87 - Crazy! Criticizing the Prime Minister for Being a Servant

Chapter 87: Divine Fire The scenery of the East Sea is exquisite, perpetually verdant throughout the four seasons. No matter when one ascends the heights to gaze afar, it's a vista of lush green and tender red. The Burning Heaven Sect is established across numerous islands, arguably the most expansive sect territory in the world. Countless small and large islands are scattered like jewels on the azure sea, with myriad ships anchored beside each, and the twisting waterways weave a maze that dazzles the eyes. On the largest island stands the tallest building upon these seas, the power center of the Burning Heaven Sect, where Sect Master Wen Jing Lei resides. Yet it is also the coldest, most solitary island upon the sea. Wen Jing Lei sat silently on the Sect Master’s throne, listening to his two subordinates detail the affairs within the sect, his somewhat vacant gaze betraying his distraction. "The Left Fiery Banner's three Jiang men have reached Yu Shui Pass; the Right Aurora Banner Hall Master returned to the sect yesterday, bringing scrolls recording the hidden forces and numbers of major sects, as well as partial maps of their territories, including some secret tunnels; the Fiery Banner Hall Master sent a report back…" "Hold on…" Wen Jing Lei abruptly interrupted them. "Yes, Sect Master," A Feng replied respectfully, clasping his fists. "The Chaotic Flower Valley…" "The people from Chaotic Flower Valley have been blocked outside the East Sea. They number about one to two hundred, seemingly probing the situation. Rest assured, Sect Master, the water gates have been lowered, they cannot enter." "Hmm…" Wen Jing Lei nodded slightly, the green gemstone ring on his right index finger reflecting the sporadic light entering through the window. It took him a while to recall what he wanted to ask, "So... are they still searching for her?" A Feng tried to think hard, suddenly realizing what Wen Jing Lei was referring to, and hurriedly replied, "Yes, Sect Master, as you know, they have never ceased over the years." A flicker of indescribable emotion crossed Wen Jing Lei's eyes: "Still no news at all?" Another subordinate, A Qi, interjected, "What kind of news could there be? Sect Master, so much time has passed, she should have long since perished…" "Ahem!" A Feng shot A Qi a glare, signaling for him to be more tactful. Wen Jing Lei sighed heavily, his fingers wearily pressing against his temple, "You may leave. No matter what, don’t give up." A Feng and A Qi exchanged glances and silently withdrew. Wen Jing Lei supported himself with the armrests and slowly stood up. The empty grand hall was devoid of even a single maid or guard; the tightly shut doors and windows blocking out most of the sunlight, the air imbued with a hint of chill. He walked into the inner hall, his usual study for managing affairs. Towering bookshelves filled the room, their books meticulously categorized. Approaching one shelf, his somewhat emaciated fingers brushed against the dividers, fiddling briefly to open a hidden compartment. Inside was a long wooden box, covered in a thin layer of dust. Carefully, he opened it and took out a scroll. Carrying it to the desk, he slowly unfurled it. It was a portrait of a beauty, a peerless woman of ravishing charm, dressed in luxurious pale yellow attire, holding a flower in front of a flourishing peony bush, smiling gently. The beauty was graceful and soft, her brows and eyes imbued with emotion, her hairstyle like Cen, with a touch of vibrant cinnabar between her eyebrows, like a drop of freshly pricked blood, illuminating the entire portrait. On the right side of the painting, a line of poetry was inscribed: Snow-like face, radiant pearl lips. Followed by a line of small characters: Composed in the Western Garden of the Sky Eagle Sect, July 18th, the Year of Renwu. With a complex expression, memories of his wife and child from the past surfaced in Wen Jing Lei's mind. The hand adorned with the green gemstone ring gently caressed the painting, trembling uncontrollably as it touched the line of poetry. She was the love of his life. And now, a soul he could never again see in this lifetime. He could never forget that scene, the assault by the Northern Punishment along with Chaotic Flower Valley into the Sky Eagle Sect, the Northern Punishment Sect's disciple holding a sword to her neck, as his beloved perished so tragically before his eyes, scalding blood splattering his face. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets, and his throat screamed till it broke, but he could do nothing—he stood there, watching them kill her! He could do nothing! Nothing at all! He hated the Northern Punishment Sect, hated the Chaotic Flower Valley, for seven long years, hating every single day, every single moment, he dreamed of hatred—how could he not hate?! Never a moment did he not yearn to brandish his sword and slay those supposed righteous sects, the hatred of extermination, the sea of blood, corroding his mind and heart every single second for seven years. He utterly loathed those hypocrites’ so-called justice, using the name of justice to commit the most heinous acts. The entirety of the Sky Eagle Sect, its five-thousand-plus members, was massacred in one night. Regardless of how many sins he, Wen Jing Lei, bore, what wrongs did his wife, his children, those innocent family members commit? The Chaotic Flower Valley, under the pretense of eliminating traitors, in truth harbored wolfish ambitions, disgusting greed so utterly vile. "Chaotic Flower Valley… Northern Punishment Palace… Just wait for me…" Wen Jing Lei chuckled coldly, his muddled eyes turning blood-red with cruelty. ＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊＊ Cen Ran picked up a pair of chopsticks, putting some food into her bowl, and stared into it dazedly. Glancing around, she sighed and put down her chopsticks. It was as usual, the master and disciples dining together at the stone table in the snowy courtyard, the sumptuous dishes emanating enticing warmth. Yet the atmosphere was strangely silent. So silent it was somewhat stifling. Zi Sheng sat sloppily on the other side, eyes focused on the food before him, continuously picking up vegetables and chewing them rhythmically. This was still somewhat normal; after all, Senior Brother Zi Sheng usually ate like this, like a pig engrossed with food. Cen Ran then looked to her left at her master. Ran Fan Yin sat properly, one hand holding a bowl, the other meticulously wielding chopsticks, eating with elegance and decorum, her tea-colored eyes lowered, betraying no hint of emotion. As always, Master disliked speaking frivolously, never showing intense emotions, adhering to the ancient dictum of eating without words, sleeping without speech. No one acted differently, but without Ning Song Wu, there was suddenly a lack of life. Ning Song Wu was always chattering away at the dining table, first clinging to Master until a hint of displeasure emerged between her brows, then turning to pester Cen Ran, making Cen Ran appease her, her face always radiant and endearing, exuding vitality. Without Ning Song Wu, the table felt so dull. Cen Ran almost forgot that three years ago, when Ning Song Wu wasn't there, they, as master and disciples, ate just like this. "Master, is there time today to visit Junior Sister?" Cen Ran couldn’t help but ask. Ran Fan Yin slowly swallowed the food in her mouth, seemingly unconcerned: "No time today. I have to go to the Sword Casting Pool." "Master, Junior Sister was longing to see you when she left. If you don't go visit her, she will only feel increasingly despondent. I fear there might be a rift between you and her," Cen Ran thought it was like a eunuch worrying more than the emperor himself. "If her heart and thoughts are so narrow, then there's no need for me to spend time on such a disciple," Ran Fan Yin set down her bowl and chopsticks. Zi Sheng subtly signaled Cen Ran not to say more. Cen Ran ignored Zi Sheng, feeling her master was being too unfeeling: "Master! Ning Song Wu is your disciple. Even if you sent her to Hongfei Pavilion for her own good, you can’t just ignore her! Ning Song Wu is still a child, how can you be so cold-hearted? Aren’t you treating her as your disciple?!" "Cen Ran!" Zi Sheng quickly stopped her, Cen Ran was too reckless in her concern, speaking without restraint. Ran Fan Yin glanced at Cen Ran indifferently, stood up, her tone still composed and unhurried: "Then go and see her on my behalf. I must go to the Sword Casting Pool now." With that, Ran Fan Yin swept away, her voice carried by the wind, "I will be in seclusion with Jiang Yue, perhaps for ten days, maybe half a month. Zi Sheng, manage the Rongku Pavilion on my behalf." "Master!" Cen Ran stomped her foot in frustration, did Master really not care about Ning Song Wu at all! "Cen Ran, Master has her plans, be at ease," Zi Sheng patted Cen Ran's shoulder. The Sword Casting Pool was located lower and could hardly be considered a building. It was essentially a mountain cave carved out from a massive rock protruding from the ground, its heavy stone door often closed. When Ran Fan Yin arrived, Jiang Yue had already opened a crack in the stone door for her, a usual gesture during their meetings. Ran Fan Yin slipped inside, greeted by the unbearable heat of something being smelted in the pool. Though not unacquainted with the discomfort of sword casting environments, Ran Fan Yin, accustomed to the Northern Punishment's cold air, couldn’t help but frown. Jiang Yue, seated on one side, looked at Ran Fan Yin with a smile, "You’re here? Take a seat first." Seeing Ran Fan Yin's gaze on the smelting items in the pool, Jiang Yue added, "Don't worry about that. The place for you has long been prepared. Come here, since you wish to forge it yourself, let me teach you the basics of sword casting. Things our mentor explained long ago, you might have already forgotten." Ran Fan Yin nodded, sitting next to Jiang Yue. Jiang Yue started explaining slowly, "The most basic sword-casting techniques consist of five steps: creating the mold, smelting, pouring, tempering, and sharpening. Generally, all sword-casting techniques in the world follow this pattern. The variation in the quality of the swords produced depends on both the materials used and the heat during smelting. These two aspects directly determine the blade's quality." "Hmm," Ran Fan Yin gestured for Jiang Yue to continue. Jiang Yue glanced at the sword casting pool and said, "A common sword can be forged in less than a month, but a fine sword takes three to five years, requiring meticulous effort from its initial form to the final decorations. Once you start forging, you'll need to visit the sword casting pool continuously over these three to five years, sometimes unable to leave for months on end. Do you really have that kind of patience?" "I know. That's why I'm here with you now," Ran Fan Yin paused, "I want her to have a well-matched, fine sword by the time she has achieved success in her training." Jiang Yue, puzzled, asked, "Ran Fan Yin, even your other two disciples directly asked me for ready-made swords. You’ve never put this much effort into even the sword you use yourself. Do you truly favor Ning Song Wu, your young disciple, so much?" "Firstly, Master is currently busy forging another important sword and can't attend to this matter for me. Secondly, Ning Song Wu’s talent is slightly less than Zi Sheng’s and Cen Ran’s, and her right hand suffers from an old ailment. As her master, forging a sword for her is one of the few things I can do for her now." Jiang Yue considered this and then asked, "So, why exactly do you favor her?" Ran Fan Yin calmly replied, "Brother, why do you forge swords?" Jiang Yue was taken aback by the counter-question, then laughed heartily, "You're right, it was foolish of me. For those who tread the path of cultivation, the origins don’t matter; everything arises due to destiny." "She is my disciple, and I am her master. That reason is enough," Ran Fan Yin's eyes shimmered with a gentle and earnest light, reflected by the fiery glow from the pool. Jiang Yue stood up, walked to a stone rack, and retrieved a long box of specially prepared clay from the bottom layer. Turning back to Ran Fan Yin, he said, "Then let's begin. First, create the sword mold." "Speak, brother. I'm listening," Ran Fan Yin focused on the box of clay. "This is the first step, creating the mold. Using clay to form a mold for the molten metal, this will outline the general shape of the sword. Consider the width and thickness of the blade, the patterns it should have, and the spaces for any gemstone decorations. Imagine how the liquid metal will flow into the mold; the patterns should be carved in reverse relief so that once the metal solidifies, they become recessed designs. Do you understand?" "Yes," Ran Fan Yin carefully noted every detail. "Once the mold is ready, it should be baked at high temperature in a furnace until it hardens, ready to be used later for pouring the molten metal," Jiang Yue explained. With a gentle smile, he added, "Actually, the appearance of a sword isn't crucial to its power. But since it’s for a girl, make it look nice." Ran Fan Yin chose a quiet corner, sat down with the clay mold on her lap, rolled up her pristine sleeves, and took the carving knife handed by Jiang Yue, focusing intently on her work.