At the Prince of Qingzhou’s residence.

Gan Daode looked at the man in black and said: “How could you end up wounded like this? Was your opponent that extraordinary? You’ve never failed before — I can only think you must have been careless.”

The man in black had not yet had time to properly treat the wound beyond carving out the flesh around it. Now he sat down, dug out his medicine pouch, and began tending to it himself.

He had not answered Gan Daode’s question. It seemed that Gan Daode’s tone had left him displeased.

Gan Daode exhaled softly, walked over, opened the medicine pouch, and began dressing the wound himself. The man in black neither resisted nor reacted.

After a long silence, Gan Daode said, with a note of resignation: “Getting to where we are today was not easy. The Sage’s cause still needs us to carry it forward together. I am walking the first half of this road — the second half will depend on you. I spoke harshly just now because I saw you wounded. If you were truly killed by someone, who would walk the second half?”

He continued applying the medicine and said: “You’ve always watched over me from the shadows. You understand this enterprise better than anyone except me. The second half of this road needs you to walk it. Next time—”

The man in black shook his head. “This is inherently unjust. Who are they to decide who lives and dies? Who to kill?”

He looked up at Gan Daode. “Why you? Why should it be you?”

Gan Daode said: “I am the eldest disciple.”

The man in black said: “So the eldest disciple must die?”

Gan Daode shook his head. “The eldest disciple is not destined to die — the eldest disciple is destined to die first. We all carry the Sage’s bloodline. Different branches, yes, but the same blood runs through us.”

“Set aside the fact that we are fellow disciples. Even if we were not, we are all heirs of the Sage’s lineage. So stop struggling against what cannot be changed. What falls to me to bear, I bear. When your turn comes, do not resist it either.”

Gan Daode finished binding the wound and sat down, holding the man in black’s gaze. “The Mount Tai conclave — we all agreed.”

The man in black released a long breath. “But why should you carry a lifetime of infamy?”

Gan Daode said: “Because the Sage cannot carry infamy. Never. And besides — I was never a good man to begin with.”

—

*Many years earlier. The Mount Tai conclave.*

The Holy Blade Sect’s leader, Chang Kui, stood before the assembled disciples and spoke with passionate conviction. Every disciple — those of the direct line and the affiliated branches alike — listened with barely contained emotion.

The moment had finally arrived. The moment where restoring Great Zhou was not merely a dream but a possibility — even if the thing itself was not yet real, at least the hope had come.

On the summit of Mount Tai, gathered in the light of a rising sun, they looked out over a boundless world, and every heart stirred, unable to be still.

The leader Chang Kui was the direct-line heir of the Zhou Sage — undeniable in standing and authority. Every person there knew that he was the embodiment of the Sage’s legitimate succession, and so every word he spoke, all of them would follow.

Chang Kui looked at his disciples and said: “The Sage belongs to ten thousand generations — to ten thousand upon ten thousand generations. The Sage’s name cannot be diminished by so much as a hair’s breadth. We who are his heirs are born with a singular duty: to safeguard the Sage’s luster.”

Everyone nodded.

Chang Kui said: “We are all heirs of the Sage. We may carry infamy — but the Sage cannot.”

He moved to a high vantage, looked toward the sun, and said: “Every one of us once swore an oath: for the sake of the Sage’s preservation, for the sake of this transmission, we would give our lives.”

A moment later, he turned back to face the assembly. “It was in that spirit that our forebears did not count the cost when they sought to assassinate the Dachu Emperor. Though they did not succeed in killing him, they set an example of unflinching resolve. We who follow them should be no different.”

The eldest disciple Gan Daode, who had long since known the plan, knelt and bowed: “Your disciple is willing to go first. I am willing to give everything for the restoration of Great Zhou — my life, my honor, everything.”

The leader nodded with satisfaction. “Do you know why it must be you?”

At those words, Gan Daode felt a private twinge of discomfort — though he gave no sign of it. He had always felt that twinge. He simply could not let it show.

The reason it was him came down to two simple things: first, he was not of the direct bloodline of the Sage. Second, he was, by any honest accounting, not a good man.

Before being brought into the Holy Blade Sect, he had been a notorious bandit — a man with countless deaths on his hands and a long record of wickedness.

A man like that should have had no place among the Sage’s heirs. Yet he could not simply walk away, because however vicious he had become, there were still things he had to do for his own parents and kin.

At the time, the leader had sent someone to find him. The message was simple: you are an heir of the Sage who has committed great wrongs. By rights you should be removed, to protect the Sage’s luster. But there is a great task at hand where your usefulness is needed. Accept it, and your family will not be made to bear your crimes — they will be provided for.

You will carry infamy. But you will also have sacrificed yourself for the restoration of Great Zhou, and the clan will give you the greatest recompense it can.

After long deliberation, he returned to the family.

He had known from childhood that he was a descendant of the Zhou Sage — but of the most marginal branch. His forebears and parents had always been looked down upon. Perhaps that was why he had become the kind of man he was.

On the first day he returned to the clan, the leader appeared in person to meet him.

The leader told him: I will take you as my disciple and list you as the eldest among my disciples. You will take on the mission of restoring Great Zhou.

—

*Years later, on Mount Tai.*

The leader looked at Gan Daode and said: “For this great undertaking, for the Sage’s light to shine again upon the land, for the Zhou legacy to be carried forward by us — in name, you will go to your death.”

Gan Daode prostrated himself. “Your disciple is willing to do whatever is required.”

The leader said: “I have already said it — any one of us may carry infamy, but the Sage cannot. When the time comes for us to reclaim the throne in the name of the Sage’s heirs, we cannot have the people find fault with us. Our honor must be the Sage’s honor.”

“So you will appear before the world as a man of violence and savagery. You will rise in the Sage’s homeland of Qingzhou. In a time of chaos, one who would command both obedience and fear cannot be otherwise — only a man of ruthlessness can succeed in that.”

“The first half of the road to restoring Great Zhou falls to you. Your mission is to raise an army and hold Qingzhou firmly in our hands.”

“But if you become one of the founding meritorious servants, your name will not be clean — and the Sage will be shamed by association. So you may only walk half this road.”

“When the right moment comes, we will stage your death — that will be your death in name. Then you will find somewhere to withdraw into seclusion. In return, you will receive generous recompense, enough to ensure that you and your family live comfortably for the rest of your days.”

The leader paused for a breath, then his tone eased somewhat.

“Your sacrifice is the greatest, your contribution the greatest — but we have no way to inscribe your name on the monument to those who made it possible. This is the clan’s debt to you.”

The leader walked over and rested a hand gently on the shoulder of the kneeling Gan Daode. “But every one of us will remember your merit, always. That will never be forgotten.”

He turned solemn again, holding Gan Daode’s gaze. “You have killed many. You already are a violent man, already a wicked one. So what you must do is make the world know it — let them know you for the brute and the villain you are. That way, when the time comes for us to eliminate you in the name of the Sage’s heirs, it will appear all the more righteous.”

—

Now, in the study, Gan Daode looked at his martial brother’s face — twisted with pain — and felt, strangely, a kind of peace.

“Even if I die, I have no complaints,” Gan Daode said, smiling. “I have killed hundreds of thousands of people. Those hundreds of thousands died as my entourage into the next life. What do I lack?”

He looked at the man in black. “You know that because we failed to take Jizhou, the clan is already displeased with me. So you must start preparing to take over — not indulging in grievances now.”

The man in black suddenly said: “Let us break with the clan.”

Gan Daode stared.

The man in black said: “Break free of them. The military power is in your hands. The Sage’s holy blade is in mine. Why should we still answer to the clan? Has the clan truly treated us so well?”

He gave a cold laugh. “They claim they do not want the Sage’s name to be tarnished — but isn’t the truth that they simply don’t want to be the ones doing the ugly work and carrying the infamy? They want to rule as emperors, clean-handed and celebrated, and let you do every vile thing, while they enjoy a virtuous reputation.”

Gan Daode did not grow angry. He shook his head. “Never say such things again. You may think them — but you must not say them, not even to me. In time, you will be the one to take over. Make your preparations then. As for me — I have stopped thinking so much about it.”

He rested a hand on the man in black’s shoulder again. “Do not let it show. The leader has already sent someone — they will arrive in three days. Remember: in front of them, you must behave as though you and I are at odds, even contemptuous of each other. Only then will they trust the plan and let you take command. And with troops in hand, you will have something to stand on against them.”

“If Third Martial Brother were here,” the man in black said, and sighed heavily.

He looked at Gan Daode. “When Third Brother left the clan all those years ago, word came that he had taken service with a shadow organization and become something called the Blade Emperor. If he were still with us — between the three of us, who would we fear? We could challenge anyone!”

Gan Daode’s expression shifted through several changes. In the end, he only shook his head with a helpless sigh. “He has his own path. We can only hope that his enemies and the clan’s people never manage to find him.”

—

At that moment, several carriages had arrived at the city gates. The Slayer King’s Army soldiers moved to stop them for inspection.

The driver glanced at the soldiers, reached into his robes, and produced a token — the personal placard of the Slayer King’s residence.

The soldiers dared not obstruct them any further. A token like that could only belong to someone in the Slayer King’s innermost circle.

The carriages passed into Wulai City. The driver turned back and asked: “Fourth Lord — shall we go straight to the Prince’s residence?”

The man in the carriage was silent for a moment, then shook his head. “I told him I would arrive in three days. Let’s not go today. I want to look around first, see how things stand.”

The man addressed as Fourth Lord appeared to be around twenty-five or twenty-six — fair-skinned, without a beard, and handsome in a way that made people uneasy rather than at ease.

Perhaps it was the oppressive chill that clung to him. He gave the impression of not quite being a living man at all — more like something that had just crawled up from underground, surviving only by drawing warmth from others.

In each of the carriages behind him, a man sat cross-legged with a blade resting in his arms. The eldest was around forty; the youngest looked seventeen or eighteen.

They all appeared to share one trait: a supreme, unshakeable arrogance.

Even seated in silence, without a word or a flicker of expression, they radiated an air of regarding every other soul in the world as beneath them.

Because, in their view, the royal families and imperial houses of this world were nothing more than a collection of clowns. The only true imperial blood was that of the Great Zhou’s legitimate lineage.

Their ranking was not by age but by standing within the Holy Blade Sect.

The young man known as Fourth Lord looked down at the long blade resting across his knees, and his expression carried a faint note of dissatisfaction.

The Sage’s holy blade. It was time for a change of hands.