Chapter Nineteen: Three Commanders Decide the Fate of the World
“General Yan Yu is a man of extraordinary talent and noble lineage. His ancestors shed their blood on the battlefield for our country, loyal to the core. Alas…” The storyteller sighed with regret and continued, “In the end, most of the military power fell into the hands of Jiang Baijian, an outsider whose ambition far outweighs his ability, and who is mediocre at best. Now, though General Yan Yu possesses great skill, there is nowhere for him to use it; his talents, no matter how brilliant, amount to nothing but empty talk.”
He gave a melancholy sigh and said, “If only General Yan Yu held command, what would it matter if there were a White-robed War God of Southern Liang or an Eastern Martial Sage of Yuanmeng? None could stand in his way.”
The storyteller’s words rose and fell with practiced cadence, and as Jiang Baijian, now in power, had achieved little of note, his audience responded with a chorus of agreement.
Many even called for a petition to the capital, urging the Emperor of Shu to dismiss Jiang Baijian and appoint Yan Yu as Grand General.
Meanwhile, at another table sat a young man dressed in black, a long sword at his waist. He listened with keen interest, occasionally lost in thought.
…
“Yan Yu is the descendant of loyal and righteous men, and he himself is talented,” said the elderly Master Ge, shaking his head slightly. “But compared to Jiang Baijian, he falls a little short.”
Qingyuan was surprised by this and asked, “It seems, Master Ge, that you favor Jiang Baijian?”
“No. General Ge Zhan does not like him, nor do I,” replied the old man, shaking his head. “He is simply too mediocre.”
Qingyuan was taken aback. “Mediocre?”
Master Ge had just praised Yan Yu’s abilities, yet claimed he was still inferior to Jiang Baijian. How, then, could Jiang Baijian himself be called mediocre?
“If you ever have the chance to meet him, you’ll understand,” Master Ge said, giving Qingyuan a glance. Suddenly, he asked, “Now that the world is divided among three kingdoms, and many great generals have arisen, which do you hold in highest regard?”
Qingyuan fell silent, thinking for a moment.
Little Ge Yu’er’s eyes widened with curiosity.
Previously, when Master Qingyuan taught the students, he would have them evaluate the various generals. Some admired the White-robed War God of Southern Liang, others the Eastern Martial Sage of Yuanmeng. Later, Yu’er recounted this to her grandfather, and he sternly rebuked the teaching method as heretical. Yet now he used the very same question on Master Qingyuan?
Yu’er could not help but be curious.
“General Deng Yin of Southern Liang holds great military power, but the most renowned is Chen Zhiyun,” Qingyuan replied. “With seven thousand men, he broke through the lines of two hundred thousand Shu soldiers, shattering Ge Zhan’s forces—a feat worthy of a legendary commander. What’s more remarkable is that he is a frail, scholarly man, with no martial prowess of his own, yet he commands the respect and obedience of hardened soldiers. It speaks volumes of his ability. Unfortunately, others fear him, and his forces remain under ten thousand.”
Master Ge nodded in agreement.
“Then there is Guo Zhongkan, the Martial Sage of Yuanmeng—a grandmaster of martial arts, capable of killing oxen and horses with ease, tearing apart tigers and wolves with his bare hands,” Qingyuan continued.
“But he is no mere brute,” Qingyuan went on. “His tactics are even greater—he led his army to sweep through the eight hundred tribes of the northwest, conquering hundreds of cities without a single defeat, earning the title of Divine General of the East.”
Master Ge sighed. “Indeed, those two are commanders the likes of which appear but once in a thousand years. When Chancellor Ge was alive, neither had yet come to power. Who would have thought, after his passing, such men would arise?”
“These two are rare talents indeed, yet still—Shu stands between them, and has not fallen,” Qingyuan said. “Though there are entanglements within both Southern Liang and Yuanmeng, one cannot deny the competence of Jiang Baijian.”
Master Ge raised his eyebrows. “You believe Jiang Baijian is capable?”
“Whether Chen Zhiyun or Guo Zhongkan, both are peerless commanders, seldom seen in all history,” Qingyuan said. “Jiang Baijian may have no resounding victories, but the mere fact that he maintains the current balance is itself a skill, is it not?”
Master Ge fell silent.
Suddenly, little Yu’er clapped her hands in realization. “Isn’t that just like what you once taught us, sir: ‘The best generals achieve no glorious feats’?”
Qingyuan, sitting upright, smiled and lifted his teacup, taking a sip. “Exactly.”
He glanced at Master Ge, beginning to understand why the old man had labeled Jiang Baijian as mediocre.
Withdrawing his gaze, Qingyuan felt a sudden surge of emotion.
“Chen Zhiyun of Southern Liang, Jiang Baijian of Shu, Guo Zhongkan of Yuanmeng.”
“These three are not practitioners of the mystic arts, yet each bears great fortune.”
“In the contest for the fate of the world, and the game of deification, the weight of these three mortal generals may outweigh all the immortals themselves.”
…
Suddenly, a commotion erupted below.
A group surged up the stairs, led by none other than the young Master Wang, the very man Qingyuan had injured earlier. He pressed a blood-soaked handkerchief to his nose. His gaze swept the room and landed on the table by the window—on Qingyuan.
“Well, what luck! You’ve come to my family’s tavern of your own accord…” With a gesture, he shouted, “Hit him! No—kill him! Leave the young girl alive, bring her to me!”
At his command, his lackeys charged forward.
Qingyuan’s eyes flashed with a hint of murderous intent, and his hand moved to his sword.
Shanxiu slipped his hands out of his sleeves, his nails sharp as blades.
“Yet another scene of bullying and villainy,” someone sneered.
In an instant, steel flashed and blood spattered!
One of the lackeys’ arms fell to the ground. Clutching the stump, he wailed in agony.
The tavern exploded into chaos. Many enjoyed a good brawl, but true bloodshed was another matter altogether. Panic and screams filled the hall.
Qingyuan glanced over.
It was the black-clad youth, sword in hand, face cold and proud. Standing with his blade across his chest, he declared, “I have always hated evil. Since fate brings us together, come here—let me take your head.”
His killing intent was chilling to behold. Though Master Wang was a notorious scoundrel, he was not entirely without backbone, yet at this sight, he panicked. Pushing his lackeys forward, he yelled, “Kill him! Kill him!”
The lackeys formed a shield, while he retreated in haste, fleeing toward the stairs.
“Trying to run?”
The black-clad youth sneered and gave chase.
Some lackeys, trembling, wished to retreat; others, hoping for reward, pressed on.
The foremost was split open.
The rest scattered in terror.
The youth snorted and turned to the one still writhing on the ground—the same man whose arm he had severed moments ago. Murder gleamed in his eyes as he placed the blade at the man’s neck.
This lackey, barely twenty, sobbed and pleaded, “Please, master, have mercy! My mother is old, my child just a year old—I was forced into this, only trying to earn a few coppers to buy rice. All the wicked deeds, it was young Master Wang’s orders—I only followed orders…”
The black-clad youth’s voice was cold. “Judging by your look, this is not your first time. You have a family—so do others. What gives you the right to harm others for your own? That is no excuse. Blame your own worthlessness.”
“Yes… yes… I am worthless…”
“Then be on your way.”
“No—!”
Before he could finish, the blade flashed, and his life was ended.
The youth sheathed his sword, glanced at the stairs, and scoffed, “Think you can escape me?”
Without taking the stairs, he leapt down in pursuit.
The tavern was in utter chaos.
Qingyuan covered little Yu’s eyes, shielding her from the bloodshed. Surveying the mayhem, he said, “Not even a meal can be enjoyed in peace. It seems we can’t stay in this city any longer.”
Master Ge nodded. “Then let us leave.”