Chapter 46: Hit the Mark!

He’s poisoned! Ah! He’s really poisoned!

That was Liu Bian’s wild, ecstatic howl at the time, his excitement overflowing, so much so that he climbed up onto the table, looking as if he had lost his mind, radiant with triumph, ready to watch that treacherous demon spew blood and die in agony!

The secret imperial poison, the Marionette Powder.

A toxin reserved by the emperor solely to bestow death upon ministers and concubines. Its effects were brutally swift—once ingested, the victim would convulse uncontrollably, wracked by pain so intense as to be unendurable, curling up into a ball as if their head might touch their feet, and so it was named Marionette Powder.

To slay the demon Lan Yi!

Liu Bian felt that even if he died for this, it would be worth it. His patriotic heart, at last, had found its purpose, lessening worries for His Majesty.

Overcome with emotion, tears streamed uncontrollably down his face.

And then...

Like a scrawny monkey, Liu Bian was hoisted by the neck by Zhao Jian, the ferocious general, who stood as solid as a tower. The contrast in their builds was like a burly man thrashing an emaciated old man. Zhao Jian’s massive palm came down in a relentless barrage of slaps!

There’s nothing like a good slap to cure hysteria!

Liu Bian sobered up instantly.

The price: most of his teeth were knocked loose, his nose bent, his jaw dislocated, and his eyes bloodshot from the blows.

And that was Zhao Jian going easy on him.

Had he used his full strength, with his iron-tower physique, even a martial artist would have had his brains rattled, let alone a sickly middle-aged man like Liu Bian.

Attempting to poison and assassinate the Immortal Master.

Clearly, neither Zhao Jian nor Zhao Sikong would let Liu Bian die easily. That would be too merciful for such a hard-headed swine. Unlike the Immortal Master, they had no patience, and were ready to greet the governor with the cruelest punishments beloved by the Qing court.

Awakening from his beautiful fantasy, Liu Bian was stricken with terror and despair.

Old Devil Lan hadn’t been poisoned at all.

Even without the “Canghua” and its spiritual cleansing, Lan Yi’s current constitution was not something that the crude poisons of this era could ever hope to topple. It would take chemical toxins, heavy metals, or radiation to even stand a chance.

The treacherous officials of Jinling, with Liu Bian at their head, who had resisted the imperial army, were immediately dealt with—given the same treatment as the foreigners in the Puhai concession.

Martial artists of the Divine Training order blazed a trail, their mental might shattering enemy lines. The Qi Practitioners followed, scaling rooftops, blades and bullets unable to harm them, directly launching a devastating attack at the imperial troops who sought to trap them.

The whole process unfolded with ease and swiftness.

At least, in the eyes of the martial artists.

The foreign armies had backbone, but the Qing troops did not.

Foreign soldiers could withstand casualties and fight back—even when martial artists closed within twenty meters, they could, under their officers’ command, hold formation, fire volleys, and protect their heavy weaponry without breaking. But the Qing soldiers? Never mind protecting their heavy arms—at the sign of feral martial artists, officers led the retreat, soldiers tossed aside their gear, each scrambling to be the first to flee!

And so—

What seemed like a deadly banquet became a farce. In less than half a day, the ancient capital—Jinling, strategic stronghold of six dynasties—fell into the hands of Lan Yi’s martial artists.

It took just one more day.

The martial artists and revolutionaries who had accompanied Lan Yi northward swiftly implemented the model they’d used in Puhai, purging the city with thunderous efficiency, rooting out corruption and filth. Ruthless blows fell upon unscrupulous merchants, corrupt officials, criminal gangs, and foreign interlopers. Key sites—telegraph stations, power plants, newspapers, factories—were seized and brought under strict control.

During this process, many whose interests were threatened tried to stir up riots or agitate the crowds.

Without exception, all were ruthlessly suppressed by Zhao Jian, that towering iron giant. Friend and foe became clear at a glance; a new cohort of Qi Practitioners was swiftly promoted, and control soon extended down to every street and household.

And it was during this process

that Lan Yi planted the second Thunder Lotus at the Jinling power plant.

A pillar of light shot skyward, turning into invisible spiritual rain that drifted in all directions, resonating with the Thunder Lotus in Puhai, completely enveloping the southern coastal region.

There was no need for deliberate cultivation.

With such a vast population, in an environment now suited for martial training, the subtle influence and transformation of spiritual energy ensured that, without any effort from Lan Yi, geniuses with extraordinary martial talent would inevitably appear.

Take, for example, Liu Baiyuan and Guo Decheng, who had accompanied him on this journey.

Back in Puhai, these two, having trained according to the true martial tradition, didn’t even need Lan Yi’s intervention. They awakened their innate breath on their own, and even without spiritual sight, relying only on feeling and talent, quickly extended their vital energy throughout their bodies, connecting top and bottom in a single, unbroken current—achieving mastery in Qi in just a week!

Such rapid advancement truly qualified as genius.

At least, before his rebirth, Lan Yi had never progressed so swiftly in his own, solitary exploration of spiritual cultivation.

With these affairs settled—

Lan Yi buried himself in the governor’s residence.

Unlike Puhai, Jinling, as an ancient capital of six dynasties, had county records that were meticulously kept from antiquity to the present, filled with accounts of strange figures and supernatural tales.

Though ninety-nine percent were likely fabrications or the work of charlatans, Lan Yi, with a spiritual cultivator’s eye, found hope that in this age of slow information, he might yet stumble upon some accidental brush with an artificial divine realm—if nothing else, it was a way to pass the time.

During these days presiding over Jinling,

how else was he to amuse himself?

Surely the Immortal Master would not go strolling along the Qinhuai River, sampling the charms of courtesans?

If Lan Yi truly had such appetites,

among those who had accompanied him north, there were journalists like Philia, Scotty, and Yuriko Uesugi, all more than willing to conduct interviews through the night. Yet, to their jealous admiration, the one who won the privilege of an all-night interview was Yun Huaqi.

Yun Huaqi, an intern reporter at a Puhai newspaper, also a female university student of Xinghan descent.

True to her name, a lady of splendid beauty, a paragon of grace and refinement. Though traditionally brought up, she was also well-educated in modern ways, gentle as flowing water—the dream girl of many Puhai students.

She was, in the eyes of outsiders, the most likely candidate to share the Immortal Master’s pillow.

Her opportunity for an all-night interview was simple to explain.

Lan Yi needed her to translate the county records of the Liangjiang region.

Without a neural assistant, without AI, and lacking the time to learn for himself, Lan Yi simply had this elegant, dignified lady—versed in classical texts and skilled at analogy—act as his translator.

To this, Yun Huaqi nearly broke down.

Anyone faced with a mountain of documents that reached above their head would feel overwhelmed. That this refined lady found the prospect of warming the Immortal Master’s bed easier by comparison was a testament to how the Old Devil’s temperament could be, in some respects, rather perverse.

Yet these days of translation

had, in fact, yielded Lan Yi an unexpected harvest.