…
Cai Zhao watched as her young brother rolled around in the soft, dry bedding three or four times before falling asleep, resembling a plump dumpling.
Satisfied, Chang Ning also went to take a nap. Having achieved his goal, his demeanor suddenly changed. He became all smiles, and even the sores on his face seemed somewhat endearing. Before sleeping, he reminded Cai Zhao not to forget to wake him for dinner.
In the quiet side hall, Cai Zhao held up a fist-sized night pearl, examining the high dome outside. Ancient, silent beams were adorned with intricate beast patterns, their faces fierce and postures menacing. Ironically, people still considered them auspicious symbols.
She reflected that whether these beasts were truly auspicious or malevolent depended solely on popular opinion. Ultimately, those who survived were the winners, and good and evil were determined by what people said.
The air was filled with a subtle fragrance of incense. The winding corridors of the palace shielded the side hall from the noise of the main hall. Cai Zhao returned to the room, tucked in her younger brother’s blanket, and sat alone at the table, deep in thought.
In the Northern State, six sects reigned supreme, with the Qingque Sect of Mount Jiuli at the top. Below it was the Guangtian Gate, Peiqiong Manor, Siqimen, Taichu Temple, and lastly, the Luoying Valley.
For two hundred years, these six sects had produced exceptional talents. However, the Qingque Sect maintained its supremacy by promoting talent regardless of background. While other sects allowed hereditary succession, Qingque selected its next leader through open competition, choosing the most skilled in both martial arts and strategy.
This policy led to the unexpected rise of Qi Yunke, a previously unknown outer disciple. When he broke through the limitations of the “Heavenly Fire Dragon” technique, the old sect leader Yin Dai had no choice but to accept him as a close disciple, despite any personal preferences.
According to Ning Xiaofeng, Qi Yunke’s meteoric rise to sect leader was partly due to the chaos caused by the Demonic Sect. As the saying goes, “In times of crisis, loyal ministers emerge.” Without the looming threat, Qi Yunke might not have had the chance to showcase his abilities.
Beyond the six sects, two other righteous factions held sway in the martial world: the Changchun Temple in Qingxi Hollow and the Xuankong Nunnery in Yinxiu Ravine.
The Changchun Temple was built 160 years ago, coinciding with the havoc wreaked by the first-generation sorceress of Luoying Valley. When the six sects were about to unite against Luoying Valley, the first abbot of Changchun Temple mediated, resulting in a compromise.
Since then, Luoying Valley and Changchun Temple formed a deep bond. It’s said that the eighteen oldest and sturdiest pine trees in the temple, known as the Eighteen Arhat Pines, were planted with Luoying Valley’s help.
Xuankong Nunnery was built a few years later and initially remained secluded from martial world conflicts. However, 120 years ago, a prodigious leader emerged in the Demonic Sect. In his teens, he overpowered the sect’s elders, and by twenty, he became an unstoppable force, crushing all opponents.
During this period, the Demonic Sect’s influence was ubiquitous. Even Yinxiu Ravine couldn’t remain neutral, forcing Xuankong Nunnery to join the righteous alliance led by the Northern State’s six sects.
“What happened next?” ten-year-old Cai Zhao had asked eagerly. “Did a great hero from the righteous side defeat this villain, like how Aunt killed Nie Hengcheng?”
Cai Pingzhu had scratched his head and smiled wryly, “I’m not sure. It seems the Demonic Sect fell into internal strife, giving us an opportunity. Who can remember the details of events from over a hundred years ago?”
Cai Zhao still recalled her disappointment then—realizing that sometimes, great villains aren’t defeated by heroes but fall due to their foolishness and infighting.
In the bed, little Cai Han burped contentedly, rolled over, smacked his rosy lips, and fell back into a sweet sleep. However, the neighboring room remained eerily quiet, without even the sound of someone turning over.
Cai Zhao slid open the partition between the two rooms and entered, holding the night pearl. She saw Chang Ning lying on his side, a thin dark blue blanket covering his pale undergarments, revealing his snow-white neck and a crescent of his chest, smooth yet firm.
The young Cai Zhao conscientiously averted her gaze—story books had taught her that leering at others could lead to trouble.
She set down the night pearl and, treating Chang Ning as she would her little brother, carefully tucked in his blanket. His long limbs, caught between youth and adulthood, breathed evenly in deep slumber as if he hadn’t felt this secure in a long time.
Cai Zhao sighed softly and quietly withdrew with the night pearl.
Besides the Northern State’s six sects and the two temples, there were other small factions in the martial world. Most rose quickly but faded just as fast, rarely lasting more than a century. For instance, Cai Zhao’s maternal grandfather’s Ning family was once renowned for both medicine and swordsmanship. But after his passing and with his children either joining monasteries or marrying away, the Ning family name was soon forgotten.
“Is fame really that important?” Cai Pingzhu had asked the melancholic young girl, smiling warmly. “What’s our Luoying Valley’s motto?”
“Flowers bloom and wither in their own time. Let nature take its course; don’t force things,” Cai Zhao had recited.
“Exactly. Let things be. If people remember you, they remember. If they forget, so be it. That’s not what’s important.”
“Then what is important?” she had asked.
“That we lived in this world, that we lived each day with clarity and joy, without regrets. The Ning family may fall, the Cai family may fall, but ‘we’ will never truly perish.”
Cai Zhao snapped out of her reverie, glanced back at the sleeping Chang Ning, and gently closed the partition.
The same fate had befallen the Chang family.
The Chang clan of Wuan had risen to prominence only decades ago. Young Chang Hao, having mastered his skills by twenty, roamed the martial world and gradually built a reputation as a great hero. During this time, he befriended Cai Pingzhu and a group of brothers, some reliable, some less so, before marrying and having a child.
Having witnessed the Demonic Sect’s cruelty, he had taken precautions to hide the Chang family fortress. Ironically, while they escaped Nie Hengcheng’s overwhelming forces, they mysteriously met their demise seventeen years later.
Cai Zhao closed her eyes, leaning against her plump little brother and pretending to sleep.
As she drifted off, she thought about protecting Chang Ning until he recovered. Losing one’s entire family could explain his bitter and eccentric behavior. She reflected that if someone had stolen the pork she had been saving for the New Year feast, she would have wanted to go on a rampage, feeling angry and suspicious of everyone for three months.
So, she decided to be kinder to Chang Ning in the future.
In the inner room, the supposedly deeply asleep figure listened to Cai Zhao’s breathing, a slight smile playing on his lips.