Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 38: The Challenge

After Wang Chuan entered the palace, he saw that the Emperor, Empress, and Princess were all present, and Ji Xin was there as well. Instinctively, he glanced at Ji Xin's feet, still without shoes, and could not help but feel a pang of sorrow.

Besides the eunuchs and palace maids, there was also a middle-aged man in a military official’s robe, whose aura was stern and commanding without a hint of anger.

“Wang Chuan, Master Ji Xin only agreed to come because of your influence. I have invited him many times, but he always declined,” the ruler of Yu said to him. “This time, it is in your name that I finally have the honor to meet him, to hear his discourse on Zen, which was truly enlightening.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty,” Wang Chuan replied, bowing slightly again to Ji Xin.

“This is the newly appointed Commander Sima, Lord Long Junyi,” the ruler introduced.

“Your presence is impressive, my lord,” Wang Chuan praised.

The Sima was one of the three highest offices, a post of great power and influence.

“Your Highness is too kind,” Long Junyi replied in kind, then asked, “Are you the one who wrote, ‘Boarding the boat to gaze at the autumn moon, I vainly recall General Xie’?”

“It was but a casual scribble,” Wang Chuan nodded.

“That day, as I passed by on a boat, I wondered who it was lamenting unrecognized talent. But your name is already famed throughout the land—how could you still harbor such complaints, is that not so?” Long Junyi said.

“I have long admired you, General. To meet you today is truly a delight,” Wang Chuan replied sincerely. “With such pillars as yourself, Yu is surely strong and prosperous.”

“Enough of this,” the Emperor interrupted, then asked, “Wang Chuan, how long have you been in Fucheng?”

“About a month,” Wang Chuan replied after a moment’s thought.

The Emperor nodded and asked, “What have you done in this month?”

Wang Chuan straightened his expression. “Cultivated myself.”

“And how do you cultivate?” the Emperor pressed.

“To cultivate is to sleep when tired, and eat when hungry,” Wang Chuan answered.

A chuckle slipped from Xu Wei, and even the Empress seemed to be hiding a smile.

Among the men present, Ji Xin remained composed, his expression unchanged. The Emperor and Long Junyi frowned slightly.

The atmosphere shifted.

The Emperor, whose eyes had been half-closed, suddenly opened them wide, his face slowly revealing a look of astonishment.

Ji Xin, after a moment's thought, showed a flash of delight in his eyes and nodded approvingly.

“What kind of cultivation is that? By that logic, everyone in the world is cultivating,” Long Junyi remarked.

Wang Chuan shook his head. “When others are hungry, they overthink; when tired, they are full of cares. Thus, what I do is cultivation; theirs is not.”

The others were surprised, and a complex, wistful look flashed across the Empress’s beautiful face.

No wonder Master Ji Xin holds this man in such high esteem.

“Excellent!” Ji Xin applauded softly at his side, eyes full of admiration.

Such a succinct remark, yet full of insight and wisdom.

His comprehension of Buddhist teaching far surpassed many eminent monks.

But alas, a man like this is but a passerby to the Buddhist path.

“Wang Chuan, it is said that Tian Xingzi once prophesied you would become the Emperor of Men. What do you think?” the Emperor asked. “To my knowledge, Tian Xingzi has never been wrong.”

“It is merely one man's opinion,” Wang Chuan replied, shaking his head. “I have heard of a man called Fang Zhongyong... Even someone like him, in the end, was no different from the common crowd. Thus, as the heavens move with strength, so a gentleman should strive unceasingly…”

That was his path.

Wang Chuan followed the righteous way, forging ahead with unwavering resolve.

People like Fang Zhongyong, endowed with both talent and destiny, were highly regarded and said to be destined for great things. Yet if one squanders their gifts and fails to work hard, they end up wasting away, living off past glories.

By citing this example, Wang Chuan’s meaning was clear to them.

Fortune and fate are not immutable; destiny can be changed, let alone other things.

“Moreover, power and status are not what I seek,” Wang Chuan said. “In this life, I wish only to attain the Great Way.”

Such a shrewd man—how could he not set others at ease?

Yet, the more astute he was, the more the Emperor feared him. He might have no other designs now, but if he did, they would be deeply hidden.

A truly formidable man.

“Wang Chuan, I have no heir. In your opinion, who should inherit the throne after a hundred years?” the Emperor pressed further.

Wang Chuan’s face showed some difficulty. This ruler of Yu seemed always to put him on the spot, and today, in front of ministers and outsiders, was probing his stance.

Such was the art of kingship.

The ruler of Wei had once done much the same.

Such questions are always hard for any minister to answer.

“This is both Your Majesty's family affair and a matter of state,” Wang Chuan replied earnestly. “I am but an outsider.”

“I simply wish to hear your opinion,” the Emperor insisted. “It is said that when you were gravely ill, your 'Parting Poem' revealed a child's heart, and your sentiments on state affairs were deeply moving. The world still remembers those lines: ‘The nation depends on a good ruler,’ and ‘My brother should be as wise as Yao or Shun.’ What do you think now?”

“Then I shall speak plainly,” Wang Chuan sighed. “From what I see of Yu, I fear there is no one able to inherit your will and bear such responsibility. Should Your Majesty pass, Yu will surely fall into chaos!”

Jin was not in much better shape.

Without Wang Chuan to anchor the state at such a time, Jin too would be thrown into turmoil!

Among the next generation, both the Fourth Prince and Wang Chuan were as fierce as dragons or tigers, and so would vie for supremacy.

It was as if a hidden hand was manipulating all this from behind the scenes.

Wang Chuan’s obstacles in Fucheng were due to this. The forces behind the scenes also sought to separate Yang Hao for the same reason.

In the unseen, Wang Chuan sensed this; the other side did not dare force him too closely, for fear he would discover them.

The Emperor furrowed his brows once more at Wang Chuan’s words.

He was far too blunt—so blunt as to be unpleasant.

Sometimes, honesty is not a virtue; though he spoke the truth, kings rarely like to hear it, and thus rarely take to the man who speaks it.

Otherwise, why would a minister need to guess the sovereign’s will and curry favor?

Perhaps it was because Wang Chuan was a man of Jin, with little stake in Yu’s affairs, that he was so fearless and frank.

The Emperor found it hard to do anything about him, even if he risked offending him.

“I understand,” the Emperor nodded, dropping the subject.

He cared about this matter more than anyone—how could he not have considered every possibility already?

…

Yang Hao had actually won.

He could hardly believe it himself, more surprised than anyone.

It was only that Wang Chuan had taught him a few techniques and given him some guidance.

It is said that some martial prodigies, unconstrained by convention, may not show their strength in youth but, upon receiving the guidance of a true master, improve by leaps and bounds.

With Wang Chuan’s level, his perspective was lofty and profound.

But could it be that Yang Hao himself was also hiding untapped ability?

He could hardly imagine it.

Other martial artists were eyeing their chance for fame, glancing among the scions of the great families.

This generation, Yu’s prodigies were many; it was a strong age.

Their gazes finally fell on Yang Hao.

Compared to the heir of King Yan or the Sixth Prince of Wei, he still had no certain advantage.

“I would like to learn from Master Yang.”

At that moment, a scar-faced youth stepped forward.

Among those present, Yang Hao’s reputation was second only to the princes and noble heirs, likely due to his connection with Wang Chuan.

“You may not be my match,” Yang Hao said, his understanding of martial arts now deeper, regarding the young man calmly.

“I know,”

The scar on the youth’s face drew attention, but his manner was respectful and gentle, without any hint of menace—rather likable, in fact.

He took a deep breath, his gaze growing sharp. With weapons in hand, his long saber had not yet been unleashed, but it already rang with a faint hum.

“Sir, please choose a weapon as well,” he offered kindly.

“No need,” Yang Hao replied after a moment’s thought, shaking his head.

It was unnecessary—he had never trained seriously with weapons.

Wang Chuan seemed not to use weapons either, but Yang Hao truly did not know how.

However, Wang Chuan had taught him his claw technique.

According to him, once unleashed, it never missed its mark!

Wang Chuan’s Dragon-Seizing Claw could grasp anything tangible under heaven, making it a perfect technique for combat.

It was said to be the legendary skill for subduing dragons in ancient times.

If even a divine dragon could not escape, how could anyone else?

He just did not know how much of its power he could draw out—perhaps, like a woodcutter given a divine blade, he would only use it to chop firewood.

A gentleman acts with integrity, and he trusted Wang Chuan would never withhold his true teachings.

The scarred youth swung his saber, a sharp aura radiating from its blade, slicing through the air with a piercing whistling sound.

The saber light was like a cold current, like rushing wind and waves, coming in relentless waves.

The saber technique was pushed to its utmost—each strike borrowing the wind’s force, each movement building upon the last.

For a moment, the crowd felt as if the young man was surrounded by a terrifying wind of blades, fierce and howling.

Faced with such an onslaught, Yang Hao was shaken.

Such chilling sharpness—such a frightening assault.

Yang Hao took a step back, then another.

His five fingers shaped like claws, he made several feinting grabs, as if stirring gentle ripples across a lake’s surface, redirecting the opponent’s energy again and again.

Controlling his breath and movement, his figure flickered unpredictably, leaving interwoven afterimages wherever he passed.

The scarred youth pressed the attack, his saber unstoppable and razor-sharp.

Yang Hao, however, weaved around him with apparent ease, though in truth it was a desperate struggle.

“This Yang Hao is truly a rising star—if only he were a little younger…”

“But with age comes less youthful aggression and more steadiness—a blessing in itself.”

The battle raged on.

At last, the scarred youth found a brief opening. His saber darted out like a swimming dragon, like a viper striking, aimed at Yang Hao’s vital point.

Instinctively, Yang Hao struck out with his five fingers, as if reaching into a pouch, seizing the youth’s wrist.

He was about to lock down tightly.

The youth’s arm trembled and twisted, causing the saber to swerve toward Yang Hao.

Yang Hao redirected the force.

In a tense, thrilling exchange, the two crossed blows several times, battling back and forth.

In the end, the scarred youth’s saber was flung away, his throat seized in Yang Hao’s grip. Yet Yang Hao’s chest was also gashed, his clothing torn and fresh blood seeping out.

He stared in surprise—he had rarely been wounded before.

It seemed that, since stepping onto the martial path, he had entered a whole new world.

“You are victorious, sir. Your strength commands my respect,”

The scarred youth said sincerely, undiscouraged. He turned to retrieve his saber.

Not all prodigies have a smooth journey; some grow ever stronger in the face of adversity. Each ordeal and challenge only spurs them to greater heights.

Those who are never defeated will, in time, become truly formidable.

A setback is not always a defeat.

Yang Hao tended to his wound simply, saying little.

So this was the martial path.

The preliminaries were over; next, it should be the heir of King Yan or the Sixth Prince of Wei’s turn to appear.

So much effort and planning had gone into this—all to set the stage for them.

The momentum was set; now it was time to act.

So whom had they chosen as opponents? Defeating nameless figures was meaningless and futile.

It had to be someone of renown.

Why was Wang Chuan universally acknowledged as the strongest? Because everyone knew he was the youngest grandmaster, and rumor had it he was enlightened by a sage, adding to his mystique.

But most important of all, he had defeated a formidable opponent like the Little Tiger King.

That alone proved his strength.

Only by defeating a true powerhouse would others recognize you as stronger.

So who had they chosen as the stepping stone this time?

Yang Hao realized the purpose as soon as he arrived. Taking a brief breath, he swept his gaze across the crowd—there weren’t many people he knew, but he would certainly recognize the most famous.

“Heir of King Yan, fight me!”