Chapter 85: The Eternal Pain of Emperor Mingde, and the Method of Spiritual Communion
“You are to summon Shen Yanzhou to enter the palace and meet with me.”
A moment later, Emperor Mingde seemed to have restrained his emotional turmoil. His tone returned to normal as he prepared to issue an order to see Shen Yanzhou in person.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Wei Gong also knew the Emperor would be unable to resist meeting Shen Yanzhou himself, and was about to rise to depart.
“Wait.”
Suddenly, Emperor Mingde frowned and waved his hand. At that moment, his sudden impulse was not without reason—especially for one at his cultivation realm.
Back then, Qing Shu had died in childbirth. He had personally confirmed, along with her corpse and that of the infant, that there was no possibility of survival.
He had later entrusted both Qing Shu’s and the child’s remains to Master Yunzang, who secretly sent them to the Floating Sky Temple in Fanzhou, where they were placed within a Soul-Calming Coffin. Many masters there chanted sutras to grant them transcendence, so that they might enter the cycle of reincarnation once more.
“The dead cannot be reborn. Even if reincarnation truly exists, it could never overlap in time like this.”
“Since you think Shen Yanzhou’s bone structure and eyes resemble Qing Shu’s, how could Shen Jingxiao possibly fail to notice the same?”
Emperor Mingde’s gaze suddenly grew deep.
Wei Gong was momentarily stunned. Indeed—if even he could perceive the resemblance, how could Shen Jingxiao not see it?
Could there truly be such coincidences in the world?
The false heir, Shen Yanzhou, shared features and bearing with the woman the Emperor had once loved most.
Shen Jingxiao had followed the Emperor for so many years—could he really fail to recognize it?
In those days, at the Western Lantern Festival, the young woman of the Falling Immortal Sect, Qing Shu, had entered the mortal realm upon a lone leaf-like boat. With her “Feathered Dress Dance,” she had stunned all four directions, winning the admiration of countless young heroes.
At that time, His Majesty had still been the Sixth Prince. He had fallen for her at first sight, yet because of his reputation for virtue, he dared not pursue her.
Wei Gong still remembered that night—the Vermilion Bird Street by the river was ablaze with lanterns, mist drifted over countless painted boats, and Qing Shu, who descended into the world like one fallen from the Ninth Heaven, had stood there—peerless, otherworldly, her beauty beyond mortal measure. She had become the white moonlight in the hearts of many young men.
Even Shen Jingxiao, who was not yet the Demon Suppression King, had been dazed for a long time before murmuring, “What a beautiful woman.”
Because of that unintentional remark, Xia De had been displeased and even joked that, should he ever become Emperor, he would bestow such a beauty upon Shen Jingxiao.
Shen Jingxiao had not noticed Xia De’s displeasure and instead declared his loyalty with utmost sincerity.
In those days of youthful pride, Xia De had viewed him as a trusted arm. Yet who could have expected Shen Jingxiao would covet the same woman? It had caused no small amount of discord between them.
Wei Gong had even intervened to mediate at the time.
“This old servant was foolish, never having thought that far.”
“If all this was Shen Jingxiao’s design, then we have fallen right into his calculation…”
“That glimpse that day indeed reminded this old servant of Lady Qing Shu. Alas.”
Wei Gong sighed softly as his thoughts returned to the present.
Emperor Mingde said nothing. He quietly walked to the bookshelf. Within this Hall of Nurturing Heart, none were permitted entry without his consent—not even the Empress herself.
At the forefront of the shelf hung a framed portrait of a woman in white, wearing a faint smile as she stood upon a small leaf-like boat. Ripples spread behind her as the moon sank into the river’s reflection—her beauty seemed beyond the mortal world.
Emperor Mingde gazed blankly at the woman in the painting. The imperial sharpness in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by gentleness.
“If the child had lived, he would now be around twenty years old…”
He lightly traced the portrait’s surface, his tone distant and sorrowful.
Wei Gong remained silent. No one knew the Emperor’s pain better than he did.
“When I had nothing—when becoming Emperor seemed impossible—Qing Shu followed me without hesitation. She gave me all the wealth her Falling Immortal Sect had accumulated, allowing me to gather followers, form connections, and cultivate loyal retainers. To aid me in breaking through my martial bottleneck, she even gave me the pure yin energy she had guarded for years.”
“But I could not give her a proper title—not even a chance to appear openly under the light of day. I was useless. I caused her to become pregnant, and out of consideration for my arranged marriage with the Cui Clan of Hejian, she refused to reveal the father’s name when her sect questioned her. For that, she was expelled and became the laughingstock of all the immortal sects…”
“As Emperor, I could only let my pregnant wife hide in the most remote and decrepit residence in the capital. For fear that the Cui Clan might discover her, I dared not even assign her a maidservant.”
Emperor Mingde’s breathing grew rapid. This man—the most exalted in all the realm—now had tears welling in his tiger-like eyes. Clutching his chest, his hoarse voice trembled with grief and remorse.
Wei Gong said nothing, though his heart was filled with sighs and helplessness.
Back then, the Emperor had just ascended the throne. The Cui Clan of Hejian was powerful, deeply rooted, and ruthless in securing the Empress’s position.
Now, all in court spoke of the Emperor’s harmonious marriage, claiming that he had never taken a concubine.
But what was the truth?
To gain the Cui Clan’s support and aid, he had sworn, on the day of his marriage, that he would take no other wife nor concubine—that only the Empress’s son would be heir to the throne.
The Cui Clan’s Grand Elder had even forced the then–Sixth Prince to swallow the so-called “Sterility Powder.”
From that moment on, aside from the Crown Prince born of the Empress, the Emperor could sire no other heirs.
For the sake of that imperial seat, for the title of “Son of Heaven,” the Emperor had sacrificed far too much.
“Your Majesty, why not go and see for yourself? Perhaps Heaven, pitying Your Majesty’s suffering, has granted a miracle,” Wei Gong softly suggested.
He knew that the more the Emperor spoke this way, the more he still clung to a glimmer of hope.
Even if it were Shen Jingxiao’s plot—what if the child of Lady Qing Shu and His Majesty truly had not died?
“You are right.”
“If I do not see it with my own eyes, it may well become a demon in my heart.”
“Go to the Imperial Treasury and fetch the Mirror of True Reflection.”
Emperor Mingde closed his eyes, suppressing his emotions. After a while, he slowly opened them, once again wearing that natural air of imperial dignity.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Wei Gong bowed in reply.
The Mirror of True Reflection was a unique Daoist treasure, capable of tracing back to one’s true origin. If Shen Yanzhou was truly but a pawn of the Demon Suppression King, then his real form would be revealed.
Otherwise, how could there exist another person in this world with such similar bone structure and features?
Was it not clear that this was a scheme laid precisely for the Emperor?
Of course, he still hoped that was not the case.
Not long after, from the rear gate of the Hall of Nurturing Heart, two figures quietly departed.
Wei Gong had disguised himself, his appearance changed into that of a smiling, plump steward.
Emperor Mingde donned a plain silk robe, the same as he wore during past private excursions, concealing all traces of his aura—appearing merely as a wealthy old gentleman of comfort and refinement.
The two of them left the imperial palace together, heading straight toward the Yuxian Pavilion, where Shen Yanzhou had once most enjoyed spending his time.
……
Shen Yanzhou had no idea that the two most powerful men in the world were already at Yuxian Pavilion, waiting like hunters by a rabbit hole.
He had not gone there for quite some time. Though the owner had changed, old patrons like him were still warmly welcomed. The new boss would often contact Elder Mo, testing the waters by mentioning that a batch of new tea had arrived, and asking whether Shen Yanzhou might like to come taste it.
Having long since changed his old habits, Shen Yanzhou naturally refused bluntly.
He was too busy delving into martial arts and cultivation methods each day. Ever since he had fallen out with the Demon Suppression King, he had stopped hiding anything.
While practicing martial techniques at the Emerald Bamboo Courtyard, he had been open about it—if the maids and attendants wanted to watch, they could.
Shen Yanzhou no longer feared that the Clan Elders might find out.
Occasionally, he would visit the Dragon-Tiger Institute to see whether he could somehow gain access to the Martial Abyss and locate the “strategic trump card,” or else borrow books from the Library Pavilion.
However, most of the martial arts techniques that could be redeemed without merit points no longer interested him.
Although Lin Qingcang had “shut down,” as long as Shen Yanzhou reactivated him at a crucial moment, any martial technique or cultivation art he casually offered would be revered as a sect-protecting treasure by countless sects.
“Lately, I’ve been learning the Grand Ascension of Five Emperors, Immovable as the Mountain Art, and Dragon-Seizing Force, but none of them have greatly improved my overall strength.”
“The key still lies in my cultivation realm.”
“These past few days, the negative emotions I’ve received have decreased a lot—especially since those two major sources, Shen Tian and Shen Jingxiao, are gone.”
Shen Yanzhou pondered.
He had deliberately left Shen Tian alive, preserving a wisp of his remnant soul, mainly for “harvest.” The more Shen Tian resented him, the more negative emotions he would provide.
Even if Shen Tian encountered some miraculous fortune and rebuilt his body, he could never catch up again.
On the contrary, his hatred and hostility would all serve as nourishment for Shen Yanzhou’s power.
“Shen Tian’s remnant soul revived the day before yesterday, but has been silent since. Could he have fallen asleep again?”
“That won’t do. I need to keep him awake.”
Shen Yanzhou’s consciousness sank into his palm, where he saw Tantai Yuxian, her senses blocked, eyes closed, still tightly bound by the Thread of Karma—her outline clear and vivid.
Sensing his presence, Tantai Yuxian’s closed eyes suddenly snapped open, a flash of cold light passing through them.
“The Sword Immortal’s two souls should be able to sense the current state of Shen Tian’s remnant soul, shouldn’t they?” Shen Yanzhou asked.
“What are you trying to do?” Tantai Yuxian replied icily.
“Just a friendly inquiry.”
“Besides, I have a message I’d like the Sword Immortal to pass along to him,” Shen Yanzhou said with a faint smile.
“What message?”
Tantai Yuxian asked.
“His body will soon be brought back to the imperial capital, welcomed as the True Heir, riding in glory, with the whole world to witness it.”
“Such good news—I naturally must share it with him,” Shen Yanzhou said.
Tantai Yuxian stared at him coldly. After a moment, understanding his intent, her frosty lips parted to utter two words: “Shameless man.”
The human soul and heavenly soul should be one—only, one enters the world to cultivate while the other remains secluded to comprehend the Dao.
Everything that had happened in the Pure Pavilion could not have escaped her heavenly soul’s awareness.
Naturally, her human soul also knew that Shen Tian had briefly awakened on the Soul-Nurturing Platform, only to lapse back into unconsciousness soon after.
Her sword attendant—Shen Tian’s true foster mother and wet nurse—had already taken her identity token and gone to the main hall of the Ten-Thousand-Mile Sword Court to seek a soul-nurturing treasure.
It would not be long before Shen Tian’s remnant soul awakened again.
“So, will the Sword Immortal help or not?”
“By the way, another piece of good news: I recently learned of a Daoist secret art called the Profound Embryo God-Nurturing Method. Your divine soul is strong—comparable to a Daoist Nascent Soul—but if I refine my soul using this technique, I might reach your current level in no time.”
“Then perhaps we could attempt the Method of Spiritual Communion. It might even lead straight to the Great Dao and help you achieve First Rank.” Shen Yanzhou smiled pleasantly.
“Despicable…”
Tantai Yuxian’s breathing suddenly quickened, her long-suppressed composure once again shaken.
She did not doubt Shen Yanzhou’s talent and ability in the least.
If he truly obtained that Daoist secret art, it was entirely possible for him to master it within a short time.
“For those who cultivate, there are no limits to the means used for breakthrough. How could that be called despicable?”
“There’s no need for the Sword Immortal to be trapped in a dead end. Once you clear your thoughts, perform the Fetal Breath Cicada Concealment technique, and we can talk heart-to-heart by candlelight, exchanging insights—wouldn’t that be a beautiful thing?” Shen Yanzhou said.
“Silence.”
Tantai Yuxian coldly cut him off. “I’ll help you deliver your message. Don’t disturb me again.”
“No, this is a separate deal. Still, since you’re being so cooperative today, I can loosen your bonds a little.”
Shen Yanzhou smiled.
He was patient, not in a hurry. With someone like Tantai Yuxian, one had to proceed slowly. If he pushed too fast, she would only resist harder—progress required a delicate balance of restraint and release.
As he spoke, a thought stirred, and the Threads of Karma binding Tantai Yuxian’s body slowly unwound.
After days of restriction, she suddenly felt her whole body relax. Though some sensations still lingered in certain places, she felt much better. Her face, however, remained cold and expressionless, showing no gratitude.
Shen Yanzhou paid her no more attention and withdrew his perception.
……
At the Dragon-Tiger Institute’s Martial Academy, noise and discussion filled the air.
Countless students murmured in anger, fear, and anxiety. Disciples from the Daoist and Confucian Academies also watched curiously.
Several members of the Chilin Guards stood in armor with long sabers, maintaining order all around.
A few Martial Academy Elders frowned deeply, sighing as they crouched to cover the corpses before them with white cloths.
Zhou Yang, a Hundred-Man Commander of the Chilin Guards, was also present. His rough voice carried an edge of authority: “As Elders of the Martial Academy, your students were missing for days, and you knew nothing? If not for our Chilin Guards discovering something unusual during patrols in the Eastern City sector—and finding them in a disused well—they would still be lost.”
“This is dereliction of duty! The students admitted to the Dragon-Tiger Institute are the future pillars of Great Qian. Three have died—do you understand the magnitude of this loss? Can you bear that responsibility?”
Faced with his reprimand, the Martial Academy Elders said nothing, brows still tightly furrowed.
The surrounding students were filled with anger, fear, and grief. None could believe that those classmates who had been learning beside them only days ago now lay lifeless beneath white shrouds.