Chapter Forty: Should One Slay This Heaven-Devouring Tiger?

Chen Zhi'an stood under the surprisingly large ginkgo tree. He looked up through the dense canopy toward the sky, where only a faint light filtered through the thick, obscuring clouds.

On Dongfeng Street, the ginkgo tree in front of Chu Muye’s courtyard seemed wrong today. When he had last visited, the tree had been radiating a rich, cinnabar-orange aura. Today, however, that aura was weak and flickering, as if it were about to dissipate entirely.

"And this courtyard... it feels as if it’s being crushed by the dark clouds above; even the sunlight cannot penetrate it." As Chen Zhi'an thought this, the clouds overhead thickened, a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, and a torrential downpour began. It was not the gentle drizzle typical of the Jiangnan region, but a sudden and violent storm.

Though sheltered by the ginkgo tree, Chen Zhi'an still felt rain splashing onto him, so he hurried to knock on Chu Muye’s courtyard gate. The gate was unlocked, but no one answered.

"Uncle Chu is not here?" Chen Zhi'an frowned. Just as he was about to head back toward Qihuang Street, a gust of wind blew the gate open a crack with a creak. He peered inside and saw that the courtyard was empty. For some reason, he felt there was something suspicious about the place.

"Master Chu, you have a young friend visiting; why not invite him in?"

A voice reached Chen Zhi'an’s ears, followed by Chu Muye’s gentle tone: "Since you’ve come, come in."

Chen Zhi'an entered, walked past the stone screen, and found a table with two floor cushions set under the eaves of the blue-tiled, green-brick house. Chu Muye was sitting across from a figure wearing a bronze mask. It was a ferocious tiger mask, with two prominent fangs—grim, majestic, and somewhat terrifying. Now, only the figure’s eyes were visible beneath the mask, and they were fixed on Chen Zhi'an.

What eyes they were: cold as iron, with a grim and chilling intensity, carrying a silent, sinister quality that made one’s skin crawl. Chen Zhi'an felt as if he had seen those eyes before.

"Perfect. I have a guest, and since you are the junior, you shall pour the tea for us." Chu Muye sat cross-legged on a cushion; a small stove was already set up on the table to boil tea. Brewing tea amidst a torrential downpour felt strangely pleasant.

Chen Zhi'an quietly sat down beside Chu Muye. Both their cups were empty, yet they let the purple clay pot boil until steam billowed violently. As Chen Zhi'an poured, the high-quality leaves, oversteeped, took on a bitter, acidic note.

"The long sword at your waist is quite fine, but carrying a blade while traveling inevitably invites trouble," Chu Muye remarked, glancing at the Yangsui long sword at Chen Zhi'an’s hip.

The figure sitting opposite them laughed. "A young man should have some spirit. The government forbids commoners from carrying blades in the city simply out of fear. If the officials truly did their duty, what need would they have to fear a mere long sword?"

Chen Zhi'an unbuckled the Yangsui and placed it beside him. "I won this sword from Si Hougui. I only brought it along today to show off to Uncle Chu. I didn't carry it openly on the road; it was wrapped in cloth until I reached the gate."

"A true youthful spirit," Chu Muye said, his movements slow as he picked up his cup. "However, the ban on blades in Sunan Prefecture is meant to guard against martial outlaws or bandits disguised as travelers. For the government, it makes no difference whether an ordinary commoner has a blade or not."

"True enough," the tiger-masked man nodded. "The government, the aristocratic clans, and the mysterious sects hold all the cultivation methods. It is nearly impossible for the common people to cultivate; whether they have swords or not is secondary—it truly makes no difference. Even if a commoner holds a blade, if they encounter someone who has practiced Qi and body refinement, or even someone who has forged true essence, they are as good as dead. This Suwu Prefecture is a wealthy land where the people can lick up the crumbs, but in the twelve border provinces, the six northwestern ones, or the three Lingnan ones, the people are suffering through disasters and deaths; corpses littering the wild is not an uncommon sight. Yet, the great noble houses remain in luxury, feasting and dancing. Those aristocratic clans seem to never decline. Master Chu, do you think this is fair?"

Chen Zhi'an’s expression turned somber, but he kept his head down, adding more tea.

"It is unfair," Chu Muye replied bluntly. "That is precisely why Minister Song seeks to purge the court and reform the world. The reason I berated the State Preceptor at the banquet was that I could not bear the demons and monsters sitting in the Great Yu court. I am willing to return to the capital now only because Minister Song is there. He wants to bring the 'Heaven-Hanging Capital' down from the clouds, to make it touch the earth, so that all the blood flowing toward it might flow back to nourish the entire Great Yu!"

"Hahaha..." The tiger-masked man laughed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Flow back? The blood vessels of the Great Yu are riddled with festering sores! The aristocratic clans control everything. Minister Song is a man of integrity, but he is no immortal who can overturn the heavens with a wave of his hand. He is blocked by tigers capable of moving mountains and dividing the seas. Can he simply say it will flow back and make it so?"

Facing this challenge, Chu Muye’s expression remained unchanged. "The seven nations stand together. For our Great Yu, to the east, the Great Qian has already stoked the furnace, ready to cook us into a tonic to satisfy their hunger and swallow the world. To the north, the Great Li rides their horses in a predatory stance; the border provinces are constantly raided, with countless commoners dying under their iron hooves. Further south, the sorcerers of the South Sea islands ravage us, destroying our merchant ships, and given the current situation, we are helpless to stop them. The Great Yu cannot withstand any more great turmoil or storms. Qi Tianchong, tell me: if you were Minister Song, in this era riddled with deep-seated corruption, how would you bring peace and joy to the eight hundred million people of Great Yu?"

At the mention of the man's name, Chen Zhi'an suddenly remembered where he had seen those eyes!

"The 'Sky-Swallowing Tiger' of Western Penglai, Qi Tianchong. The Imperial Painting Academy once worked through the night to produce his portrait."

Qi Tianchong let out a cold snort. "You lords sit high in the temples. If Minister Song has the heart for reform, these are things you should worry about. We of Western Penglai are nothing but 'iron horses and mud snakes.' We only know that we have a heart to protect the common people; we cannot concern ourselves with such grand schemes!"

Chen Zhi'an’s brows twitched.

A smile touched the corner of Chu Muye’s mouth. He turned to Chen Zhi'an and asked, "Zhi'an, do you know who this is?"

Chen Zhi'an thought for a moment, not feigning ignorance. "This is Qi Tianchong, the Sky-Swallowing Tiger of Western Penglai, ranked twelfth among the twenty-four generals."

Chu Muye looked slightly surprised, then nodded. "Indeed. Qi Tianchong is ranked twelfth in Western Penglai, but his cultivation is the fourth strongest among them—truly formidable."

Hearing that he was recognized, Qi Tianchong removed his bronze tiger mask. His face was square, his beard stiff like bristles, and his appearance was rugged. His eyes, in particular, made Chen Zhi'an feel as if he had fallen into an ice cellar—truly terrifying.

"Zhi'an, Western Penglai is the most powerful band of outlaws in our Great Yu. Now that you are face-to-face with him and have heard his words, do you believe these Western Penglai men are all heroes deeply concerned for the common people?" Chu Muye stared at Chen Zhi'an, his gaze intense, as if pondering something deeply.

Qi Tianchong also looked at Chen Zhi'an, a curious smile on his lips.

After considering for a few moments, Chen Zhi'an met Chu Muye’s earnest gaze and asked, "May I speak the truth?"

Chu Muye nodded. "Do not worry. With me here, he cannot touch you. Besides... the famous Sky-Swallowing Tiger of Western Penglai would surely not stoop to bickering with a junior like you."

Qi Tianchong remained silent, merely watching Chen Zhi'an.

Chen Zhi'an refilled their cups and said, "Uncle Chu, the aristocratic clans have held Great Yu in their grip for a long time. Western Penglai has many powerful figures, but I have visited the taverns in the dark alleys, and the storytellers there have spoken of the origins of these Western Penglai heroes."

"Some are descendants of disgraced officials, some are masters of minor clans annexed by the great ones, some are captains or lieutenants who were slighted or offended their superiors in the capital, and others joined simply for the martial arts controlled by Western Penglai."

"These heroes have varied and impressive backgrounds, but among them, there are no ordinary commoners."

Qi Tianchong’s expression shifted.

Chu Muye’s interest deepened, and he listened intently.

Chen Zhi'an continued, "Western Penglai has roamed Great Yu for many years, and news of them 'relieving the people' is often praised. But the more I hear, the more I realize such instances are rare—only two or three times—and often accompanied by convoluted motives. The heroes of Western Penglai are strong, and Zhu Yuanyu, the Grand Secretary of the Eastern Pavilion, once remarked that they have become a force to be reckoned with. Yet, if one looks closely, their 'robbing the rich to help the poor' is suspicious."

"For example, in Wuzhu Prefecture under Lotus Mountain, the prefect was known for his benevolence. He supported countless people and even opened a charity hall that cared for over four hundred orphans. He did this for twenty years, and when those orphans grew up, they usually found work in the prefecture’s businesses. Yet, such a man was wiped out by Western Penglai three years ago. I don't know the reason, but I wonder: with the Wuzhu Prefecture gone, where did those hundreds of orphans end up? Did Western Penglai take them up to the mountain?"

Qi Tianchong stared at Chen Zhi'an, his expression turning deathly calm.

Chu Muye was curious now, too. He glanced at Qi Tianchong and laughed. "You are only seventeen or eighteen; what were you doing in the dark alleys?"

Chen Zhi'an scratched his head, ignoring the question. "The streets are full of gossip, mentioning that the 'iron horses and mud snakes' of Western Penglai are divided into ranks. The twenty-four generals practice the best techniques and take the best pills, enjoying every luxury, while the lowest 'mud snakes' are forced to act as laborers and servants, waiting on those above them."

"Today, Senior Qi spoke of the aristocratic clans with righteous indignation, as if he could drink their blood. But thinking about it, if Western Penglai were to hold the world, wouldn't they simply divide the people into ranks all over again? How much better could that be than the current situation?"

Qi Tianchong’s calm face finally broke, turning cold and sharp. He squinted at Chen Zhi'an, lost in thought. Chen Zhi'an did not look at him, simply continuing to pour tea.

Chu Muye’s eyes shone with delight. "You have never had a formal education, yet you can see through the illusions of the world. This truly pleases me."

Just as Chen Zhi'an was about to speak, the silent Qi Tianchong suddenly asked, "What is your name?" His tone was cold enough to freeze marrow.

Chen Zhi'an answered truthfully, "This junior’s surname is Chen; my name is Chen Zhi'an."

"Chen Zhi'an, then how do you think the shackles of the current aristocratic clans on Great Yu should be broken?" Qi Tianchong challenged.

Chu Muye set down his cup, listening closely.

Chen Zhi'an took a deep breath, recalling the books he had read over the past two years and the five thousand years of history from his past life. "The Great Qian, Great Yu, Great Li, Great Chu, and even the ancient Great Xi—looking back over the past millennium, the aristocratic clans have never ceased to exist. They are the 'high houses' of the Qian, the 'banner tents' of the Li, the 'wealthy squires' of the Chu. Their relationship with imperial power is so intertwined that it is nearly impossible to eradicate them through reform."

"If one truly wishes to break the shackles of the aristocratic clans, there is only one path."

Chu Muye widened his eyes; Qi Tianchong stared intently.

Under their gaze, Chen Zhi'an spoke with a calm, plain tone: "Only by physically and thoroughly eliminating them can the aristocratic clans ever be truly severed."

Chu Muye and Qi Tianchong’s expressions changed instantly.

In his mind, Chen Zhi'an remembered the Rebellion of the Eight Princes, the Chaos of Yongjia, the An Lushan Rebellion, and the Huang Chao Rebellion. He sighed. "Unfortunately, with internal troubles and external threats, the aristocratic clans support the Great Yu to a certain extent. They hold the greatest power. To make them destroy themselves is likely not easy."

"Thus, one can only settle for the next best thing: supporting the commoners, dividing the power of the clans, and treating the chronic illnesses of Great Yu. However... promoting such policies will surely face immense resistance. The advocate of these policies must possess absolute power."

Chen Zhi'an stopped. Chu Muye let out a long breath; he had been truly shocked by Chen Zhi'an’s talk of physical elimination. As for the idea of promoting the commoners, while not incredibly profound, it was remarkable coming from a seventeen-year-old who had once been a mere laborer at the Painting Academy.

*He is indeed the son of Chen Shuijun,* Chu Muye thought.

Qi Tianchong also exhaled, memorizing Chen Zhi'an’s face. He suddenly asked, "You speak so recklessly in front of me, slandering my Western Penglai. Are you not afraid I might kill you with a single strike?"

"Not afraid." Chen Zhi'an grinned. "Before I arrived, Senior Qi, you must have already fought Uncle Chu. Both of you seem to have exhausted your strength, barely steadying your hands to pour tea. How could you kill me?"

Qi Tianchong and Chu Muye exchanged a look.

"Your cultivation is so weak; how could you tell I was exhausted?" Qi Tianchong asked.

Chen Zhi'an replied, "The tea has boiled, but it remains at the edge of the table. You both let the stove burn and have not poured a drop. The rain is pouring down, yet you both let it splash upon you without making any move to block it. I have said many impolite things, yet there is not a flicker of true essence or spirit from Senior Qi—this is, quite simply... illogical."

Chen Zhi'an stood up, gripped his Yangsui long sword, and turned to look at Chu Muye.

"Uncle Chu has helped me several times. Today, I happened to bring my blade..."

"Shall we cut down this Sky-Swallowing Tiger? When Uncle Chu takes his post in the Heaven-Hanging Capital, it will be the perfect merit to open the gates!"