Back then, Chen Kuang had promised the Master of Liberty Mountain that upon his return, he would gift him a poem.
It was in exchange for that promise that he had secured the chance to enter the Ancient Battlefield of Meditation in place of Zhang Zhizhou.
And now, the Master had come to claim that poem.
Chen Kuang took a deep breath and glanced up at the vast, tranquil sky above him.
Ever since he returned from two thousand years in the past, his perception of the sky had fundamentally changed... That one unintentional sword strike of his had torn open the heavens, letting him glimpse the world beyond it, and thereby shifting how he viewed this world itself.
And in the moment he resonated with the Great Dao of Time, Chen Kuang also understood: it was precisely that sword that had triggered the eventual downfall of the Great Qi Dynasty.
Those who participated in this matter likely knew.
At the very least, Xi Mengquan definitely knew, in fact, she might have been one of the masterminds.
But what about the others?
The Saints of this age, aside from "Martial Saint" Mu Zhao, all seemed to harbor secrets and ulterior motives. It was hard to believe they didn't know.
Especially this Master.
Three thousand disciples, a hundred generations of scholars.
Although, according to the Little Princess's experience in her dreamlike reincarnation illusion, this "Master" truly did seem like the humble man of legend, never displaying any cultivation, wielding only a ruler for discipline, relying entirely on his disciples for protection. And even when he had to act, he used mysterious Spiritual Treasures.
Such as the messaging paper crane he was using now, which could be used even by ordinary people who had no ability to wield Spiritual Energy.
But to say that the Master truly possessed no cultivation? Chen Kuang would sooner believe that Mu Zhao had a brain!
At this moment, the Master asking for a poem was surely not just for a poem.
And if Chen Kuang gave a poem, what he would receive in return would definitely not be mere praise or criticism...
But the Master's aid!
His thoughts turned in an instant.
Meanwhile, the Grandmaster from Great Zhou had already thrown his punch, scattering clouds with its force!
The strength behind it carried traces of the Martial Saint's style. No doubt, this was another one who had once comprehended the Monument of Dao Transmission, a so-called "outer disciple" of the Martial Saint Pavilion.
Mu Zhao's influence over Cangyuan was vast.
If a disciple of the Martial Saint died, only the Martial Saint would be enraged. But if the Martial Saint himself were to die, then it would incite the wrath of countless thousands.
When news of today spread, who knew how many more people would place Chen Kuang on their must-kill list.
In his current state, to take that punch head-on was a death wish.
And yet, he did not dodge.
Not only did he not dodge, he even stopped running, forcibly arresting all motion, standing utterly still in place.
The Grandmaster from Great Zhou had a glint of malice in his eyes, but a flicker of doubt also passed through his heart.
Was this brat... seeking death?
But it was only a moment's hesitation. His fist did not stop, carrying the force of a collapsing mountain, striking straight toward Chen Kuang!
In that instant, Chen Kuang's eyes flashed coldly. He locked his body in place, utter stillness.
And then, something strange happened.
The Grandmaster's fist, upon touching Chen Kuang's body, was somehow diverted by an invisible force, soft and yielding like water, yet completely irresistible. The attack slid off, veering to the side!
"What?!"
The Grandmaster's pupils contracted, completely uncomprehending.
His full strength had already been released, there was no way to pull it back.
His entire body, following the trajectory of his diverted strike, hurtled off to the side, flying a full hundred zhang away!
Chen Kuang smirked, and in the instant the two brushed past one another, he turned into a streak of light and flashed away a hundred zhang in the opposite direction.
A sidestep, a rebound, instantly widening the distance between them.
And he had bought himself a crucial window of time.
To outsiders, that moment had seemed strange and inexplicable, but to Chen Kuang, it was perfectly expected. It was the effect of a passive ability he had previously acquired:
["Wooden Man": When you do not move, others cannot attack you.]
As long as Chen Kuang remained perfectly still, no one could land a blow on him.
But since he had been moving and then stopped abruptly, the system treated it as entering a state of "non-motion," triggering the same effect and causing the opponent's attack to deflect unnaturally.
Still, standing still was no long-term strategy. He could remain unmoving for a moment, but not for a lifetime.
Those five Grandmasters weren't even Great Zhou's full strength. Though Chen Kuang himself might be unharmed, he could not ignore those who had risked everything to stand up for him and defy Ji Chengtian.
He had to run.
But that little bit of time was enough, for him to fulfill his promise with a poem.
In that brief moment, many lines of poetry had flashed through Chen Kuang's mind. He thought of countless verses that could match the man known as the Master of Liberty Mountain, one who followed the way of the gentleman, who had taught so many disciples.
The rumors were countless, some said the Master had no cultivation, others said he was the strongest in the world. Some called him a vain name-seeker, others a schemer with vast ambition.
In Chen Kuang's understanding, however, this man had secretly sent disciples to seek out worthy sovereigns across the lands, hoping to find one who could restore peace to a chaotic, cannibalistic world ruled by strength.
He seemed to be seeking a way to end the cycle of the strong preying on the weak.
But the day Chen Kuang saw what lay beyond the sky, he understood: this cyclical chaos could never be resolved unless its root was severed.
He turned back and looked at the paper crane, then at the chaotic melee, then at the anxious, fragile world.
Above the sky, snow had begun to fall, gently at first.
Then rapidly thickening into a blizzard.
Chen Kuang reflected on the past, his journey since transmigrating to this world, from being crushed underfoot by Li Hongling, to witnessing Mu Zhao dissolve into a candle flame that extinguished in an instant before his eyes.
In his mind flickered the Four Maxims of Hengqu, those grand, timeless words:
To establish the heart for Heaven and Earth,
To establish the life for the people,
To continue the lost teachings of the sages,
To open peace for all generations...
Great words. Noble words.
The Master of Liberty Mountain no doubt lived by those very ideals, perhaps they were his life's pursuit.
But this was not what Chen Kuang wanted to say to him.
He reached out and caught the crane, smiled faintly, and said clearly, word by word:
"This body, in Heaven and Earth, is but a humble thatched hut, Worldly affairs wear down these graying temples..."
His voice, high in the vast sky, was almost scattered by the wind.
But the howling storm only carried it further and farther.
"After all, how many truly win the deer?
Who knows if we dream all day we are the fish..."
...
Liberty Mountain.
Peach blossoms as dense as clouds, petals falling like rain.
All under Heaven knew that even as the four seasons rushed by, the blossoms on Liberty Mountain never fell. Each student, upon entering the mountain, would plant a peach tree, adding one more bloom to the red-hued cloud.
If a student died, their tree would wither and decay, returning to spring's earth.
No one knew how long Liberty Mountain had stood, or how many brilliant minds it had produced, but the size of the peach grove had never changed.
Today, the mountain was still filled with the sounds of recitation and learning.
The Master, seated at the head of the hall, was a thin, grumpy-looking old man. He held a folded paper crane in one hand and sat with eyes lowered, listening.
Suddenly, he lifted his head and looked toward the distance, then burst into laughter.
"Good! What a fine verse-'After all, how many truly win the deer? Who knows if we dream all day we are the fish!'"
He stood up and sighed.
"Who wins the deer? Who is the fish? I suspect we shall know soon enough. If so, then remaining hidden in this mountain... serves no further purpose."
He stepped forward, and that single step took him directly to the boundary of the peach grove.
Countless students stared after him, jaws agape in disbelief.
"The Master... didn't he have no cultivation?"
The scrawny, perpetually frowning old man stood at the edge of the grove. He slowly straightened his posture, and in that instant, he seemed monumental.
Holding his discipline ruler, he showed no hesitation and stepped forward once more.
With that step, Mountains and Rivers trembled, and from his body rose the might of a Saint.
He lowered his gaze to the ruler in his hands, gently stroked it with affection, then gripped it in both hands and snapped it in two.
Crack!
One half became a Brush of Literary Spirit.
The other half became Righteous Qi of Vastness.
The hearts of Liberty Mountain's students trembled. They stood together, solemn and respectful, bowing in deep reverence toward the direction of the Master's departure.
"We students respectfully send the Saint down the mountain!"
The Master who broke his ruler to enter the world was no longer the kindly teacher hidden in the peach grove..
He was a Saint.
The Literary Saint.