Chapter 573 - A New World Born of That Sword - Part 1

A single thread. Two people.

One in the world of the living. One in the land of the dead.

But that dazzling sword of the Human Emperor had severed the bond between the mortal realm and the Underworld.

Li Yuan could no longer see Yan Yu. And yet, every day, his stat points still increased.

Somehow, that invisible thread still connected him to her across the great divide.

But what a long, long thread it must be.

If one could observe from a god's-eye view, they would see that the newly dead no longer descended into the Underworld. Instead, they were swept away into some unknown cycle of reincarnation.

The Underworld...had drifted away.

Just like the tales from Li Yuan’s previous life, stories of a broken bridge between Heaven and Earth.

When Mount Buzhou crumbled, the Heavens drifted off into the void. And now, with the Human Emperor’s all-consuming final strike, the Underworld had vanished as well.

But what about Yan Yu? What happened to her?

Li Yuan had to find proof that Yan Yu had won. Even if he could never see her again, he needed to know that she was alive and well on the other side.

He needed that confirmation to put his heart at ease, to know that everything he had done wasn’t for nothing.

The meat fields began to fade away. Mountains and rivers once frozen under eternal ice slowly began to thaw. Fields swallowed by darkness and desolation began to see the first light. Wind blew across the sands, revealing the yellow earth beneath.

It wasn’t much, just the smallest of signs, but everything was inching, however slowly, toward hope.

Meanwhile, the newly crowned Ji He had thrown himself into his work. He may have pulled a trick to claim the throne, but that didn’t mean he was some clueless fool.

The truth was, the Human Emperor had been a strict man. Could either of his sons have turned out weak?

The Ying Clan’s faction had grown overconfident, thinking they had everything under control. So they let down their guard. When Ying Shanxing was handed the poisoned wine and the Human Emperor’s final decree was made public, they were caught between grief and confusion.

But the He Clan played it dirty. They twisted the Crown Prince’s words, exaggerating and distorting them to stoke unrest. In the span of a single day, they stirred up enough martial artists in secret to pull off a total reversal.

In the end, it was never about who’s the strongest, the kindest, or the most qualified. The one who took the throne was the one who was the most desperate and calmest on that critical day.

So even if Ji He rose by despicable means, that didn’t mean he’d be a terrible ruler. History was written by the victors.

True to that, the new Emperor didn’t go on a killing spree against the Ying Clan’s faction. He knew full well he couldn’t eliminate them all. So while he soothed the Prince of Star’s faction on one hand, he tightened his grip on the military with the other and also began wrestling with something far more mundane, farming.

He opened the national treasury.

What he found were piles of blood gold, soul iron, and demonic beast meat...but barely any grain.

When he sent people to investigate, he learned the awful truth. Food outside was now scarce beyond measure. No matter the price, there simply wasn’t any to buy. People were dying every day, every hour, every moment.

Ji He’s head throbbed. Back when he wasn’t emperor, none of this was his concern. But now...it was all his responsibility.

Still, the thawing rivers and receding Evernight gave him a sliver of hope.

And so, the policies to cut taxes and nourish the people were rolled out one after another.

Ji He also began to reflect on what exactly the late Emperor had done that night. Whatever it was, it had to be tied to the gradual recovery now spreading across the land.

Little by little, his resentment toward the previous Emperor began to fade. He was finally willing to admit that his father was a remarkable ruler.

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One year, two years, three, four... Time flew by.

People wept with joy when they saw rice sprouting from the once-barren soil, when fruit began to grow again on the dead trees they had long given up on. There were cheers and tears in equal measure.

The martial artists, however, were struck by something else, something that filled them with a mix of awe and dread. The meat fields that had been endlessly expanding...had stopped. In some regions, they had even begun to shrink.

Martial artists scrambled to head east.

The flying boats that ferried passengers every two years were packed to capacity. Fights broke out over boarding slots. Everyone from the mighty to the mediocre fought tooth and nail for a ticket out.

These martial artists, hardened by the blood-soaked soil of the Great Zhou, would rather risk their lives as cannon fodder in the Immortal Domain than stay another day in this land.

˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙

The sky was clear and blue, spotless as a polished mirror.

Clouds drifted lazily by.

A sparrow flitted past, riding the breeze of a gentle spring wind in March. And then, one particularly uncivilized sparrow dropped a dark, wet something mid-flight.

It arced down in a perfect parabola and landed with a splat on the back of a cart full of firewood, then smacked squarely into a large boy’s forehead.

He didn’t even have time to react. His whole brow turned dark and sticky, and something unpleasant began dripping down his nose.

The others burst out laughing.

Boys, girls, teens of all ages, they were a ragtag bunch, dressed in coarse, homespun clothing. No silks, no finery. Just the kind of clothes one wore when they had nothing but each other.

They were orphans, children who had lost everything in the chaos of the past years. But somehow, they’d found one another. Found enough warmth in each other’s company to call it family.

And it was all thanks to the old man driving the cart.

The old man’s hair was white as frost, and there was always a trace of weary sorrow in his eyes.

When he looked into the distance, he seemed like a dried-up flower, like still water, like the sea at night...quiet, deep, and utterly drained of passion.

Yet this same old man had found each of these children at death’s doorstep, scattered across mountains, alleys, and ruined villages, and pulled them back one by one. He didn’t just give them food; he gave them a future. He taught them how to hunt, how to haggle in the market, how to read the moods of landlords and masters.

The kids all called him Grandpa Li.

That’s all they knew, his last name was Li. He never told them more.

But over time, they started to guess that Grandpa Li was a martial artist once. Maybe even a sixth rank one. Maybe...maybe he was from the Central Capital. The nobles from there lived in a whole different world.

Something must’ve gone wrong for Old Man Li to end up here, out in the hinterlands.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was

their

Grandpa Li.

They liked him. Not just because he saved them, not just because he taught them how to fight and how to hunt, but because he gave them everything he had, never holding back.

And yet...they could all tell, deep down, that Grandpa Li was still looking for something.

Something that kept him moving from place to place, never staying long, never settling down.

Maybe...he was looking for family?

That’s what the kids all liked to imagine.

“Grandpa! Hei Zi got bird poop on his face!” a girl shouted, barely holding back her laughter.

The boy who’d been hit let out a string of dramatic shrieks, flailing around as if mortally wounded. While the others howled with laughter, he wiped the black, wet, stinking mess off his forehead and flung it onto the muddy road behind the cart.

A teenager beside him teased, “With luck like that, I’d say something good’s coming your way today!”

Another called out, “Grandpa! Where are we going?”

And someone else chimed in, “Who cares? Wherever Grandapa Li goes, we follow!”

The cart erupted into noisy chatter, kids shouting over each other, half-bickering, half-joking.

“We’re growing up now. Can’t always let Grandpa do all the work. We should help out too!”

“Honestly, I kind of wanted to stay in that last town. There was a girl there...”

“Ha! You’ll find another girl in the next town!”

Right then, the ox-cart came to a sudden halt.

In the distance, a river shimmered beneath the sunlight, flickering like fish scales.

Li Yuan, holding the reins, spoke in a raspy voice. “Hei Zi. Go wash your face by the river.”

“Thanks, Grandpaa!” The unfortunate boy dashed off, his movement swift and practiced. He wasn’t even ninth rank yet, he couldn’t grasp the concept of shadow blood.

Not just him, none of the dozen or so kids had managed to comprehend shadow blood.

But even without it, they had still learned plenty of skills that didn’t rely on such mystical insight.

Hei Zi, for instance, had picked up a footwork style and a basic fist skill from Grandpa Li.

Now, as he ran, he carried himself with the form of a martial artist. Maybe not a master, but certainly well beyond the reach of an average man.

Li Yuan watched the boy sprint off, then leaned back against the wooden side of the cart, tilting his head to gaze up at the pale sky, where white clouds drifted lazily overhead.

It had been over four years since the day he left the Deathless Tomb.

He’d walked away broken, utterly shattered. Nothing could pull him out of the daze. Until he saw that half-frozen child lying by the roadside, nearly dead from the cold. He took the child in, disguised himself as an old man...

And then the children kept coming.

More and more of them, from every corner of this shattered world.

So he began teaching them basic martial arts, survival skills, and the art of getting by. He taught them how to hunt, how to sell meat, and how to read the faces of merchants and landlords.

And in those small, ordinary days, something within his withered heart began to stir again. Slowly, quietly, life returned to him.

But it wasn’t just about healing.

All this time, he had also been watching, witnessing how this world was changing. And, more than anything else, he was still searching for proof.

He was looking for signs that Yan Yu had won.

That proof came in the form of Ying Zhuoyao.

She was a jade husk of the Ghost Lake, just like how Peng Mingyi had been for Yan Yu. If the Ghost Lake had lost...she would have been stripped of all its power.

However, she wasn’t in the Eastern Sea’s Immortal Domain. So, that meant he’d have to go find her himself.

That was how his grief, his guilt, and his need to believe that something had been saved had turned him into

Grandpa Li

, the wandering father-figure of a group of wayward children.

But it was only a role. A mask worn to rest and recover. Just one of many identities a long-lived man could assume in his eternal life.

He needed to learn the mindset of an Immortal.

Not long after, Hei Zi returned from the river, face freshly washed, looking satisfied.

Just then, a ripple of awareness stirred in Li Yuan’s mind.

Across the river, amidst the thick reeds, he caught sight of a hunched figure, someone familiar. An old silhouette, stooped and slow, leaning heavily on a walking stick.

He smiled faintly. Then he stood, reached under the wooden crate he'd been sitting on, and pulled out a small pouch of silver nuggets and a handwritten manual. It was a simple one, nothing special, just a basic martial art for life in the jianghu.

He divided the silver nuggets among the children and handed the manual to one of the older, steadier boys.

Then came the goodbyes. Simple. Quiet. And real.

He left them there.

At first, the children were dazed, unsure what to do. But Grandpa Li had taught them well over the years. So they knelt and kowtowed toward the direction he had gone, then rose with bright eyes and steady hearts.

They had walked through many towns. They’d seen with their own eyes how the land was changing for the better.

And with the skills they had now, they would survive. Thrive, even.

They weren’t alone anymore. They had each other. They had a family.

The kids glanced around at one another, sharing quiet, uncertain smiles.

One of them instinctively tried to follow after Grandpa Li, as they always had. But after just a few steps, he realized that the old man was gone.

He’d vanished like mist under sunlight.

And then, as if to reward his loyalty, a single golden nugget appeared out of nowhere in the child’s arms.

The sun still shone. The spring breeze still blew. Wildflowers perfumed the wind along the lowlands.

But the old man with silver hair, the one who seemed worn by time and life alike, had disappeared.

Like a ghost. Like a god.