Luyang was close to the Southern Wastelands, and the scorching summer heat was the most unbearable. Walking outside felt like being trapped in a steamer, with waves of hot air swirling around, giving one the illusion that they might cook at any moment.
However, when a group of merchants, led by a beautiful maidservant, entered a garden, they were immediately greeted by a refreshing coolness, as gentle as a spring breeze, bringing indescribable comfort. Lifting their eyes, they saw lush trees casting shade, rippling waters, and numerous courtyards and pavilions dotting the lakeside and mountain scenery. The layout was exquisite, as if aligning with the stars above and the earth’s veins below.
“What a marvelous place! What splendid design!” The leading merchant stroked his short beard and couldn’t help but exclaim in admiration.
With his Exterior-level strength, it was easy for him to discern the terrifying array formations hidden beneath the garden’s beauty, ensuring safety for those who dwelled within.
The beautiful maidservant, clad in a light gauze dress, smiled faintly. “Esteemed guests, this garden is a renowned landmark in Luyang, known as Zhiyang Garden. Originally the ancestral property of the Song Clan, it was later disputed among the branch families and eventually fell out of the main lineage. The descendants were fond of gambling and indulgence, so it was mortgaged to my master, who now uses it exclusively to host distinguished guests.”
“Zhiyang Garden… the Song Clan…” The leading merchant hesitated. “Could it be the Luyang Song Clan? The one that produced several prime ministers in the previous dynasty and once had a Dharmakaya powerhouse?”
The maidservant nodded with a smile. “Indeed, the very same Luyang Song Clan, one of the Fourteen Great Families of yesteryear.”
The guests gasped in awe, gazing around once more, each sighing in admiration. “To think we would one day visit and stay in the Luyang Song Clan’s Zhiyang Garden…”
“In the previous dynasty, we wouldn’t even have been allowed near it!”
“Truly befitting a top-tier family of its time. Just this garden alone reflects the grandeur of its heyday.”
Amidst the chatter, the leading merchant nodded slightly and exhaled, addressing the maidservant. “Your master is indeed extraordinary, and his sincerity is evident.”
As he spoke, his eyes lingered on the lakes and mountains, his heart filled with mixed emotions.
For someone like him, born into poverty, who had only reached the Exterior Realm thanks to the Human Emperor’s governance and the Demon Emperor’s teachings, being able to experience the grandeur of a once-great family was an incomparable delight.
In the previous dynasty, he had been young and full of dreams, but he had never dared to imagine strolling so casually through a place like the Luyang Song Clan’s Zhiyang Garden.
Who could have foreseen such a day?
As he sighed, outside Zhiyang Garden, a carriage stood still. Painted on its side was the emblem of the Luyang Song Clan—a crossed sword and saber.
The carriage’s curtain was half-drawn, revealing the deeply wrinkled face of a man with graying hair and a weary demeanor, his sharp gaze hidden beneath his tired eyes.
The coachman waited silently. His master, the current head of the Luyang Song Clan, Song Quanlüe, always paused here to gaze at the garden, as if reminiscing about the family’s former glory.
“Let’s go to Wuyou Tower,” Song Quanlüe finally said, closing his eyes with a sigh.
The coachman hesitated. “Master, if you go to Wuyou Tower again, the old madam will scold you…”
“Where else can I go if not Wuyou Tower?” Song Quanlüe leaned back on the soft seat with a bitter smile.
Not daring to argue further, the coachman drove through the streets until they reached a riverside lined with pleasure boats, stopping before a quiet pavilion.
Song Quanlüe, familiar with the routine, requested his usual private room and the renowned Wuyou wine, along with a courtesan skilled in singing, whose voice could shift between deep and clear tones.
“Same as always,” he said with a slight nod to the courtesan before settling into a reclining chair, pouring himself a drink.
The courtesan, accustomed to his habits, sat casually and began plucking her pipa, singing a soft, melodious tune.
For a quarter of an hour, Song Quanlüe drank in silence, lost in thought. When the wine began to warm him, he stood slowly, holding the flask, and walked to the window. Pointing at the majestic mountain range across the river, he said, “Do you know? That land once belonged to my Luyang Song Clan—hundreds of miles of mineral deposits and spiritual herbs, all ours!”
The courtesan seemed not to hear, continuing her song.
Song Quanlüe didn’t mind the lack of response. He took another swig and muttered, “Once… yes, only once!”
“In the past, my Luyang Song Clan dominated the southern lands, renowned throughout the world, ranked among the Fourteen Great Families. Generation after generation held seats in the Imperial Cabinet, ruling alongside the Zhao Clan of the Divine Capital. Even our most wayward descendants, if guilty of great crimes, could escape punishment.”
“Countless mines and blessed lands across the southern provinces belonged to us. Powerful experts bowed to our command. In Luyang, our ancestral home, it was said that ‘the Song held seven parts, the Zhao one, and the rest divided among others.'”
“I was born into such an era, during the fleeting resurgence of the Great Jin, when extravagance burned like oil. Though I was humbled by the ‘Mad Blade’ Su Meng at the Qionghua Banquet and later advanced in martial arts, I still held my lineage in high regard, rarely deigning to acknowledge ordinary warriors. My travels as an Awakened expert were nothing short of glorious.”
He rambled on, speaking whatever came to mind. The courtesan’s song gradually shifted to a mournful tune, matching his melancholy.
“Back then, I was known as ‘Poetic Blade and Lyric Sword,’ a title I adored. I progressed smoothly—opening the Nine Apertures, sensing the heavens, reaching Half-Step Exterior, and surpassing countless peers from ordinary families and sects, let alone common martial artists.” Song Quanlüe gazed at the distant mountains, lost in nostalgia. “Even after the Human Emperor’s rise and the Zhao Clan’s submission, our prosperity continued.”
“When the Demon Emperor disseminated the Spark of the Stars, allowing all to cultivate supreme-grade techniques, the great families and sects also benefited, mastering new skills and refining their foundations. Disciples flourished, and though many became addicted to the Myriad World Knowledge Sphere, those who used it wisely achieved twice or thrice the results of the past.”
At this point, Song Quanlüe’s voice grew uncertain. “When did the signs of decline begin?”
“Ah, yes—it started when the Human Emperor forged the Altar of Sealing, enabling him to appoint local earth gods, mountain deities, and city gods, adding a divine oversight beyond the imperial court. ‘The gods watch from three feet above’ was no longer an empty saying.”
“Though the Altar of Sealing was incomplete—its upper four layers damaged, the central three affected—limiting the number of Dharmakaya-level deities like Immortal Dukes and Celestial Masters the Human Emperor could appoint, even a single city god at the Grandmaster level was enough to command respect. This drastically diminished the importance of families and sects without Dhormakaya power, relying only on divine weapons to maintain their fortunes.”
“By the time the Human Emperor proved his Legendary status, omnipresent, we, the once-great families, were mere subjects in his eyes. First, he stripped us of hereditary privileges—no more automatic governorships or guaranteed seats in the Imperial Cabinet. All officials had to pass the civil or military examinations without exception. Deities were appointed based on merit.”
“Next, all families and sects were required to declare their assets, pay uniform taxes…”
“Finally, court officials and Six Fan School spies incited branch families to demand divisions. With divine oversight, underhanded tactics were impossible, and we could only watch as greedy descendants carved up our ancestral lands—like those mountains full of mines, like Zhiyang Garden…”
Song Quanlüe’s voice turned desolate. “My father, once the Right Vice Minister of the Great Jin, died of rage and despair, powerless to stop it.”
“Often, I wonder—if I had the talent and diligence of the ‘Mad Blade’ Su Meng—no, the current Immortal Venerable Yuanhuang—and had attained Dharmakaya earlier, stepping into Earth Immortal and then Heaven Immortal realms, perhaps all this could have been avoided…”
Regret comes too late when knowledge is needed; weakness is felt only when facing adversity!
“Perhaps it could have been avoided…” Song Quanlüe crouched, clutching his head, tears streaming down his face like a helpless child. “Perhaps…”
The courtesan’s song softened as she sang mournfully:
*”I saw him feast his guests;*
*I saw his house collapse!*
*This mossy ruin was once my bed of delight.*
*Fifty years of rise and fall I’ve witnessed.*
*The noble mansions change hands;*
*The ghosts weep by the lake at night.*
*The phoenix roosts no more, but owls take flight.*
*The dream of past glory feels most real,*
*Yet the old world is gone beyond recall.*
*Sing a dirge for the south,*
*And weep till the end of all…”*
This song, from the Myriad World Knowledge Sphere, was of unknown origin, its allusions obscure. Yet its sorrow, its sense of time’s passage and the futility of worldly glory resonated with those who had lived through dynastic changes and fallen from grace, spreading its popularity.
*”I saw him feast his guests; I saw his house collapse…”* Song Quanlüe murmured along, his voice hoarse and heavy with grief.
Just then, the door burst open, and a hearty laugh rang out:
“Even a starved camel is bigger than a horse! The Luyang Song Clan still holds vast assets, earning mountains of gold daily. With talented descendants excelling in both civil and military exams, why so despondent, Brother Song?”
Song Quanlüe looked up in surprise. “Zhang Yuanli?”
The newcomer was his old friend from youth, Zhang Yuanli of the Longnan Zhang Clan. His father still lived, so he had yet to become clan head.
Zhang Yuanli, appearing middle-aged, chuckled. “Brother Song, if the world won’t change, we must change ourselves. Have you not seen how the Wang Clan of Zhou Prefecture thrives by focusing on academies, with Wang Zai as headmaster, excelling in the examinations and regaining prominence?”
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