Chapter 129: Behead!

In a secluded courtyard within the Prefectural City of Zhongzhou.

“Hahaha, why must Your Highness be so courteous?”

“If leisure permits, Bendian shall naturally pay a visit to the sights you speak so fondly of in Central Province(Zhongzhou).” [TL_Note: Bendian = This Palace, a term of self-reference for royalty]

“Merely hearing your descriptions fills my heart with delight. My mind already yearns for it. However, you also know my nature—state affairs are pressing. Each day’s schedule is long prepared. From the moment the morning dew is born with the rising sun, I am already awake, and only when the third watch of the night arrives do I rest. I truly know not what day or hour I shall find the time to make the journey.”

“Your Highness’s diligence is a blessing for our dynasty.”

“And a blessing to the common people beneath Heaven!”

“Hahaha, how is it that even you speak like those sycophants?”

A handsome young man, scroll in hand, turned to casually converse with a stern and dignified official. They spoke of the refined delights of Central Province, often breaking into laughter and praise. After a short while, the dignified man rose to take his leave. The young noble smiled and said: “You are burdened with official duties. This visit of mine concerns but a small personal matter—I shan’t keep you.”

He paused for a moment, then teased with a smile: “Lest we end up branded as conspiring with local authorities—neither of us would find that pleasant.”

The dignified man chuckled. “All under Heaven knows how highly His Majesty regards the Crown Prince.”

“If we keep our hearts upright, we need not fear a crooked shadow. Even so, a measure of caution is still wise.”

The man laughed heartily, cupped his hands in farewell, and said: “Hahaha, naturally. Your Highness need not see me off any further. I take my leave.”

The young man rose, smiling, and walked him to the gate, watching him disappear into the distance before returning quietly to his seat. With the scroll still in hand, he lifted his head slightly, lost in thought. Then, in a calm voice, he said: “Is everything done?”

“Yes.”

“Bring it out. I’d like a look.”

From behind a screen stepped a young man whose features leaned toward the delicate and feminine. He bowed respectfully, poured a cup of tea for the Crown Prince, and retreated once more.

When he returned, he carried a tray in his hands.

Atop the tray, there lay an object.

It was a scroll of white silk, upon which names were written in bold black ink—records left by the military. The final name on the list read:

Cen Yungui, age fifty-five. Joined the army at sixteen, traveled across the realm, and took part in the Battle of the Northern Wastes in the seventh year of the Tianlong Era, the Rift War against the Demon Kingdom, and the campaign to suppress the invasion of the Vermilion Bird Tribe from the south… His military exploits were numerous. Within the war tents, he accumulated one hundred and sixty-three demon clan heads. For his martial merits, he was bestowed the title Iron Cavalry Commandant, clad in heavy armor, sword in hand, conquering across the land.

Beside the brief record of this name lay a brush, and a small dish of cinnabar.

The Crown Prince picked up the brush, gazing at the name. Whatever emotion flickered across his heart was unreadable, and he murmured: “Born of common stock, yet able to rise through military merit to become an Iron Cavalry Commandant. One cannot deny such loyalty and valor. But he failed to understand the true nature of command.”

“Failed to grasp whose realm this under-heaven truly belongs to!”

“Still somewhat foolish.”

With the brush, he struck the name from the scroll.

In that single motion, Cen Yungui—a man who had fought for the realm for forty years, who had countless times faced death and returned, who had bathed in blood and roared in triumph, who had ridden through the demon lands with wine and song—ceased to exist. In that moment, his will, his life, could no longer offer the slightest resistance.

The Crown Prince set down the brush and waved his hand.

At this, the delicate-featured youth stepped forward and unfurled the entire scroll.

One by one, the names were revealed—officers of the Cloud Cavalry Army, from deputy generals to common foot soldiers. Dense and countless, each with meritorious deeds, each now struck through with cinnabar.

Upon the white silk, only scarlet traces remained.

That was all.

“Twenty-seven in total. This was the last one.”

“The rest are all dead.”

The handsome youth gave a casual nod. “And their families?”

The effeminate man bowed with a smile and said: “We removed a few clever ones who never married. As for the rest—they have all [passed away]. Wives’ kin, fathers’ clans, mothers’ clans, all with whom they were close—have been handled accordingly. We left no trace in our actions. Your Highness may rest easy.”

The Crown Prince chuckled and cursed softly: “There was no need to tell me all that. You could’ve just taken care of it.”

“Hearing it only stirs pity in the heart—perhaps I’ll not sleep well or drink happily for days.”

“Weren’t you the one meant to ease my burdens?”

The effeminate youth replied: “This matter required Your Highness to personally strike the name.”

The Crown Prince said with a laugh: “Haha, you and I grew up together—you know well how I loathe these petty affairs. You can shoulder them for me. Ahem… enough of this dull business. Bendian was asking about the [Ode to the Great Roc]—has it been gathered?”

“Father intends to change the era name—to signify a new beginning for the people. That piece by the famed scholar—he has cherished it for a long time.”

“We came to the Central Province precisely for that manuscript. Have you still not obtained it?”

The effeminate youth knelt on the ground, head lowered. “Your Highness, forgive me. I only need a few more days…”

“What are you kneeling for?”

“You are one of my own. You’re not like those lowborn commoners—stand up.”

The Crown Prince smiled as he bid his trusted aide rise. The latter naturally moved behind him and began kneading his shoulders.

The Crown Prince relaxed, lifted a teacup to drink, and spoke idly: “This journey to the Central Province was for two matters.”

“First, to acquire the [Ode to the Great Roc] and offer it in celebration of the Sage.”

“Second, for the sake of my two cousins.”

“My male cousin, after all, is the eldest son of my uncle. As for Uncle’s followers, my father could not, and indeed cannot, slaughter them all in one stroke. This must be done slowly. The cousin must not die, but neither can he be left to roam freely outside. This time, even if I must use force, I shall bring him back under the pretext of [presenting congratulations to the Sage].”

“As for my female cousin…”

The Crown Prince lowered his gaze, recalling scenes of their childhood play. But then his eyes fell upon his princely ceremonial robes, and he let out a sigh.

“Far too clever, that one. Tell me—what should I do?”

The effeminate youth replied: “This servant dares not speak.”

“Dare not? Then, you do have an idea? Speak.”

“This servant truly does not dare.”

“Hmm? What is there to fear? It’s just the two of us here. I grant you pardon in advance.”

Thus, the youth clad in dark embroidered robes lowered his voice and said: “A political marriage.”

The Crown Prince looked up, musing aloud: “A political marriage… Yes, indeed. She cannot be killed—doing so would bring unnecessary trouble. Better to send her away in marriage. As for her suitor—if it were one of those minor states, she might seize control of their court and pose a threat to me in time. It just so happens that Father seems to be considering an alliance with the Demon Kingdom through marriage…”

“We’ll find a pretext and have her married off to the Demon Kingdom.”

“The heavens are high and the roads long—no matter how clever she is, it won’t matter.”

The youth said: “Your Highness is wise and benevolent.”

He lifted his eyes slightly, as though recalling something particularly amusing, then leaned close and whispered a few words into the Crown Prince’s ear.

The Crown Prince let out a sigh tinged with melancholy and said, “What you say is not wrong. If I were truly ruthless, that would indeed be the path to take… Speaking of which, her father perished because of those three demon kingdoms. So, if I were to marry her off to the king of one of those very realms, tell me—what would that icy-hearted, razor-sharp cousin of mine, who is no less decisive than any man, choose to do?”

“Would she take her own life on the road, in humiliation?”

“Or would she endure the disgrace, clinging to life for the sake of the realm’s stability?”

“Or perhaps, assassinate the Demon King on their wedding night?”

He held his teacup in hand, his expression suddenly turning complex. “No… such things—let us not speak of them again.”

“No matter what, I will not send her to the Demon Kingdom in marriage.”

“I… cannot bring myself to do it.”

At this, the effeminate youth seemed to sigh, filled with regret.

Then he knelt once more, bowed his head deeply, and said:

“Your Highness is merciful. Please forgive this servant’s reckless words.”

The Crown Prince said: “It was I who asked you to speak. There is no one else here—what guilt can there be? Rise.”

He cradled his cup of tea and, after a pause, continued: “In my youth, I played together with my cousins, both the boy and the girl. At that time, Father and Uncle were on good terms. When Father erred, Uncle always spoke on his behalf. In the season when the plum blossoms bloomed, I carried my younger cousin on my back beneath the tree as we played, while she only ever sat nearby and read her books.”

“When we are young, we are naïve, thinking such bonds would last forever.”

“Who could have imagined things would come to this?”

“Though I cannot send her to one of the three Demon Kingdoms in marriage, I also cannot allow her to remain in the Imperial Capital.”

“As her elder brother, I cannot bear to imprison my cousin, nor to send her off to some desolate frontier—but as the Crown Prince, I must. In the end, I will still have to keep Erlang confined within the palace and marry my female cousin into some Demon Tribe that maintains friendly ties with our kingdom.”

Suddenly, his body stirred ever so slightly.

The high-ranking official from the provincial office had just stepped out of the courtyard.

In that instant, all of them felt a chill surge up their spines, as if an invisible, icy blade were pressing against their hearts. Even within the territory of the human realm, suffused as it was with vast and boundless Human Dao Destiny, none could muster the strength to resist. In that brief moment, the entire secluded courtyard fell into utter stillness. Only the sound of one’s own heartbeat could be heard.

Yet that sensation came and went in a flash. In the span of a breath, it vanished without a trace.

The Crown Prince lowered his eyes, gazing at the tea in his cup, where gentle ripples still stirred.

Just now… what was that?

An illusion?

As his heart yet trembled with unease, a sudden wailing pierced the quiet. His expression shifted subtly. Rising swiftly, he strode back into the inner courtyard. There, several palace maids and guards brought from the capital were kneeling low in deference, attending to a child who was crying loudly. The child was only a few years old, the Emperor’s youngest son.

“Big Brother, Big Brother…”

“I… I’m scared… wuwuwu…”

The child ran over, wailing, and clung tightly to the Crown Prince.

Toward this younger sibling, the Crown Prince was remarkably indulgent. He asked gently: “What happened?”

This boy, who in another time might have been father to the next Emperor, was still but a child. Clutching at his elder brother’s leg, he sobbed and babbled, unable to speak clearly. Only after a long while, under soothing comfort, did his cries quiet to faint sobs. He whimpered: “Royal Brother, I had a dream. A terrible dream.”

“I dreamt I found a little bird. Then I dreamed that bird suddenly spread its wings and flew—flew so very high, so very high.”

“Then I found a little snake. At first, it was only as thick as my finger, coiled around my wrist as I played with it. But suddenly it grew, so tall, so big. But then…”

The child burst into tears again. “I suddenly saw someone holding a sword, and they cut down that bird in the sky, and the dragon too! They were chopped into pieces, and their blood spilled all over me—I was so scared, I woke up crying!”

Silent it may be, but once it sings, it startles the world.

Still it may lie, but once it flies, it soars to the heavens.

This strange and ominous dream caused the Crown Prince’s expression to change slightly, though he swiftly hid the flicker of emotion. Instead, he knelt beside his brother and comforted him with a warm smile: “Dreams are but dreams—they mean nothing. Don’t overthink it.”

He reached out to wipe the tears from his brother’s cheeks—only to suddenly pause.

There, at the child’s temple, was a faint wound. It was small, but unmistakably real.

His hand froze.

In the next instant, the Crown Prince’s gaze sharpened, and he rose to his feet with fury:

“Guards! Guards!”

“There is an assassin in our midst!!!”

The sword in Qi Wuhuo’s hand let out a piercing cry.

With this sword, he struck horizontally against the Crown Prince’s pillar of destiny, testing it with a single blow. As expected, the clash of Fortune was not bound by mere distance.

This [Kill the Thief(Shazei) Sword], born of the will of the common people and a single strand of vital energy, was of the same origin as human destiny, yet shaped through a different path. Thus, it carried a natural countering effect—like fire scalding ice—one suppressing the other, dissolving in mutual opposition. Precisely because of this, it could tear through even the fiercest defensive power born of human fortune, and could, to a great extent, ward off the usual backlash that accompanied such provocations of fate.

But even so, warding off was not the same as ignoring.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through his wrist—the Shazei Sword trembled violently, its spirit ablaze. Yet even with a single slash, it failed to yield any tangible result. After all, this sword was still a mere prototype, its fortune impure, its form incomplete. Compared to the Crown Prince’s vast and mighty pillar of destiny, it was simply too faint, too fragile.

The young Daoist sheathed the Shazei Sword.

“As expected, it won’t work.”

“Even if I stake everything, I can’t truly harm the Crown Prince.”

“After all, this sword was born from mimicking the inner logic of human destiny—trying to use the principle of [Protection] that lies at the heart of Human Dao Destiny to forge a weapon meant to [Kill]—isn’t that running directly against the current?”

“I’ll have to find another path.”

He set the sword aside.

Once more, he picked up the scrolls and ancient records before him, fetching more tomes from the shelves, seeking the truths he longed to uncover.

In that brief moment of clashing fortune, he had glimpsed a white silk scroll, covered in inkstains and cinnabar script.

By right, he should have returned the sword to its case and resumed reading—but an indescribable feeling lingered in his heart. Something wasn’t right. Why is it like this? Why should it be this way? That old man who drank poison for seven years—he had once fought his way deep into the demon nations, shedding blood until both his legs were broken.

Was he not meant to live out his twilight years in peace?

Was he not a hero?

Thirteen staff-wielding monks burned their sariras to open the way.

Six hundred sword cultivators perished into the Dao.

Ten thousand iron cavalry charged into battle—by the end, only twenty-seven remained.

Those twenty-seven men, unnamed, unknown—drank poisoned wine in silence for seven long years, watching the rise and fall of Spring and Autumn scrolls.

At night, they drank and stared at that one sword, weeping countless times for the three million souls now lost.

The young Daoist stood silently for a long time.

Then, the tome he had picked up was set gently back down.

His right hand lifted—and once again rested upon the sword’s hilt.

He drew the sword.

The little peacock asked doubtfully: “A-Qi? I thought you said you couldn’t do it?”

The young Daoist replied earnestly: “It’s not that I can’t do it—it’s that it won’t succeed. That’s not the same as not being able to do it.”

“I just thought of something.”

“Whether or not it succeeds is about the external outcome. That’s something a Master should be concerned with.”

“But whether or not I do it—that is something sought within myself.”

“I’m not trying to succeed. I simply want to act.”

As his palm gripped the sword, it began to cry out violently inside its sheath.

“A cultivator ought to still the heart and view the mortal world with clarity. But if, having seen all the red dust, my heart still cannot be at peace, then I must draw my sword.”

“If you have no more regard for kingly law, then let me break it by force.”

His five fingers closed firmly around the hilt. The Kill the Thief Sword cried out again. Lowering his gaze, the blue robes on his body suddenly billowed outward.

The core principle of the Hunyuan Sword Canon turned within his heart:

The Way of the Sword—within, it severs the seven emotions; without, it cuts through mortal desire.

Left hand gripping the sheath, right hand on the hilt—his waist powered the motion, then shoulder, elbow, wrist—until the blade began to slide from its scabbard, the metal’s whisper like a solemn chant. The young Daoist’s eyes were calm, but when the sword left its sheath, it roared. A thread of crimson Qi Fate seemed to burn on the blade itself. He gazed from afar at the Crown Prince’s towering pillar of fortune, and following the method passed down by that fortune-teller, he struck with all his might.

Or perhaps, he was delivering the obsession bound to this sword’s destiny.

[To punish the wicked among men, to slay the vile spirits below.]

Chaos had fully erupted in the detached courtyard where the Crown Prince and the young prince were temporarily residing. Armored warriors rushed in from all directions. Daoist and Buddhist cultivators appeared alongside them. The Crown Prince’s eyes turned cold—he drew his sword. The young Hidden Dragon Guard beside him, battle blade in hand, lowered his voice cautiously and asked: “Is this a clash of Qi Fate?”

“Is it another prince?”

“Or perhaps a feudal king?”

“Without such station or rank, who could possibly condense such Qi Fate, then send it slashing toward us?”

At that moment, a savage and overwhelming aura of blood and slaughter surged forth once again.

Everyone’s body froze—as if paralyzed.

The Crown Prince sharply looked up—he saw the sky turn a shade of deep crimson, and in it, a blood-colored sword light was falling toward his Human Dao Qi Fate. Within that light, it was as if the roars of countless people echoed through the heavens. Recognizing it as belonging to the human order, the Crown Prince relaxed, yet still instinctively shouted in authority: “Rebel! Do you not know I am the son of the Human Emperor?”

“You are of the human race—how dare you defy your superior and behave so outrageously?!”

“Still refuse to retreat?!”

He raised his hand, mobilizing Human Dao Qi Fate to block and counterattack.

It was like the weight of a jade imperial seal—

A command for all who see it, all who are suppressed by it, to kneel and submit.

Prepare to die!

Yet this time, the Human Dao Qi Fate, which had withstood Daoist divine arts and Buddhist incantations alike—shattered.

That blood-colored aura descended.

Though constantly worn away by the Human Dao Destiny, its momentum never slowed.

BOOM!!!

A tempest of violent Qi exploded forth, engulfing nearly the entire courtyard. The Crown Prince’s expression changed drastically—he had not anticipated such a shift. He instinctively stepped back. This was a struggle of fate itself. Yet in that instant, he felt a fierce and tragic surge of Qi that caused his heart to tremble, his gaze to lose focus. It was as if a coarse, thunderous voice was roaring beside his ears—yet he could no longer hear it.

The voice was too faint.

But there were too many of them, too chaotic.

His mind went utterly blank. Time spun rapidly.

As blood-red light flowed and descended, the Crown Prince’s shoulder was struck—wounded by the backlash of fate itself.

The pillar of fortune remained powerful and towering.

That eerie, blood-colored strand of fate was shattered by the Crown Prince’s own Human Dao Destiny. Even so, the momentum of that strike—like a blade cleaving through all resistance—descended upon him without pause. Though it lasted but an instant, the aura it carried was one of sheer, tragic might. The Crown Prince panted heavily. That scroll of white silk from earlier fluttered in the air, only to be torn asunder, fragments scattering in all directions.

A sliver of sunlight yet lingered.

Even though the names had been blotted out with cinnabar, beneath the sunlight, they could still faintly be seen—like blood-drenched silhouettes.

They wore armor, and held warblades in hand, as they marched forth, shouting as one—

Now, at last, the Crown Prince could hear it—that chaotic, faint yet resounding roar. It sounded as if it burst forth from thunder and flame, carrying with it the blazing wrath and unrelenting indignation of those long perished—

“Kill the Thief!”

“Kill the Thief!”

Crash!

The white silk was swept up in a fierce wind, the names scattering in every direction. The setting sun was as red as blood.

It seemed as though a single sword swept through like heavenly light piercing the sea of clouds.

Fate, condensed to its sharpest edge, fell like a blade, striking straight toward the Crown Prince.