Chapter 136
Our Discord Server: https://discord.gg/PazjBDkTmW
You can buy coins here to unlock advanced chapters: https://gravitytales.com/coins-purchase-page/
“Father!”
“Dad…”
The two brothers, who had been chasing one another, halted at once. Seeing the tall figure approaching from the corridor, the younger boy’s eyes darted about. Dragging the mounted painting in hand, he suddenly darted beneath the eaves just as his elder brother clasped hands and bowed, and ran up to meet the approaching man.
“Dad!”
Calling out sweetly, the boy hurriedly held up the painting in his hands. His not-so-tall frame stood ramrod straight as he presented the scroll to his father.
“Dad, Elder Brother got his hands on a painting and wants to win over some tribute scholar from Southern Chen, but he didn’t want to tell you—so I snatched it from him!”
“You rascal…”
The man reached out and took the scroll, handing it to a clansman behind him. He appeared to be not yet forty, his beard just beginning to turn white, yet carried an imposing presence rare among men. He gently patted his son on the head.
“Don’t trouble your elder brother. Go off and play.”
Yang Guang gave an obedient “Oh,” turned around as told, and just before leaving, pulled down his lower eyelids at his elder brother in mockery, rolled his eyes, and made a face before darting off.
Watching his younger brother run off, Yang Yong had no choice but to hold back his anger. When he saw Yang Jian approaching, he straightened and respectfully called out:
“Father.”
“Do not spend all day reciting poetry and painting scrolls. There are many affairs within the household. When idle, help your mother with some of the burden.”
Yang Jian placed a hand on his son’s shoulder and spoke in a low voice near his ear.
“Right now, the Yang family walks a lone wooden beam—whether to advance or retreat, you must watch carefully and learn well. If I catch you mingling again with those scholars who know only how to compose verses and dabble in ink, I’ll confine you for half a year and forbid you from stepping outside!”
“…Yes.”
Yang Yong hurriedly bowed his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a figure in a red robe with black trim passing by. Only when the footsteps receded around the bend beneath the corridor eaves did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.
Remembering that a group of scholars were still gathered in the side courtyard, he hesitated for a moment before deciding to head over that way.
“Alas, it’s just a pity about that painting.”
The winding paths of the Immortal Garden curved gently. The two who walked ahead and behind brought the conversation back to the matter at hand.
“Now that the various Princes are entering the capital, what are Brother’s thoughts?”
“What do I think? Originally, we intended to set up a Northern Zhou royal as a figurehead to placate these men’s hearts. But on your side…”
“It is this younger brother’s fault.”
Following behind Yang Jian, the man holding a scroll wore a long white robe with silver patterns, covered by a blue outer garment. His short beard beneath his chin quivered slightly as he spoke:
“The plan was flawless, yet by the time I arrived, that Yuwen Tuo had already been taken by another. No others were aware of this matter… alas, one may scheme to the limit, yet Heaven does not always grant success.”
As the two walked, the passing maidservants and servants all lowered their bodies and retreated to the sides, not daring to lift their heads.
“Heh, Yang Su—are you now blaming Heaven?”
The man ahead, Yang Jian, halted his steps. The jade pendant at his waist swayed gently. He glanced toward the scenery in the courtyard, his face turned slightly.
“Listen. The summer cicadas are about to begin their song again.”
Yang Su was momentarily stunned, then understood the meaning behind those words. He nodded. “Brother means to let those ‘cicadas’ chirp first.”
Atop a tree in the courtyard, a newly-molted cicada spread its wings, its abdomen beginning to tremble—
Zhi… zhi…
“Exactly. Now that the Northern Zhou princes have entered the capital—if we don’t let them call out first…”
Yang Jian flicked the coronet ribbon draped across his chest and shoulder. “…how will we find cause to remove them? Just because we lost Yuwen Tuo, are we to abandon this single-plank bridge? My lady says this is a ‘tiger-riding’ situation—indeed, once mounted, there is no dismounting!”
Yang Su broke into laughter behind him.
The two conversed further, speaking of Yang Guang and Yang Yong, and naturally came back to the scroll from earlier. Yang Su unfurled the painting. He was skilled in the arts of brush and ink, and had some insight into painting as well, so he could discern the skill of the artist at a glance.
In front of his elder brother, he voiced his praise.
“No wonder the eldest young master seeks to win him over. This man’s painting bears a style unlike the rest.”
“Oh? Then Chu Dao also admires this scholarly painter?”
Yang Su did not respond at once. His gaze dropped to the calligraphy beneath the painting. A sharp gleam flashed in his eyes.
“Brother, I fear this man is someone to keep a close eye on. Lu Liangsheng… when I went to congratulate Liang Prefecture, I heard his name. He once smashed the Chengyun Hall of the Southern Chen Emperor in rage—he’s one who knows the arts of the Dao.”
Hearing this, Yang Jian finally showed some interest. Smiling, he took the scroll and examined it while asking:
“Then, how does he compare to Chu Dao?”
“Haha, Brother—what are you saying…”
Yang Su chuckled, his words somewhat indistinct and elusive.
“We’ll only know once they’ve competed.”
Over on that side, Yang Jian—who had little interest in painting or calligraphy—handed the scroll back with a casual gesture, seeming unconcerned with his clansman’s tone. He waved his hand to signal him to follow as they made their way toward the study.
“He’s just a scholar. Rumors tend to exaggerate. Rather than exhausting ourselves trying to track him down, it’s better we focus on the matters before us.”
He paused slightly, his expression turning grave. His gaze swept over the guards stationed at the study’s entrance, and he tilted his head slightly toward the room.
“Has Shude returned?”
The guards on either side cupped their hands and bowed their heads. One of them responded: “Li Yuan came by earlier today. He said he was on leave and wished to rest for a couple of days.”
“That child…”
Yang Jian gave a soft snort. He wasn’t truly angry. With a gesture, he had the guards open the door, then stepped into the room. The study was immaculate. Books, brushes, inkstones, and scrolls were arranged neatly across the bookshelves and long desk. It was clear the person who had left last had tidied up before going.
“Forget it. Let him be.”
With a faint chuckle, he resumed his discussion of state affairs with his clansman.
Zhi…
…zhi… zhi…
Outside the window, the summer cicadas cried out in waves. Meanwhile, the Lu Liangsheng they had spoken of earlier was now several hundred li west of Chang’an.
There, the brown-yellow mountains stretched far, woven with patches of green.
Zhi… zhi…
Cicada cries echoed from the distance.
Lu Liangsheng sat cross-legged at the eye of a formation, bathed in sunlight, silently chanting the mnemonic of the Heaven-and-Earth Righteous Path. Beads of sweat clung to his brow, soaking the hair at his temples and plastering it tightly to his forehead.
At the four corners of the array:
The Metal of Flame had lost much of its original color;
The Rootless Blooming Wood was gradually withering;
The Water of Rising Cold had begun to warm;
The Pearl-Bearing Earth was turning pale white.
Through the interlinked formation lines, the scholar could feel something distinct from the accumulation of cultivation base—rather, it was a sense of natural convergence. Though it appeared calm on the surface, within his body a strange vortex was slowly taking form. Based on his prior internal observations during the journey to Liang Prefecture, what he saw was a nebula slowly taking shape.
And then, it began to turn. Ever so sluggishly, as though gestating something unseen.
“Toad Master, how long is the Young Lord going to sit like that?”
Nie Honglian lightly fanned herself with a cattail fan woven from branches. Beside her, the Toad Daoist lay stretched out on a rock, lazily scratching an itchy cheek. He muttered a dreamlike “Mmm,” smacked his lips, wrapped his flippers around himself, and rolled over onto his other side.
He opened one toad eye, glanced over, then shut it again.
“Two days at the least, maybe four or five at most. This is just laying the groundwork for his golden core. Whether he can truly refine it into form will depend on his own destiny.”
As the cicadas cried on, the Toad Daoist stretched out all four limbs. His webbed feet tensed and spread, then he let out a long yawn.
“This old man has done all he can.”
A soft breeze drifted by, bringing with it a refreshing coolness. Not far away, an old donkey chewing on grass occasionally lifted its head, twisted its hindquarters, and stuck out its tongue to lick at its own flank.
In the sunlight, faint reflections glimmered off dark, scaled skin.
