Peace Order

Chapter 1655 - 44: Great General Qilin, A Turning Point Appears

At the same age, he only knew that he was going to be sent to the big city to become a Martial Artist apprentice. Before leaving, he diligently swung his hoe, hoping to help his family bear a little more of the burden.

His parents said that the family had saved up over the years, finally amassing ten taels of silver.

They planned to use it all to send him to the Sky-reaching Sect Martial Arts Hall.

Ximen Hengrong, the Grandmaster of the Sky-reaching Sect, had achieved a breakthrough.

However, the fees remained fair. Ten taels of silver could make you an apprentice—three years of food, housing, and martial arts instruction. After three years, if one could sense Qi, they could stay, and not only would the silver no longer be charged, the initial ten taels would also be gradually refunded.

In the memory, a long time seemed to have passed.

Fan Qing seemed truly suppressed by the terrifying divine might of the Ancient Red Dragon, his Primordial Spirit fleeing into his memories, refusing to gather, refusing to face the terrifying Ancient Red Dragon, and refusing to confront the first of the auspicious signs of ancient times.

He just lived in the past, following his memories, abandoning the future.

Quickly, it was time for the annual grain collection. At this time, they needed to borrow an ox cart to deliver the grain to the city. They also planned to send Fan Qing to the big city of Chen Country, using the silver saved over ten years to send the child to learn martial arts.

On the night before departure,

His father unusually brought out the family-brewed turbid wine.

This wine, in times like these, was considered a family heirloom. Usually, it was absolutely unwilling to be consumed, but this time not only was it opened to drink, he was also poured a cup.

Under the candlelight, the father and son clinked their glasses, the old man’s face carrying a slight expectation and rare exhilaration, saying:

"Your mother and I, in this lifetime, know only a few big words, and we have no combat skills, we just know how to bend over and scrape food from the land. Even if we have to sell our pots and pans, we will support you to learn skills, and by then, you’ll be better off."

For the first time, Fan Qing asked: "What does better off mean?"

His father was stunned and couldn’t answer, seemingly never having considered the question.

He just comforted him, saying: "It’s nothing. Your old man doesn’t have any skills, and if you ask me for principles, I really can’t say anything. Anyway, once you learn skills, you can live a good life."

"That will be good!"

Fan Qing remained silent for a long time, just drinking his wine.

The next day, during the farewell,

His father was filled with hope, while his mother was somewhat reluctant.

Burdened with a package, Fan Qing stood at the doorstep, looking at his face in the basin of water, young and naive, still holding a yearning for the future. Suddenly, he knelt on the ground facing his parents.

His mother’s tears fell as she stood by, wiping them away, while his father said: "Why do this? It’s not like you’re not coming back. You should come back often."

Fan Qing kowtowed three times in succession, raised his head.

Seemingly, he saw the scene where his father had his leg broken, his mother cried herself blind, then died, saw the tragic sight upon his return, saw the illusion of a Taiping golden age disappear and shatter, clearly within reach, yet as untouchable as the moon in the water.

He saw himself holding a knife to kill an official, being tied up, tattooed, and thrown into the death row—scene after scene.

This was the past that had already happened; in the memory, this time was only an unclear future.

Fan Qing’s father said: "Just come back more often from now on."

Fan Qing looked at them, but said: "... Not coming back."

His father was a bit sad: "But when people grow old, they want to return to their roots."

Fan Qing did not answer, just once more, heavily kowtowed to the past.

This was the fourth kowtow, three for the living, four for the departed.

Simply learning skills would not make things better.

Fan Qing whispered.

Suddenly, he recalled the few verses that someone often recited.

A child sets out with ambition, vows not to return without fame.

Why must one be buried in their homeland?

The green mountains are everywhere under the sky.

Today, I’ve finally understood.

No need to be buried in one’s homeland, a great man walks in the Tao.

Dying where one falls, being buried where one rests, there’s no turning back.

Fan Qing lifted his head, his gaze carrying a touch of divine light, the gentle memories around him dissipated. The Dragon Roar of the Ancient Red Dragon echoed in his ears. He gripped the sword in his hand, his eyes blazing like fire.

Never going home, never looking back.

With both hands gripping the sword, he lifted it, thrusting it fiercely into the ground. The sharp sword blade easily pierced the earth. The pain of the Red Dragon Blood reappeared, but this time, Fan Qing forcibly endured to devour this Red Dragon Blood.

A cloud-bound lion descended to the mortal world beside Fan Qing, raising its head to roar.

One man, one Dharma Form, both howled in fury.

It was against his past, against his sorrow, against the suffering he had endured, and against the turmoil that caused it all, unleashing an unyielding roar of defiance.

Life like a humble grass, but with aspirations reaching the skies!

But, under the heavens, why is that?

Should people like you and I, be as insignificant as grass? Is our ambition to change the world dictated by bloodline?

Even a stray dog jeered by the roadside must gallop freely under the stars of these chaotic times until death.

Shi Dalin and the others were stunned; suddenly, they saw the Red Dragon Blood retract and disappear. In an instant, Fan Qing’s lion Dharma Form beside him transformed, vaguely taking the shape of a dragon.

It seemed a Qilin, yet not quite.

Divine Beast·Suan Ni.

Fan Qing’s aura surged, breakthrough, stepping another step further.

Sixth Layer Heaven.

Not yet a Grandmaster.

At this moment, however, Murong Longtu nodded in approval, Shi Dalin heard a clear and resounding cry in his ears, as four streams of light soared from the Murong Family as if sensing something, spontaneously arriving.