Chapter 46 : Leave a Ray of Hope for the World

Chapter 46: Leave a Ray of Hope for the World

“Who are you?”

Tang Ziqi asked warily.

To encounter someone in such a place—even if it was merely an old man—was not something he dared to take lightly.

Moreover, in the martial world, martial artists who cultivated inner strength grew more terrifying the older they were.

The shabby old man stopped walking, opened one eye, and swept his gaze across Li Qingqiu and the other two.

His sight lingered on Yan Wujin.

“‘Great Sun True Yang Art’—what relation do you have with Zhao Yan?” The old man’s voice was hoarse as he spoke.

Upon hearing this, both Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi’s expressions changed drastically.

Li Qingqiu felt that the name “Zhao Yan” sounded familiar.

Wait.

The current Emperor’s elder brother—the former Crown Prince—was also called Zhao Yan, the very person Wu Baoyu had once followed.

Tang Ziqi asked coldly, “And who are you? How do you recognize the Great Sun True Yang Art?”

The old man’s bark-like face revealed a chilling smile as he said, “No need to be nervous. Since you inherited the Great Sun True Yang Art, we are our own people. I was once under the Crown Prince’s command, the Chief Instructor of the Heavenly Guard Army. My name no longer matters. You may call me ‘Mad Old Freak.’ The past has nothing to do with me anymore. I only wish to spend my remaining years here in madness and seclusion.”

Tang Ziqi turned to look at Yan Wujin.

Yan Wujin took a step forward.

“Father’s letter once said that after his death, the Heavenly Guard Army would surely be purged. You came here to escape the Emperor’s pursuit?”

“I indeed fled to the Ancient Great Mountain Range to avoid the Third Prince’s pursuit. However, now I am trapped here—unable to leave.”

The Mad Old Freak sat down heavily on the ground as he spoke.

Yan Wujin frowned.

“Because of this mist?”

“Exactly. This miasma may be non-toxic, but it traps people until they die. I’ve been stuck here for nearly twenty years—living off raw meat and blood, barely surviving.”

His words made Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi’s hair stand on end.

Trapped for twenty years?

That was absurd!

Tang Ziqi suddenly thought of something and turned toward Li Qingqiu.

“What about you? Why are you here?”

Both Yan Wujin and the Mad Old Freak looked at Li Qingqiu.

They noticed his robe was spotless—hardly the appearance of one escaping disaster.

Li Qingqiu smiled.

“This is the back mountain of my sect. Why can’t I come here? I was merely taking a stroll.”

Yan Wujin frowned deeply, while Tang Ziqi felt Li Qingqiu was far too strange, giving him an inexplicable sense of unease.

The Mad Old Freak stared at Li Qingqiu curiously.

“You’re a disciple of the Clear Sky Sect? Who is your master?”

“Lin Xunfeng.”

“Him? Back then, he was just a young brat. And now he’s become a master already… Time really flies.”

The Mad Old Freak sighed, then his eyes gleamed with hostility.

His tone turned icy.

“Since you’re Lin Xunfeng’s disciple, then True Person of Clear Sky is your grandmaster. Had he not cast me out and hunted me down back then, would I have ended up here? Very well, killing you shall be my revenge!”

As soon as he finished, he suddenly hurled the gourd in his hand.

A powerful surge of energy shot toward Li Qingqiu, startling Yan Wujin, who quickly pulled Tang Ziqi back.

Pa!

Li Qingqiu caught the gourd and dissolved its force effortlessly.

His arm didn’t tremble, his body didn’t budge.

This sight made Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi’s expressions change.

This youth was no ordinary person!

The Mad Old Freak narrowed his eyes.

“At such a young age, to possess such strength… You’re worth remembering. Tell me your name!”

Li Qingqiu crushed the gourd in his hand and sneered.

“Old thing, you strike hard!”

His right hand twisted mid-air, and between two fingers, he flicked an iron needle that pierced straight through the old man’s forehead.

The Mad Old Freak’s eyes bulged wide as he toppled backward.

Yan Wujin had only vaguely seen Li Qingqiu flick something.

When he saw the old man fall, horror gripped his heart.

He could feel that this Mad Old Freak’s martial skill was not beneath his own—yet such a man had been killed in an instant.

Just how many monsters were hidden within the Clear Sky Sect?

Tang Ziqi came to his senses, trembling uncontrollably, staring at Li Qingqiu in disbelief.

Before dawn, the fog in the forest was thick.

Tang Ziqi could not see Li Qingqiu’s expression clearly.

At this moment, Li Qingqiu looked to him like a ghost from hell.

Cold sweat trickled down Yan Wujin’s back.

From that one move, he knew—if the other wanted him dead, he couldn’t escape.

Especially with his injuries yet unhealed.

Tang Ziqi, too, dared not move.

The forest fell into suffocating silence.

Li Qingqiu turned his gaze toward Yan Wujin.

He said nothing, yet his eyes alone pressed upon Yan Wujin like a mountain.

Clang—

Li Qingqiu suddenly drew the Tianhong Sword from his waist.

The sword light flashed, glinting across Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi’s faces.

Thud!

Tang Ziqi suddenly dropped to his knees, crying out, “Please, Senior, spare us! We cannot die—not him!”

Hearing this, Yan Wujin lowered his head, fists clenched tightly within his sleeves, humiliation burning within.

Li Qingqiu asked, “Why can’t you die?”

Tang Ziqi crawled forward several steps, coming before Yan Wujin, like a dog groveling on the ground.

Pressing his forehead to the earth, he gritted his teeth and said, “He is the son of the former Crown Prince Zhao Yan, the Emperor’s acknowledged grandson—the true Son of Heaven! His father was slain by traitors, and he was lost among the common folk. The current Emperor is deluded, trusting in charlatans, plunging the realm into chaos. Countless commoners suffer, and the Demon Emperor harbors an even greater ambition—he seeks immortality! For that, he abducts boys and girls, causing untold tragedies. Only if Yan Wujin overthrows the throne can peace return to the realm!”

“Enough!”

Yan Wujin’s voice was low but seething with rage.

Tang Ziqi turned to him, shouting frantically, “Brother, you can’t die! We can’t die here! Even if we lose all dignity tonight, we must beg for our lives! You carry a burden—you cannot die!”

Yan Wujin fell into inner conflict.

“You want to use the world to weigh against me? You were the ones who provoked my Clear Sky Sect first—how pitifully you twist the tale,” Li Qingqiu said calmly.

Tang Ziqi turned back to him, quickly explaining, “We had no choice. To rise, we needed power from the martial world—to gather strength and evidence of the Emperor’s crimes. We chose the Clear Sky Sect because the Ancient Great Mountain Range lies far from worldly affairs, where the court rarely reaches. We never meant to annihilate you—only to absorb your sect. Only if you resisted would we have struck.”

Li Qingqiu didn’t sheathe his sword, nor did he speak.

He seemed to be weighing something.

Tang Ziqi continued, “It was our fault. Whatever we must do to atone, we will. Just spare us. We can die—but not here!”

He was truly desperate—his heart filled with unwillingness.

Since meeting Yan Wujin, he had been awed by his martial prowess and inspired by his cause.

He had believed that with Yan’s unmatched skill and noble bloodline, they could raise a new dynasty.

Yet now, their dream had been crushed before it even began.

Here, in this desolate place, he was forced to grovel like a dog.

All his life, Tang Ziqi had been proud.

Now, he was utterly humbled.

“You are his strategist, aren’t you? He’s a martial man, lacking in wits—but you, as a strategist, should have investigated your enemies before acting. With such shortsightedness, can you really save the world’s people?”

Li Qingqiu’s voice cut deep into Tang Ziqi’s heart.

Shame consumed him; he couldn’t refute.

Yan Wujin’s resentment burned even stronger than Tang Ziqi’s.

Yet he didn’t blame him.

If only he were stronger—none of this would have happened.

“Go in that direction. Close your eyes. Do not open them until you no longer feel the cold air.”

Li Qingqiu’s words made both Yan Wujin and Tang Ziqi raise their heads in surprise.

They saw him lift his sword and point diagonally into the mist.

“Thank you, Senior!”

Tang Ziqi bowed repeatedly, then stood, attempting to pull Yan Wujin away—but Yan didn’t move.

“You trust us so easily?” Yan Wujin couldn’t help asking.

His words made Tang Ziqi anxious—why question him now!?

Li Qingqiu looked at him and replied, “It’s not that I trust you. I just wish to leave this world a bit of hope.”

Yan Wujin looked deeply at him, then took a manual from his robes and threw it over.

“Our cause may not succeed. Let this ‘Great Sun True Yang Art’ remain with the Clear Sky Sect.”

He turned, leading Tang Ziqi toward the direction Li Qingqiu had pointed.

Soon, they vanished into the thick fog.

Li Qingqiu flipped through the manual.

Finding no hidden weapons or poison, he tucked it safely into his robe.

Then he followed the path guided by his fortuitous memory—but childhood recollections began to surge unbidden.

Before he was a year old, his father had sought refuge with the Li Family of Linchuan, posing as one of their lost kin.

Yet when they arrived at the Li Family ancestral hall, a so-called Daoist claimed he was an ill-omened child who must be abandoned to allow his parents entry into the clan.

His parents agreed—abandoning him outside the city.

Before leaving, they said, “We’ll be parent and child again in our next life.”

Back then, Li Qingqiu did not hate the Li Family; after all, his father wasn’t truly one of them.

Nor did he resent his parents—he saw it as repaying the debt of birth.

Only now did he realize why his master had been hunted when he took him away.

Even if his father had joined the Li Family, he’d have been just a minor clansman.

The real reason was that the Emperor was seizing young boys.

Without his master’s rescue, Li Qingqiu could hardly imagine his fate.

Perhaps that Daoist had been the Emperor’s agent, and the Li Family’s meteoric rise was due to its secret ties to the throne.

Recalling these memories, Li Qingqiu quickened his pace.

Though the miasma wasn’t poisonous, it disoriented the senses.

To avoid losing his way, he had to keep his eyes fixed on the ground.

But wild beasts lurked within the fog, making it nearly impossible to always look down.

Upon closer look, the fallen leaves concealed faint traces of a small path—a trail walked by those before him.

He continued on.

Morning sunlight filtered through the forest, though the surroundings remained pale and hazy.

After walking about twenty li, he began to see human skeletons along the way—clad in remnants of clothing.

He didn’t stop; he needed first to find that great tree, then inspect the bodies later.

If this tree was his destined fortuitous chance, it meant nothing along this path could threaten him.