Peace Order-Chapter 114 - 74 Wang’s Dominant Enterprise Amidst Laughter_2

Chapter 114: Chapter 74 Wang’s Dominant Enterprise Amidst Laughter_2

It was as if he had arrived in the mountain forests of the Central Plains, sitting on the highest peak of the true orthodoxy, watching the sea of clouds swirl around him.

It was as if he had come to the Northern Border, as if he witnessed the clash of swords, the reunion of iron cavalry, on the left side were women from Jiangnan softly humming and singing, on the right side were the fast horses of the Northern Border galloping to the ends of the earth, the heroic ambitions of men, the gentleness of women, the strife of swords, and all the emotions of the world surging like rivers.

It was as if he saw this world.

He was suddenly lost in a trance.

At last, the zither sound ended, and Li Guanyi took a long time to come back to his senses.

Not until something poked his cheek did he snap out of it.

Raising his head, Murong Qiushui crouched before him with a smile, extending her finger, she pointed at Li Guanyi’s Spirit Platform on his forehead, whispering,

"Zither is the sound of the heart, the next line is, ’The heart transforms into spirit.’

’Open string sound is like the sky, stopped string sound resembles man, and scattered string sound merges with the earth.’

’Thus it can ’express the thoughts of human emotions, and reach the principles of the universe.’

’Thus all appearances in my heart, fall upon the zither’s strings."

Murong Qiushui stood up, placing her hands in front of her, strands of hair by her temples lifting slightly, still holding a smile:

"It is the heaven and earth, all things and appearances."

......

At the time Li Guanyi was stopped.

Mr. Siming lightning-fast returned to his residence, he picked up a pen, wrote letter after letter, briefly describing the events that unfolded here, then blew on them, and the pages seemed to come alive, fluttering like butterflies, flying up into the sky.

The pages flew off on their own, riding the wind, moving even faster than the Flying Eagle.

Yin and Yang Qi closed off, invisible to the naked eye.

Those capable of seeing through Mr. Siming’s methods, wouldn’t lower themselves to fish for letters.

Siming sighed, saying, "To have a king’s seal, for tempering one’s own body.

’Golden Muscle and Jade Bone, Dragon Veins and Tiger Marrow.’

’It requires extremely harsh conditions, often hard to fulfill.’

’But it just so happens that this place will become a whirlpool of the world, this Capital City has an old mathematician truly capable of devising perfect formations, a great Confucian scholar proficient enough to mask his breakthrough with his breath, and also a Master Mo who knows the art of tempering one’s body, and they, too, will come to see him.’

’Old friend, I can’t make sense of it anymore.’

The old man closed his eyes, while Mystic Turtle raised its head.

Siming extended his finger towards the sky, saying:

"Is it his good fortune, or is it the Heavenly Mandate of the White Tiger that has swept through this era?

’Or are we all becoming the era itself,

’Only then possible to create a White Tiger Sect that cultivates both internally and externally?"

The long-lived Mystic Turtle shook its head, speaking unhurriedly,

’You have seen a lot, who can speak clearly?

’Before things happen, everything is possible, the world is vast and all can be pursued; but looking back after the fact, it seems like there was only one choice, which is not really a choice, but simply looking back at what has already happened, there’s no way to change it anymore.’

Having sent all the letters, Siming looked at the seal, pondered for a moment, then tucked the seal into his chest, strolled out, the old man wandered around, then went back to that inn, ordered strong liquor, this time it wasn’t diluted with water, as if he had forgotten the previous time he drank, vomiting messily.

Strong liquor, two cups.

The portly shopkeeper, curious, wiped his hands with a cloth, chuckling, "Old man, our liquor here is indeed quite strong, why don’t you have something ordinary today? I’ll give you a dish of peanuts on the house."

He was concerned the old man had encountered some trouble.

The elder laughed, saying, "No problem, today this old man is going to meet an old friend.

’It’s been decades since we last saw each other, we really have to drink a good one.’

’Rest assured, just one cup.’

Seeing that the old man said so, the shopkeeper agreed and chuckled, "That’s settled then.

’Meeting an old friend is indeed a good thing.’

With a cup in hand, Siming sniffed the drink, pulling a grin and muttering good liquor, which was actually just strong alcohol made from sweet potatoes, not fragrant, leaving only a burning sensation down the throat; someone with just a bit of spare money wouldn’t fancy such a drink. Siming fished in his chest, and drew out the seal.

The elder studied the seal, suddenly laughing.

He placed the seal before him, then set the filled cup of strong liquor in front of the seal.

After a while, he softly said,

"Achai, going round and round, it’s been three hundred years, your seal has returned to my hands again."

"Good friend, your grand ambition, that long dream, has ended."

He lifted his cup, no longer bearing the unrestraint and fierce pride from before.

Achai.

That was a slave who had fled, suffered a brutal beating, and encountered a young street-swindling beggar. At that time, the young slave fixed his gaze on him like a relentless wolf. The boy offered Feng Shui readings but didn’t even know the Qi Observation Skill and was beaten black and blue, ending up snatching a steamed bun.

Back then, Siming didn’t know what he was thinking, but he ripped the bun in half and gave the other half to the boy.

It was as if he had tamed a wild dog, but in reality, he had made the best friend.

They traveled through most of the world together, but in the end, the swarthy youth returned. He raised the banner of rebellion beneath the mines, swept across the Western Regions as a slave, and unified the once Thirty-Six Tribes.

Now, of the Thirty-Six Kingdoms, only remnants of the Dangxiang people and the Tiele remained.

Siming tilted his head back to drink.

The alcohol was really strong. Just one sip and he got drunk, collapsing onto the table.

The breeze from Jiangnan brushed his face as if it brought him back to those youthful days, stealing sweet potatoes with that scrawny youth from the Western Regions.

The winds of youth finally came back to him, and though he was drunk, it was as though he awoke in his memories.

He could almost see the black-eyed Western Regions youth from three hundred years ago, sprawled on a hay bale with whip marks bleeding on his buttocks and back, pointing to the stars, gritting his teeth:

"I want to return to the Western Regions. One day, I’ll become the greatest king and build a nation with my name. Then you have to come too, brother. I’ll treat you to sweet potatoes. We’ll eat one and throw one away!"

"No one will dare whip me again!"

"Nor dare to whip you!"

"Anyone who whips you, I’ll hit them back!"

He tossed the stolen alcohol to the fourteen-year-old young swindler beside him.

That youth who swindled the world with his eloquence was still alive three hundred years later.

Siming raised his glass in a tipsy toast, battling the haze, as if seeing that young man lifting a cracked bowl full of wine, grinning with a missing tooth, teasing, "What’s wrong? Aren’t we drinking?"

"Hehe, this stealthily filched booze smells great. I never saw this back home, only the big shots drink it. It’s so spicy, slashes the throat."

"Hey, Feng, is this what heroes like?"

"If we drink this, can we become heroes?"

Siming burst out laughing.

He lifted his cup to the friend of his memories.

And then he toppled over, drunk, his eyes beholding the golden seal as it was when the elder forged it himself.

The leaders of the Thirty-Five Tribes were beheaded; their blood dripped into the forge, and even the flames seemed blood-red.

The one conducting the casting was him.

His friend was named Achai, just like the jackals on the grasslands: despised, shameless, vile, scorned by others, chased by the lions, yet somehow always surviving. He was called Achai, and he had his own real, tongue-twisting name.

Named Tuyuhun.

The greatest hero of the Western Regions for a thousand years.

The chubby Shopkeeper brought out peanuts, seeing the old man crashed on the table, already drunk, his white hair dancing in the wind. The Shopkeeper placed the well-roasted peanuts on the table and closed the door for the old man to spare him from the wind, wondering, "Strange."

"Didn’t the old man say he wanted to drink with a friend?"

"Where is his friend?"

The old man closed his eyes to sleep, drunkenly muttering, "In the laughter of grand ambitions."

"One cannot withstand life, just a drunken episode."

The youthful figure in the dream turned back, his eyes bright.

Such a pity.

The heroes of that era three hundred years ago, who raised their swords against injustice for the people and tore the world asunder.

Only he was still alive.

...

It took Li Guanyi a while to regain his composure. He looked at his aunt and said, "This is..."

Murong Qiushui smiled and said, "Just a little trick. What you learned before was the basics, considered the first Chapter. This is from the second to the fifth Chapters."

Li Guanyi asked, "How many Chapters are there in total?"

Murong Qiushui blinked.

Smiling calmly,

"There were twelve Chapters before."

"I’ve pondered them in recent years."

"Now, there are fifteen Chapters."

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