Once a path is cleared, the rest follows. Over the next few days, Wu Biyou reorganized the entire Yin-Yang School with thunderous efficiency. Many refused to believe it, thinking the Wuchangzi had been idle for too long and this was merely a passing whim. They prepared elaborate arguments, intending to persuade the idealistic young head to back down.
However, when they arrived at the Wu residence, they went in standing and came out horizontal.
In truth, Wu Biyou hadn't done much. He simply sat in the seat of honor playing mobile games, with the Shi Hong Blade resting on the table before him.
The Seven Schools had been in decline for years. The reason Fengdu had not dared to move against them was largely due to Chai Shuxin. Now that the Luoshazi was trapped in the Mirage, the Ten Yama Kings were celebrating, thinking they could finally rise from their subservience. Instead, Wu Biyou had returned, and he had brought the Shi Hong Blade with him.
None of the owners of the Shi Hong Blade were normal people. From the generations of Mohist heads to Chai Shuxin, and now to Wu Biyou—who knew if this ghost-child at the Luoshazi’s side would be the next madman?
Furthermore, judging by the Wuchangzi’s usual conduct, he did indeed seem mentally unstable.
After several days of borrowed authority, Wu Biyou finally finished an inventory of the Yin-Yang School’s assets and personnel. He appeared to be focused on his phone, but it was a facade; he heard every word spoken to him, catching every omission and lie.
He looked composed, but it was a precarious act. Several times he had nearly been deceived by the old foxes of the family. After days of this, he was physically and mentally exhausted.
Moreover, because he was multitasking, he had lost so many games that his rank had plummeted from Platinum all the way to Bronze.
Late one night, after finishing the day's accounts, Wu Biyou slumped over the table, too tired to move. After days of burning the midnight oil, the ghostly aura on his body was growing heavier. Fortunately, the Shi Hong Blade suppressed it. Being a family head was truly not a job for humans—nor for ghosts.
*Being a city inspector was much easier,* Wu Biyou thought, scratching his head. He missed his electric tricycle.
During these days, the thing he thought about most—aside from how to rank back up—was his father, Wu Zixu, of whom he had few memories.
If that old bastard Mu Gesheng hadn't lied to him, then Wu Zixu had taken over the family at the age of six. How did he survive?
It was unimaginable.
When Zhu Yinxiao had handed over the management of Yeshui Zhuhua to him, he had spent some time teaching him personally—how to read people, how to gather information, and how to handle social graces. Later, he learned this was all done at Mu Gesheng’s behest. The old man’s explanation was: *Being a family head is too tiring. If you’re sidelined, then be sidelined. Just be a small shop owner and live a comfortable life; it’s quite pleasant.*
He had managed Yeshui Zhuhua for seven years and had the support of the other Schools. He had long possessed the ability and capital to take control of the Yin-Yang School, but Wu Biyou had never made a move. He had to admit Mu Gesheng was right: his life had been good, and he didn't want to go looking for trouble.
In the more hidden depths of his heart, he was competing with Mu Gesheng. He wanted to see if Mu Gesheng would truly ignore him, letting him remain a head in name only while the power of the Yin-Yang School fell into other hands.
He had once thought that Mu Gesheng would one day help him reclaim the Yin-Yang School. He thought the man would stop letting him run wild and start teaching him how to be a leader. At that moment, he could have told the man—*I already know how, I don't need your help.*
The man was legendary for his foresight, and Wu Biyou simply wanted to see him fail for once.
When he was young and taken in by the elders, he had genuinely hated Mu Gesheng for a time, believing he had caused his father's death. But as he grew older, he realized that forced hatred was absurd.
To put it plainly, the Yin-Yang School was in decline. The elders didn't dare resent Fengdu, so they took out their frustrations within the Seven Schools.
That long-standing hatred was a joke. The elders who raised him were the ones who wanted to strip him of power. The world the boy had built for himself collapsed in an instant; looking around, he had no kin, so he stubbornly maintained that muddled hatred.
In his confusion and helplessness, it was at least something to hold onto.
Years had passed in that frantic haze.
Now, sitting under the lamp with a mountain of affairs before him, Wu Biyou had to admit his long-held wish had been frustrated. If he didn't take the initiative, Mu Gesheng really would have left him alone, letting the power of the Yin-Yang School slip away forever.
Because it was truly too exhausting. Burning the lamp until the oil ran dry.
Though the successive Wuchangzi were often long-lived, they were actually sustained by the ghostly energy within them; their natural lifespans were exhausted early. Debts of the dead, affairs of the living; young ones below, elders above. They appeared to command the realms of Yin and Yang, but they were merely using their flesh and blood to strive until their last breath.
He remembered Chai Shuxin’s words: *"Only to let you live like a youth."*
Mu Gesheng had indeed shielded him from much. Even if the Yin-Yang School lost its power, with the Tiansuanzi and Luoshazi watching over things, Fengdu couldn't cause much trouble. Even if he, the head, did nothing, the Yin-Yang School would function as usual.
Giving him Yeshui Zhuhua was a masterstroke. If he chose to retreat, he could be a small shop owner and live a carefree life. If he chose to advance, the leverage in his hands would allow him to take over the Yin-Yang School in the shortest time possible.
Mu Gesheng seemed indifferent, but it was only when Wu Biyou truly took over the family that he realized the man had already taught him so much. Mu Gesheng had paved the road so smoothly that he hadn't even noticed he was walking it—until the man disappeared, and he realized how far he had come.
Even though the old bastard was gone, he was still walking the path laid out for him.
When Chai Shuxin said it was time for him to grow up, Wu Biyou hadn't admitted it outwardly, but he was terrified. With the torrential rain overhead, he feared he wouldn't survive what was coming; he couldn't even draw the Shi Hong Blade.
But now that he had sorted everything out, his heart suddenly grew steady.
There was nothing to worry about. The road was beneath his feet.
All he needed to do was keep walking.
That old bastard might be missing, but he was probably waiting somewhere along the way.
Remembering Chai Shuxin’s instructions, Wu Biyou extinguished the lamp, took the Shi Hong Blade, and went to the Wu Clan Ancestral Hall.
The hall was not in the Wu residence but built on a hillside west of Fengdu. The River Lethe wound around the hill, its surface floating with cyan lotus lanterns.
The hall was rarely visited; the dead mourning the dead always felt a bit eerie. Wu Biyou didn't come here often either. The family head held the key, but aside from setting up a tablet when Wu Zixu was reincarnated, he hadn't used it in years.
The mountain was silent. When Wu Biyou reached the summit, he was surprised to find someone standing before the hall.
It was the Magistrate of the Department of Infernal Law, Cui Ziyu.
The man held a lantern. Seeing Wu Biyou, he bowed. "This humble official has been waiting for the Wuchangzi for a long time."
Wu Biyou frowned. "What are you doing here?"
"I am here on behalf of another," Cui Ziyu said. "To deliver a final testament to you."
Wu Biyou’s eyelid twitched. A testament? Was the old bastard really dead?
His voice turned cold. "Whose testament?"
Cui Ziyu blew out the lantern and said softly, "The previous head of the Yin-Yang School, Wu Zixu."
"In other words, your father."
Wu Zixu, the thirty-sixth head of the Yin-Yang School, one of the Seven Sages.
He was a rare case of short life within the Yin-Yang School, living less than a hundred years, but that did nothing to diminish the brilliance of his life.
Wu Zixu inherited the position as a child. He was composed and sophisticated, known as the "Jade-Faced Wuchang." Contrary to his gentle, water-like temperament, he was a rare rebel among the successive Wuchangzi.
The Yin-Yang family genealogy evaluated this head as: *Born of pure water, possessed of a rebellious bone.*
Coincidentally, the Sages of his era were mostly arrogant and defiant.
And it all began years ago in Penglai.
Mu Gesheng wandered through the illusion, confirming beyond doubt that this was the Penglai of many years ago.
The time should be shortly after he had calculated the national destiny and died; the heavily injured Song Wentong and Wu Zixu had both awakened. At this moment, Song Wentong sat in the courtyard, the Shi Hong Blade resting across his knees. A jar of wine sat beside him; he drank as he wiped his blade.
Wu Zixu sat nearby smoking, one arm in a bamboo splint. He had woken up a few days prior, only to be hit with the news of Mu Gesheng’s death. Song Wentong, ignoring their mutual injuries, had kicked open his door and dragged him out of bed for a life-and-death brawl.
Neither could articulate their emotions. Song Wentong had woken early, before the divination for the national destiny had begun, but he had been semi-conscious from his injuries, essentially watching the events unfold from the sidelines. Wu Zixu was even worse off; the Yin-Yang School had been among those who pressured Mu Gesheng into the divination that cost his life.
Ultimately, Mu Gesheng had taken that desperate path to save their lives.
Song Wentong had fought ruthlessly. After the brawl, Wu Zixu, who had just been able to walk, was sent back to bed. Even now, he was covered in wounds. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, using opium to dull the intense pain.
Penglai was full of miraculous medicines, but neither of them was willing to use anything from that place anymore.
Wu Zixu looked up at the sky. From the depths of his heart to his very bones, everything ached with a violent pain, yet his nerves were nearly numb.
It was the pain of a heart carved out, of tendons pulled and bones stripped.
Finally, Song Wentong spoke first. "Everything that needed to be said has been said. There’s nothing left to say. He’s dead. The Tiansuanzi does not enter reincarnation; even if we turned Fengdu upside down, we couldn't bring him back."
"I cannot escape blame for the Wu Clan's actions," Wu Zixu sighed. "Whatever you want to do to me later, I won't stop you."
"Old Fourth’s death happened because we were too useless, dragging him down," Song Wentong said coldly. "The dead don't care about what happens after they're gone, but the living must settle the debts of the past. Penglai and the Wu Clan took advantage of him; this debt will be settled sooner or later."
"But not now."
Wu Zixu understood his meaning. "It seems you have a plan."
Though the two of them were Sages, the Mohist School was small and weak. The Wu Clan’s previous actions clearly showed they didn't respect him as the Wuchangzi—at least, they didn't fear his retribution. To be so bold, they likely had a secret agreement with the Ten Yama Kings.
From the current situation, they were outnumbered.
Penglai, on the other hand, had deep roots. Whatever they wanted to do, they couldn't achieve it with just one Shi Hong Blade and one Guwang pipe.
Song Wentong sheathed the Shi Hong Blade. "Before Old Fourth performed the divination for the national destiny, he came to see me. I was injured and not fully conscious, but he gave me some instructions. I remember most of them."
Wu Zixu’s expression sharpened. "What did he say?"
"Many things. One of them was what to do next," Song Wentong said. "We are going to the Zhu family."
The Zhu family were descendants of the Vermilion Bird, an auspicious sign of a prosperous age. They remained secluded during times of chaos, living at the Bird-Riding Terrace in the Kunlun Mountains. Zhu Baizhi had a friendship with Wu Nie, and the young master Zhu Yinxiao was their classmate. More importantly, when Penglai and the Yin-Yang School advocated for the divination, the Zhu family had remained neutral.
It was indeed the best place to go.
Wu Zixu thought for a moment and nodded. "When do we leave?"
"The sooner the better," Song Wentong said. "There’s just one last thing to do."
"What is it?"
"Is Chai Shuxin still standing on the Altar of Heaven?"
Back then, Mu Gesheng had performed the divination on the Altar of Heaven, using forty-nine Shan-Gui coins as a medium to calculate the national destiny.
Seven days later, the hexagram appeared, and the Tiansuanzi died.
From the start of the divination to now, a full month had passed. Chai Shuxin had remained on the Altar of Heaven the entire time, without moving a single step.
"I went to persuade him yesterday, but I couldn't get him down." Speaking of this, Wu Zixu sighed. "I never realized his temper was so stubborn."
"It’s not that his temper is stubborn; he’s gone damn near mad," Song Wentong frowned. "How much longer does he plan to stand there? Does he plan to starve himself to death to follow Old Fourth to the grave?"
"The Chai family is a mortal lineage. He’s made of flesh and blood; he won't last if he keeps this up. We have to find a way to get him down." Wu Zixu thought for a moment. "How about you go pick a fight with him?"
"I don't fight madmen." Song Wentong actually refused. "Provoking him now is the same as asking for a duel to the death."
Wu Zixu clearly hadn't expected things to reach this point. "Then what do we do?"
"Old Fourth left something for him. It’s with me," Song Wentong said, standing up. "It might be useful."
