Chapter Forty-Three: The Will from Antiquity

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The patriarch’s study was arranged with remarkable elegance. Behind the antique desk, a vast ink painting dominated the wall: a majestic purple tiger stood atop a soaring crag, surveying, from afar, a city shrouded in mist, its contours barely discernible. Though veiled in haze, the scene exuded an overwhelming grandeur, as if it might leap from the paper. Above, a crimson sun hung high amid blue skies and white clouds. The purple tiger’s crystalline eyes gazed down upon the city, commanding all beneath heaven with a disdainful, vivid presence.

As one focused intently, a breath of ancient times seemed to surge forth, as if it would sweep Yun Yufeng back to a distant era of clashing swords and galloping horses, swelling with heroic ambition. A look of aged solemnity flickered across Yun Yufeng’s face, as though he might drown in the painting’s depths.

The old patriarch watched quietly, his eyes glimmering, lost in thought.

Time slipped by, second after second. Yun Yufeng stood motionless, and only when the dishes had cooled did the look of age vanish suddenly from his face. He awakened, hesitantly gazing at the old patriarch. “Great-grandfather, this painting?”

The old patriarch smiled. “Did you feel something?”

Yun Yufeng nodded. “It seems very ancient.”

“This painting has been passed down from antiquity. Only those with extraordinary talent can perceive its difference. It embodies an artistic conception—different people sense different meanings. Though it is but a faint hint, it bestows limitless benefit: the broader the heart, the greater the achievement. It is said to have been painted by our ancestor. His whole life, he poured ink onto countless scrolls, seeking the Way through painting, and thus he infused each work with martial intent or spirit.” The old patriarch’s face softened with nostalgia, as if he himself had lived through that primordial age—almost comical, yet one could not laugh, for to do so would profane his sentiment.

Yun Yufeng blinked. Artistic conception? All he saw was a proud ancient will, swallowing mountains and rivers, gazing down upon the world. Perhaps the painting contained not just an artistic conception, but will?

He pondered a moment, then tentatively asked, “Great-grandfather, did any of our forebears comprehend its artistic conception?”

The old patriarch eyed him curiously. “Of course. There were ancestors of astonishing talent.”

“Oh? Then why have I not grasped that, but instead received something else?”

“What? How could that be? What did you see?”

“I seem to have glimpsed the ancient character of our forebear: an unmatched spirit, the arrogance of one who swallows the world, and his solitary perseverance. I believe it is the ancient will he left within.”

“Will… will… what use is that? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” the old patriarch murmured, his face thoughtful.

“It matters not,” Yun Yufeng said with a laugh. “Even if I do not touch upon martial intent, I believe the ancestor also began from nothing. I will not fall short.” His words carried a hearty, bold spirit.

The old patriarch’s smile deepened. Unable to puzzle it out, he simply let the matter go, laughing heartily. “Come, if we don’t eat soon, the dishes will be cold.”

“Yes, let’s talk as we eat.”

The patriarch produced a wine flask, pouring two full cups. He took a sip, eyes half-closed. “Yufeng, you handled He Gong’s affair well. Imagine—if we had that method, what family could fail to prosper?”

Yun Yufeng drained his cup, his gaze bright but his heart sighing softly. The patriarch had labored his whole life, but was a bit too eager. How could such matters be easily pinned to the family’s revival? Talk of prosperity, yet in the end, it might lead to decline. He ought to remind the patriarch.

He smacked his lips, speaking quietly. “Great-grandfather, this piece of meat is too large.”

The patriarch’s eyes flashed, his face reddened. “Since you proposed it, do you have a plan?”

“If I cannot eat it alone, then let others share it,” Yun Yufeng replied with a smile.

“Oh?”

“I’ll handle this. Within the clan, you only need to exercise strict oversight.”

“That is no problem! I suppose the clan’s foundry must remain?”

“We need to expand, select those without talent to join the foundry, increase weapon output, and modestly improve their compensation.” As Yun Yufeng spoke, he tapped the table with his fingers.

“A good way to mislead others,” the old patriarch nodded.

“Furthermore, open a secret chamber at the flying crag outside the mountain, dedicated to sword forging, separated from the distillery, with no passage between.”

“Reasonable. Go on,” the patriarch signaled.

“I’ll let the method leak after the annual gathering. By then, I should be in the capital, so the clan must remain cautious. This is a necessary measure, and at least it’s confined to weapon forging.” Yun Yufeng spoke with poise.

The patriarch’s beard and hair quivered as he watched Yun Yufeng command the situation, as if he himself was once again young, newly made patriarch, full of spirit and vigor, his face flushed with vitality.

“My stage is not here, but on this continent—perhaps even beyond. I imagine the Emperor Yun Shang, whom I’ve never met, feels the same. This world holds many places where miracles might occur. By rights, they should be immortal, yet all have perished. Their path may well be mine someday. Thus, I must live without regret, without remorse, to experience all that life has to offer. I have a premonition: this sky may soon change. The patriarch’s plan for revival, in the balance, may lead either to paradise or to perdition.”

The old patriarch’s hand, stroking his beard, paused. He stared, dumbfounded. For thousands of years, the family records had never mentioned calamity or disaster, and he had never considered that there might be a sky beyond the sky.

“Yufeng, such rumors are extraordinary. How do you know?”

Yun Yufeng smiled, shaking his head in silence.

The patriarch fell silent, rubbing his brow, motioning Yun Yufeng to continue.

“Great-grandfather, you decide on the steelworkers. Let He Gong oversee them, and his son can stay in the foundry—perhaps he can be cultivated in time. I’ll take my leave. The town is best kept under our control; perhaps grandfather can lend a hand.” With that, Yun Yufeng rose, gazing carefully at the painting once more. That proud will surged again, but now Yun Yufeng faced it calmly, as if it were an ordinary scroll, no longer affecting him.

He shook his head and departed.

The old patriarch sat at the table, his gaze flickering uncertainly, lost in thought. After a long while, he rose and murmured to the painting, “Ancient will… what could it be?”

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