Chapter 165: Jing Ke, Ying Zheng's Letter
Rowe had not been rude to anyone in a long time.
He could be willful, but he was not the kind of person who mistook impulse for permission. When he spoke sharply, it was usually because someone had truly earned it, and even then he kept it on a leash.
Which was why this outcome felt ridiculous.
He had not intended to verbally skewer the Nine Tailed Fox. Tamamo no Mae was an enemy, yes, but she was not the sort Rowe would dismiss with contempt.
What he did not expect was that the chaotic babbling he had cultivated as a weapon would manifest like that.
It was almost… convenient.
If he ever wanted to provoke someone again, he would not even need to open his mouth.
A thought crossed his mind, bright and irresponsible.
He could extract that inner chaos, forge it into a Mystic Code, and name it the Chaos Bell.
Rowe sighed, then let the machine divinity recede.
The immense steel silhouette in the Valley of Tang shrank, folded inward, and vanished as if it had never been there. Wide robes settled against his frame. Black hair fell loose over his shoulders. The divine sword returned to his back with a quiet certainty.
Above the valley, the last traces of unnatural darkness had dispersed. The sky was clean. A halo of sunfire hung high, casting gentle warmth instead of oppression.
"It is finally over," Rowe muttered. "Took long enough."
Ripples spread across the pooled water at the end of the valley.
A figure stepped into view.
A black dress swayed in the wind. Hair like ink streamed behind her. Her sleeves draped like clouds, hiding her arms and leaving only slender fingers visible, pale as polished jade. A ribbon cinched her waist, outlining the neat, graceful curve of her silhouette.
Consort Yu had waited outside for a long time. When Rowe did not return, she came in herself.
She stopped in front of him and lifted her brows, lips parting just enough to show a hint of fang.
"Too slow," she said flatly. "Do not give me excuses. I saw you chatting with that fox."
She leaned closer, eyes narrowing with theatrical disgust.
"And I can smell her on you."
Rowe chuckled.
"True. I had a wonderful time. I think she almost cried."
Consort Yu froze for half a breath.
Relief flickered through her expression, quick enough that she could pretend it never happened.
Then she frowned as if the concept itself offended her.
Why would I feel relieved.
What he does with that fox has nothing to do with me.
She straightened, as if restoring her pride by force, and changed the subject.
"So what now?"
Rowe paused, considering.
"Now I travel."
He glanced at the valley, at the ruins, at the water still faintly trembling from the battle.
"This land is old. Too many things were buried without being cleaned up. If Taiyi left a severed piece like that, then other divinities may have left similar remnants. I will find them and erase them."
And while he spoke, he felt it again.
The chaos inside him had grown.
It was not yet enough to affect his own consciousness, but the rate of increase was far faster than absorbing the residue of ordinary lives. If he could find more remnants like the Evil Taiyi, his plans would advance quickly.
Consort Yu's crimson eyes dimmed with faint disappointment.
She had wanted to pull him back under the Fusang Tree, back into a quiet corner of the world where she could pretend loneliness did not exist.
But Rowe's face was serious.
So she swallowed her annoyance and thought it through.
The Valley of Tang remained lush even after a battle that had bent weather across a thousand li. Greenery climbed the stones. The air tasted clean again. Wind tugged at her hair and the hem of her dress.
Finally, she exhaled.
"Fine. I will accompany you."
Her tone made it sound like charity.
"Besides that fox, nobody alive knows this land better than I do."
"That is hard to argue with," Rowe said.
He extended a hand.
"Then guide me, Lady Yu."
Consort Yu grinned, the expression sharp and strangely pleased.
"At least you have sense."
She placed her hand in his palm.
Rowe yawned.
Consort Yu clicked her tongue.
"Annoying, but I will guide you properly. Do not worry."
The wind was clear. The air was bright. Sunlight warmed the wet stone. High above, a single star still lingered, faint but stubborn, as if it refused to admit the night had lost.
Chu.
After the storm, the state returned to something resembling peace.
The dead were buried. Grief moved through homes like a cold draft, then softened as days passed. Ordinary lives were always like that. They bent, they broke, they stitched themselves back together under the pressure of time.
The only difference was that the Divine Land now had one more story to argue over.
In inns and wine shops, merchants and wanderers gathered, and words flowed as freely as alcohol.
A man stood on a small stage, voice rising and falling like a practiced performer.
"It is said that on that day, heaven and earth lost their light. A thousand km of Chu fell into darkness. Drums echoed in every ear. Fear crawled into every heart. Then a black sun rose in the sky, strange and wrong…"
He swept his sleeve for effect, almost knocking over his own cup.
"And then the East Sea surged into the great river. Clouds piled like mountains. A hint of dawn cut through the gloom."
"But one person came with a sword and swept away the storm, cutting through the long night."
"His title is Monarch Lord, master of the vast eastern waters. The Fusang Great Emperor who governs the cycle of water through heaven, earth, and mankind."
The crowd roared with reactions.
Someone stood, flushed with drink.
"I heard the same. A friend of mine was there. Scared out of his mind, but he survived."
"That friend is you," someone else shouted back, and the room erupted in laughter.
"Nonsense," the man blustered, face reddening. "How could it be me."
Someone else chimed in.
"They say Master Xun of the Jixia Academy spoke of it. Said the Monarch is a proper god of this land, a true immortal."
Arguments piled up.
Details mutated.
Admiration grew louder with every retelling.
They did not know the subject of the story was sitting nearby.
In a side room, Consort Yu leaned back and wore a sly smile.
"Sounds impressive," she murmured. "If I write your story, I wonder what version would spread."
Rowe looked at her without blinking.
"You would write that the dignified Eastern Monarch Lord stole the local immortal's Fusang Tree."
Consort Yu blinked, then smiled wider, clearly proud of herself.
Rowe tapped the table once.
"If you can write, then I can write too. The Fusang Tree originally belonged to Xi He. After the immortals and gods departed, it was ownerless."
He nodded at her calmly.
"You stayed there for a few hundred years. That does not make you the owner."
Consort Yu's eyes sharpened.
"So what."
"I am saying you slept for a few hundred years and did not become the owner," Rowe continued, tone sincere enough to be cruel. "You should not bring it up again. It is embarrassing."
Consort Yu inhaled.
She very nearly exploded.
Then she looked around at the crowded room, at the ordinary people who would not survive even a stray spark from her temper, and forced herself to exhale.
Rowe, meanwhile, stared at the table.
Seven cups.
Wine from Qin, Chu, Qi, Yan, Zhao, Wei, and Han.
Once there had been Zhou, and then Zhou decayed into ceremony and dust. Now only the seven states remained, condensed into a line of cups like a funeral offering.
Rowe smiled, not in mockery, but in quiet recognition.
Time ate everything.
He stood.
"All right. We move."
Consort Yu blinked, then rose with a huff.
"Where now?"
"I have traveled six states," Rowe said. "So we go to the one I have not visited yet."
Consort Yu puffed her cheeks.
"Do we have to go that far again. How annoying."
She complained.
She followed anyway.
Some time had passed since the battle in Chu. During that time they crossed the six states east of Hangu Pass, sampling the world as it existed before it was rewritten.
Great Qin dominated the balance, and the pressure of its sword had seeped into every border. Yet the six states still produced talent.
Heirs of the Hundred Schools. Wandering swordsmen from Yan and Zhao. Names that would be remembered, and bodies that would be forgotten.
And yet, no other remnants like the Evil Taiyi appeared.
Perhaps the timing was not right.
Now they had tasted the wines of six states.
Only one remained.
They left the bustling inn behind. Discussion continued long after the door closed.
Outside, fine rain began to fall.
Someone by the window looked up, dazed, and saw two figures walking side by side into the mist, fading like a story ending mid sentence.
The rain was soft.
This city's wind and water never truly stopped.
In a blink, the silhouettes were gone.
Then Rowe stopped.
In a narrow alley, he and Consort Yu stood with umbrellas, the rain whispering against the oil paper.
"You have hidden long enough," Rowe said, gaze angled toward the shadows. "Come out."
Consort Yu stiffened.
She followed his line of sight and felt it.
A presence, close enough to be rude.
But she had not sensed it until he spoke.
Her grip tightened.
Was I really getting complacent.
From a nearby corner, a bright voice answered, laughing with a hint of drink.
"Ah, was I discovered? As expected of the Immortal Lord."
A figure stepped into view.
A young swordswoman in white. Black hair tied up, decorated with white flowers. Strands framed a face that was both refined and fearless. A long sword rested across her back. A wine gourd hung in her hand.
She did not hold an umbrella.
Rain stopped short of her skin, diverted by a thin bounded field woven from spiritual energy.
"I am Jing Ke," she said, and then gave a small hic as if the introduction required punctuation. "I have seen the Eastern Monarch. I have long admired your great name."
Rowe did not hide surprise, but it was the mild sort.
He had not concealed himself. Anyone with a cultivated sense could pick him out, a divinity walking among mortals like a rumor that refused to die.
Still, Jing Ke's lack of constraint was notable. She spoke to him as if he were a famed wanderer, not a being who could shift weather across states.
Rowe answered smoothly.
"I have heard Yan and Zhao breed heroes who are generous with their lives and stubborn with their pride. I have heard your name too."
Jing Ke grinned.
"The Eastern Monarch knows my name. That is amusing."
She tilted her head, then nodded as if solving her own puzzle.
"Of course you do. You can see everything under heaven if you choose."
Then she lifted the wine gourd in a lazy salute.
"Since fate put us in the same rain, come join me at a gathering."
"A gathering?" Consort Yu repeated, wary.
Jing Ke swayed slightly, amused.
"A grand event of this land," she said. "A gathering that draws the strange, the famous, and the desperate."
Thunder rolled.
Dark clouds churned.
In the state of Qi, at Xu Fu's residence, a girl wearing a square hat nearly bounced off the floor.
"Really? The Eastern Monarch is here? He came to the Divine Land?"
Xu Fu's face was half hidden by loose black hair, eyes blazing. She sat on the ground, legs wrapped in black silk, rubbing together with barely contained excitement. Her cheeks were flushed as if she had been offered immortality on a plate.
Across from her, a maid cleared her throat carefully.
"Miss. That is not the point."
Xu Fu waved a hand like she was shooing an insect.
"The Eastern Monarch is the point."
The maid's expression did not change. She had long since learned to endure her mistress's strange priorities.
She held up a sealed envelope.
"The letter. It is a personal message from Zhao Gao, the Chief Charioteer of Qin."
Xu Fu blinked.
Then, as if remembering she was supposed to be a person with dignity, she coughed once and tried to look composed.
"Ahem. Fine. What does it say."
The maid opened the envelope.
In the instant her eyes scanned the contents, she froze.
Xu Fu tilted her head.
"What is it. Why are you making that face."
The maid swallowed.
"Miss… this is not from Zhao Gao."
Xu Fu's excitement flickered, confused.
"Then who."
The maid's voice dropped.
"It is a letter from the King of Qin. Addressed to the Eastern Monarch."
Xu Fu's eyes widened.
"The King of Qin," she repeated slowly, tasting the weight of it. "To the Eastern Monarch?"
Rain tapped the roof.
Thunder rolled again, distant but insistent.
Somewhere in that sound, history shifted its feet and prepared to walk forward.
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