Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Might of the Warrior Does Not Encroach Upon Imperial Authority

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It was perhaps fortunate that Luo Changning was disabled and looked quite ordinary; otherwise, he might have fallen victim to the predations of wealthy merchants, with an uncertain future. For him, even having a decent meal was a luxury, let alone having a devoted female caregiver—who dreamed of marrying into a wealthy family—attend to his bathing and grooming. His shabby appearance, combined with the horror of having no limbs, naturally repelled people. Yet this repulsion spared him from the torment and abuse of perverts.

In ancient times, there were handsome men like Pan An and Wei Jie, the latter rumored to have been "looked to death." During the Wei and Jin periods, Wei Jie, a strikingly beautiful man of the Western Jin dynasty, though frail and sickly, captivated the entire city of Jiankang when he traveled by carriage. So many citizens came out just to catch a glimpse of this jade-like beauty that the carriage was surrounded tightly, unable to move.

"From Yuzhang to the capital, people had long heard his name; viewers crowded like a wall. Jie was frail and could not endure labor, eventually falling ill and dying. People said he was looked to death."

Thus, the frail Wei Jie was literally gazed to death, giving rise to the saying. When a person lacks the strength to protect themselves, their beauty becomes a curse—a source of disaster and tragedy.

Later, the welfare home's director, implicated in illicit dealings, was sentenced to life imprisonment. The relevant authorities appointed a new director for the Jingyang Children's Welfare Home. But Luo Changning, who had thoroughly seen the ugly truth of humanity, held no hope or expectation for the future despite the change in leadership. His heart had died long ago, chilled to the core after witnessing the brutal death of the only girl who had ever shown him warmth. All that remained was deep despair and disgust at the world. He pondered the meaning of life, finding it worse than death.

Indeed, perhaps out of caution following the tragic fate of the previous director, the new one kept a low profile for a long time. Luo Changning’s food and living conditions improved significantly; at least he no longer ate leftovers and poor-quality food, occasionally even meat. Yet, having finally experienced this life, Luo Changning grew even colder, finding the food harder to swallow.

After more than a year of these better days, the new director’s true colors finally emerged. Together with caregivers, he deliberately starved orphans like Luo Changning, who had poor self-care abilities, to death, then hastily cremated their bodies. Few paid attention to these vulnerable groups; even if investigations arose, the director could claim the orphans died of illness or self-imposed starvation.

The director acted cautiously, eliminating orphans one by one over time, never too close together.

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Soon, it was Luo Changning’s turn. Yet when he died, he was peaceful—without resentment or regret, only a sense of release and scorn for humanity. Fortunately, Heaven had eyes and granted Luo Changning a chance to be reborn and start anew.

After accepting death calmly, he found himself reborn as a newborn baby. Though he had lost faith in humanity, he cherished this new life and opportunity deeply. Who would willingly give up a second chance without trying?

Moreover, Luo Changning felt he now had fully functioning limbs—a normal body. Later, the care and love from Su Meng and Su Qinqin made him experience the warmth of family affection, filling him with hope for the future. A healthy body and a loving family—these two blessings gave him reasons to look forward to life. Aren’t these the very things most people yearn for?

Alas, the good times lasted only eleven days—the kind of happiness that exists only in dreams—before vanishing forever. All because Su Qinqin went mad.

Ultimately, everything traced back to Du Gu Bancheng. Had he not instigated the mutiny, none of this would have happened! Luo Changning would have been born on Miao South Road, and Luo Feng would have anxiously awaited news of mother and child’s safe delivery outside the delivery room, their family living happily together.

Rumor had it that Du Gu Bancheng’s rebellion was sparked by a woman named Luo Bai. She was the eldest princess of the former Phoenix Flame Kingdom, the only full sister of the late emperor. Luo Bai was not only stunningly beautiful but also talented in both civil and martial arts, once the dream girl of many young noblemen in the capital, hailed as the most desirable bride among the city’s men.

Yet such a gifted and beautiful princess was married off by her own brother to a literary champion.

This champion was of very ordinary appearance—one who would be lost in a crowd—but he was refined and scholarly, exuding an elegant aura. A perfect match of talent and beauty, yet the capital’s people believed the champion groom had wasted the princess, likening her to a rare flower planted in manure.

The princess was not only breathtaking but also skilled in both arts and arms—a rare combination in the martial-dominant Yaohua Continent, earning her much praise. However, her groom, though talented, was a powerless scholar; he could write poetry but was utterly incapable in combat. The mismatch led to widespread skepticism about the royal marriage. Yet, the married life of Princess Luo Bai and the champion groom proved everyone wrong, flourishing warmly.

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The princess and her groom lived a sweet and fulfilling life. According to the palace servants, they often enjoyed wine under the moonlight, composing poetry together—a delight indeed.

In Yaohua Continent, the political and social order resembled that of ancient Dilong Continent. Although warriors held high status, the emperor’s authority was supreme and unshakable.

Social rank was paramount. Noble clans were powerful, with deep roots and abundant resources to enhance their members’ martial prowess. They also cultivated large forces of skilled warriors to serve their interests.

In contrast, wandering martial artists without status, background, or resources faced a much tougher start. Talent, diligence, and opportunity were all indispensable. Given the same level of ability, those with status were far more reckless and brazen than lone wanderers.

Of course, those who reached the Celestial Realm were in a league of their own; regardless of birth, they could command the elements and disrupt the peace of a region.

Yet, few wandering martial artists without family backing ever reached that realm; most were scions of noble families. Those who did typically cared little for mundane affairs, focusing instead on mastering eternal life by preserving the power of their soul.

According to ancestral customs, when a princess married, a prince’s mansion was built beside the princess’s residence. The prince could not take concubines without the princess’s consent.

However, history was rife with princes secretly maintaining mistresses or brothels behind the princess’s back—an ostensible show of loyalty masking defiance.

Whether the prince could share intimate moments with the princess depended on her mood; only on days when red lanterns hung high was he permitted to visit for such exchanges.

Moreover, princesses favored by the emperor might even keep male companions for their own amusement.

Such was the power of authority; in royal circles, power determined status.

In common households, men ruled, and women were subordinate. Sharing a husband with other women was customary, let alone keeping male companions—a notion unthinkable in ordinary families.