Chapter 21: Transforming Inner Strength into Magical Power

Chapter 21: Transforming Inner Strength into Magical Power

After chatting with Wang Jixin for a while longer, Qin Yuan felt it was about time and began to pack up, preparing to leave the cell.

At that moment, faint and chaotic footsteps echoed from outside.

There were roughly a dozen people—some with mediocre martial skills, others exceptionally skilled—all breathing evenly, their steps neither hurried nor slow.

Curious, what kind of gathering was this?

Soon, a group came into Qin Yuan’s view.

Leading them was someone Qin Yuan recognized from afar: Prince Gong.

He was currently the regent of Great Hun.

“Left Historical Institute records: Qin Yuan pays respects to the Regent.”

Qin Yuan bowed his head and cupped his fists, instinctively retreating into the shadows at the side.

Prince Gong gave a slight hum and stepped slowly into the cell. His gaze fell upon the poem on the wall. Looking at Wang Jixin with appreciation, he said, “Mr. Wang, a hero like you ought to be valued by the court. It is the fault of the chancellors that you are not.”

Wang Jixin, young and from a declining minor bureaucratic family, had never been praised so highly by a top-tier figure. His emotions surged, though his words remained cold: “I am no hero, nor do I wish to be employed by such a corrupt court.”

“How daring!” an accompanying official scolded.

“The court has come to this state; what is there left unsaid?” Prince Gong waved his hand and sighed, “You tried to assassinate me, yet I bear you no ill will. Great Hun’s current predicament is a responsibility I cannot shirk.”

Wang Jixin was deeply moved.

Over the years, the officials he encountered either extorted and oppressed or just idled away. None bore the sense of responsibility Prince Gong showed.

An idea flickered: if Prince Gong, not the Empress Dowager, were in power, perhaps Great Hun would not have fallen so far.

“I wish to release you, sir, but the court has its laws,” Prince Gong pondered a moment before continuing, “So, as long as you do not leave the Heavenly Prison, you may go anywhere within it.”

“Your Highness,” Wang Jixin said, touched.

If not for their differing stances, he might have been won over by Prince Gong’s grandeur.

“These are my sons,” Prince Gong said, no longer referring to himself as ‘the King,’ turning to his children. “Mr. Wang is no ordinary man. Learn much from him in the future.”

The princes all nodded in agreement.

“Your Highness, you flatter me,” Wang Jixin hurried to reply.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Qin Yuan slipped out.

Tan Zhuangfei, Lin Yidong, and the leader of the Yellow Lotus Sect were exceptions.

These were the true representatives of the rebellious scholars.

High officials, humbled for a moment and speaking empty platitudes, were easily lost.

Thankfully, Qin Yuan had said nothing earlier.

Otherwise, he would have surely been betrayed by this ‘righteous hero’ who wielded his blade with righteous intent.

A lesson to remember.

Qin Yuan silently warned himself.

“Ha ha ha ha…” laughter echoed behind.

Wang Jixin’s voice mingled within, low and humble.

It was a stark contrast to his earlier confidence.

Qin Yuan glanced back, not at Wang Jixin, but at Prince Gong.

This Prince Gong clearly mastered the teachings of Laozi (yes, this world had Laozi).

Laozi once wrote: “The Way of Heaven is like the drawing of a bow—high is humbled, low is raised; excess is diminished, deficiency is supplemented. The Way of Heaven diminishes the surplus and supports the deficient, but human ways are the opposite, diminishing the deficient and serving the surplus…”

How to understand this?

Through extensive reading, Laozi observed that those who drive societal progress are not the starving commoners, but the middling officials within the system.

To keep these people obedient requires coaxing, flattery, and benefits.

Once these people are secured, the ambitious and powerful dare not stir trouble.

At that moment, a tall, emaciated man in prison garb, with unnaturally pale skin and shackled hands and feet, was escorted inside.

Clang, clang—the sound of shackles striking the ground rang harshly.

After a moment, two men passed by each other.

Their breathing was heavy but rhythmic.

Clearly, this man’s martial skills had been nullified.

Qin Yuan paid no mind.

But at the prison gate, something felt off.

The two guards escorting the man were both experts.

What kind of person required two masters for escort?

Qin Yuan returned and discreetly asked a familiar jailer.

He was shocked.

The prisoner was none other than Wang Wu, sworn brother of Tan Zhuangfei, missing for ten years.

And he had been sent by Wei Ting.

What was Wei Ting up to?

Had Wang Wu lost his usefulness and been discarded? Or was this a trap?

After a few seconds of thought, Qin Yuan found neither plausible.

Wei Ting was ruthless; if Wang Wu had lost his value, he would have been killed outright, never released.

And a trap made no sense—Wei Ting had caught Wang Wu clearly for the Overlord Blade. Since the Overlord Blade had already been learned, what was the point?

Suddenly, a flash of insight.

Qin Yuan realized Wei Ting’s Overlord Blade technique was incomplete.

Wei Ting intended to lure a few people as bait to threaten Wang Wu.

“Why bother thinking about this? It’s none of my business,” Qin Yuan chuckled dryly.

He strode out.

Back at the Left Historical Institute, he requested a long leave from Chief Editor Lü Yunfei.

Lü Yunfei, who owed Qin Yuan a great favor not long ago, agreed without hesitation.

Qin Yuan planned to devote himself entirely to studying the newly acquired “Dao Scriptures.”

To avoid disturbance, he bought a large supply of long-lasting food and a big block of ice, locked the door, and feigned a long journey.

With everything prepared, Qin Yuan descended into the cold, dark basement and sat cross-legged.

“The way of Heaven is like the drawing of a bow: the high is humbled, the low is raised; the surplus is reduced, and the deficient is supplemented. The way of Heaven diminishes the excess and fills the deficit. The way of man is not so; it diminishes the deficient and serves the surplus…”

Qin Yuan felt the millennium-old inner strength within him slowly flowing like a gentle stream.

Cautious, he paused and checked his body multiple times. Finding nothing amiss, he resumed cultivation.

Days passed, yet Qin Yuan failed to transform the ancient inner strength into magical power.

“Could it be that I was mistaken? This is not a cultivation technique, but merely an advanced martial arts manual with a flashy name,” he frowned.

Then he shook his head—perhaps he just hadn’t found the right approach.

Rising, he paced a bit, then suddenly stopped.

“Maybe the answer lies with Wang Wu?”

Years ago, during his investigation of Wang Wu, Qin Yuan had heard a legend.

The Overlord Blade lineage once had someone who broke the shackles of heaven and earth, surpassed the Grandmaster realm, and vanished into the void.

Deep within the dungeon’s foulest cell, Wang Wu was shackled with thick, sturdy chains, eyes blazing with fury as if ready to spew fire.

Several paces away, Wei Ting held a bloodied severed head, laughing: “How many is this this month, Brother Wang? Your friends sure are numerous.”

“Vile dog, vile dog,” Wang Wu growled, teeth clenched, as though he wished to devour Wei Ting.

“Hand over the final technique of the Overlord Blade,” Wei Ting demanded.

“Delusional,” Wang Wu spat back.

Wei Ting crushed the severed head, strode forward, and said, “I heard your sworn older brother, Master Huo, has returned from overseas. If he hears your news, do you think he’ll come to rescue you?”

Wang Wu was stunned.

Brother Huo had come back.

“Think it over carefully,” Wei Ting patted Wang Wu’s shoulder and left with a smile.

Wang Wu’s whole body slumped, as if drained of all spirit.

No one knew how long passed before a hoarse, ancient voice whispered in his ear: “I can help you escape this plight.”

Wang Wu jerked his head up—no one else was in the cell.

“What are your terms?” he asked cautiously, not foolish enough to trust a stranger’s unsolicited aid.

“Has anyone in the Overlord Blade lineage ever broken the limits of heaven and earth and surpassed the Grandmaster realm?”

“I won’t lie; I don’t know,” Wang Wu answered truthfully.

Qin Yuan felt a twinge of disappointment.

Not this time. There’s always next time. Time is his greatest ally.

“May I ask, elder, are you at the brink of breakthrough, unable to convert your inner strength into magical power?”

Wang Wu asked tentatively, eyes full of hope.

Qin Yuan nodded in acknowledgment and inquired, “Do you know how to resolve this?”

(End of chapter)