Chapter Seventy-Eight: The Demon-Slaying Commandant

“Your Majesty is indeed as wise and far-sighted as always! However, I did not come solely to plead for mercy; I wish to propose a trade with Your Majesty.”

Li Pingyang, having spoken, lifted his gaze to stealthily observe the emperor’s expression and found him deep in contemplation—there was hope. Thus, he continued, “Now that the Nine Provinces of Youyun have only recently returned to the fold, the position of military commander remains vacant. Though the ranks are filled with elite warriors, they are scattered and leaderless, like a heap of loose sand!”

At this, the emperor stroked his beard and narrowed his eyes at Li Pingyang, already discerning his intent. He did not interrupt, allowing Li Pingyang to proceed.

“I am not a man of grand ambition, merely a commoner, an ordinary soul. I never aspired to the life of a soldier, nor to don the robes of high office. To tell the truth, I am rather afraid of dying! But I have a younger brother, a man of rare genius and extraordinary strength.

“At six, he could bend iron with his bare hands.
“At seven, he could lift a hundred-pound cauldron with ease.
“At nine, he fought off a fierce tiger and emerged unscathed.
“At eleven, he was beset by a pack of wolves and tore nine savage, violent beasts apart with nothing but his hands.”

From the moment of his birth, Foolish Dragon had never once fallen ill, as though his body were cast from steel and iron. He harbored no malice, was unfailingly kind, and had never harmed another soul. His only flaw was a certain simple-mindedness—an innocence bordering on foolishness. It was said that when Foolish Dragon was born, a sudden thunderclap split the air outside; the elders claimed it was this thunder that took his wit, that the heavens themselves had claimed his intellect.

From that day forth, Foolish Dragon always had a runny nose and a vacant expression. Reading and writing were beyond him; no matter how he tried, he could not learn. Set him to pen a character, and he would gnaw the brush in frustration—so troubled he would bite through the shaft, yet never manage a single stroke.

In terms of literacy, he recognized only his mother’s name, Phoenix Treasure, his father’s, Duan Zhengtian, his sister’s, Wu Yiyi, and Li Gou Dan. All other words eluded him, and he cared not to learn them.

His greatest joy was challenging others to bouts of strength and skill—he longed to spar with everyone he met. It was said that in all of Tianyu City, there was not a single martial artist who had not crossed fists with him. Some could have bested him, but out of respect for his father’s position, dared not go all out. After all, to truly injure the city lord’s youngest son could mean courting death.

But when Foolish Dragon became truly excited in a fight, he lost all sense of restraint, caring only for victory. If in good spirits, his opponents might escape with nothing worse than sprains and bruises. Should they catch him in a foul mood, however, they would be bedridden for a decade or more.

After hearing Li Pingyang’s account of Foolish Dragon, the emperor’s curiosity was piqued. Who could have imagined that the great Song Empire harbored such a remarkable, fearless soul?

Indeed, the Nine Provinces of Youyun, as he described, lacked a steadfast leader—no one yet had emerged strong enough to command the respect of all. At present, Yunzhou was the greatest among them, home to all the capable men, but the army had a single rule: they submitted only to the strong. Defeat them, and they would follow you.

This was the bargain Li Pingyang struck with the emperor—a Foolish Dragon in exchange for Naru Ger and the other innocent Tibetans.

Unexpectedly, the emperor agreed.

Yet, mindful of imperial dignity, he decreed that Naru Ger must never again set foot in the Song capital; should he do so, he would be executed without hesitation. To publicly challenge the empire’s authority would normally mean swift death at the emperor’s hands. But such an act would give fodder to slanderers, painting the Song Empire as petty. Moreover, Tibet and the Song were newly forging ties; to kill their people would only provoke war.

Thus, imprisonment in the celestial dungeons and a harsh lesson to remember was the emperor’s true aim—death would solve nothing.

Upon learning of Li Pingyang’s prowess in slaying monsters, the emperor was even more astonished. Who would have thought this poet hid such talents?

As a reward, the emperor granted him an official post, one that, at present, belonged to Li Pingyang alone.

“For your service to the state in easing the conflict with Tibet and for recommending a worthy talent to the Nine Provinces, I appoint you as the General of Monster-Slaying.”

Hearing this title, Li Pingyang’s first thought was Yuan Fang!

General of the Central Army? He wondered how high this rank truly was. Was it a significant post? Unable to resist, he asked plainly, “What grade is this? Is it a high office?”

Mere moments before, he had claimed to care nothing for rank, yet now, upon receiving one, he could hardly contain his excitement.

“Fifth rank, lower division,” the emperor replied, his gaze fond and doting as he looked at Li Pingyang. But Li Pingyang still did not understand what a fifth-rank post entailed. He turned to Eunuch Hong for help.

The emperor was amused; it had been so long since he last laughed. Eunuch Hong, startled to see this rare smile, quickly lowered his head and muttered, “It’s a high rank. Offer your thanks at once!”

He dared not meet the emperor’s eyes—unworthy by station, and more, afraid of the chilling, murderous gaze that dwelled there.

Yet, in Li Pingyang’s presence, the emperor’s look was gentle, imbued with a father’s love and indulgence.

“Thank you, Your Majesty!” Li Pingyang beamed, about to kneel in gratitude, but as he bent his knees, the emperor hurriedly reached out to stop him, catching his arm.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them was charged with unspoken meaning. Sensing this, Eunuch Hong bowed and quietly withdrew from the imperial study, closing the doors behind him. As he left, a subtle smile played upon his lips—he, too, had noticed the emperor’s peculiar favor toward Li Pingyang.

Now, with only the two of them in the room, the emperor found himself so close to Li Pingyang for the first time that he felt a rare nervousness. Li Pingyang, somewhat embarrassed, withdrew his arm.

The emperor cleared his throat and changed the subject with a curious question. “Have you ever met your mother?”

He spoke carefully, his eyes filled with anticipation, though he seemed to already know the answer. Li Pingyang frowned, uncertain which mother he meant—A Jiao, or…?

Could it be? Did the emperor know he was from another world?

Li Pingyang tensed, but the emperor, noticing the change in his demeanor, realized he had perhaps asked the wrong question and clarified, “Li Shenfang—is his health well?”

Relieved, Li Pingyang understood it was not his modern mother being referenced, but A Jiao.

In truth, the emperor had meant to ask about another woman, but seeing Li Pingyang’s lack of recognition, supposed he was too young to remember and let the matter drop. Indeed, the emperor himself had forgotten.

“Have you ever seen this?” The emperor, intent on awakening Li Pingyang’s memory, drew an object from his sleeve. The instant Li Pingyang saw it, he felt as though struck by lightning—utterly astonished.

For that object was—