Chapter Fifty-One: Aspiring to Great Deeds

It was a night shrouded in darkness and wind.

Within a courtyard in the capital, two elderly men, both past their fifties, sat by the window, engaged in a game of chess. One, clad in monk’s robes with nine burn scars crowning his bald head, was Master Huikong, abbot of Prajna Temple. The other, donning a Daoist robe and hat with a sword strapped to his back, was Xie Honghua, head of the Chongxu Sect.

Not far from the window, three others lingered. Cross-legged in meditation was Deng Jian, master of the Fierce Tiger Sect. Beside him, the gray-haired yet powerfully built Lu Zhouyang, master of Swordsmith Manor, sat polishing his gleaming blade by candlelight. Reclining in a grand armchair, his face shadowed and sinister, was Xiang Shao, master of the Five Poisons Sect, who toyed idly with venomous scorpions and snakes.

These five were all renowned innate masters, each having forged a name in the martial world for decades. Though their sects all resided within the borders of Great Liang, the distances separating them from the capital were vast—one could say they hailed from the ends of the earth. And yet, here they were, gathered together in the heart of the capital.

Xie Honghua, his Daoist garb lending him an air of distinction, picked up a black stone and, glancing at the intricate chessboard, casually asked, “Old monk, how many years has it been since we last enjoyed such a spirited game?”

“It must be nearly twenty years,” Huikong replied, nostalgia softening his features. “I recall you visited my temple on your travels and we played a few rounds. I never imagined we’d meet again under such circumstances.”

“Indeed,” Xie Honghua replied with a similar wistfulness. “Back then, Emperor Shengyuan was near death. I had hoped for change in the realm, but the current emperor—ha...” He paused to scoff coldly. “He’s hardly better than his father.”

“Alas,” murmured Huikong, gazing out at the star-studded sky with a sigh. “The world has fallen so far. I wonder if we, as men of the cloth, can still offer any guidance.”

“Spare us, old monk,” Xiang Shao of the Five Poisons Sect sneered. “We all know perfectly well why we’re gathered here—no need to feign such compassion.”

“Amitabha,” Huikong responded serenely, neither angered nor defensive. After chanting the Buddha’s name, he turned and asked, “Patron Xiang, you’ve visited the imperial palace once. What did you think?”

“It was nothing special,” Xiang Shao snorted. “If that old eunuch from the Eastern Depot hadn’t shown up in time, none of you would have had a say in this.” He shot a mocking glance at Lu Zhouyang, still polishing his sword, and added slyly, “Never expected Swordsmith Manor, famed for forging swords even for immortals, to join in.”

Swordsmith Manor had been around for centuries. Legend claimed their ancestors were mere blacksmiths who, by chance, encountered a wandering immortal whose sword had shattered in a duel. The blacksmith rebuilt the sword for the immortal, igniting the family's legacy.

In gratitude, the immortal passed on the secrets of sword-forging to him—a tale many doubted, dismissing it as Manor self-aggrandizement. Only those of Swordsmith Manor held the story as gospel, passing it down through the generations.

Lu Zhouyang caught the mockery in Xiang Shao’s tone but merely shook his head, refusing to argue. As he continued to polish his sword, he remarked, “Every great sect that stands today owes its legacy to some stroke of fortune.”

He paused, his tone tranquil. “May I be so bold as to ask, Master Xiang—doesn’t the Five Poisons Sect also record encounters with immortals?”

“That’s true,” Xiang Shao conceded. The Five Poisons Sect, too, had existed for centuries, and their annals also contained tales of fateful meetings with immortals. Whether true or not, it was not something one would deny before outsiders.

“We haven’t seen any ourselves, but the records are there,” Deng Jian, who had been meditating, opened his eyes and spoke. “The real question is whether immortals truly exist—and if so, how does one seek the path to immortality?”

“Heh. I know nothing of cultivating immortality,” Xiang Shao replied, his tone mocking as some thought crossed his mind. “But I’m certain it’s nothing like the emperor’s so-called cultivation...”

Just then, the door creaked open and in stepped a young man, plainly dressed yet exuding an air of noble refinement. At his side was a timid-looking young eunuch. The men in the room bowed and greeted him, “Your Highness.”

“No need for such ceremony, gentlemen,” the young man waved his hand. The eunuch, upon entering, quickly shut the door behind them, as though afraid of being seen.

“My uncle was killed in the street today. I went to offer my condolences, and for that, I apologize for arriving late. I beg your forgiveness, honored elders.”

“Your Highness’s uncle?” Xiang Shao blinked in surprise. “You mean Zhang Song’s second son?”

“That’s right.”

“I heard after his death, people in the capital even set off firecrackers in celebration. He must not have been a good man.”

“Indeed, his character was deplorable,” the young man sighed. “My grandfather was frail in his youth and didn’t have children until middle age, so my uncles were indulged. My eldest uncle is tolerable, but the second was a scourge upon the good families of the capital. His death is a relief.”

“Your Highness’s ambition is admirable. I salute you,” Xiang Shao said with a bow.

“Amitabha.” Huikong, the old monk, also intoned a blessing and added, “As Crown Prince, Your Highness is the rightful heir to Great Liang. Yet you have summoned us here to seek great change—such boldness!”

“What ambition, what boldness?” the prince replied with a wry smile, his voice tinged with bitterness. “I simply cannot bear to see the world suffer any longer—and I can’t afford to wait much longer, either.”

He paused, his expression darkening. “My father is obstinate, ignoring the counsel of his ministers, cutting off his children’s future and dooming Great Liang’s destiny. Time is not on my side. If I don’t act, I fear I’ll never see the day I ascend the throne.”

“Your Highness’s righteousness is inspiring!” Xie Honghua, master of the Chongxu Sect, bowed deeply. “Your rise will be a blessing for all the people of Great Liang.”

“You flatter me,” the crown prince replied, returning the gesture. “If I ascend, I will sweep away the rot in the court, renew the government for the people, and usher in a new era. Of course, I will not forget the promises I’ve made to you all.”

The men in the room exchanged glances and bowed again. “Your Highness is too gracious.”

In the martial world, the title of “sect” belonged only to those with at least a century of heritage—Chongxu Sect, Prajna Temple, and the like, some with nearly a millennium of history. Though their disciples were few, all were skilled in martial arts. Yet the court of Great Liang harbored deep suspicion—one might even say hostility—toward such sects.

Those with their own industries fared better, their expenses and taxes manageable. But sects with no means of production suffered. Once maintained by the offerings of disciples’ families, they now found these donations dwindling as the world grew more chaotic, leaving them in poverty.

The offerings dwindled, but the taxes only increased—especially in times of unrest. What mattered innate mastery or ancient prestige, if the sect’s very survival was at stake?

The crown prince had promised that, if they helped him overturn the world, he would not only exempt them from taxes but also grant them local autonomy; those who met certain standards could even be elevated as the state religion.

For men in their middle or later years, ambition did not die—it merely shifted to strengthening their legacies and bringing honor to their ancestors. To have one’s sect named the state religion—what a distinction! One’s ancestral tablet would be honored above all, placed at the center of the ancestral hall, the first to receive offerings at every festival.

What man could refuse such an honor?

Only with age did one realize how alluring it was to bring glory to one’s ancestors and be inscribed into the family records. Besides, their “employer” was the crown prince himself. As soon as the emperor died, succession would be smooth and the change in regime would require little effort.

If Xiang Shao alone could attempt an assassination and escape unscathed, now with five innate masters convened at the prince’s invitation, it was hard to see how failure was possible.

And so, both sides struck a firm pact...