Chapter 142 — Sir, might you be Master Wuhuo?

After the Crown Prince left, Qi Wuhuo remained seated in quiet meditation with eyes closed. The second to enter was the Fourth Prince, Li Hui, dressed in plain robes.

“Hui”—it means sunlight.

Even from the name, one could perceive the great ambition harbored by the current Human Emperor long before he ascended the throne.

He styled himself as the Great Sun.

The Fourth Prince, Li Hui, offered a smile and cupped his hands in greeting. His bearing was scholarly and refined, his demeanor gentle and courteous. He said: “Greetings, Master Qi.”

The young Daoist replied: “Please, sit.”

The youth with his gentle and unadorned air took a seat before the young Daoist. Though he was born of the imperial lineage, his attire was exceedingly simple and ordinary, no different from that of a common scholar. Only a jade pendant with mountain patterns hung from his waist, of notable value, a gift from the late Emperor.

Qi Wuhuo’s thoughts drifted briefly over his impressions of this Fourth Prince—

Li Hui, the fourth son of the present Emperor. Intelligent by nature, with a decisiveness of mind. By the age of five, he was already composing essays of a thousand characters, with fluency and eloquence.

In the cultivation of martial arts, he was average. Originally a Daoist seedling, yet because of his imperial bloodline, he became entangled in the destiny of the human realm. Thus, he could not tread the Daoist path of pure ego, nor could he walk the Buddhist path of abandoning the self and severing karmic bonds. In the end, he chose the path of study and scholarship. Gentle in temperament, he enjoyed a reputation for virtue and maintained cordial relations with the great noble houses.

He had been positioned by the old Emperor as a buffer between the Crown Prince and the aristocratic clans.

A man of utmost clarity and calm.

Though he was aware of the Crown Prince’s actions, he could not stop them. Inwardly, he resented having been born into the imperial family. Whether he had ever harbored thoughts of contending for the position of Crown Prince—no one could say.

However, beneath his command was a clandestine organization of spies and assassins known as the [Society of Letters].

Against certain radical scholars and officials, he had employed assassination as a means of elimination, ensuring that the tone and discourse within the court remained firmly under his control.

Time and again, he used the phrasing of poetry and essays as pretexts to consign officials outside his faction to the imperial prison.

His methods of suppressing political enemies were ruthless and cold.

Yet he also greatly promoted the Imperial Examination System, driving official academies with considerable force. He decreed that in every city, children of appropriate age must attend the school halls. Even during the busy seasons of farming, it was mandated that children receive at least five days of schooling every half-month. His policies focused on easing the burdens of the common folk, reducing taxes and corvée labor.

He proclaimed, “If all can read, if all can study, then talents will flourish throughout the realm—how could the nation’s strength not rise?”

In matters concerning the demon clans, however, he belonged to the faction of appeasement.

He advocated for the establishment of [mutual trade markets], preferring that the Human Dynasty offer [annual tribute] rather than raise arms.

His words were: “The Central Lands of the Human Race are rich and abundant. The tribute we offer each year does not harm our foundation. But if we wage war, then human lives will be lost—And the costs in provisions and logistics would be ten, even dozens of times greater than the annual tribute.”

“So why raise arms?”

In his youth, he had a close bond with the Seventh Prince, Li Zhai,

But later, due to divergence in ideals, the two fell out and no longer associated with each other.

He possessed great skill in calligraphy and painting.

At this moment, as he chatted idly with Qi Wuhuo, he seemed genuinely intrigued by the arts of Daoist cultivation. He discussed the Buddha and the Dao, spoke of poetry, books, painting, and calligraphy—all with genuine insight. At last, he smiled and said: “I wonder where Master Qi hails from, and under whom you’ve studied? I flatter myself to have met many renowned figures and traveled widely. Yet never have I seen one with such bearing as yourself.”

Qi Wuhuo replied: “Merely a man cultivating the Dao in the mountains and wilds.”

Seeing that Qi Wuhuo had no desire to elaborate, the Fourth Prince did not press further. He simply smiled faintly and said:

“This conversation has been most pleasant. Should you ever find yourself in the capital with some leisure, you are welcome to visit me. Whether at the academy or at my residence.”

“Just present this token, and they will understand.”

He then drew out a jade token, upon which the character “Hui” was inscribed. With a slight smile and a cupped-hands salute, he finally took his leave. And then—

“Hahaha! So it’s finally my turn?”

“Fourth Brother, your talking is far too slow!”

Amid his loud laughter, the Seventh Prince also pushed the door open and entered. He was tall and broad-shouldered, cupping his fists with a bold gesture before taking his seat. As always, he stubbornly tried to drag Qi Wuhuo out to the long street outside for a friendly spar of fists and blades. Qi Wuhuo declined repeatedly, and only then did the prince sigh in disappointment. During their idle chat, he didn’t ask any probing questions—

Only spoke of how the scenery at the borderlands was.

How the food at the frontier was truly terrible.

Then brought up the beauties of the demon race.

He laughed heartily—unlike the Crown Prince, who wore his ambition openly, or the Fourth Prince, who schemed silently to win others over—

He appeared like a simple-minded brute, all brawn and no brains.

Fond of fine wine, good food, and beautiful women.

He was a staunch advocate of war.

Cold and domineering, with a coarse and unyielding temperament—yet in the shadows, he was the undisputed leader of the current generation in the art of military formations and stratagems.

Under his command, even demons were enlisted into the army.

He had won over certain demon clans, only to campaign against others.

Once, under the pretense of seeking beauty, he rode with his cavalry across three thousand li to the border of the demon race. He seized their stronghold—not to abduct the beauty, but to take all the human craftsmen and ancient tomes that had been plundered. Then he erected a tower of skulls, shaking the hearts of all demons.

During his suppression of the frontier, the demon race could never breach his defenses—instead, he pushed them back again and again.

Like a nail driven deep into the earth, immovable.

“You slay ten of mine—I’ll butcher twenty of yours.

You raze one of my towns—I’ll boil your ten cities!

My human race is vast in number. If you have the guts, then fight me to the bitter end!

Let’s see who falls first—me, or you!

If I fall, there will be others to follow. But if you perish, your ancestors will have no offerings. I will slay your demons, annihilate your clans, uproot your bloodline!

And I’ll make the beauties of your people dance and sing atop your grave—Then I’ll take your mother right in front of your tomb!”

These words had once enraged a great general of the demon race so greatly that even his Three Corpse Gods flew into a frenzy—

Yet the Seventh Prince merely raised his cup and chuckled: “Just a few words, and you’re already mad?”

More frenzied than even the demon race, he was worthy of being called the most blood-soaked of the human race. He pursued only victory, never begging for mercy. Toward enemies and comrades alike, he spared not a single inch. Heavy was the slaughter, immense the triumphs—but likewise devastating were the losses to his troops and steeds.

Unlike the Fourth Prince, he believed that though [annual tribute] in exchange for peace might preserve temporary tranquility, it shattered the [spirit and blood-born will] of the human race. Give ten cities today, and you’ll give a hundred tomorrow—the appetite of the demon race would only grow, and their contempt for humanity deepen. Such policies solved nothing—only delayed the inevitable. Sooner or later, there would be war.

And by then, it would be demon soldiers wielding human-forged weapons, bought with human tribute, massacring human civilians.

So why not leave the war, death, and slaughter to our generation—win it in one breath, break their spine, strike fear into their hearts, and settle it all once and for all? A ruler should act as a ruler, a minister as a minister, a father as a father, and a son as a son. If it is right for a son to honor his parents, is it not equally right for a father to fight and die for his child?

While the Fourth Prince promoted open trade and the paying of annual tribute—

The Seventh Prince issued the [Demon Slaying Order] at the border.

Any who slew a demon that had once made war against the human race, regardless of whether the killer was human or of another race, would be rewarded with ten gold coins per severed head.

In the end, he even sold the princely manor he held in the imperial capital, piling up gold and Heavenly Emperor Coins into a small mountain at the frontier, to reward the warriors.

As a declaration that he would never again return to the capital, and that ties with his royal brothers were henceforth severed.

In Qi Wuhuo’s Yellow Millet Dream, he alone in the royal family bore the deepest blood and valor. For forty years, he shared hardship with the generals and soldiers on the frontlines. When the Crown Prince was deposed, and the new emperor ascended, the Fourth Prince, caught between the aristocracy and imperial clan, committed suicide in sorrow to honor old friendships.

The Seventh Prince, who had cut ties with him for thirty years, raised the banner under the pretext that [the Emperor is young and under the control of the great noble houses], and marched south with thirteen armies to [cleanse the Emperor’s court]. Yet just as victory was within reach, the demon race seized the chaos to launch an invasion. He turned his forces to face them at the frontier. But the new emperor, following the late emperor’s dying edict, led a surprise assault from behind and broke his formation.

The Seventh Prince still had a chance to regroup for one final battle—but in fury, he took his own life, choosing death over the horror of human civil war and fratricide on the battlefield.

That battle saw the loss of the human race’s great general at the border. The territory that had taken forty years to conquer was lost. Three hundred thousand border troops laid down arms and returned to farming, draped in mourning white. The realm was shaken. The new emperor, obeying the edict of the late emperor—“If the Seventh Prince rebels, the border will fall into chaos. If he turns back, kill him.”—appointed Qi Wuhuo, granted amnesty to all under heaven, abolished taxes for three years, and sought to soothe the hearts of the people.

This is the Way of Checks and Balances—for one who would be ruler, there is nothing more essential than the arts of balance and mastery over others. This must never be neglected.

When the young Daoist in the dream arrived, he found the Seventh Prince with his eyes wide in rage. Though his body had perished, his eyes refused to close. His personal guards wept bitterly and said that this rare, great general of the human empire had, in his final moments, thrown his head back in a furious roar, despairing to the utmost. The last words he left behind were—

“You are no true ruler!

Your ministers are not true ministers!

You are no father, and your son is no son!

You treat me as nothing but grass and dust—

Then I shall treat you as a mortal foe!

If I die today, it is for the army, not for you!

You know only the throne, not the realm;

You see only the royal bloodline, not the other clans—

How utterly petty! How shameful a house!”

Now seeing that familiar man again—appearing just as he had in his youth—even Qi Wuhuo could not help but feel a sigh in his heart. The Seventh Prince let out a great laugh and said: “I just came to see for myself the man that my sister praised so much. Not bad—not bad. Still have some eye for talent. Come, come. There’s no wine here, but I’ll toast you with tea instead. If this gentleman ever visits the capital, don’t forget to pay me a visit.”

“Next time, let us have a proper drink—drink till we drop.”

Then he rose and departed.

Qi Wuhuo saw that the Seventh Prince had also left behind a command token.

He collected both tokens and put them away. Between the two princes, the Fourth Prince ruled through culture and policy, but lacked decisive strength. The Seventh Prince excelled as a general, a true border-suppressing warlord, yet was not suited to sit atop the realm. If he ever took the throne, he would stir up boundless bloodshed and rivers of slaughter. His killing intent was best kept pointed at the enemy, and not at his own people.

Yet they both shared a greater problem—they had already stepped upon the path of human destiny and fortune, and walked further than most.

It was a path of plunder.

And they were unlikely to embrace the path Qi Wuhuo had sought to pioneer.

Suddenly, the door creaked open. The young Qin Wang, about fifteen or sixteen years of age, stepped inside. Once he had entered and left behind the gazes of the Crown Prince and Fourth Prince, he visibly exhaled in relief, then smiled slightly and said: “Greetings, Daoist Master Qi.”

Qi Wuhuo nodded slightly and said: “Your Highness, is there something you wish to ask?”

“A question of cultivation? A divination or fortune-telling? Or perhaps merely idle conversation?”

“Ah… I don’t have anything in particular to ask.”

“I only came along with my elder brothers.”

The young Qin Wang seemed a little embarrassed.

The young Daoist said: “Then it is simply idle conversation.”

Then he asked again: “What would you like to speak of?”

The young Qin Wang thought for a moment and said: “Can it be anything?”

“Naturally.”

Such boundless openness left the young Qin Wang momentarily at a loss for what to say. With a wry smile, he said: “If it’s idle talk, then it is my Fourth and Seventh Brothers who are better versed in civil and martial affairs. I imagine much of it has already been discussed. But when Sir puts it this way, my mind has gone entirely blank. I had thought of many questions, yet now I do not know which are fit to ask.”

The young Daoist spoke with a gentle tone: “There is no hurry. You may take your time.”

After a moment, the young Qin Wang suddenly asked: “Does sir believe that the world is presently under Great Peace?”

Qi Wuhuo lifted his gaze. “A Sage reigns over the land—should that not count as Great Peace?”

The Qin Wang replied: “…But if there are still grievances buried deep and unredressed, and all the people of the world remain deceived by a vast illusion, can such a thing still be called Great Peace?”

His voice paused slightly, and then he straightened his back with gravity and said: “Forgive my rudeness. Earlier, my elder sister assisted sir by paying the price for your exploration on your behalf. Though the Mingzhen Dao Alliance would never divulge what Sir inquired, I have made some deductions on my own, based on the information you likely accessed, and from the amount of Dao Alliance points used. Your inquiries spanned divine arts, ancient records, and past secrets. Permit me a bold guess.”

“Was it the matter of Jinzhou?”

The young Daoist slightly raised his eyes.

This had been intentional on his part—he had deliberately refrained from purchasing any additional texts or techniques afterward, so as not to muddy the waters. He had wanted to see whether this son of the Crown Prince could seize upon the clue, whether he could perceive the shape of truth hidden within it and whether this son of the Crown Prince had made any effort to understand the truth of what had happened in Jinzhou.

Was he merely a pampered youth enjoying idle leisure?

Or was this carefree, playful appearance no more than a mask?

Qin Wang now sat up straight and leaned forward, respectfully asking:

“Sir’s inquiry into the matter of Jinzhou must mean that you are a man of that era, and understand that the people of today dwell within the confines of a great deception.”

“The noble clans and great houses may know fragments of the truth, but they too bow beneath the weight of the human destiny’s tide, becoming accomplices to the tiger. And yet, falsehood can never become truth. The current Human Emperor’s title was built upon the blood of millions of innocent souls. I, though still young, know this cannot stand. Sir possesses profound talent, and has just now said that all things may be asked. Then allow me, your unworthy prince, to pose a question.”

“Can the present Emperor truly be called a Human Sovereign? He calls himself sagely and wise—yet does he deserve the title of Sage?”

Qi Wuhuo lifted his gaze slightly.

Within those two questions, a faint edge was revealed—like a young tiger quietly flexing its claws.

He straightened his posture slightly, but did not answer. Instead, he asked in return:

“Do you understand what the Dao of the Human Sovereign is? What is the difference between the Sovereign and the people?”

The young Qin Wang, relying on the doctrines of royal education, instinctively replied:

“If the people do not obey the Sovereign’s rule, it is a crime!”

The word “rule” here refers to the herding and guiding of the people, as if they were livestock. In essence, it means: If the people do not follow the edicts of the king, they commit the gravest sin.

Several millennia ago, there once lived a virtuous man of great talent, who did not obey the commands of the king.

Though he had committed no actual crime, he was executed. When someone questioned the justice of this, the Prime Minister at the time replied:

“Such a man possesses ability, but does not obey the king’s orders.

He cannot be coerced through laws, nor enticed with profit.

He tills his own fields, draws water from his own well, and lives in self-sufficiency.

Though such a man lives within the realm of the Human Sovereign, he cannot be employed by the throne, nor bound by the name of the Sovereign.

He is like a steed that can run a thousand li, yet will not bear the saddle.

His renown may stir the hearts of the common folk.

Thus, he is a [black sheep].

He must be executed to establish the Sovereign’s authority.”

After finishing his reply, the Qin Wang noticed the young Daoist before him remained silent. Sensing something, he asked:

“Mr. Qi, what is your esteemed opinion?”

The youth in Daoist robes replied: “Wrong.”

The Qin Wang frowned. “These are the words of sages—how could they be wrong?”

The Daoist lowered his eyes and spoke softly:

“It is not that the people who do not obey the king are guilty—it is the king who does not obey the people who is a thief.”

These words nearly turned the entire foundation of the current Human Sovereign’s Mandate upside down.

At first, the young Qin Wang nearly thought the man before him had gone mad. But upon closer reflection, those words seemed to carry a thread of reason. His heart pounded wildly; he forced himself to still the tremor within and stepped forward. Though still of tender age, he became all the more respectful as he asked: “Teacher, how should I be taught?”

Qi Wuhuo spoke.

It was the same voice that once belonged to the Master Wuhuo of the past.

And from the very first sentence, the young Qin Wang felt as though his heart had been struck by thunder—he nearly forgot to breathe.

Thus, the words were spoken:

“To bear the disgrace of the nation—such is the true lord of the realm.

To take upon oneself the misfortune of the nation—such is the true king under Heaven.

The people regard food as Heaven.

And the ruler must regard the people as his Heaven.

Therefore, he is not the Human Sovereign, but the Son of Heaven!

The emperor under Heaven is not the master of the people—[he is their son].

The people are of highest worth; the state and its altars come next; the ruler is the least of all.”

He began with a direct refutation of the path of conquest and exploitation that had reversed the Dao of Human Sovereignty in recent times. And with the seventy years of contemplation and lived experience inside a single Dream of Yellow Millet, the young Daoist spoke gently yet steadily. The face of the young Qin Wang shifted—at first furious, as though ready to rise in protest—then hesitating, then gradually settling into quiet, focused contemplation. He listened—and forgot the passing of time.

Unconsciously, he leaned forward. He asked not about ghosts or spirits, but about the living world.

Only after a long while did his heart fully open in sincere admiration and submission. He looked at the Daoist who wore the mask of an old man and said softly:

“Mister Qi… Mister Qi…”

“You are truly unmatched beneath Heaven. Compared to what my elder sister said…”

The young Qin Wang’s voice paused, as if something had struck him.

Unmatched grandmaster under Heaven?

Surname Qi? His sister wore the mask of a mountain god. This master wore the mask of an old man?

Even if such things are said to be chosen at random, perhaps there is always some hidden inclination…

Could it be?

He instinctively raised his head and then asked with solemn respect: “This humble king has one more question.” [TL_Note: King = Wang, so basically King Qin = Qin Wang]

“Please speak.”

“May I ask, Sir…is your name Qi Wuhuo? Are you Master Wuhuo himself?”
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Orluros’s Vault of Secrets: Hi everyone, I’m taking a small vacation from posting this novel. I’ll see you all next year, so I wish you a merry holiday and a happy new year! If you liked the chapter feel free to donate 🙂 and if you find any errors in the translation please mention them in the comments here or in discord