Volume One: The Wild Child Chapter Seventy-Nine: A Model for Our Generation

To be frank, no one could ever truly fathom what lay in Chen Ziliang’s heart.

Born with striking good looks, he would still be praised as a man enduring humiliation for a greater cause, even if he lowered his head to live off someone else. Yet, for all his charm, he was as single-minded as a martial devotee. There were few women on Mount Si, and most had long since been captivated by him. Whether a distant pearl or a wildflower in the grass, each harbored his shadow in her heart.

Aside from his utter lack of sentiment, he was indeed a worthy comrade.

Praise from the women of Mount Si differed from that in any other domain; if even Chen Ziliang nodded in approval, then the lady in question was truly breathtaking. Unfortunately, such fortune befell only a rare few.

Chen Ziliang, breathing heavily, stowed his spear and nodded with a smile toward Gongsun Twelve. “You are quite skilled, I must say. Rarely have I seen a woman wield a spear and match a man’s strength. Of all the beauties of Mount Si, I would rank you second, just below Shen Yian.”

Gongsun Twelve’s hairpin had been knocked aside by the spear, and her waterfall of hair, damp with fragrant sweat and streaked with snow, hung in neat strands against her pale attire. The sash of her underskirt had come slightly loose, and though she wore armor, her elegance could not conceal her allure.

“Who cares for your praise? And since when do rankings rest on your say alone? Are we women born merely to exist for men? Some love to wear skirts and display themselves, others to wield weapons and train hard. As long as it does not go against the natural order, what business is it of yours?”

Chen Ziliang scratched his head, thinking her words made sense. “You’re right. I apologize.” He dismounted, paying no mind to the battlefield, and bowed respectfully to Gongsun Twelve. “It’s just that the women of Mount Si often ask me to rank them, and after so long, it’s become a habit. I hope you won’t take offense.”

“What do they want you to judge, anyway?” Gongsun Twelve tucked away her spear and, retrieving a patterned hairpin from her saddle, began to tidy her appearance, her hands busy but her questioning voice unceasing.

Chen Ziliang suddenly grew agitated, his face darkening. “Who knows what those women are after! They never say what they want praised. If I say something nice, they smile; if not, they turn away as if affronted. Some even bare their legs in the cold, boasting of their muscles! Ha! With their delicate frames, could they withstand a punch from me? Long hair, short sense—normally, I’d pay them no mind. But after watching me stare at their legs, they look so smug, thinking they’ve intimidated me, little realizing Quisheng’s legs have more strength by far!”

A flush of red crept onto Gongsun Twelve’s cheeks, and she stood frozen, forgetting even to pin up her hair.

“So, when you praised me, was it because you found me beautiful?”

Chen Ziliang slapped his thigh, excitement making his words tumble out. “Of course! Who else on Mount Si could trade so many rounds with me? If only we had met elsewhere than the battlefield—I’d have leapt at the chance for the three of us to swear brotherhood!”

“Three brothers?”

“Yes,” Chen Ziliang nodded, as if lost in reminiscence. “There was a woman, Lin Xiaoxi, whom I once saved. She insisted on repaying me—how could such a delicate girl ever be my sworn brother? But, given how often she nursed me back to health after I’d been wounded, how could I not? Still, seeing you’re older than me, I’d gladly be the second brother if you’d agree.”

Gongsun Twelve’s smile froze on her lips. The hairstyle she’d just fixed came undone, and the new hairpin fell to the ground with a crisp clatter.

“Did you just say I’m much older than you? Hmph! I won’t waste breath on someone blind as a bat. Apologize, and I’ll let it go.”

Chen Ziliang’s face fell, puzzled, and he turned helplessly to Lin Changtian, only to shake his head and reply with resolve, “Facts are facts. Besides, I had so much praise for you before—why not mention that? Or is swearing brotherhood with me beneath you?”

Gongsun Twelve nearly ground her teeth to dust, raising her spear in fury. Chen Ziliang, equally incensed, mounted his horse and prepared his stance.

“A man may die, but never be insulted!” he shouted, spurring his horse forward to clash again with Gongsun Twelve.

As the two battled fiercely, Lin Changtian tapped Quisheng’s head and pointed at Chen Ziliang. “See? That’s what true comrades look like. When we return to Mount Si, stop trying to curry favor with those who ignore you.”

Quisheng nodded with a deep sigh. Unlike Chen Ziliang, his own battle-hardened, rugged appearance was hardly likely to win any maiden’s affection.

The tip of Chen Ziliang’s spear thrust straight for Gongsun Twelve’s face—a direct assault, just as indifferent as when he watched a hundred flowers vying for beauty. The Silver Dragon’s charge, however, was met with equal skill from his opponent, whose spearwork was tinged with sorrow, though it flared forth in anger.

It was as if her grace was hidden beneath her valor.

“It’s a pity this world ultimately belongs only to one. Otherwise, the elegance at the tip of this spear would let each shine in their own right,” Chen Ziliang murmured with growing admiration for the enigmatic woman before him.

Sweat soaked Gongsun Twelve’s back; though in the prime of youth and a master of the spear, she was still not Chen Ziliang’s equal in stamina. “If this drags on, things could go badly...”

With a sigh, she signaled her troops behind her. Their duel had grown so heated that even Chen Ziliang hadn’t realized they’d strayed near the enemy cavalry.

The cavalry were formidable—just their presence atop their horses could stifle the bravest. Yet now, these elite troops hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances, ignoring Gongsun Twelve’s command.

Their leader gestured, as if to say: “General, since ancient times, the northern frontier has never pressed its army to overwhelm a duel. If we set such a precedent, what honor have we?”

Gongsun Twelve’s brows arched in anger, her face showing both rage and resolve—if anything goes wrong, I’ll bear it; after all, I’m hardly a hero anyway...

The soldiers, faces flushed, finally obeyed, moving to surround Chen Ziliang.

“Gongsun Twelve, you are no hero, resorting to numbers! But I, Chen Ziliang, have never known fear. Against ten thousand, I go forth. I held back out of respect for your skill, but now you bring this upon yourself!”

The soldiers’ admiration for Chen Ziliang grew. Their killing intent intensified as they faced him head-on.

With a loud cry, Chen Ziliang turned his horse and charged back toward his lines, shouting, “Changtian, save me! She fights dirty!”

The cavalry: ...

Lin Changtian tapped Quisheng’s head again, saying in Chen Ziliang’s presence, “See? That’s the example we should follow—a man of character, whether facing a bevy of beauties or a squad of fierce soldiers.”

Quisheng’s eye twitched, and, for once, he couldn’t muster a crude retort. Clutching Lin Changtian’s arm, his voice trembled. “I get it, but Changtian, the cavalry are advancing! If we don’t leave now, we might not make it back to the pass.”

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Lin Changtian glared, annoyed. “Go with Yang Feng and fetch reinforcements. Bring plenty of ropes—make sure there’s one in cherry blossom pink and one in rhododendron red.”

Quisheng stared, baffled. “I know your reputation, but even I can’t be tricked now. Changtian, you don’t exactly fit the image of a hero covering the retreat.”

Chen Ziliang shook his head and explained, “That much is true: ‘hero’ is hardly a word for our Grand Commander of Mount Si. But the main reason we’ve delayed so long at Weinanshan Pass is waiting for someone. Besides Elder Liu Qingshan, Mount Si now boasts another true master of the Spiritual Ascension Realm.”

“The Spiritual Ascension Realm?” Quisheng lowered his voice in disbelief. “Really? They’ve mastered the divine arts as well?”

His astonishment was understandable. Even in the Divine Continent of Wenyuan, a cultivator of that realm could be a regional overlord. The likes of Zhang Yi boasted strength comparable to such masters, but that was mere speculation; in true combat, the outcome was clear.

Glancing back at the dark mass of troops, Quisheng thought better than to ask more. He spurred his horse toward the pass with Yang Feng.

“Why are you still standing there?” Lin Changtian shot a frown at Chen Ziliang, who leaned on his spear.

Chen Ziliang scratched his head and answered softly, “Though you never fought seriously with me on the mountain, that was the Lin Changtian I knew—idle and carefree. But on the battlefield... should I describe you?”

His words trailed off as the cavalry closed in.

Without a word, Lin Changtian lifted his battered blade and charged into the crowd, answering Chen Ziliang’s question with slaughter.

Madness or clarity, it was all the same—killing.

The murderous aura on his blade remained undiminished, and Lin Changtian’s eyes grew bloodshot, brimming with wrath. More and more cavalry fell around him, their corpses piling up, forming a monument to his deeds—a silent warning to the world:

Strength is not equality; it is domination born in the bones.

For days, Gongsun Twelve’s provocations had made her a byword for dread at Weinanshan Pass, but today, her nightmare descended without warning.

Like a demon from the heavens.

At last, Lin Changtian’s blade stilled. His killing intent faded, and clarity returned. He looked dazed, the surviving cavalry cowering on the ground, weapons cast aside—their spirit utterly broken.

Lin Changtian discarded his blade, his eyes full of bitterness. The slaughter within him was like a hunger that could never be sated, always seeking comfort, granting him greater strength each time it was fed—a terrible nourishment.

“If one day,” Lin Changtian began, seeing Chen Ziliang’s bloodstained face, muttering to himself, “the prey were to become those closest to me...”

His voice was soft; only the kneeling Gongsun Twelve could hear.

Lin Changtian patted her trembling shoulder. She bowed lower, her body wracked with fear, voice humble to the extreme: “I am willing to serve you for the rest of my life, General—only spare my life...”

“Do you prefer the pink hemp rope, or the red one? A word of advice—most of the young maidens on the mountain like cherry blossom pink; the older ladies favor rhododendron red.” Lin Changtian’s eyes were clear, his tone ethereal.

But who, after witnessing such slaughter, could still see him as a harmless youth?

“If... if possible, I would rather not be bound,” Gongsun Twelve replied timidly, watching the smile at Lin Changtian’s lips.