Chapter Twelve: A Gentleman Always Keeps His Word

When the young man asked about the matter, Yang Yanlang’s smile froze for a moment, becoming even more bitter.

The young man’s heart trembled, and he guessed there was something unusual going on.

Yang Yanlang slowly turned away, silent for a long while, as if unwilling to answer, unable to face Zhong Ming.

A youth as perceptive as this could easily see the general’s difficulty. He spoke in a low voice, “Uncle Yang, speak plainly.”

“Your father… disappeared in the battle at Fengtian City.”

“Disappeared?” The young man, who had just felt a glimmer of hope, was struck as if by lightning, stunned on the spot. After a while, he returned to himself, muttering, “Just as that fortune-teller said, I am destined for loneliness. Even if I live another life, I may never see my parents again?”

This reminded him of his previous life, when his adoptive father died unexpectedly less than two years after taking him in. Now, he had just learned news of his father, only to find he had vanished.

Is loneliness truly his fate?

Since his rebirth, the young man’s belief in man’s triumph over destiny had grown increasingly shaky. He gripped the Juexiang Blade tightly, his palms reddening without him realizing it.

Noticing the young man had fallen silent, Yang Yanlang turned around, catching sight of the youth’s furrowed brow and distant gaze. The general felt a pang of pity and quickly said, “Nephew, you need not suffer. I and the eldest brother have never ceased searching for your father. If we hear any news, you’ll be the first to know.”

Though his words were meant to comfort, the general himself lacked conviction.

The battle at Fengtian City involved immortals of Kunlun. Emperor Ji Long and Ji Cheng personally fought Xu Qiandao. In that clash, Emperor Ji Long’s command stirred the land, and the earth dragon’s uprising killed over twenty thousand cavalry.

Eighty thousand troops, forced back by one man.

Xu Qiandao fought Emperor Ji Long, who had assumed the true form of the earth dragon, with only a single blade. How could his safety be assured?

When Yang Yanlang and Qin Xiong arrived, corpses lay everywhere, a deep chasm hundreds of feet wide split the earth, and only the Juexiang Blade and a dragon-head key wrapped in an embroidered kerchief remained by the cliff’s edge.

Even now, recalling that scene sent chills through Yang Yanlang’s heart.

To summon the earth dragon’s power, to carve a hundred-foot gorge with a finger—such feats surpassed human capability. Yang Yanlang could hardly believe his second brother could survive such a battle.

The explanation of “disappearance” was a lie, and Yang Yanlang knew it. Yet, he had to say it for Zhong Ming’s sake.

He must give this pitiful young man some hope, so he wouldn’t live in despair.

At this thought, bitterness filled his mouth and hatred welled in his heart. He recalled the group of false immortals in the imperial court who watched but did nothing to help, and his fist clenched, pounding hard against the beam beside him.

The beam shook, loose bricks and tiles clattered down, stirring clouds of dust.

Knowing his own distraction had caused Yang Yanlang’s agitation, the young man took a deep breath, gently shook his head, and said, “Uncle Yang, there’s no need for this. Since my father is missing, there will surely come a day when he is found.”

“Certainly!”

In that moment, the youth comforted the general, deceiving himself as well as Yang Yanlang, and the general did the same.

Both forced a smile, their bitterness known only to themselves.

Once their emotions had settled, Yang Yanlang said, “Nephew, though your father’s whereabouts are unknown, his contributions to New Tang are indelible. If you have any requests, tell your uncle.”

“Your father spent decades on campaign, earning great merit for New Tang—enough for a marquisate or a minister’s post. Whatever you ask—official rank, gold and jewels, mansions or beauties—just name it, and your uncle will see it done!”

Mentioning the immortals meddling in court affairs, Yang Yanlang’s tone grew colder.

“Whatever you wish, even if I must carry the Silver Dragon Spear into the Hall of Heaven and Earth, I’ll get it for you!”

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Fragments of conversation revealed Yang Yanlang’s discord with the court, and the young man, now calm, could hardly miss it.

Once one of New Tang’s three divine generals, Yang Yanlang had fallen to the frontier, reduced to a nameless cavalry officer. There must have been much hardship behind this.

Yang Yanlang was not as bright as his silver helmet and white robe; he surely harbored unspeakable pains.

Struggling on the political path, the general’s nephew had no wish to add to his troubles. Smiling, he said, “Uncle Yang, I have no great ambitions. I don’t desire a marquisate or riches—just enough to eat and I’ll be content.”

Yang Yanlang was taken aback. He had prepared to return to Luoyang and secure a hereditary title for his nephew, but the youth declined with quiet ease.

To Zhong Ming, simply learning his father’s fate was a stroke of fortune; there was no need for more. Should he leverage Xu Qiandao’s reputation for wealth or rank, it would only bring trouble, and the fallen uncle might not be able to protect him.

The youth had always been content—life itself was enough.

To chase after things that might not be his, only to end up executed, would be a fool’s bargain.

“Truly, nothing at all? Nephew, perhaps you just can’t think of anything you need?”

The young man shook his head, “I want nothing. Meeting you today is a great joy already. All I ask is to someday find my father—nothing more.”

The wise delight in mountains, seeing them as paintings; the benevolent delight in water, seeing it as boundless.

The young man’s words moved the general. He looked anew at the youth, realizing his nephew possessed a wisdom and tranquility rare for his age.

He sighed deeply, gazing up at the sky, “So be it. If your mother didn’t wish you to know your father’s past, perhaps she simply wanted you to live a peaceful life. You don’t ask, I won’t seek. Let your uncle accompany you in this frontier town, and I’ll see you want for nothing, keep you safe.”

“That would be wonderful.”

The young man smiled brightly, gripping the Juexiang Blade, and looked up at the sky as well.

Through the broken tiles, all he could see was the vast sky, gentle clouds, and the sun rising.

As for what the general in silver helmet and white robe gazed at, the youth did not know. He only knew that staring upward for so long made his neck ache.

He asked, “Uncle, doesn’t your neck get tired from looking up so long?”

The general hadn’t expected such a question and laughed heartily, “A bit, yes!”

“Why don’t we leave? Standing in a ruined temple to gaze at the sky may be poetic, but after a while it’s rather silly.”

“Nephew, you’re quite right. Shall we go?”

The youth in rough clothes and the general in white robe walked out side by side.

They had grown familiar and chatted as they walked. The young man said, “Uncle, calling me ‘nephew’ feels distant. Why not call me Xiao Zhong or Xiao Ming? There’s a carpenter named Li at the village head who calls me ‘Zhong lad,’ and I quite like it.”

The general nodded, thinking it over, “You’re right. We’re family—let’s just call you Zhong Ming.”

Stepping out of the ruined temple, Sun Longhu immediately came forward, asking, “Captain, is Zhong Ming the one you were looking for?”

Yang Yanlang smiled and nodded, “Exactly. This trip wasn’t wasted. You’ll all be rewarded when we return!”

Sun Longhu thanked the general, then turned to Zhong Ming with a smile, “Zhong Ming, do you remember your brother Longhu? You used to follow me up Qinggang Mountain to play.”

The youth thought for a moment, and did recall Sun Longhu—this was Old Sun’s son.

Old Sun often lamented that his son was conscripted and never returned. Now, his son had returned in glory, and Zhong Ming could imagine Old Sun boasting to the villagers.

“All right, Longhu, enough with the chit-chat. Go prepare the horses—we have important matters ahead.”

Interrupting Sun Longhu and urging him to prepare the horses, Yang Yanlang turned to the young man, “Zhong Ming, I’d like first to pay respects to your mother. I heard in the village she’s passed; it’s only right I offer tribute. What do you say?”

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In their brief time together, it was clear the general valued sentiment, and his words matched his character—but Zhong Ming did not wish to follow suit.

“Uncle, there’s no rush to pay respects to my mother. Before that, I have something else to do.”

Yang Yanlang looked surprised, “What could be more important than honoring your departed mother?”

Since ancient times, filial piety has been the highest virtue, and offering respect is always a major matter, especially in this era.

The young man smiled, “Matters of the living—the division of farmland in Yuni Village.”

After Zhong Ming explained the situation regarding the village’s division of farmland, Yang Yanlang nodded repeatedly, “One must keep one’s word. A gentleman is trustworthy. Fine, I’ll accompany you to the magistrate’s office and see the matter settled.”

With the general accompanying him, the young man could not have wished for more. At sunrise, he had been troubled about how to secure good land; now, with a seventh-rank captain backing him, his confidence soared.

Sun Longhu led a white horse forward. Yang Yanlang turned to Zhong Ming, “Can you ride?”

The young man replied awkwardly, “Uncle, I don’t know how.”

“No matter. Ride my Snowfall—it’s clever and obedient. I’ll take another horse.”

Thus, at the general’s urging, Sun Longhu helped the youth onto Snowfall’s back.

The young man stroked Snowfall’s mane, and the horse just shook its head and snorted.

Sun Longhu patted Snowfall and muttered, “Snowfall, take good care of my little brother here. He is the captain’s kin, and if anything happens, you’ll answer for it.”

“Longhu, do you think it understands you?” Zhong Ming frowned skeptically, doubtful a horse could comprehend human speech.

Yet, the white horse beneath him instantly snorted, shook its body, startling the youth, who clung tight to the saddle.

Sun Longhu laughed, “See? It understands!”

Snowfall was indeed a spirited creature.

The young man was convinced, unwilling to utter another word of disrespect. Clearly, this era held many things beyond common sense.

Once the youth was settled, Yang Yanlang mounted another horse and called out, “To the city magistrate’s office—let’s go!”

Then Sun Longhu shouted, “Scaled Dragonhead Cavalry, forward!” The cavalry rode out from the ruined temple in the west of the city, racing toward the magistrate’s office.

Along the way, the young man’s mood was uneasy, rising and falling, fearing he might be thrown from Snowfall.

He had heard stories of ancient riders crushed beneath their horses, and riding was dangerous—at least, so it seemed to him.

Fortunately, Snowfall was obedient, following Yang Yanlang’s horse, and the cavalry slowed their pace to accommodate Zhong Ming, new to riding.

Once he grew accustomed, feeling the spring wind brush his face, he began to enjoy himself.

To ride with blade at his side, to roam the world—that first step must be learning to ride, and after three years here, he finally managed it.

He was satisfied, for today, he had finally taken his first step into the world of heroes.

Beneath him was the steed Snowfall, across his lap the blade Juexiang.

He had the horse, he had the blade—how far could it be before he galloped into the wilds?

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