Chapter Nine: The Gates of the Hot Springs

Among the row of statues in the Mountain God Temple, the three great demon officers—Yaksha, Boar Head, and Demon Face—glared fiercely with menacing features, their expressions every bit as savage as in last night's vision. The lesser demons, too, were all familiar. Yet the multistoried halls and the grand sanctuary had vanished without a trace. Yang Nan understood well that a true temple of the gods would never manifest openly before mortals; the mere sight of these three demon officers was evidence of how real that dream had been.

But how could a mortal's spirit wander thus? This question was beyond Yang Nan’s ability to answer for now, so he set it aside. The small copper coin at his chest had turned jet-black, bereft of any sheen; all that had transpired last night, half-dream and half-reality, had begun with this coin.

Once past Green Brush Mountain, they arrived at Hot Springs Pass—the most crucial eastern gateway of the Great Yuan Dynasty. Beyond Hot Springs Pass lay Heavenly Continent, which stretched all the way to the Eastern Sea. It was said that countless island nations dotted the ocean, lands of varied peoples and races. Foreign merchant ships would sail for the East Sea, land at Heavenly Continent, then transfer their goods to carriages to be traded throughout the Twelve Provinces of the Great Yuan. Thus, Hot Springs Pass became the vital artery connecting Chang’an to Heavenly Continent.

As a main trade artery, this place teemed with endless streams of people, not a few of them foreigners. Yang Nan, who in his past life had seen many Westerners, found neither the blond and blue-eyed nor the dark-skinned the least bit strange. The Great Yuan had stood for centuries, its power commanding respect across the world; foreign embassies were commonplace, and even ordinary folk were unfazed by the sight of outsiders.

Blending into the crowd with his horse, Yang Nan noticed Chi Yang looking wary, his gaze fixed on the gate, brows suddenly furrowed. “Brother, what’s wrong? Is something amiss?” Yang Nan asked, curiosity piqued.

Chi Yang pointed at the gate, where heavily armed soldiers stood in disciplined ranks, and said with grave seriousness, “Something’s off! With so many merchants and travelers passing through, Hot Springs Pass never enforces such strict checks. For them to search so thoroughly today, something must have happened!” Entrusted by the old Grand Duke with Yang Nan’s safety, Chi Yang could not afford to be anything less than vigilant.

Yang Nan peered intently ahead; his vision, greatly enhanced since consuming the demon pill, now allowed him to spot a very familiar figure standing atop the high pass walls.

“Fourth Uncle? Why is he here?” Yang Nan’s expression changed, an ominous feeling settling over his heart like a dark cloud.

“What? That’s your Fourth Uncle, Yang Cheng?” Chi Yang paled. The old Grand Duke’s thirteen sons were all formidable in their own right. The civil officials were of little concern, but those who had taken up arms were another matter entirely. The fourth son, Yang Cheng, was the acting commander of the Eastern Continent’s Southern Pacification Route; the seventh, Yang Yi, had become general of the main army in the Southern Continent’s Chong’an Prefecture; even the twelfth, Yang Lan, though just forty, was already captain of the Crown Prince’s personal guard. Should the emperor pass, he would certainly rise to command the entire Imperial Guard.

These three were outstanding talents of their time. The fourth—Yang Cheng, commander of the Southern Pacification Route—was particularly ruthless. Only the old Grand Duke’s authority could keep him in check; the other brothers hardly registered in his eyes.

With his allegiance to the Prince of Anping in the East, Yang Cheng’s power had grown further. The emperor was gravely ill, their father deceased—yet this acting commander was neither observing mourning at the family seat nor protecting his master at the capital. What was he doing at Hot Springs Pass?

Yang Nan and Chi Yang exchanged a look, both knowing that Yang Cheng’s presence here boded nothing good.

“My Fourth Uncle only ever obeys my grandfather. With Grandfather gone last night, only his master, Lord Li Qian of Anping, or the emperor himself could keep him in line. He’s said to disregard even the Crown Prince! He keeps a retinue of deadly retainers, attracting even demons and monsters to his side. With him here, slipping past will not be easy.” Yang Nan knew full well how overbearing and arrogant his fourth uncle could be. Should he fall into his hands, there would be no good outcome.

Chi Yang’s brow furrowed as well. Having served long at the Grand Duke’s manor, he was well aware of the twelve brothers’ reputations—few were kind-hearted.

Yang Nan, lacking any magic, would not escape the vigilance of Yang Cheng’s extraordinary followers even if he did possess supernatural arts.

He could not help but wonder silently: How had the old Grand Duke, so upright and just, come to sire a dozen such ruthless sons? But realizing this thought bordered on disrespect, he quickly dismissed it.

Yang Nan caught the look of indifference on Chi Yang’s face and managed a bitter smile. The old man had many wives and concubines, not unusual in the Great Yuan. Yet after his legitimate son—Yang Nan’s father—died unexpectedly, the old Grand Duke suspected his other sons and, in grief and anger, stopped restraining them, focusing his hopes on Yang Nan instead.

These dozen or so sons each pledged themselves to the emperor’s various ambitious heirs. By virtue of their father’s reputation as a Confucian master, the princes and lords vying for the throne were eager to win them over.

(2/3)

Gathered together, they swarmed like flies to honey, united by mutual interest.

Even if the Grand Duke would not help them directly, his sons’ connections ensured his former students in government would extend them favor. This vast network was their greatest asset; to inherit the Grand Duke’s title would be even more legitimate with such backing.

Thus, whether for their own masters or for the title itself, the twelve sons saw Yang Nan as a thorn in their side, wishing nothing more than to eliminate him.

Chi Yang sighed. “These are all cunning men. In the world of cultivation, power is key; among mortals, it’s schemes and plots that prevail. The Grand Duke’s arranged stand-ins would never fool them. Yang Cheng must be here for you.” What else could have drawn Yang Cheng to abandon all else and come to Hot Springs Pass?

Yang Nan could only laugh bitterly, his heart full of resentment. He had already backed down, hoping for peace, but his uncles would not rest until he was utterly destroyed. There was no kinship left—if they met, it would be a fight to the death.

In the Great Yuan, legitimacy was everything. Had Yang Nan not run away, the title of Grand Duke would have fallen to him. Even after a new emperor’s enthronement, no one would dare defy the will of the Grand Duke’s faction. As a three-reign elder, the Grand Duke’s influence would long outlive him. As eldest legitimate grandson, Yang Nan’s succession was undeniable; which of the concubine’s sons could openly contest him?

Even if Yang Nan remained in exile, should he return, the usurper would still have to yield the seat.

The Grand Duke’s fifty years of connections were not easily trifled with; not even Yang Cheng’s growing power could withstand the old man’s legion of loyal followers.

It was only logical, then, for his uncles to want him dead; only his true demise could legitimize their stolen title.

But would Yang Nan submit quietly, meekly awaiting his fate?

“One day, I will make you all regret this ruthless betrayal!” A cold light flashed in Yang Nan’s eyes, his expression growing steely.

Seeing his trouble, Chi Yang offered comfort. “The hardships before you reach Kunlun are themselves a form of cultivation. For now, we must find a safe way through the pass. Once beyond Hot Springs Pass and into Heavenly Continent, the waterways are vast—Hun River runs through it. We can take a boat to the foot of Kunlun Mountain, where they’ll find it much harder to trace you.”

Yang Nan frowned. “But with Fourth Uncle here, disguises will do us no good. What else can we try?”

Chi Yang racked his brains, but no solution came. The two sat at a teahouse near the gate. With so many merchants passing by, Yang Cheng would not spot them immediately.

Inside, patrons were discussing the night’s strange omen—a star falling in the western sky at midnight, its thunderous crash bringing down half of Jade Screen Mountain outside Chang’an. At dawn, the ailing emperor learned of the Grand Duke’s passing—the teacher of the crown prince, senior minister of three reigns, had died. Though obsessed with alchemy, the emperor deeply respected his old mentor and, at daybreak, attended court in mourning garb, personally visiting the Grand Duke’s residence to pay respects.

He also ordered the Imperial Bureau of Rare Beasts to dispatch spirit eagles across the empire: in every province of the Twelve Continents, altars should be set up to honor the Grand Duke for three days of mourning.

These spirit eagles, raised in the capital, could cover a thousand miles a day, spreading word in mere days. Yet at Hot Springs Pass, news among the crowd traveled even faster. Two drinkers, discussing the Grand Duke’s passing, wore expressions of deep grief.

Yang Nan, listening, did his best to remain calm, but could not hide his sorrow. Chi Yang did nothing to stop him—Grand Duke Yang Pu was revered throughout the land, cherished by scholars and officials alike. As the two drinkers reminisced, the whole teahouse shared in mourning; Yang Nan was no exception.

(3/3)

After seven days lying in state at his residence, the Grand Duke would be buried in the imperial mausoleum with past emperors—a rare honor, the greatest possible in death.

Yang Nan swallowed his tears, silently vowing, “Grandfather, your devotion to me I will never forget. Should I one day attain the immortal path, I will surely repay all you have given me in this life.”

After discussing the mourning, the drinkers turned to the emperor’s illness. The princes had gathered in Chang’an; with the emperor gravely ill and unable to attend court, the crown prince Li Hui acted as regent. Yet every succession is fraught with danger—the princes and princesses had not brought their armies into the city, but who could say how many troops lurked outside Chang’an’s walls?

Even within the capital, the struggle was fierce. The crown prince first used the four city garrisons to purge the Imperial Guard, replacing the palace’s sentries in a single sweep; in just two days, over two hundred were executed. Then he began dismissing enemy officials, demoting over a dozen ministers to shake the princes’ confidence.

Such measures were common for a new emperor, but could they truly root out those who hid their ambitions?

The princes and royal sons of the Great Yuan were all extraordinarily shrewd. Banding together, they formed factions and cliques, each a power unto itself.

Should the emperor die, blood would surely flow in Chang’an; it was anyone’s guess who would emerge as emperor...

Here, a thousand miles from Chang’an and hundreds from the nearest major city, Wei Yang, the two drinkers dared discuss the capital’s secrets. Hearing all this, Yang Nan felt a profound sense of foreboding—already the heavens were disturbed, monsters and demons running rampant, and now the empire itself was in turmoil. It seemed the world was entering a time of endless strife.

The two drinkers, having had their fill, were just warming to their topic when a squad of soldiers burst in and promptly seized them. The officer sneered, “How dare you speak recklessly of court affairs within the empire! Such audacity!”

The two, sobered at once, pleaded for mercy, but the officer, eager to make an example, ordered them dragged out for immediate execution. As Yang Nan frowned, about to intervene, Chi Yang tugged his sleeve, signaling him not to get involved.

While Yang Nan hesitated, the two were hauled before the teahouse. Two soldiers raised their blades to strike them down when a clear, commanding voice rang out, “Stop!”

A young woman dressed as a village girl stepped from the crowd. She looked calmly at the would-be executioners and said, “Heaven cherishes life; these two merely misspoke under the influence of wine. Their crime is not worthy of death. It is said that, though the Great Yuan’s emperor is fond of alchemy, he is merciful and shuns bloodshed. Will the new emperor defy his father’s wishes before even ascending the throne?”

Though sun-darkened and plain, the village girl’s voice was cold and clear as ice water, sending chills through all who heard her.

The officer, seeing only a lowly peasant, sneered, “Insolent! How dare a mere village girl comment on the new emperor? I’ll have you beheaded alongside these criminals as a warning to all!”