Chapter 26: Duan Zhengyan

It was too late for regrets. The two chieftains had already committed themselves to following Yun Zheng down this path of no return; turning back now was out of the question.

As the group stepped into the grand hall, the scenery underwent a cataclysmic transformation. The solemn, majestic architecture was instantly swallowed by a shocking, visceral crimson. Rivers of blood flooded the ground, forming an endless ocean that drowned everything in its wake. Bleached bones lay scattered, and broken weapons were strewn about in disarray, every inch of the earth seemingly inscribed with the scars of a brutal battle. A thick, cloying stench of blood hung in the air, so dense it felt almost solid.

Where the altar should have stood, nothing remained but a towering figure looming in the center, flickering in and out of existence amidst the swirling blood-mist.

Mu Chuansheng suddenly pointed at a corpse and exclaimed, "These are the remains of the Shuixi rebels! I could never forget the uniforms of those traitors." He turned to Yun Zheng with a look of profound admiration, "Commander, your foresight is truly divine!" (Indeed, choosing to follow Yun Zheng was the most correct decision I, Mu Chuansheng, have ever made.)

The Wumeng chieftain rolled his eyes. This was hardly the time to fawn over Yun Zheng; finding a way to escape their current predicament was the only sensible priority. Yet, he could not help but feel a tremor of fear. From that towering figure standing proudly in the hall, he sensed a pressure unlike anything he had ever encountered in his life.

"I imagine this monster is what slaughtered the Shuixi rebels who entered this hall," Shui Rouqin, the Shui chieftain, remarked. Despite being a woman, she stood amidst the mountain of corpses without a hint of fear, her conclusion calm and detached.

Daoist Li, still suffering from the aftereffects of Yun Zheng’s internal force strike to his head the day before, asked dazedly, "How can you be so sure?"

"The bodies," she replied. "We triggered countless traps outside, yet saw no corpses. But upon entering this hall, we find countless bones clad in Shuixi uniforms. It suggests that before this monster, the rebels were slaughtered without resistance—they didn't even have the chance to bury their own comrades."

Daoist Li grew even more confused. "But why do I not feel that bone-chilling aura from this monster?"

Shui Rouqin offered a bewitching smile. "Because we are under Commander Yun’s protection. That terrifying pressure has been naturally neutralized by the battle-hardened Yun Army. Look at those two chieftains; their hearts are divided, and as a result, they are forced to face the monster's aura directly. They can barely even stand."

...

Meanwhile, Chen Yuchong continued his dialogue with the mysterious voice.

"Ancestor..." Chen Yuchong ventured tentatively. He found it difficult to adapt to addressing this entity as an ancestor. He could not grasp how he had suddenly become a descendant of the Duan clan of Dali, nor did he understand what had gone wrong.

However, the vast, ocean-like power radiating from the entity was undeniable.

"Very good, very good," the voice responded with satisfaction.

"What is it you need me to do? And how have you survived to this day, only to be suppressed within this underground palace of the Great Desolate City?"

Duan Zhengyan let out a melancholic sigh. "You must understand, in my current state, I am certainly no longer a living man."

"Before my lifespan was exhausted, I cultivated the 'Yang Spirit,' capable of departing the physical form. In this way, even as my flesh decayed, I could remain enthroned in Dali City, assisting my descendants and protecting the Duan clan."

"Even the invincible Mongols still showed me, Duan Zhengyan, a modicum of respect!" There was an unmistakable pride in his tone.

As a scholar, Chen Yuchong knew that history well. Although the Mongols had conquered the Dali Kingdom, they had preserved the Erhai basin as a fiefdom for the Duan descendants, known as the Dali General Administration Office. It now seemed likely that the Mongols had feared the cost of casualties required to thoroughly eradicate the Yang Spirit left behind by Duan Zhengyan. Considering who had built the Great Desolate City, the reason for Duan Zhengyan’s presence in its depths became self-evident.

"It seems, Ancestor, that you wish for me, your unworthy descendant, to restore the Duan clan's ancestral legacy?"

"Indeed." The voice, previously calm and infused with a Buddhist quality, suddenly took on a venomous edge. "Not only that, I intend to dig up the grave of Mu Ying, exhume his corpse, and grind his bones to dust!"

"My Duan clan governed the Southwest for over six hundred years and held the throne for four hundred. Even the Mongols dared not destroy our ancestral temples or end our lineage, yet it all perished at the hands of that thief Mu Ying! He even imprisoned me in this sunless subterranean palace for over two hundred years. All these years, my senses have been deadened, and I have been forced to drown in the memories of the past."

Time holds no meaning in the mountains, and the passing of years goes unnoticed. That Duan Zhengyan could calculate the passage of time while imprisoned in the Great Desolate City showed that, despite his decayed flesh, his remaining "Yang Spirit" possessed formidable strength.

Having uttered these words, he suddenly realized he was consumed by the three poisons of greed, hatred, and delusion, utterly betraying the Buddhist scriptures he had obsessed over in life. Yet, how could he not harbor infinite resentment for the fall of his kingdom and the humiliation of his imprisonment? He suddenly understood the state of mind of an old acquaintance from five hundred years ago.

As he recalled that heroic figure who had entered the Dali palace alone with nothing but a sword, Duan Zhengyan’s thoughts grew turbulent. At the time, the Ming army was locked in a bloody battle outside the city. He had utilized the power of the great formation connected to Erhai Lake to summon a sky full of sword qi, which rained down like a howling storm, cutting down the Ming forces in sequence.

But after the opponent used the Cloud Dragon War Sword to shatter the iron gates of the Duan ancestral temple, he sheathed his blade and reached out with a clawed hand, grasping at the air. After only a few exchanges, Duan Zhengyan’s Yang Spirit was plucked out by an invisible force, suspended in the void, unable to move.

"Senior, if a person's fate has reached its end, one should pass on peacefully. Why cling so desperately to the dust of the mortal world?"

Mu Ying was not a physically imposing man, but at that moment, he was the heavens themselves. For hundreds of years, that scene had remained etched into Duan Zhengyan’s consciousness with agonizing clarity.

"Beautiful concubines, the passing of time—you have enjoyed all the pleasures of this life, Senior. Yet you still cling to the world, refusing to depart. You would rather exist as a ghost who fears the light, yet you falsely claim to be a 'Yang Spirit.' In the end, you are merely hiding behind the banner of protecting your descendants, trapped in the delusion of immortality."

The Yang Spirit truly could not endure the sunlight. Duan Zhengyan’s fury at being imprisoned by Mu Ying to suppress the destiny of the Dali Kingdom was born of his inability to listen to the music of strings and flutes, to see the beauty of exotic flowers, or to enjoy the pleasure of lecturing his descendants.

"And what of you? Have you never feared death?"

"Hahaha! I, Mu Ying, was raised by the grace of the Emperor and granted his surname. I followed him, wielding a three-foot blade to settle the mountains and rivers. Life and death are determined by fate, and wealth by the heavens. So long as one lives this life to the fullest, what need is there to discuss its length? A tiger in the mountains, with its few decades of fierce, blood-soaked struggle, is far superior to a tortoise dragging its tail in the mud for a thousand years!"

The founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang, had, in his early years, been a wandering monk at Huangjue Temple, not truly a beggar. But Mu Ying’s origins were indeed those of a ragged, scab-covered beggar child taken in by a momentary act of kindness from Zhu Yuanzhang. Yet, this dying little beggar became a general whose name shook the ages; when he stamped his foot, the entire Southwest trembled.

A tiger leaves its skin; a man leaves his name. Even in his hatred for Mu Ying, Duan Zhengyan had to admit that Mu Ying’s influence remained alive in the Southwest long after his death, serving as an eternal deterrent to any ambitious person who dared to rebel against the Ming.

But now that such a pure-blooded descendant stood before him, Duan Zhengyan believed the mandate of heaven had shifted. Two hundred years had passed; the Ming Dynasty must be waning. Yet, he did not trust his descendant to act on his own. He would inject a portion of his consciousness into Chen Yuchong and personally guide him to restore their lost kingdom, fulfilling his mission as a son of the Duan clan.

"My descendant, if you desire power, wisdom, and courage, I can grant them all to you. You need only do as I command, and I shall fulfill your every wish."