Volume One: The Hidden Dragon in the Abyss Chapter 13: Anomaly

"If I declare him Crown Prince, then he is the Crown Prince. He has truly never erred, but it is far from enough," the ruler of Jin sighed. "His brothers all eye the throne with keen ambition. For generations, Jin's monarchs have governed with diligence, but each has reached their position only after enduring countless trials. Tell me, has Wang Chuan not had it too easy? Even in Luocheng, all was too tranquil. How will he inherit the throne, when the path ahead will not remain so smooth?"

"I have always hoped he would do something unexpected, something that would astonish me. I waited and waited, and before I knew it, more than ten years had passed—yet I saw no action from him. I haven’t grown impatient… I just want to see if he’s truly prepared to bear this responsibility, to see his effort."

"Do you all blame me for not intervening in the matter of Yan Prefecture? Even now, I could summon him back in a hundred ways. But could he return safely relying only on his own words? What I suffered in my time far exceeded his difficulties."

"He has indeed done nothing wrong, but perhaps my expectations for him are too high."

"…"

Qi Hao listened quietly, as one would to an old friend.

He considered deeply for a moment, then said, "A wise ruler does not raise a mediocre heir."

"Though His Highness Wang Chuan has made no mistakes, neither has Your Majesty. Your intentions are painstaking and sincere."

"Oh, is that so?" The Jin ruler paused, surprised. "Qi Hao, you are willing to speak truthfully to me?"

"I truly wish I could ask him, what does he really think? If he doesn’t wish to shoulder this responsibility, then living freely as a prince would be just as well," the Jin ruler concluded.

The army set out once more.

…

The procession pressed onward day and night. Inside the carriage, layers of soft cushions had been laid, and Loyal Uncle repeatedly instructed the driver to proceed gently and steadily.

Wang Chuan had opened his eyes again at some point, but his breath was still weak beyond measure, and he could not speak at all.

He lay there, eyes wide and vacant, as if the flickering scenes of a lantern show played before him, one after another.

Night had fallen; the road was damp.

Among the guards were some whose martial prowess was formidable, keeping order, while the rest were skilled hands—his own loyal retainers, accustomed to darkness. Their pace only slowed slightly compared to daylight, and nothing untoward occurred.

At this rate, it would take another two days to cross the border back to Jin, but that was sufficient. Loyal Uncle planned to pause first at Yanshan, and had already sent someone ahead to report swiftly.

He hoped the ruler of Jin would grant Wang Chuan’s final wish.

"Sir."

At this moment, someone called from outside the carriage; the pace seemed to slow further.

"What is it?" Loyal Uncle leaned out, and saw it then.

Somehow, a mist had arisen ahead.

It spread slowly, rising and enveloping them.

From all directions, it surged in.

Visibility grew ever lower, the thickening fog swirling together like seawater in a powerful current.

It was then they heard a piercing cry—a long, resonant call. Not dragon, nor phoenix, nor tiger, nor bull, nor eagle, nor wolf—it seemed the cry of a crane.

The sound shook the Nine Peaks and echoed across the world, as if it would bring down whole mountains.

Grand, majestic.

It reverberated in their souls.

All those present prepared to resist with their strength, but their thoughts jolted as one, and suddenly they were overwhelmed by dizziness, stars dancing before their eyes, limbs drained of power.

Such a state could only be caused by a grievous blow to one's spirit—an astonishing terror.

Those who practiced cultivation suffered even greater injury, as if their oil was spent, their flame extinguished, stars bursting forth in their minds.

Yet these were death-defying warriors.

Though the situation was dire, they pressed forward, fearless and unyielding.

Blades drawn, they faced the mist—some monster was at work.

They were vigilant.

After the cry faded, a deep, resonant breath echoed from the sky above the mountain.

A fierce wind howled, whipping the air, as though something unseen was tearing violently.

They sensed it—a presence was approaching.

Air currents spun wildly, like countless vortices whirling.

All the thick mist between heaven and earth billowed more fiercely, surging into clouds, as if condensing into a tangible form, vast and boundless.

Something was rising, striding across the clouds.

A colossal beast: black-scaled, dragon-headed, with the body of an elk, a bull’s tail, and horse’s hooves.

…

This great beast was immense, its eyes shining with piercing light.

When its gaze swept downward, all felt a chill, as if their innermost thoughts had been laid bare.

Within its sacred body, an endless tide of blood, divine power, and a mighty, overwhelming spirit flowed.

With its arrival, divine authority radiated without limit!

Everyone felt compelled to kneel and worship.

Then, darkness fell before their eyes, and consciousness slipped away.

Loyal Uncle awoke in a haze, not knowing where he was, his head heavy with pain.

Startled, he rose from the ground, finding no one in sight.

A moment ago, he had been atop the carriage; the mist had grown too dense, a divine beast had appeared, and under its awe he had fainted.

"Your Highness!"

Upon waking, Loyal Uncle’s heart was with Wang Chuan; he looked about.

On the mountaintop ahead, he saw a strange light, extraordinary in hue and radiance.

He hurried toward it.

Your Highness, forgive me—I cannot even keep your remains safe.

I am inept. I should follow you, but first I must find you. I cannot bear to let you go.

Loyal Uncle, ashamed and distressed, climbed the mountain.

The closer he came, the more he saw.

Starlight scattered, clouds woven thick above.

He remembered leaving Luocheng, the capital of Wei, and observing the sky—it had rained lightly then.

But if the clouds parted… it was as if a hole had been pierced through, moonlight streaming down onto the mountaintop.

There—was someone there?

Drawing nearer, he finally saw: a lone figure beneath the moon.

Moonlight poured upon him, like a pillar of light, enveloping his entire form.

Silvery-white radiance suffused his body, as if nourishing and circulating within.

He wore a robe flecked with golden and silver fragments, a purple-gold crown upon his head, a white belt at his waist, his posture upright and elegant. Just seeing him, one thought of a jade tree in the wind, refined and handsome.

Moonlight crossed his form, as if some mysterious art was at work, lending him an unfathomable, unparalleled air.

In Loyal Uncle’s eyes, he was like a celestial immortal descending from the heavens, refining the essence of sun and moon. His silhouette flickered, at times drifting like autumn leaves, at times surging like a mighty river. The balance of softness and strength had reached its zenith; his spirit was pure as snow, elusive as the moon.

The figure finally turned, youthful in appearance.

His brows were clear, his features fine yet sharp, as if carved with a brush and blade. His lips were closed, his nose slightly raised, his forehead both square and rounded, his brow full, and his bearing extraordinary.

"Your Highness…"

Loyal Uncle felt as if he were in a dream, overwhelmed by sorrow and joy. "Your Highness, have I come to accompany you, or is this but a dream?"

To see Wang Chuan again in such circumstances seemed like a vision from another world.

Yet he was, at last, beside him, though he could not comprehend what was happening.

He was both sorrowful and overjoyed.

"Loyal Uncle, I was enlightened by a sage, and returned to life. Moreover, the sage taught me the path—I can now cultivate martial arts!" Wang Chuan stood tall above.

His voice drifted as if from the clouds, from the heights of heaven.

Listening to it brought a refreshing clarity to the mind.

Loyal Uncle was stunned for a long time. "A sage?"

"Yes," Wang Chuan nodded. "He has departed riding a white crane."

He stood there, gazing into the distance.

A gentle breeze stirred, an aura of immortal grace.

His robe billowed, noble and unrestrained.

It seemed he might soar away at any moment.

"The Princess has protected you, Your Highness is blessed by heaven, watched over by the gods," Loyal Uncle exclaimed, moved to tears.

He was alive.

His Highness was alive, taught by an immortal.

"I am leaving," Wang Chuan said again. "I shall not return to the kingdom. The road ahead is long and winding, and I must seek the way."

Loyal Uncle was stunned anew, about to speak.

He saw Wang Chuan point a finger toward him. "I will teach you a cultivation technique. Practice it one or two hours daily, regulate your breath and nurture your health, and you will gain decades of life with ease." He sighed. "We are bound by fate; cherish it well."

Loyal Uncle felt as if struck by thunder, suddenly understanding, and knelt, prostrating himself. "Your Highness, I served the Princess before you were born, and have attended you for many years. Now, where am I to go? I am old, half in the grave. If Your Highness feels I am a burden, I will depart. Take care of yourself, Your Highness…"

A profound technique appeared in his mind, indelible as if etched in his soul.

Wang Chuan’s methods were already beyond comprehension.

But Loyal Uncle cared little for such things now.

Wang Chuan looked at him, slowly shaking his head. "Never mind, continue to follow me."

He lacked nothing—companions, resources, land, his power already perfected, seamless and natural.

Yet living in the mortal world, one inevitably becomes entangled in its affairs.

Even daily needs must be tended to.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Loyal Uncle replied, deeply moved, tears streaming down his face.

"Rise," Wang Chuan said.

Loyal Uncle stood quickly. "Your Highness, since we won’t return to Jin, where shall we go?"

As before, Wang Chuan would decide, and Loyal Uncle would arrange all.

Such was their custom.

"That can wait. Relax your mind," Wang Chuan told him.

Loyal Uncle did as instructed.

He watched as Wang Chuan reached for his head, his fingers as sharp as talons, carrying a power to seize spirits and capture ghosts.

He remained motionless, utterly unresisting, his mind emptied.

Wang Chuan’s fingers descended, a strange force entering, surging straight into Loyal Uncle’s soul.

In martial arts, there is a tradition of imparting skills directly, strengthening one's abilities in a short time, or transmitting power.

Other schools have their own ways to awaken latent potential.

But before Wang Chuan, they are as ants.

At the highest, most enigmatic realms, there is the shedding of the mortal shell, rebirth by borrowing another form—a concept so elusive that it is regarded as little more than legend.

Yet Wang Chuan knew it was real, though nearly impossible to grasp.

Few ever truly understand it, even those who become masters.

But I am the continent’s foremost pattern master!

Wang Chuan’s wrist remained still, yet it seemed to glow with a peculiar light.

He made Loyal Uncle look directly at him; under Wang Chuan’s gaze, Loyal Uncle felt utterly powerless to resist, as if his body were controlled—not simply commanded, but possessed.

He moved like a puppet pulled by strings, performing many gestures.

The world’s energy circulated within, growing ever fiercer, blood surging like rivers, thundering in his veins.

It grew harder to contain; something within strained to burst forth, like a sprout breaking through its shell.

Thus, time seemed to pass—one day, two, ten…

Loyal Uncle knew it was not his own will, but Wang Chuan’s, who had taken over, his consciousness submerged.

In truth, it was only his awareness, not time, that had passed.

A day in the mountain,

A thousand years in the world.

Close your eyes and observe the rise and fall,

All is but a dream.