Song Hui possessed intelligence, but having grown up confined within the grand residence of House Song, she had faced few trials or grand challenges in life. Lack of cultivation leaves talents constrained — should she intend merely to rebuild Song Clan herself, it would seem ambition has fogged her judgment. Yet, if Song Zi ning took on the task, that would be quite a different tale.
Establishing House Song anew — more accurately, it must be named House Song — was actually an excellent idea. If through this, Song Zi ning were granted a fresh beginning in life, that would be beyond compare.
At Song’s side, Qian Ye covertly observed Qian Ye’s expression before she expressed her astonishment: “Aren’t you angry?”
“Why should I be angry?” Qian Ye responded quizzically.
“I’m going to poach him after all!” Hui said, referring to the seventh Song lord, “Once he becomes Head of the newly restored Song, he needs invest far more attention elsewhere—he cannot possibly focus so much as before on your Shadows Flame affairs.”
“If it’s what he truly wants, why would I ever stop you?”
“Well … your bond is extraordinary.”
That again was maddeningly difficult to tolerate. Qian promptly threw Song Hui outside of his camp and bade her attend to her aides, reorganizing and assimilating the army units under her control. It’d be an arduous undertaking consuming several days at minimum.
Additional time passed securing Liaoxuan city, and now the three-and-a-half thousand mercenaries Qian Ye had brought blended within such an overwhelmingly large city — dispersing into mere grains swallowed up by the ocean, barely enough to secure vital institutions and precious industrial forges, much less defend city’s interior as well as its perimeter effectively.
Fortunately though, Qian controlled the upper regions of the skyline—keeping aerial warships constantly patrolling the city, and elite regiments standing by on the ground below to contain and halt potential disturbances before they could escalate.
During this time, Nan Ruo huai had busied himself paying visit upon visit to prominent families and commercial enterprises situated in Liaoxuan, while the past two days saw a rather effective purge against the few stiff-necked houses who opposed assimiliation initially. None were bold enough now to openly bar his steps. In conversation and demeanor, Ruo hul wasn’t eloquent, but possessed a demeanor composed entirely of modesty and genuine approachability—winning considerable support.
Though not first in the order of succession, he did inherit a royal standing being born from a princess of Cheng King, though his lack of inheritance legitimacy had solely stemmed from the low-standing nobility within his mother’s family, yet everyone understood that a consort’s ranking stemmed primarily from noble influence within court. While custom has it sons gain rank due their mother, was it unreasonable for a mother receive honors because of her son’s standing?
Within days following this revelation several influential families pledged allegiance, stabilizing order in Liaoxuan; likewise large workshops began retooling for resumption in manufacture while notable merchant houses sought audience, eager to know if Qian Ye desired any large procurements from their enterprises.
But upon meeting with Qian again, the joy upon Nan’s countenance turned sour — for he was greeted not with accolades, but by a stoic figure behind tables whose features betrayed an encroaching unease.
Ruo huai swiftly masked his optimism.
“Exalted One, have I not served sufficiently?”
“You’ve performed passably,” Qian mused, expression unmoved, then adding, “But that’s insufficient for what I envision.”
Steeling himself momentarily, Nan dared, “Then how far might improvement go, my liege?”
“This kingdom’s discord centers upon infighting among royal brothers contending their right upon throne’s mantel,” Qian Ye’s voice carried through the chamber’s chill: “If now you took crown yourself—how shall you pacify your siblings?”
Contemplating for a moment, biting resolve, Ruo huai said in hushed certainty, “Other royal siblings would matter not … yet of the few contenders now rising prominently above—all will need to meet their end. Keeping them risks a future treachery, inevitable. Whosoever controls the throne must be yours in whole and not a pawn in pretension—only complete eradication shall ensure true unity.”
“A clean cull—whole families?” Qian Ye questioned further, voice unwavering, “Or individual heads only, Ruo huai?”
Nan paused, the implications vast. After time spent in deep rumination, responded solemnly.
“Execution for only those themselves … Yet their survivors would still harbor bitter hatred; family members with ancestral and marital linkages abound. And given noble lineage within their progeny—their retainers still loyal might rekindle rebellion in decades hence, forever unrest lingering the realm’s shadowed alleyways. But slaying so many innocently tied by blood—so bound merely through duty to a master. In such a cruel dilemma, perhaps somewhere between the two choices must I carve policy.”
“Thus,” said Qian Ye approvingly, nodding once, “I cannot permit drawn-out engagements. The moment EverNight catches wind of our activities, they too shall respond with vigor. I’ve thus neither patience nor spare time for drawn out court affairs and familial contests of inheritance.”
“Here’s what must happen—compile to paper, a listing of those akin to previous Yujun’s obstinate governor and the late governor here in Liaoxuan, the unyielding sort, all must go.”
Ruo huai paled, bowing deeply, his heart pounding, “As you command.”
Qian observed the youth critically, continuing:
“You currently stand below even ranked battle commanders—without martial prominence, commanding authority over others becomes questionable at best. Still, your aptitude base seems tolerable. I possess certain refinement aids—medicines which assist advancement. These next days must be spent not traversing corridors seeking allies — but within refinement chambers. I shall make space available specifically for such cultivation rites in the Great Halls of Warriors.”
Surprise transformed into grateful acceptance. With undertones of sorrow barely hidden.
Gratitude—yet also subtle resignation.
Every soldier desired advancement to War-Lord ranks. Yet refinement through medicinal augmentation often capped a seeker’s ultimate potential. But even from Zhaoran’s historical line few ascended into divinely ordained War-Gods. And Ruo huai understood more clearly than others: His birth destiny precluded reaching legendary pinnacles himself—not unless a complete miracle unfolded.
Compared, then, to the opportunity of kings’ regalia, was there such worth in an uncertain theoretical capacity?
Rising slowly from his seat, Qian Ye paced with arms crossed across his chest:
“If this endeavor is to be secured, certain minds must recognize impossibility of continuing delusions of power they cling. Tell me—for those contending the Zhaoran throne right now… is it not that your elder second prince, your ‘esteemed’ brother currently claims preeminent standing?”
“Indeed, yes, my liege,” Nan Ruo huai acknowledged with reluctant reverence:
“It came thusly—my sire doted intensely on the second elder prince’s birth mother, the cherished Precious Noble Consort Jade Lotus. His personal talents and industriousness also attracted recognition. Furthermore, through marriage with my late former Grand Diviner’s granddaughter — it bestowed support not just from one noble lineage… the Grand Diviner became his ardent benefactor.”
“To my knowledge, within royal circles—Grand Diviner Lui Dschun-Wahn remains second prince’s most formidable ally.”
“You speak of Lui Zgongyuean?”
“Yes, honored One.”
“Lui the Sacred Instructor has served thirty-some years now, commanding the hearts of multitudes; his reputation in the domain unchallenged. If compared, our beloved elder prince has not exceeded in combat nor administration uniquely—he gained his influence and credibility only thanks to Diviner Lui’s sponsorship. There also exists in senior rank princes more than able statesmen, perhaps equally capable in governance and martial strategy—yet they do not command Lui the Grand Sage’s sponsorship.”
“Should Grand Instructor ever step away… my aspirations fade to dust?” queried softly—already comprehending the unshakable answer.
“Exactly so.”
Qian Ye turned with decision evident:
“If this be true, then waste no breath further on indirect strategy,” Qian Ye declared:
“You immediately convey word to Grand Instructor Master Lui Zgongyuean—seven dawns hence, I intend an open match against him at your capital’s threshold. Should this challenge meet no worthy reception — he must relinquish the sacred title forevermore—hence shall he no more involve himself in the politics of your realm.”
“What?!” gasps escaped Nan in horror and shock alike: “Impossible! Such reckless action will bring ruin — the Grand Diviner’s standing and might lie within the sacred realm!”
“To your fears—I am his equal, regardless!” Qian Ye remarked casually.
“Would it not be preferable—seeking assistance from the esteemed Lady Karroll’s quarter first?” suggested hesitantly, grasping at possibilities to forestall this madness.
“Do not burden such a great with matters of this trifling size.”
Soon enough across land winds carried this astounding challenge—word of Song Qian Ye publicly calling for a martial contest involving the Grand Instructor Lui Zgong yea reached every ear. The Princes of EverSong were already astonished by this obscure Prince-Nephew Nan Ruo huai’s meteoric trajectory—such a direct confrontation with sacred authorities caused immediate reevaluations.
In a blink, the second prince’s main estate had been taken, and within the subsequent hours followed declaration of duel with the very Grand Minister. For the younger brother who everyone deemed a failure to suddenly reveal unseen supporters of such scale—the very princes who had so fiercely fought over dominance among themselves slowed, even momentarily halted feuding—watching with bated, expectant breaths.
When the initial wave of second prince anger arrived over Liaoxuan’s capture, it found further exacerbated as it immediately collided with fresh proclamations calling Master Lui to face combat scrutiny—a day of such ill omen, he shattered vases, trampled priceless antiquities to shards beneath his boots, executed a pair of concubines for distraction in frustration.
The fall of Liaoxuan stripped already the prince half his resources; should their Grand Instructor fall decisively upon open duel challenge—royal ambitions would be sealed shut behind iron doors impossible of exit—no way to salvage his claim anymore.
Once hailed as certain victor, he might expect not the mercy he granted others. If a challenger should succeed—both prince and his future line face the harshest of fates at any rival’s hands, none will allow survivor to exist.
Thus emerged orders of utmost urgency:
Every spy and informant, under command without sparing lives or gold, was unleashed immediately with a singular directive—ascertain who Dared defy sacred Instructor Lull? Investigate origin and background, strengths, weaknesses. Leave no shadow unexplored.
Grand Instructor Zgongyuean had held sacred seat for more than thirty lunar cycles, even surpassing monarch in symbolic power across nation. In their minds, Instructor stood a mountain unshakable; even if Lui’s direct gaze never fell upon you, even his disciples or students would be dangerous enough. No commoner had touched or dared such a figure previously unnoticed.
Reports arriving did suggest though Qian Ye’s martial rank had not yet ascended past that of lesser battlefield captain, but no one could understand the aura surrounding someone so fearless?
Seven days vanished before anyone could breathe normally again—it came.
Yet while darkness still held skies tightly gripped with night, the eastern gate had already swirled with movement beyond description—people packed tight as the leaves of trees. Walls that forbade outsiders had people standing atop it as though granted passage through unseen means, officials reluctant and unable to remove them.
Many others less fortunate had already arrived, waiting, eyes straining at every distant flicker—never a flutter could be borne being missed.
Just after the seventh chime sounded across Zhaoran’s sky, the eastern capital gate began groaning open.
First arrived squads of white-robed guards robed martial disciples marching out uniformly in pristine suits with swords hung from sashes, blades gleaming silver under moon and dawn. In front came dozens holding brooms and pails—water splashes dousing dry dust; clearing roadways in reverent ceremonial fashion. Behind them followed others who unfurled velvet carpets piece by piece along purified path—as if shaping a temporary temple from cloth alone—an elegant expanse materializing with surreal swiftness.
Further back came yet another procession assembling elevated platform from wooden slats as though summoning a castle to form beneath their hands alone. Then entered mightiest robed martial disciples bearing a single carved throne upon broad shoulders—mounting it with graceful leaps. Carefully yet reverently placed upon the stage they’d raised in silence — the object was majestic beyond normal conception.
Unknowing minds stared in confusion at the chair. No identifiable timber, neither metallic nor earthly stone. In its heft, one would almost suspect something shaped from the bones and soul of stars or perhaps forged of ancient storm lightning.
After throne’s installment, white-robed guards took stations both near platform and at distance flanks—a rigid honor wall.
All preparations stood perfectly prepared to honor the divine Lui. The platform and regal seat awaited. But for now, it stood vacant of occupancy—yet no one dared challenge silence that reined the white-robed guards surrounding, the hundreds, standing unmoved and powerful with shared presence of warriors.
Time moved—implications stretching unbearably slowly. When neck cricks became intolerable—then came a chime from capital proper.
Releasing dawn in perfect accord—the hour was indeed set. Capital traditionally never locked gate—now again under emergency measures due to internal conflict in succession battles, nightfall doors closed as precaution.
And even before the chime ceased echoing from iron bell, many present swore they had seen nothing—only that suddenly, inexplicably—he was sitting upon that throned seat.
White flowing robe; sweeping robes flutter without a breeze. Snow-like moustaches adorned timeless face where skin looked soft, delicate as child’s, none of whom could discern when he’d first materialized.
For decades the realm had quaked with whispers honoring the Grand sage instructor—whenever Lui Zgyoan Ye Yuan appeared across realm—his comings never announced, like immortals descending clouds unnoticed until they stood amidst mortals.
Confirmed sighting of Lui had the whole eastern perimeter bursting in spontaneous celebration of awe.
With the Divine mentor in presence now — where in blazes remains Song’s arrogant challenger?
Within those white robe ranks approached mature white-clad warrior whispering respectfully:
“Master… instructions for proceeding?”
Eyes not opening, instructor uttered mildly:
“The hour remains young. No need for haste, no—wait until the sky sings zenith at noon, if the other side lacks courtesy we still retain dignity in patience, we cannot be drawn as they.”
Humbled, the middle-aged subordinate nodded again and lowered eyes. Grand Instructor meanwhile sat serene upon seat motionless as stone mountain—seemingly unfaltering in eternal stillness.
His very calm bolstered collective confidence.
Tension however had continued to build in audience — and when frustration began rising palpably, the crowd exploded, with one individual crying out.
“Look over there! What in seven hell’s skies is that !?” finger aimed towards distant horizon.
All turned gaze—there indeed, racing through dawn, a mass of roiling cloud—approaching with terrifying swiftness and blackened hue.
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