Volume One: The King's Mandate Chapter Eighty-Three: What Makes a Hero

Bai Yiting held his sword and began to dance. The area where he stood was filled with an aura of peace, but from the rift in the sky, green orbs of light first flew out, then transformed into legless human figures. With their hands clasped, they bowed deeply toward Bai Yiting from afar.

Bai Yiting drew a long breath and returned their salute with a deep bow. “It is done. Daoist Friend Liu, your virtue is immeasurable. You are a model for all who follow the path of cultivation!”

“It’s done! Liu Xiaoyi has succeeded!” Meng Qiaoqiao cheered with delight, but the other mountain lords remained tense. The souls floating in midair, after bowing, did not immediately return to their bodies, but hovered there, suspended.

Nearby, the bolder townsfolk began to gather, all curious to witness this once-in-a-century spectacle—a sight of souls so rarely seen with the naked eye.

The disciples of the Heavenly King Dao set aside their tasks and came to the city’s edge to watch. Bai Yiting continued to wield the peachwood sword, each gesture conjuring a whirlwind in the air, drawing traces of spiritual energy to the rift above.

Within the rift, Liu Xiaoyi’s body flickered between green and white. He could barely endure the soul-attracting divine light any longer; his belly was swollen round, and his once thin frame had grown sturdy—indeed, even fatter than before.

“Little Gold? Little Gold, can you hear me?” Suddenly struck by a thought, Liu Xiaoyi called out hurriedly. This was his sea of consciousness, a place only he could enter freely. To his surprise, Little Gold poked his head out from Liu Xiaoyi’s embrace at the sound of his name.

The moment he emerged, Little Gold’s three eyes fixed on the divine soul-attracting light. Though unfamiliar with it, his sense of smell detected a unique fragrance emanating from the light.

“Help me eat some, I’m full,” Liu Xiaoyi instructed. With a predatory leap, Little Gold’s form expanded to nearly thirty feet in length, swallowing the divine light in one gulp. He then turned a hopeful gaze back toward Liu Xiaoyi, clearly wanting more.

“That’s all for now. Next time we encounter this, I’ll call you,” Liu Xiaoyi said, exasperated. This little tiger’s appetite was astonishing; even the entirety of the divine light would not suffice.

Refining such a divine item was closely linked to one’s cultivation. Liu Xiaoyi had no inkling of Little Gold’s capabilities, merely assuming he was a gluttonous spirit beast.

Once the divine light vanished completely from his consciousness, the crystal cup in his hand shattered abruptly, and the circlet withered and disappeared—these aids for absorbing the divine light had fulfilled their purpose and, now spent, returned to the world’s embrace.

In that secret space, with the divine light and soul-orbs gone, the void felt vast and hollow. Liu Xiaoyi knelt, bowing three times toward the empty air, repaying Daoist Xuanzi’s kindness.

For a cultivator to transcend realms required immense fortune. While Liu Xiaoyi had barely understood the path, Daoist Xuanzi had already laid a solid foundation for him, bestowing him with opportunities deserving of those three resounding bows.

Upon the third bow, Liu Xiaoyi was seized by a sense of melancholy as the entire space quaked violently, on the verge of collapse. A glowing rift opened before him. Instinctively, Liu Xiaoyi stepped forward and tumbled down from the sky.

It was at least a dozen yards from his position to the ground. A fall from such a height would shatter even black iron. Liu Xiaoyi’s mind raced, but he could think of no way to sprout wings.

At that very moment, the surrounding souls acted in unison, extending their hands, sending pure soul power surging forth to gently catch Liu Xiaoyi and set him down softly before Bai Yiting.

Liu Xiaoyi bowed again, and the souls reciprocated before flying swiftly to their bodies. Bai Yiting cast a spell to preserve the soulless bodies, maintaining a spark of life until, upon the souls’ return, each body coughed violently and awoke with a start.

None remembered what their souls had witnessed; lacking the necessary cultivation, those memories remained dormant, as if waking from a daydream. They rose, bewildered, surveying the battlefield’s devastation.

“Are you alright? Did you see Daoist Xuanzi inside?” Bai Yiting scrutinized Liu Xiaoyi and saw that he was not only full of vigor, but also noticeably plumper, though he had no idea why.

“I saw him. Daoist Xuanzi had prepared for this; he shielded the divine light, allowing the souls to return,” Liu Xiaoyi replied, withholding the fact that he had absorbed the divine light himself. If the old Taoist knew more secrets, he might be in trouble.

Any one of the recent occurrences was enough for the world to take his life—the Imperial Mandate, the Nine Syllable Mantra, and now the soul-attracting divine light.

“No wonder he was a legend of the Heavenly King Dao. To handle the divine light is no small feat; I am not his equal,” Bai Yiting sighed. “Alas, such talent cut short. Had he lived, our ranks would boast another great leader.”

“Daoist Xuanzi died for the divine light, splitting his soul to pass the key to me. He saved so many lives; he deserves to be called a titan.”

As they spoke, the others came out onto the city walls. Meng Qiaoqiao and Xiao Qingshu, one to each side, rushed to embrace Liu Xiaoyi. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” they asked in unison.

Bai Yiting rolled his eyes. “So the saying goes: when disciples grow up, the master is sidelined. I may as well go back to the mountain to farm.”

Meng Qiaoqiao blushed and tried to withdraw, but seeing Xiao Qingshu pressing her cheek against Liu Xiaoyi’s arm, her own hold only tightened.

“Let go, you two, I can barely breathe,” Liu Xiaoyi chuckled, trying to free himself, but to no avail.

Fortunately, Daoist Xuzi came to the rescue. The seven mountain lords began organizing the troops; the small city could not house so many, so camps were set up on the high ground outside, allowing everyone to rest.

“Thanks to your help, we held Yan City. But it is not a place to linger. We must continue on to Central Province—what say you?” Daoist Xuzi inquired.

“I’ll go to Central Province with you. I have unfinished business there; the court’s affairs are a headache.” Liu Xiaoyi mused that he needed to find a skilled craftsman to forge a new King’s Sword. Otherwise, with the golden dragon’s soul absorbed, if word got out, he’d be flayed alive.

Daoist Xuzi, unaware of his true thoughts, took it as the wish of his superiors and nodded. “Very well, I’ll assign you an elite guard for your protection.”

Liu Xiaoyi wanted to decline, but Daoist Xuzi insisted on his safety, pressing the command token into his hand.

Among the assigned troops was a familiar face. After checking the roster, Liu Xiaoyi summoned Tang Qiu into his tent.

Tang Qiu still led the men he’d brought from Tang Manor. In the vast army of a hundred thousand, they were inconspicuous. Witnessing the battles of the past few days had left him dispirited; his confidence shattered.

They were all young and eager for glory, hoping to make their mark alongside the Heavenly King Dao. But the profound battles they’d seen had left them deeply humbled. Were it not for pride, some might have abandoned their posts.

When the commander summoned him, Tang Qiu was at a loss, but seeing Liu Xiaoyi at the head of the tent, he relaxed.

“So it was you who called, Senior Liu. You gave me a fright,” Tang Qiu said respectfully, standing to the side.

Liu Xiaoyi returned the courtesy. “No need for such formality, Brother Tang. We are of the same generation.”

“No, no, your abilities are far beyond mine. I’m just a simple man from the countryside; I could never compare. Tradition must be upheld.” Tang Qiu had seen Liu Xiaoyi emerge alone from the rift and save so many people—the word ‘hero’ was no exaggeration. In his eyes, Liu Xiaoyi’s standing rose to a new height.

“To business, then. Daoist Xuzi has given me five thousand troops. I know nothing of command, so I need your help.”

“Wherever you march, Brother Liu, I’ll lead the way!”

“No, not that. I want you to lead the five thousand for me; I have other matters that require my attention.”

The debate in the tent grew heated. Five thousand men was no small force. There were hundreds of disciples, dozens of vice generals and captains, and the arguments over deployment lasted from dawn till dusk.

In the end, Liu Xiaoyi slipped the command token into Tang Qiu’s hands and made his escape, stretching out contentedly on a distant hillside.

It had been a long time since he could lie in peace, gazing at the slowly turning stars above.

Little Gold lay beside him, mimicking a human posture, his three bright eyes fixed on the sky. After swallowing the divine light, he seemed utterly unaffected, as though he’d simply eaten a hearty meal.

“If only you could speak, you’d be my best friend. If I could live like you—just eating and sleeping, free of worries.”

At his words, Little Gold shuffled closer, nuzzling Liu Xiaoyi with his soft fur.

“I wonder when I’ll ever avenge my father, or find my mother again. This past year has been so hard—I don’t even have a home. Don’t you think I’m pitiful?” Liu Xiaoyi gathered Little Gold in his arms. “Having you with me makes things a little easier.”

Little Gold nodded as if understanding, then stretched out his hind legs and urinated on Liu Xiaoyi’s face. Caught off guard, Liu Xiaoyi had the dubious honor of tasting it.

Immediately after, a massive shadow plummeted from the sky, accompanied by the mournful cry of a wild beast, echoing over the camp. From a distance, it looked as though a mountain had fallen onto the hillside.

There followed the angry shouts of their new commander. For several days, Little Gold refused to emerge from Liu Xiaoyi’s embrace, a bright red handprint visible on his hindquarters.

That night, at the edge of the pine forest on the hillside, Xiao Qingshu hid quietly behind a tree, listening in silence to Liu Xiaoyi’s monologue. Listening, she wept softly and drifted into sleep.