Volume One: The Monarch's Command Chapter Forty: Reunion of Fellow Disciples

Beyond the walls of Sunken Boat City, the battlefield stretched for miles. Flaming arrows set the siege ladders ablaze, and amidst the swirling smoke and fire, the shouts of battle never ceased.

The soldiers assaulting the city were no mere rabble from the mountain camps; these were the regular troops under the command of Cui Ying. Their siege equipment was complete: catapults, ladders, battering rams, and a phalanx of five hundred archers faced off against the city’s defenders atop the walls, a counterforce ready to collide.

Sunken Boat City was easy to attack but hard to defend—not a fortress by any measure. The magistrate of the city, Xu Mao, was a civil official, a man without the strength to bind a chicken, now standing atop the gatehouse, shielded by layers of shields, gazing downward.

He watched the banners fluttering in the wind and muttered under his breath, “Well, look at that—the eighteen lords of Salt City, truly an impressive sight. Seven or eight generals have come here. Sunken Boat City won’t last the day…”

Though spoken softly, his voice carried several yards, reaching Feng Changzai’s ears.

Among the current disciples of the Heavenly King Sect, Feng Changzai ranked second. As the eldest son of the Feng family in Yanliang Prefecture, either identity was enough to command respect, yet today he had chosen to station himself in this insignificant city—a perplexing decision.

Xu Mao dared not presume to act. He immediately handed over military command to Feng Changzai and retreated with his family to a corner, guarded by about a hundred men.

Feng Changzai was not here for others; his true grievance lay with Feng Nanjue, who stood far below the city. Once an outer sect disciple, Feng Nanjue had forced his way into the struggle for power, time and again ruining Feng Changzai’s plans with his extraordinary talent.

Today, with three thousand elite soldiers under his command, Feng Changzai aimed to end Feng Nanjue’s life and rid himself of this threat. As for Cui Ying, he would simply capture him and send him home to be kept under watch; the Cui family was the sharp blade in the Heavenly King Sect’s hand, and there was no need to make an enemy of them.

Through the haze of battle, Feng Nanjue caught sight of a white-robed figure atop the walls but did not dwell on it. He ordered the attack to intensify—time waited for no one.

Any reinforcements from another direction were not part of their calculations. From the start, Cui Ying had never intended for the wealthy merchants to take part in the uprising. They were skilled in business, but leading troops was a joke; it was better for them to simply serve as the coffers in the rear.

What he had not expected was that the mountain stronghold failed to block the way, and Liu Xiaoyi took advantage, becoming the leader of that force. Before the city fell, they had already arrived at a gallop. More than five thousand men, banners rippling, their ranks much more orderly than before.

Cao Wenzhao rode forward, cupped his fists, and saluted. “Young Master Cui, we have not failed you. We’ve taken the stronghold and claimed many lives!” The salt merchants’ faces glowed red, the journey having truly exhausted them.

The battlefield was chaotic, words lost and found in the din. Cui Ying signaled them to withdraw a little and sent all his soldiers into the fray.

With the influx of fresh troops, the city gate’s defenses collapsed at once. The defenders scattered, fleeing with their families through the wide-open rear gates. When the city was finally breached, Cui Ying charged in at the head of his men, but immediately halted, not daring to advance rashly.

Inside the gate, another host of soldiers stood ready. Five men in white robes led them, long hair tied back, sleeves trimmed with gold thread, and on their chests, the tiny, densely stitched words: “Heavenly King Sect.”

Their attire matched that of Feng Nanjue. Cui Ying himself wore the same, and so could not fail to recognize them.

Feng Changzai raised his chin, looking at Cui Ying with disdain. “Junior Brother Cui, it has been a while. I trust you have been well?” His voice was soft but carried the weight of a thousand tons, pressing the air from Cui Ying’s lungs.

“Second Senior Brother… Why are you in this little city? Weren’t you supposed to be in seclusion with the elders?” Cui Ying drew a deep breath. He was, after all, the son of the Grand General of Eastern Conquest; he should not fear Feng Changzai.

“The elders are in seclusion, leaving us free to settle our disputes. Don’t you agree, my dear Junior Brother Feng?” His gaze passed over Cui Ying, landing on Feng Nanjue behind him.

Feng Nanjue sighed and stepped forward. “Second Senior Brother, there’s no need to make things difficult for me. I have said before, I have no desire to vie for power within the sect. My only wish is to cultivate, to seek a higher realm.”

“Oh? Then why did you recruit volunteers along the way and march here to Sunken Boat City?” Feng Changzai’s disbelief was clear. The Heavenly King Sect’s selection always emphasized command and martial prowess; thus, in times of chaos, the sect leader’s seat was always up for contest.

If you cared nothing for power, why raise an army? Trying to fob him off with empty platitudes—he would have none of it!

Feng Nanjue knew he could not sway his senior brother. Since entering the city, he had heard of Feng Changzai’s deep jealousy—a man of great talent obsessed with the vanity of worldly power. Now, in his eyes, a faint murderous intent flickered.

The four white-robed disciples behind Feng Changzai were all fellow sect members. One, familiar with Feng Nanjue, kept making faces, urging him to escape.

“What do you want, Second Senior Brother?”

“Take your troops and leave; let’s pretend none of this happened.”

“Sunken Boat City is the only road back to the Heavenly King Sect. Are you saying I am not allowed to return?”

Feng Nanjue’s voice was low, shadows gathering between his brows. In his time away, no news had come from the sect—had something happened?

“With Cui Ying here, you could follow the Grand General to Central Province, put your talents to use. Isn’t that better than going back to the sect?” Feng Changzai pressed harder.

“If you think you can send me away with a few words, Second Senior Brother, you’ve chosen the wrong man. You’ll have to try harder,” Feng Nanjue replied.

He drew a steel blade from his waist, its cold gleam flashing. But before he could move, his entire body froze—this was not his senior brother’s doing.

Out of nowhere, an old man with a hoe appeared, strolling idly between the two lines of horses. He raised his hoe and struck it heavily into the ground, loosening the soil and carving a shallow trench.

Unhurried, the old man took small wooden plaques from his belt, placing one every so often along the trench. On each plaque was written a name.

The third bore the characters “Feng Nanjue.” Feng Nanjue sucked in a breath. “Elder! Who are you? Enough of your tricks!”

He swung his blade at the old man’s back. “So impatient? Young people are always so restless. Lie down and rest for a while,” the old man said.

In mid-air, Feng Nanjue’s body suddenly stiffened at these words, and he fell to the ground.

Behind the plaque, the old man dug a rectangular pit, tossed aside his hoe, grabbed Feng Nanjue by the ankle, and threw him in.

Everyone was stunned, forgetting for a moment they stood on a battlefield. Feng Nanjue’s strength was unclear, but he should not have been rendered helpless, dropping like a frozen animal from the sky.

Feng Changzai’s brows knitted. Pointing his sword, he barked, “Old fool, he is a member of our Heavenly King Sect. Let him go, and perhaps we’ll spare your life!”

“Heh, if Dao Xu was here, his words might matter. As for you, get down here and lie still as well.” As he spoke, Feng Changzai felt his internal energy grind to a halt. Powerless, he watched as he was pulled from his horse and thrown into the pit beside Feng Nanjue.

Everyone looked on, dumbfounded.