a sovereign, no trouble is too great. If you can solve it, it means you and your dynasty grow stronger. If not, it means your governance skills fall short."
"This daunting threshold caught both me and Dali unprepared and unscathed, which is regrettable—but I do not regret it. This is the truth, no deceit."
Song Jixin was utterly baffled, asking:
"Why?"
The robed man's eyes sharpened, his earlier resignation gone. Pointing to the palace ridge:
"Because it only proves the state policy I crafted for Dali is correct!"
"Those who cultivate on the mountains, whether good or evil, must be caged! They seek immortality; Dali does not interfere, even assists at times, delighted by their success. Yet a dynasty must have bottom lines—these immortals must abide by certain rules, cannot act on whim, cannot recklessly upheave mountains and waters. Otherwise, the greatest casualties in their celestial battles will be the defenseless common folk."
"I want all secular subjects under Dali's rule to revere immortals not merely out of fear. Even the lowest street vendor, if unjustly killed in divine conflicts, Dali must have the courage and power to seek justice for that ant before the gods!"
Song Jixin was struck dumb with astonishment. The man chuckled, bringing two fingers close together:
"The justice Dali can now reclaim is small, just this much. But compared to other Baoping Continent dynasties, those who serve as slaves and maids to the mountain immortals, it is a world apart."
He flicked his wrist carelessly, then clenched his fist and raised it toward the rooftop, as if issuing a challenge:
"I sincerely hope future Dali can reclaim justice so vast—nay, even greater!"
Song Jixin felt numb, but for the first time saw the man beside him as flesh and blood—not a lifeless throne or imperial robe.
The robed man turned and asked:
"Know which words from A-Liang anger me most?"
Summoning courage, Song Jixin replied:
"The words ordering you to kneel and apologize?"
The man laughed heartily, shaking his head:
"As the master of Dali, I would rather die standing than
humiliate myself. No—what angers me most is his saying 'You are but a flea in my eye, a shadow beneath my feet, an ant under my boot.'"
"To trample a dynasty so carelessly, is it not a serious insult?"
With a calm smile, the man continued:
"But if I am a flea, a shadow, or an ant, then I vow to be the most annoying flea, the darkest shadow, and the most resilient ant Baoping Continent has ever known!"
The old man slowly bowed toward Song Jixin, the flicker of past glory rekindled:
"The White Jade Capital's true strength lies not in its twelve swords, but in the faith and will of those who serve beneath its banner!"