A Pawn's Passage

White-crested waves surged to the skies amid a storm, surging and receding repeatedly, rolling up layers of foam like snow.

Qi Xuansu sat in the guest room, watching the tide through the glass window.

This was the Seaview Tower located on the coast of Donghai. Out at sea stood the Immortal Watching Platform, the two facing each other across the waters. Generally speaking, one had to pass through the Seaview Tower before ascending to the Immortal Watching Platform.

Since it was raining, the sea was rough with surging waves. Even ordinary Heavenly Beings would dread such a force of nature. It was not something a man could resist.

As the name implied, the Seaview Tower allowed one to gaze upon the vast sea. Though called a tower, it was surrounded by many independent courtyards, making the entire estate quite expansive.

Truth be told, Qi Xuansu did not like this place because it reeked too heavily of powder and perfume. No matter how refined the decor or artistic design, that scent of cosmetics could not be concealed.

This scent was not something that could be smelled, but rather an intangible impression, like a battle-hardened army camp that, no matter how well scrubbed or relocated, still carried the stench of blood and slaughter.

The Immortal Watching Platform was also renowned.

This lofty platform was built atop a reef over 300 meters high in the sea, though “reef” was hardly accurate; it was more like a solitary column that was about 30 meters wide. An Immortal once cleaved it flat with a single sword strike, and someone later paved it with tiles and added railings, turning it into a lookout. But the peak was steep on all sides, with no paths for ascent. One had to rely solely on their own skills to reach it. Those capable of such feats naturally had no interest in mere sightseeing. Thus, it often became a venue for sparring and sword duels.

In the past, the Holy Xuan and Donghuang had once crossed swords here.

Qi Xuansu much preferred the Immortal Watching Platform over the Seaview Tower. As Donghuang once described it, the Immortal Watching Platform was just a single square beneath one’s feet, with nothing above to block the sky. A single misstep meant falling into the crashing waves. This was where one could experience the magnificence of Mother Nature—the pouring rain, the scorching sun, the bitter blizzard, and the deafening thunder.

He very much wanted to climb the platform and take in the view. However, after two centuries of wind and wave erosion, the Immortal Watching Platform had become unstable. Thus, the Taiping Sect had it reinforced and cordoned off, barring visitors.

At the coastline, many armored warships belonging to the Donghai Navy were docked.

Some might wonder why bother developing armored warships when flying ships exist. The reason was simple—the end of the era. If the Daoist Order did not prepare for the loss of all magic and chose instead to bask in present glory, then they would be severely underprepared in a crisis.

Naturally, Qi Xuansu would not travel to Fenglin by the armored warship. It was far too slow. The flying ship he would board was expected to arrive around midnight.

Qizhou had fully entered a state of war readiness. As Qi Xuansu made his way through, the docks were bustling with endless ships. Even at night, lights blazed bright, and operations ran through the night.

Tens of millions of units of supplies poured into Qizhou from all directions. Such might was not the work of any Immortal, but the collective force of millions. This was the power of the Daoist Order.

Before the troops moved, provisions had to arrive first. Aside from the vanguard already en route to Fenglin, the main army was still behind.

Thus, Qi Xuansu and Zhang Yuelu were not traveling together. She was still in Jade Capital and would move with the main army. This was the true role of the Tiangang Hall. Suppressing secret societies and cult demons was, in fact, their secondary duty.

This time, Qi Xuansu’s role was neither to lead troops into battle nor to strategize in central command. He had two main responsibilities. The first was to work with his colleagues to resolve the internal strife among the Three Noble Houses. The second was oversight—not of military operations, but of the allocation, transport, and storage of supplies, ammunition, and various other materials.

Later, Qi Xuansu came to understand that the first task was short-term. If the infighting among the Three Noble Houses couldn’t be settled, then the war itself would not be worth fighting. It would be better to concede outright. Since the Daoist Order was intervening, the reorganization of the royal offices would be completed swiftly.

The second task was long-term. Supplies would need to flow continuously from the outbreak of war until its end, with no pause in logistics.

Logistics and ideology were the two critical issues in war.

When a war began, one must first answer a fundamental question: what was the nation fighting for? The cause must be just.

The Daoist Order and the Imperial Court had made their stance clear. Even a grudge spanning ten generations could be avenged. Back then, the Wei dynasty had declared Fenglin a non-aggression zone, yet the pirates of Fenglin defied that pact, launching raids on the coastal provinces of the Central Plains. Hundreds of thousands of civilians were killed or wounded, and just as many were abducted. Those forced to flee their homes numbered in the millions, and the financial losses were incalculable.

So after the founding of the Great Xuan Dynasty, the Imperial Court launched repeated campaigns against Fenglin to exact revenge, eventually forcing its submission and turning it into a de facto vassal state. Though concerns prevented the abolishment of Fenglin’s emperor, the establishment of the Fenglin Daoist Mansion stood as proof of its subordinate status.

This time, the local lords of Fenglin wanted to revere the Emperor, expel the Dao, prompting the Daoist Order to resolve to strip the Fenglin emperor of his imperial title and demote him to the rank of a lord. However, the Daoist Order did not intervene directly. In the absence of a regent, the Chancellor’s Office issued an official invitation on behalf of the Fenglin Court, requesting aid from both the Daoist Order and the Great Xuan Court to quell the rebellion.

Before that, on the day of the Shangyuan Festival, the coastal Daoist mansions had held grand public memorials to honor those who had died at the hands of the pirates. Daoist Mansion Masters and regional governors attended in person to offer incense and pay respects, reaffirming the crimes of Fenglin’s feudal lords and vowing to remember history and never forget the national humiliation.

So, from a moral standpoint, there was absolutely no issue.

From a practical standpoint, Fenglin was not the relatively docile Borneo. It was akin to a wild, untamable wolf, vicious and cruel, fawning over strength and preying on weakness. When the Central Plains were strong, it would whimper in submission, but the moment decline set in, it would bite back without hesitation. Therefore, a leash had to be fastened around its neck, giving it no chance to retaliate.

It was also better for the war to take place within Fenglin territory than in the Central Plains.

In truth, Qi Xuansu had long suspected that the Daoist Order had been preparing for a war like this.

According to the Heavenly Preceptor’s prophetic vision, the crown falls, the monarch’s dream shatters, successors rise, and blood stains the realm. Heaven collapses, earth ruptures, and the world is told anew.

It foretold that the Central Plains would face massive upheaval at the end of the era, the very post-Daoist era that Sage Donghua feared. It was only natural to assume that Fenglin would try something bold then, gambling for greatness, even dreaming of ruling the Central Plains. So, rather than wait, they would rather cripple the opponent in advance.

Going deeper, perhaps this was the foreshadowing the Holy Xuan had planted for the Great Xuan Court all along.

For years, the Daoist Order had championed the ideal of equality, both as a substitute for Confucian theory and as an affirmation of the belief that princes and ministers were not born superior. Today, that ideal seemed unconvincing, as nobles and generals could do whatever they wanted and were clearly superior beings in terms of cultivation. But when the end of the era arrived and immortality and divine powers vanished, then titles would truly lose all inherent worth. The Daoist Order had long completed its ideological transition by promoting equality. Add to that centuries of pent-up conflict, and the resulting eruption would be like a chain of volcanic blasts, blowing crowns and Daoist headdresses to the ground and shattering the dreams of nobles and Daoist masters alike.

Perhaps this was what the Heavenly Preceptor meant by blood staining the realm and the world told anew.

Suddenly, Qi Xuansu understood why so many revered the Holy Xuan. He had never confined his vision to the rule of a single clan or family but had set his sights on a realm for all people. As far back as two centuries ago, the Holy Xuan had resolved to abolish the monarchy, even if it meant sacrificing the Daoist Order itself. Perhaps, in the Holy Xuan’s view, both the Daoist Order and the Confucian School needed to return to their proper roles and do more for the people.

But Qi Xuansu had not yet reached such a level of thought. For now, his concerns were still more immediate, such as the affairs of the Three Noble Houses.

Spread across Qi Xuansu’s desk were numerous classified reports just sent from Fenglin.

It turned out the strife among the Three Noble Houses was far more than internal squabbling. They had already erupted into armed conflict, resulting in one heir assassinated and another severely wounded.

The Toyotomi Clan’s power was drastically weakened, which gave numerous local lords an opening to exploit, hence the emergence of this “Revere the Emperor, Expel the Dao” movement.

The Golden Tower Council believed the Fenglin Daoist Mansion had failed in its duty, neither intervening in time nor reporting the situation promptly. However, it issued no punishment. None of the Mansion Master or Deputy Mansion Masters were removed from office. Instead, they were ordered to redeem themselves through merit. Most likely, the Daoist Order had long wished to take action against Fenglin but lacked a justified pretext. This “Revere the Emperor, Expel the Dao” movement ended up providing the perfect reason.

Qi Xuansu set aside the documents related to the Three Noble Houses and picked up another report about the summary of Fenglin’s logistics. Though called a “summary,” it was still packed with densely arranged numbers. If Qi Xuansu were to make sense of it, he would likely have to rely on his Divine Calculation Technique.

In the end, Qi Xuansu leaned back in his chair and sighed. He decided to put the numbers aside for now and focus on the matter of the Three Noble Houses. Selecting a new regent was the top priority.

After committing the report’s contents to memory, Qi Xuansu stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at the sea.

Outside, the waves still surged as high as mountains.

At present, Fenglin was just like that sea.

Qi Xuansu softly recited an ancient poem.

“What use is poring over books or practicing swordplay in peace?

Better to ride proudly through the desert sands in battle,

With a spear as firm as iron in hand.

The freshly sharpened Dragon Spring blade gleams beneath the moonlight.

How enviable were the warriors of old!

Why boast of the scholar’s virtue and wisdom?

Now the frontiers blaze with sudden war.

So tell me, scholars—who among you dares to calm the storm?”