Volume One: The Wild Boy Chapter Forty-Two: The Savage Tribes of Yunqiang and the Thirteen Masters

Wei Mou did not argue further, but his gaze grew increasingly desolate. Indeed, Wenyuan Divine Continent boasted a lineage of ancient inheritance; when it came to status by blood, even its commoners called themselves “subjects of the kings,” brimming with confidence before outsiders, and compared to those from the other four regions, they held themselves a cut above the rest. Yet, he loathed all of this. He, whose imperial blood was the purest among them, harbored a bone-deep hatred for Wenyuan Divine Continent—an animosity even the great powers of the other four domains, eager to set foot here, could not understand.

“Do you two truly not believe me? Think carefully—the little girl that day couldn’t even bring herself to touch her own mother’s corpse. The Wei family alone wields such tyrannical power; what of those even higher up?”

Wei Mou sighed, gritted his teeth, and decided to reveal the Continent’s so-called “pride” in full. “Do you know why these so-called ‘powerhouses’ come to Wenyuan Divine Continent? It’s because the people here are like animals to them. They may not slaughter at will, but they can vent their darkest desires without restraint, indulging themselves as if among beasts!”

The more he spoke, the angrier he became, his face flushing as rage surged within him, almost shattering his teeth. But soon, all that fury faded into reluctant resignation.

The other two felt a twinge of guilt. As outsiders, what right did they have to question the words of one who, as a scion of the most legitimate imperial lineage in Wenyuan Divine Continent, spoke with such authority?

So, after Wei Mou had calmed, Chen Mo finally ventured, “It was indeed presumptuous of us to speak as we did. Brother Wei, please don’t take it to heart. But with our temperaments, how could we ignore such injustice if it crosses our path? If you need our help, just say the word.”

Lin Changtian cast Chen Mo a resentful glance, but not wishing to embarrass him, he merely nodded in agreement.

Chen Mo patted Wei Mou’s shoulder, his face alight with heroic righteousness, his moral spirit soaring skyward. “I think I finally understand. You want to get rid of the Four Emperors, seize the throne for yourself, and then clean up the mess of the Wenyuan Divine Continent, isn’t that right? I, Chen Mo, may not be much, but I’m willing to take the lead!”

Lin Changtian blinked, utterly bewildered as to where Chen Mo found such confidence each time—had he forgotten how he could not even defeat Zhang Cheng?

Wei Mou rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself that although this elder brother usually beat him up with a scowl, he had not expected him to be such a true man of honor. Touched, Wei Mou gripped Chen Mo’s hand, his voice trembling. “Brother, for you to treat me so today, I can never repay you. Why don’t the three of us become sworn brothers?”

Chen Mo gazed at Wei Mou, deeply moved. “Easily done, second brother!”

“Elder brother!”

“Second brother!”

“Elder brother!”

“My good second brother!”

“My good elder brother!”

“Second brother, do you know how many troops we have?”

“To be honest, elder brother, it’s just me and Senior Liu.”

“Oh, then why don’t you let go of my hand first, and forget the oath—we don’t want to end up dying in the same year, same month, same day for real.” Chen Mo wrenched his hand free, and said to the bewildered Wei Mou with a straight face.

Lin Changtian and Liu Qingshan exchanged a glance and smiled. Even Wei Mou, usually so composed, was left speechless by Chen Mo’s antics. The two young men’s tempers flared, and they scuffled together, as the big and little ruffians vied to see who would come out on top that day.

Seeing the fight escalating, Liu Qingshan hurriedly stepped forward to separate them, coughing a few times before speaking slowly. “Enough fooling around. Let’s talk about serious matters.”

Chen Mo grimaced with pain, giving Wei Mou a thumbs-up. “Not bad, kid, you’re aiming lower and lower, just like I did in my prime.”

Wei Mou, sporting several new bruises—black and blue and quite miserable—offered no retort, only grinning foolishly at Chen Mo.

Liu Qingshan gave each of them a rap on the head, his tone tinged with helplessness. “Let’s discuss our plans. But before that, forgive my impertinence—I’d like to know more about young friend Chen Mo’s origins. After all, anyone who travels with Yu Baili’s disciple can’t be ordinary.”

Chen Mo scratched his head, thought for a moment, then cupped his fists and replied, “To be honest, I’m from Yu in the south. I first came to Ruzhou City because I was worried that if the northern forces of Wenyuan Divine Continent went to war with the Lin Clan, the city of Qing, caught between them, would be affected. I wanted to gather information so we could prepare in advance.”

“From Yu, down south? I’ve heard of it. ‘Tailoring clothes and comportment, bringing clarity to the nine provinces, serving the world’s needs from personal affairs’—what a mission! It certainly suits my tastes. Since you’re from Yu, have you ever heard of the phrase ‘the Yunqiang Savages and the Thirteen Masters’?”

Chen Mo honestly shook his head. He could be glib about anything else, but when it came to Yu’s reputation, he answered with due seriousness.

Liu Qingshan was not surprised. People from Yu were rare in Wenyuan Divine Continent; how could they know its tangled affairs? Taking a sip of tea, he continued, “The Yunqiang Savages have been around for ages; both they and the Dilaos are assassin organizations. The Yunqiang claim descent from ancient Chu, acting on the instructions of Zhuanxu, and at least maintain some bottom line. The Dilaos, by contrast, act solely out of self-interest and desire, lawless and depraved. As for the Thirteen Masters, whom all in Wenyuan Divine Continent revere and fear, they were granted their titles by the Four Emperors after Wei Mou’s father’s violent death.”

“Oh? Who are these Thirteen Masters, that even the Four Emperors seek to win them over?” Lin Changtian asked, curiosity piqued. In truth, he had yet to truly test his strength against such masters; Lin Mingren, one of the Three Elders of Fan City, was leagues above him, and even at his peak, Lin Changtian doubted he could last ten rounds against him. Lin Yuheng, one of the Seven Stars of Beidou, possessed only strange abilities and had nearly died to Lin Changtian’s blade in Zhou’s territory.

With that thought, Lin Changtian’s eyes blazed with fighting spirit.

Liu Qingshan stroked his beard and spoke unhurriedly, “Listen well: ‘Three Blades of the North, Five Swords of the South, Five Elders of the Netherworld, all seeking immortality.’ These are not only the top masters of Wenyuan Divine Continent, but their backgrounds are intricate—take the Five Elders of the Netherworld, who lead the Dilaos, while the Three Blades of the North are closely tied to the Yunqiang. Tell me, are such figures not worth courting by the Four Emperors?”

“That makes sense, but with so many big players wanting Wei Mou dead, what talk of revenge is there? Wouldn’t that be making enemies of half the Wenyuan Divine Continent?” Chen Mo interjected, beating Lin Changtian to the punch.

A mysterious smile curled at Wei Mou’s lips. “Not quite. In theory, our chances of victory are still good. The Four Emperors are at each other’s throats; as for the Yunqiang, rumor has it we hold leverage over them, so they deal with my affairs perfunctorily, sending only a few hundred Awakened and several dozen Realm-walkers, plus a few thousand tech soldiers to hunt me, at most. The Dilaos and other factions are mercenaries, easy enough to handle—if only I had money, which I don’t, and nowhere near as much as the Four Emperors. As for rallying supporters—true enough, if I, as legitimate royalty, were to step forward, there would be voices answering my call. But with nothing to my name, those willing to defy the Four Emperors at my side are just some old scholars—the youngest is over sixty—and taking them to war seems a bit much.”

Now, it wasn’t just Chen Mo who wanted to hit him—even Lin Changtian drew his blade, ready to teach Wei Mou a lesson on behalf of his late father.

“These are matters for later. If the Lin clan truly intends to expand into Wenyuan Divine Continent, the Northern Emperor will be the first to oppose them. When that happens, there may be an opportunity to plot and replace the Northern Emperor,” Liu Qingshan said, his expression once again serene. Seeing the two still puzzled, he continued, “So for now, we wait. A month at the soonest, half a year at most—there will be war. Do you believe it?”

“Half a year! I can’t be away from my post that long. The elders of Yu would skin me alive!” Chen Mo protested, waving his hands in refusal.

Liu Qingshan only smiled. “No matter, there’s plenty of time. You can return to headquarters, report all of Wenyuan Divine Continent’s affairs in detail, and mention my name. They’ll either send you back, or send you with an elite force. Do you believe it?”

Chen Mo hesitated for a long while, unsure what to say, finally nodding and agreeing through gritted teeth.

With Chen Mo’s answer, Liu Qingshan turned his gaze to Lin Changtian, waiting for his response.

Lin Changtian was composed, silent, and waited for the old man’s hidden words.

Seeing this, Liu Qingshan laughed and chided him for his cunning, then continued, “You’re a sharp one, but there are things I cannot tell you yet. Why not stay by my side for a while? Wait for your companion’s return, and let me instruct you in cultivation. What do you say?”

Lin Changtian tilted his head and thought for so long his neck grew sore before finally nodding his assent.

But who could tell what storms the future would bring?

(End of Volume One)