Chapter 53: The Tragic Yet Powerful Scapegoat Villain: My Father Is the King, Part 6

Qin Ye found himself a little bewildered—how had they grown up so suddenly? In his memory, just yesterday, Qin Bing was still sulking over his unpleasant voice during his voice change, playing the part of the aloof youth, taciturn and sparing with words. Only after that awkward phase passed, when his voice settled into the clear timbre of a young man, did he become chatty again.

As for Xiao Jiang, he had none of these troubles. His voice slowly transformed from a boyish clarity to a deep, resonant bass.

The Changchun Technique, which Qin Ye had perfected for survival, seemed to bring out the best in the boys as they practiced. Their talents only blossomed further over time. Although the technique's name was commonplace, both boys were remarkably well-behaved and sensible, showing no hint of a rebellious phase. They were so obedient that Qin Ye worried every time he traveled, afraid the two left-behind children might be bullied at home.

Given that even Qin Ye harbored such anxieties, it was clear the two would never secretly switch to another technique just because theirs was too common. As the boys grew, Qin Ye suspected the next generation's hero was about to make his mark upon the martial world.

Meanwhile, the Sword Pavilion under Qin Ye’s command had spread its members across the entire realm. Some joined because they had no choice, their actions constrained by circumstances, while others sought the personal guidance of the Pavilion Master. The Pavilion’s rapid rise did not go unnoticed by the seven great sects, but by the time they realized its influence, it had already grown too formidable for them to act rashly. In fact, they could no longer be sure whether some of their own disciples were secretly members of the Sword Pavilion.

The Sword Pavilion recruited without discrimination—status, background, or identity did not matter. Once inside, all were bound by the Pavilion Master’s authority. The Pavilion was a grand stage: if you had the ability, you were welcome.

Optimizing martial techniques for others and increasing their internal strength cost Qin Ye little effort. In return, he gained even more secret manuals, which he used to complete the Changchun Technique crafted for his two disciples. Why not take advantage of such a deal?

In addition, Qin Ye had inexplicably come into possession of a jade flute—one of the Seven Divine Weapons, the Demonic Flute, which could manipulate minds. For Qin Ye, this meant even tighter control over his subordinates and further reduced the risk of betrayal.

As the two boys matured and the plot prepared to unfold, Qin Ye had only ever crossed swords with the grandmasters of the seven great sects—and naturally, he won. Among them, the grandmaster of White Horse Temple once clashed with him, all because the temple’s chosen Buddha’s Son had abandoned his faith and was branded a heretic.

While fleeing, the renegade ran into Qin Ye by chance. Coincidentally, they were old acquaintances: one had carried his child, the other his horse, and the memory had left a deep impression. When they met again, they recognized each other instantly.

The pursuing old monk, clearly venting his anger, didn’t even bother to ask questions and immediately labeled Qin Ye a demon, trying to capture him along with the former Buddha’s Son. Qin Ye was not about to surrender without a fight. Seizing the opportunity, the ex-monk joined him. Together, they withstood the old monk’s attack and escaped.

The old monk, seething with rage, decided to chase the former Buddha’s Son. In that brief clash, Qin Ye realized he was now stronger than the old monk. In other words, he had reached the grandmaster’s realm.

With a grandmaster as their father, Qin Bing and Xiao Jiang could be considered the most privileged scions in the martial world. Among the grandmasters’ relatives, few had direct descendants as close as these two—especially considering they were the only juniors Qin Ye cared about. Their status far outshone those grandmasters who had dozens of descendants scattered across the land.

All these years, Qiu Lingsu had never given up searching for Qin Ye and Qin Bing. But the Sacred Sect had long been shaped in Qin Ye’s image, a fact Qiu Lingsu remained oblivious to. Her days were spent practicing martial arts, combating Shuiyue Nunnery, or sinking into madness. The forbidden arts and her festering hatred had long clouded her mind. If not for her burning desire to avenge herself upon Yan Wushuang, she might have become a complete madwoman by now.

This time, Qin Ye traveled far under the pretext of curing a renowned figure of the martial world from poisoning. The victim had tried countless physicians, but none could help, whereas Qin Ye’s reputation had already spread throughout Tianwu City. Though his fame was still mostly confined to Tianwu, after so many failed attempts, the patient’s family had begun to send for every reputable doctor they could find—including Qin Ye.

Before setting out, Qin Ye fussed and fretted, worried his children would be helpless without him. To his surprise, the boys showed no reluctance at all; instead, they urged him to hurry on his way.

Was this the sorrow of parenthood? He had raised them from children, and now that they were grown, it was time for them to fly on their own.

Qin Ye journeyed on, his heart heavy with melancholy. Even upon arriving at Flying Eagle Fort to treat the old Fort Master, he remained preoccupied with this sense of loss.

The current Fort Master was at best a third-rate martial artist, and the rest were even less accomplished. Yet, in his youth, the old Fort Master had been a renowned first-class master. Whether he lived or died meant everything to Flying Eagle Fort.

Despite consulting countless doctors, all had left shaking their heads, unable to help. By now, hope was slim, but the fort’s people still clung to the faintest chance, hiring more doctors in desperation.

No one explained how the old Fort Master had been poisoned. Previous doctors had all left with grave expressions, but never before had one looked as troubled as Qin Ye did now. Could it be the Old Master was beyond saving? The fort’s people found their eyes growing red with emotion.

After finishing his examination, Qin Ye sighed and wrote a prescription. The old Fort Master, still barely conscious, managed to preserve his heart meridian with his internal strength, the only reason he had survived long enough for so many doctors to visit. Otherwise, he would have died from the poison long ago.

Yet unless the poison was cured, he would have to keep expending his dwindling strength daily to protect his heart. Age had sapped his power, and while he might persist for a while, he could not last much longer.

A look of desolation crossed the old Fort Master’s face. “What a bitter fate,” he sighed.

Qin Ye looked up from the prescription, curious. “What fate?”

Clearly, there was gossip to be had.

The old Fort Master shook his head. “Family shame should not be aired in public; it’s not for outsiders to know. Someone, please see Doctor Qin to his quarters.”

Qin Ye merely shrugged. He wasn’t that desperate for gossip.

He handed over the prescription. “Take this decoction daily for seven days, and the poison will be gone.”

“Oh, thank you—wait, what? You mean you can cure it?”

The Fort Master, probably about Qin Ye’s age but looking much older, seemed incredulous.

“I never said he was doomed, did I?” Qin Ye replied, perplexed. “Of course I can cure him.”

What was it with this generation of patients’ families?

The Fort Master could only sigh—based on Qin Ye’s earlier expression, they had all assumed the old Master was beyond saving.

Having collected his fee, Qin Ye hurried to leave.

He had barely reached the gates when a young woman dressed all in white, her figure graceful and ethereal, approached, surrounded by a group of youths. The one seeing Qin Ye out was the Young Fort Master, a gesture of respect for saving the old Fort Master’s life, since the current Fort Master was busy preparing the medicine and ensuring its efficacy.

At that moment, the Young Fort Master stood transfixed, staring after the departing maiden.

Qin Ye considered giving him a nudge, but the Young Fort Master snapped back to himself just in time.

“Forgive me; I have long admired Fairy Mingyue, but, alas, she has no interest in me,” the youth sighed.

Qin Ye offered a gentle smile. “You are talented and young—one day you will meet the right person.”

Every generation, the traveling representative of Shuiyue Nunnery was an extraordinary beauty. Their peerless looks would stir the hearts of many young men, who, like peacocks displaying their feathers, would do their utmost just to win a smile.

But any experienced martial artist knew: no matter how lovely the fairy, she was not for mere mortals. Unless one possessed talent to rival Yan Wushuang, or the monstrous gifts of a Dao or Buddha’s Son, or happened to become the master of a Divine Weapon by sheer luck, one could never hope to have any entanglement with the Nunnery’s champion.

Shuiyue Nunnery accepted only female disciples—some monastic, some lay. There was even precedent for their most outstanding disciple sacrificing herself to contain a demon: if a peerless, unrighteous genius threatened to plunge the martial world into chaos, the Nunnery would send a disciple to live in seclusion with him, offering herself as a condition. Outwardly, it was called “feeding the demon with oneself.”

When Qin Ye first read about this in intelligence reports, he could only find it absurd.

Their truly exceptional disciples were destined to sever all worldly ties and become nuns. Those who “fed the demon” would be struck from the records. Outstanding disciples who remained were forbidden to marry or bear children; only outer disciples were not restricted in this way.

Qiao Mingyue was the heroine of this generation, and her travels on behalf of Shuiyue Nunnery signaled the beginning of the new generation’s saga. In this world, every generation brought forth a new child of destiny who would stir up the martial world—sometimes there would be gaps, but never for long.

It all seemed rather interesting.

With his medicine box on his back, Qin Ye left Flying Eagle Fort, boarded a carriage, and, escorted by disciples, set out for Tianwu City.

Halfway there, an explosion echoed nearby.

The disciples wanted to investigate, but Qin Ye stopped them. “When traveling, the less trouble the better. Don’t poke your nose into other people’s business.”

The younger disciples sneered at Qin Ye’s timidity and ignored him, going off to take a look. They left in good spirits but returned covered in blood, battered and broken.

The other disciples were aghast and hurried to ask what had happened.

“He can’t answer you. The Divine Weapons have appeared, and all who know must die. If you want to blame someone, blame your own bad luck.” A cold, alluring woman’s voice cut through the chaos.