Chapter 213 — A Wisp of Clear Wind Enters the Sui Palace, Nightly Counsel to Steady the Son of Heaven

At the lone peak of Qishan, the setting sun shone into the cave entrance. The “small hill” had been divided into two piles. Besides Lu Liangsheng, who sat in the middle, there were already several usable manuals of techniques, along with a few bottles of healing pills. 

Each manual had to be flipped through and its contents confirmed before being sorted and picked out. Going through them one by one, even with his patience, he found it exceedingly dull and tedious. 

“These few should be enough!” 

Lu Liangsheng stretched, then looked over at Honglian, who was still rummaging, telling her to stop searching. He gathered the books at his side, stood up, and looked out of the cave—the waning sunlight was streaming in. 

“Master has been gone so long—why hasn’t he come back yet?” 

“He didn’t get eaten by wolves or tigers, did he?” Honglian recalled how she had been driven out by the Toad Daoist when they first came in, and couldn’t help making a joke. 

Following Lu Liangsheng outside, she helped place the bottles of pills and books together into the compartments beneath the bookshelf. At that moment, the Veiled-Moon Sword shrieked within its sheath. 

“The old toad is back!” 

On the muddy path above, a short figure with a gourd on his back appeared, swaying as he walked this way. 

Lu Liangsheng tapped the pommel of the sword, shut the compartment holding the books, and sealed it with a spell. Turning back to the approaching master, he asked: 

“Master, I’ve more or less finished here. Should we be leaving?” 

Hearing his disciple’s voice, the Toad Daoist waved his webbed hand and entered the cave alone, saying as he walked: “Wait outside for your teacher. The seasonings I brought out last time are almost used up—I’ll take a few bottles back.” 

The clinking sounds of rummaging rang out for a while. The Toad Daoist came out holding three small porcelain bottles, had Lu Liangsheng put them into the compartment where he stayed, and only then climbed up and tied the rope. 

He said faintly, “Let’s go.” 

Bang! The small compartment door was shut, as if to keep others from disturbing him. The outside fell quiet, leaving Lu Liangsheng and Honglian exchanging glances, unsure what was wrong with their toad master. 

“Let’s go. While it’s not yet dark, we’ll make a trip to Chang’an.” 

Honglian gave a soft “mm”, flicked her sleeve, turned, and slipped into the painting scroll. Lu Liangsheng took the reins and sat astride the old donkey. With a light tap of his heel, the donkey’s neck bell swayed as it slowly set off. As it stepped onto the winding path below, its final hoof fell—and in an instant, mud and stones shattered and scattered. 

“Ah—aaang—!”

With an excited neigh, it whooshed into a trail of dust, coiling along the winding mountain path straight down the slope. Inside the swaying bookshelf, the Toad Daoist sat cross-legged with both webbed hands folded across his chest. Porcelain bottles on either side knocked bang bang against his head, yet his body did not move in the slightest. His toad eyes narrowed into slits, watching as the continuous mountain ridges outside the compartment flashed rapidly past in the depths of his gaze. 

As night fell, Lu Liangsheng, riding the old donkey, arrived near Chang’an. Standing at the pavilion where he had once encountered that youth, he gazed into the distance at the vast city, its lights spread like a galaxy. 

If he wished to see Yang Jian, going directly to the imperial palace was clearly impossible. Moreover, the man was now the Emperor—no longer the Grand Chancellor he once was. To appear abruptly would only arouse suspicion.

After thinking of a method, Lu Liangsheng raised his sleeve, formed a hand seal, and pressed it to his brow. The instant his spiritual power spread outward, the treetops swaying in the wind and the insects murmuring in the grass all fell silent at that moment. 

Something invisible to ordinary people overflowed from the scholar standing outside the pavilion, flying toward the distant city of myriad lights. Passing over the bustling night markets, it was like a thread, linking straight toward the imperial city. 

With the Great Sui newly established, the soldiers of the imperial city—clad in freshly renewed armor—moved in orderly fashion. Holding torches, they patrolled along the walls; between the palace avenues, imperial guards with bows and sabers stood vigilant. The palaces stretching beyond were brightly lit. Palace maids and eunuchs, awaiting summons at any moment, stood quietly outside the hall doors. 

Inside, the Emperor was reviewing memorials while also speaking with several summoned ministers. 

“For this southern campaign, it is Zhen’s intent to sweep away the Chen dynasty in one stroke, leaving them no chance to recover. As for provisions, they must be hastened—otherwise, if the three armies set out and the grain supplies have yet to move, Zhen will have to take heads to consecrate the banner.” 

The lamplight flickered. At the dragon desk, Yang Jian finished reviewing a memorial, tapped it lightly in his hand, and raised his face. Now exalted as Emperor, his bearing had grown ever more imposing. 

His thick beard trembled slightly as he continued: “With three routes of troops moving together, this is no child’s play. Great Sui is no longer the Northern Zhou of the past—” 

Below, the several ministers were all former officials of Northern Zhou, each fairly capable. Being summoned to the study deep into the night carried an implicit warning. Yet just as he spoke the words “no longer the Northern Zhou of the past”, the lamplight on the desk suddenly flickered. 

The candle flame turned blue, and the entire hall seemed to sink into a dim azure hue. 

Opposite him, the five ministers standing there all remained frozen in their bowed posture, unmoving. Yang Jian furrowed his thick brows, set down the imperial brush, and rose from the dragon throne. 

Having a clansman who knew spell arts, and having seen Lu Liangsheng’s Qilin, he had some understanding of Daoist arts and immortal techniques. He brushed aside his dragon sleeve and strode down from the imperial steps, his voice deep and resounding:

“Which eminent figure dares come to Zhen’s hall to cast spells?!” 

The surroundings were utterly silent—even the palace maids and eunuchs gave no response. Just then, the tightly shut hall doors seemed to blur before his eyes, and a vague figure walked in. Raising wide sleeves, it saluted him. 

“Lu Liangsheng of Qixia Mountain greets the Emperor of Great Sui.” 

Before the imperial steps, Yang Jian’s thick brows relaxed. Seeing the indistinct figure gradually take on a familiar outline—a long green robe, a steady bearing—his face immediately broke into a smile. He laughed heartily and spread his arms as he walked forward to receive him. 

“If Mister Lu wished to see Zhen, why waste spiritual power? You could simply have someone announce you.” 

“Your Majesty is no longer the Grand Chancellor of former days—how could Liangsheng be discourteous?” 

This spell of Lu Liangsheng’s was, in truth, similar to the art of dream-sending. At first glance, it seemed as wondrous as a primordial spirit leaving the body; his movements and expressions were as though real, as he cupped his hands in salute to the Emperor. 

When old acquaintances meet, courtesy must be observed. Moreover, this visit was also to ask a favor. 

“Haha, what is Mister saying? If not for those words spoken back then at the Ten-Li Pavilion, Zhen might not have made this decision!” 

Yang Jian held great favor toward the Lu Liangsheng before him—not only because of the other’s identity as a cultivator, but also because he understood propriety and treated others with gentleness, like a spring breeze—unlike the arrogant, pretentious sect disciples his clansman had described. 

“It is only that Zhen does not know—what matter brings Mister here, casting such a spell?” 

Casting a spell across such a distance consumed a great deal of spiritual power, and Lu Liangsheng did not wish to circle around the topic. After exchanging courtesies, he spoke of his purpose. 

“I have heard that Your Majesty has newly ascended the throne and intends to accomplish great things, to unify the Nine Provinces. It is precisely for this matter that I have come.” 

“Does Mister wish to prevent war between North and South?” Yang Jian, after all, was Emperor; his smile faded, and his brows knit slightly. 

“Your Majesty has misunderstood.” 

The light inside the hall was comparatively dim; the flame on the wick stood straight and unmoving. Lu Liangsheng stepped into the range of the lamplight, a smile on his face as he weighed his words.

He reorganized his phrasing. 

“The unification of North and South is, in truth, also something I wish to see. Your Majesty possesses great talent and grand strategy, and the virtue of sagely clarity. To unify the realm would also be a blessing for the common people. However, once weapons are raised, those living in the south will suffer calamity. My visit today is only to speak a word on behalf of the people of the southern dynasty.” 

At this point, Lu Liangsheng stepped back half a pace, raised his sleeves, overlapped his hands in salute, and bowed toward Yang Jian. 

“When Your Majesty marches south, I ask that you place greater restraint upon your fierce troops and not create excessive slaughter. Lu Liangsheng here first offers thanks on behalf of the southern people.” 

“Mister, there is no need for this!” 

Yang Jian quickly stepped forward and lifted Lu Liangsheng’s hands. In his heart, he also let out a breath of relief—if the other had come to urge a cessation of war, it would have been difficult for him to continue the conversation. 

To encounter one who understands Zhen so well is rare… the Emperor of Southern Chen… such a person, yet he cast him aside like worn-out chaff. 

“What Mister says is also what Zhen intends!” 

Yang Jian pressed his lips tightly, his expression solemn as he nodded. “Zhen will issue orders to the armies at once: when marching south, they are not to harass the common people, and must treat the surrendered soldiers of Chen with kindness!” 

Lu Liangsheng looked at him with a smile. From their previous acquaintance, he could tell that this Emperor was one whose words were followed by action; the unease in his heart gradually settled. He took out a jade pendant and handed it over, then expressed his farewell. 

“I trust Your Majesty. If in the future you encounter difficulties, you may send someone with this token to Qixia Mountain to seek me, so that this favor may be repaid. Then, I shall take my leave.” 

His figure turned illusory, gradually blurring, transforming into a wisp of green smoke that dispersed. 

“Mister, wait! Zhen wishes to invite you to serve in Great Sui as Imperial Preceptor—” 

“Mr. Lu!” 

His voice was still calling out when, in the next instant, Yang Jian found himself sitting upright at the long desk, a brush still in his hand. His eyes snapped open wide. In his vision, the lamplight glowed warm yellow, flickering gently. 

The several ministers below in the hall swayed as they regained consciousness from the ground, not knowing what had happened. They hurriedly knelt and begged forgiveness from the Emperor, whose eyes were wide open. 

A dream? 

Yang Jian withdrew his gaze. What had just occurred had felt far too real—so much so that, for a moment, he could not distinguish clearly. His hand moved toward the brush; with a soft tap, it touched something.

There, a round jade disc lay quietly. 

The Emperor took it into his hand and examined it beneath the candlelight. 

“So it truly was not a dream… Daoist arts and immortal techniques are indeed mysterious. This Lu Liangsheng’s cultivation is likely far above that of Yang Su.” 

The ministers kneeling below the imperial steps looked at the Emperor, who was turning the jade over in his hand, exchanging glances, not knowing what had transpired. A moment later, they heard the imperial decree from above: 

“Immediately carry Zhen’s command—to the General Administrator of Xinzhou at the front, Supreme Pillar of State, Duke of Qinghe, Yang Su—” 

His words echoed through the palace halls. 

Far away, at the pavilion in the mountain foothills, Lu Liangsheng opened his eyes and withdrew his spiritual power. Inside the bookshelf, his master lay covered with a small blanket, snoring in deep sleep. The two matters of heading north had been completed—it was time to return to Southern Chen. 

Before long, the old donkey shook its ringing bell, carrying its master as it trotted lightly forward. In the blink of an eye, it vanished into the night.