When It Shall Shine

"Huan means grand and magnificent, and also bright."

These words echoed in Cao Huan's ears for countless years.

When I opened my eyes, snow water was dripping from the beams of the dilapidated house.

Drop by drop, it fell on him, icy cold.

He instinctively tried to raise his hand to wipe it, but found that his body was too weak to even do such a simple action.

Images of the bright sunlight being submerged by the vast expanse of water vapor and the collapse of the ancestral temples of the Great Wei kept flashing through his mind.

He should have died at that moment.

He is still alive.

This was not the Spiritual Qi paradise, a blessed land teeming with All Things Live, that he vaguely remembered!

He heard it.

The carriages rumbled, the horses neighed.

No, it was the sound of chains dragging on the ground, heavy breathing, and a suppressed sob.

Cao Huan struggled to his feet, and a mirror suddenly appeared before him, clear and vivid, as if each word of blood, tears, and humiliation was etched into his eyes and into his memory.

He saw it.

It was a completely black carriage, its body carved with intricate and dazzling cloud and dragon patterns.

There were no horses in front of the cart; instead, nine hundred and ninety-nine prisoners, their hands and feet shackled, served as its draft animals, dragging it forward. Their steps were heavy and slow, each step crunching on the snow.

Cao Huan's pupils suddenly contracted.

That was once the imperial carriage of Wei Ming of Wei.

Now, it has been painted black.

Now, Sima Hui, that brat, sits atop it, swaggering about arrogantly.

The snow was falling even harder.

In the streets and alleys of Ye Capital, the imperial carriage slowly rolled over the accumulated snow, and over the backs of those kneeling on the ground.

Sima Hui leaned back on the soft couch of the carriage, idly playing with the jade-shaped fan in his hand.

He suddenly felt a little tired and bored.

These lowly people knelt in neat rows, but the unsettling anger in their eyes seemed to have burned for centuries without ever being completely extinguished.

Boring.

"Stop."

The imperial carriage stopped immediately upon hearing the call.

Sima Hui rose from the soft couch and strolled to the edge of the carriage.

His gaze swept over the people forced to kneel on both sides, finally settling on the nine hundred and ninety-nine prisoners pulling the cart.

The shackles on their hands and feet were covered with a layer of frost from the flying snow, and their frostbitten soles left blurry bloody marks on the snow.

"You."

Sima Hui's voice carried a lazy cruelty.

"Sing."

The prisoners looked up blankly.

"Can't sing?" Sima Hui laughed. "Didn't you Former Wei love to praise things like 'bright and clear every day' and ' the Wei Ming and expansive'?"

"Let's sing it today! Such sorrow, let's sing it lightly and cheerfully, it'll be more fun!"

He raised his hand and pointed to the Xun Clan girl who had been humiliated and abused on the carriage.

"You, start."

The girl knelt on the cold car floor, trembling all over, but not from the cold.

She bit her lip until it bled, but remained silent.

Sima Hui's smile widened.

He walked slowly over, squatted down, and used his jade-bone folding fan to lift the girl's chin.

"Not singing?" he asked softly. "Then this young master will let them—"

He casually gestured towards the prisoners pulling the carts beneath the carriage.

"--One by one, crush them beneath the imperial carriage."

The girl's eyes finally welled up with tears.

Her lips moved, and a hoarse voice squeezed out from her throat:

"Bright... brighten my Mingyang..."

The sound was broken and discordant, like a shattered bronze mirror.

"Too light." Sima Hui frowned in displeasure. "Speak louder."

"Bright Mingyang shines upon me..." the girl's voice rose, but trembled even more violently, "The light of heaven... shines brightly..."

"Waste."

Sima Hui slapped her across the face with his fan, knocking her to the ground.

"They are rebels, they are traitors, they are bandits!"

Then he stood up and shouted to the prisoners below the carriage, "Did you hear that? Rebellion! Treason! Outlaws!"

"If you sing well, I'll spare your worthless lives. If you don't sing well—"

He paused, his smile cruel.

"Under this carriage, there will only be a few more wandering souls..."

The prisoners looked at each other, wishing they could swallow his blood and sleep on his skin!

As the snow fell heavier and heavier, even one's mind wavered, sinking into a state of mindless, puppet-like mechanical existence, like a walking corpse.

The prisoners were forced to lower their heads; some clenched their teeth, still unable to swallow.

And then—the old man walking at the very front, his eyes, clouded and murky after his cultivation had been destroyed, suddenly welled up with tears.

He opened his mouth.

"Great Wei Tuo..."

The aged, hoarse voice, like a lone goose with its throat torn apart, rang out mournfully amidst the swirling snow.

"The sky is bright and clear, but it is all show and no substance."

"To honor the Jin Imperial House, to be blessed with the glory of the holy reign, and to receive its boundless grace—how fortunate indeed, how extremely fortunate..."

"Puff..."

Suddenly, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, his body vanished into thin air, and he felt a sense of liberation...

A second voice rang out.

The third one.

The fourth one.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine prisoners, nine hundred and ninety-nine rusted throats, all roared at the same moment.

Democratize Wei and honor Jin!

But when these prisoners, stripped of their cultivation and bound in shackles, sang, they sounded less like hymns and more like dying cries and heart-wrenching accusations.

Sima Hui burst into laughter.

"Hahaha--Good! Very good!"

He laughed heartily.

"You loyal ministers of the Former Wei! Didn't you value loyalty? Didn't you value righteousness?"

How are things now?

"This is your loyalty!"

"Under Miki's strict rule, what in this world cannot one obtain? You are nothing but groveling swine and ants, defiling the reputation of your Lineage, hahahaha!"

With a wave of his sleeve, he pointed his jade-bone fan at the kneeling people beneath the carriage.

"Sing along with me, all of you!"

No one answered.

Silence spread like stagnant water.

Sima Hui's smile gradually froze.

"Not singing?"

His voice turned cold.

"I will count to three."

"One."

In the crowd, a child's mouth was tightly covered by his mother, who was afraid he would cry out.

"Two."

An old woman trembled all over, her turbid tears streaming down her face, leaving tiny, barely visible craters in the snow.

"Three--"

"Wait a minute."

An old voice rang out.

In the crowd, an elderly man with white hair slowly stood up.

He wore an old robe covered in patches, his body was hunched, and his face was withered.

But the moment he straightened up, an indescribable light suddenly burst forth in his cloudy old eyes.

"Young Master Sima."

The old man's voice wasn't loud, but it could be clearly heard in the quiet Ye Capital of Ye.

"The imperial carriage was the chariot of Emperor Ming of the Former Wei."

"During the reign of Emperor Ming, he rode in this carriage three times to tour the country, providing disaster relief and helping the people, winning the hearts of the people."

"In the past, in the Ye Capital passed by, the people knelt and bowed, not out of fear, but out of respect."

His aged voice rang out slowly and deliberately amidst the falling snow.

"On the imperial carriage lies not only the ruler of a nation, but also the virtue of that nation."

"I dare to ask, young master—"

"Are you worthy?"

Three words, neither too light nor too heavy.

But it was like a blunt knife, slashing at Sima Hui's arrogant face.

His smile finally vanished completely.

Instead, a sinister and ferocious look appeared.

"Old man."

Sima Hui's voice was soft, yet it carried a chilling edge.

"What did you say?"

The old man looked at him calmly.

"I say—"

You are not worthy.

Before the words were even finished, a sharp gust of wind swept in.

Sima Hui's jade-shaped bone fan flew out of his hand, turning into a streak of light in the air, and slashed straight at the old man's neck.

The old man did not dodge.

He couldn't avoid it.

He was merely a rogue cultivator with low Rogue Cultivator level.

The folding fan severed the head, and blood spurted into the air, blooming into a mournful red amidst the flying snow.

The old man swayed slightly, but did not fall.

His lips were still moving.

"... Mingyang... daylight."

His last note fell to the ground along with his head.

Who else?

Sima Hui closed his folding fan and coldly swept his gaze across the crowd.

"Who else wants to die with this old bastard?"

silence.

A silence even heavier than before.

But in this silence, something is quietly brewing.

The child whose mouth was being covered by his mother suddenly broke free from her grasp.

He ran out, went to the old man's headless body, and knelt down.

"Grandfather--"

A child's innocent cry shattered the oppressive atmosphere of Ye Capital.

Sima Hui watched this scene without a trace of pity.

He even found it somewhat amusing.

How dare that mere old scoundrel spout such nonsense in front of him?

"Someone come here."

He said calmly.

"Hang this old man's corpse behind the imperial carriage and drag it around as a warning to the public."

"Let everyone see--"

"This is the consequence of going against the Sima Clan."

Cao Huan trembled all over.

He heard singing outside.

That hoarse, broken, and heart-wrenching song pierced through the walls of the dilapidated house and through the swirling snow, like countless steel needles stabbing into his eardrums and into his chest.

He heard the old man's question.

"Are you worthy?"

Three words, spoken with resounding force.

Then Cao Huan heard that muffled thud.

That was the sound of a head hitting the ground.

Cao Huan closed his eyes.

In bygone years, the Luo River was filled with the bones of corpses.

Those loyal ministers who refused to submit to the Sima Clan committed suicide by burning their entire families alive, the flames turning half the sky red.

The direct Yingchuan Xun Clan died for their country.

The Cheng Clan clan, numbering 300,072, mostly jumped from the capital.

Not a single person survived.

Xiahou Clan covered the rear, and the imperial relatives joined in, using their flesh and blood to block the palace gates until the last person was torn apart by a flurry of blows.

The ministers of the Wu Clan were praised were all exterminated, along with their entire families.

They didn't even spare three-year-old children.

And there are the countless survivors, their figures leaping from the majestic city walls of Luoyang.

The woman held her young child, and the man held his elderly mother; they fell into the abyss like withered leaves.

I saw those white silk ribbons from which they had hanged themselves at the ancestral temples of the Great Wei dynasty.

The Cao Clan clan, including the Wei general, were all executed in their ancestral hall. The youngest child was still an infant, tightly bound to his mother's chest.

There were also the former ministers and officials of the Great Wei Dynasty, who were loyal and righteous for generations, but they were taken to the dungeon like livestock.

The man was reduced to a slave and turned to bones deep in the mine.

Women were forced into brothels to provide entertainment for men. A family with a thousand-year-old Aristocratic Clan was reduced to prostitution in a single day.

Those who cultivate immortality lose their Spirit Root and are reduced to mortals.

The immortal master who once cultivated the Great Dao was locked next to a pigsty and dog kennel, sleeping with maggots.

Once a noble lady from a prestigious Aristocratic Clan, she was used as a furnace for elixirs, drained of her life force, and her remains were thrown into the mass grave in North Mang to rot among the nameless.

A once-powerful general had his tongue cut out and tendons severed, forced to live like an animal in prison.

They were told generation after generation: You are remnants of the Former Wei dynasty, you were born guilty, and your descendants will be guilty forever. You must kneel, endure, and live like dogs.

Because dogs can live.

People can die.

But they simply cannot die.

Because only by living can bloodlines continue.

As long as you're alive, there's even a sliver of hope.

It's unclear whether it was bait or a tool for the Jin Court to demonstrate its power to the rebels throughout the land.

The blood of these people stained the Luo River, the capital of Ye Capital, and the entire territory of the Great Wei.

Their eyes remained open in death, their heads hung high above, exposed to wind and rain, and pecked at by birds and livestock.

And he--

He is Cao Huan.

They were descendants of the emperors of the Former Wei dynasty.

It was the lord for whom those people were willing to die.

What he carries is that bright heavenly light, that radiant brilliance!

The Emperor must not be insulted!

How can the Mingyang be without light!

How can nobles prolong their lives in vain!

He suddenly stood up and tried to walk outside.

"Kid!"

A hand gripped his arm tightly.

He was an old man with white hair and beard, covered in injuries and illnesses. Cao Huan had some recollection of him; it seemed he had once worked in the Wei Wu Office of Investigations established by Cao Cao.

His sudden appearance, though seemingly random, felt strangely familiar and coincidental to Cao Huan, yet it also evoked a sense of warmth in him.

"Don't go out! What's outside—it's a trap! It's a ploy to provoke us!"

"I know."

Cao Huan's voice was unusually calm.

His gaze fell on the old man's face, and he suddenly smiled.

"I am the rightful emperor of the Great Wei, established by my uncle in the Mingyang inscription, a title that defines the dynasty. The emperor reigns over all people; this is the Mingyang Way of Kingship."

"When the emperor faces danger, he is fearless and there is no turning back."

"This is also my way, my unyielding spirit!"

Of course, he was aware of it.

Some people let him live, not just to prolong his life.

At Great Peace Temple, even a tree or a flower has its cause and effect, its use, and its value.

It can be used as elixirs, talismans, or Divine Ability powers.

And what about him?

Even if it's just a pebble that splashes a little water, he has to do it!

The old man was taken aback by Cao Huan's expression, a bitter smile appearing on his lips.

Looking at the boy before me, looking into his eyes that burned with fire.

In a daze, he seemed to see that person again.

That person who collapsed and drowned in the vastness of the Luo River, under the bright sunlight.

That fiercely loyal emperor who would rather die than be humiliated by the traitor Sima.

Though he died, he did not disgrace the majesty of the imperial family!

But what about the Cao Clan?

However, the old man had no choice but to let go.

Then he knelt on one knee and spoke slowly and deliberately.

"Your Majesty, I have long since had enough of living; I will follow you to my death."

Cao Huan helped him up.

Step out of this place.

Ahead, the imperial chariot was slowly approaching.

Countless black-armored cultivators guarded both sides, like cold iron walls.

After the imperial carriage, the old man's body was dragged by ropes, leaving a shocking trail of blood on the snow.

On the imperial carriage, Sima Hui was still laughing loudly.

Cao Huan stood in the snow, thinly dressed and unarmed.

But then he suddenly laughed.

His laughter wasn't loud, but it pierced through the swirling snow, through the iron wall of the black-armored cultivators, and through the oppressive silence of the streets.

Sima Hui's laughter stopped abruptly.

He looked down and saw the boy walking out of the crowd.

"Another one looking for trouble?"

Sima Hui looked Cao Huan up and down with interest. "And whose remnant are you?"

Cao Huan raised his head.

His gaze was calm as still water, yet it carried an indescribable air of authority.

"I am the Great Wei! You traitor, villain, member of the Sima Clan, shall not be executed!"

Everyone was shocked when they heard this.

Sima Hui's face suddenly darkened.

"How dare you!"

He raised his hand and unleashed a palm strike, the sharp wind carrying a Cold Qi, aimed straight at Cao Huan's face.

With Cao Huan's current body, he can't dodge it!

But he didn't intend to hide.

He stood there, calmly watching the approaching palm strike.

A split second --

A white light descended from the sky.

The white light was silent and invisible, yet it was like an invisible sword that severed Sima Hui's palm strike.

Sima Hui's expression changed drastically, and he suddenly looked up.

"Who?!"

"Who dares to meddle in my business?!" Amidst the swirling snowflakes, a figure slowly strode out.

He wore a plain Daoist robe and had an ordinary face.

It was the same person in plain clothes who had sung old songs from the previous dynasty.

He walked step by step, each step landing on the void, each step landing with utmost lightness and steadiness.

Outside Ye Capital, the snow still falls heavily.

Two figures hovered in the Great Void, their bodies adorned with flickering Dao patterns that shielded them from the falling snow.

The person on the left was dressed in plain clothes and blue shoes, with a thin face and a hairpin made of withered wood in his hair. His eyebrows and eyes were very faint, as if they had been washed with water, and one would forget them after just one glance.

At this moment, however, his extremely indifferent eyes reflected the entire Ye Capital.

Above Ye Capital, a chilling, deathly aura surged and boiled.

"Brother Xun," the man on the right spoke. He was also dressed in plain clothes, but was taller and carried a sheathless longsword on his back.

The sword was covered in rust, as if it had been unearthed from an ancient tomb, so rusted that its original appearance was unrecognizable.

His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. "Shall we make a move?"

The man in black did not answer.

He looked down at his palm.

There was a scorch mark on his palm, left when he took Sima Ying's Cold Qi head-on on the Ye Capital.

The scorch marks are fading at a visible rate, and the new skin contrasts sharply with the surrounding paleness.

"No rush." He lowered his hand. "Let's enjoy this pleasant snowstorm for a while longer."

"Wait?" The swordsman frowned.

"Brother Xun, has Brother Cheng Household already made his move?!"

The man in black, named Xun Mozhi, had eyes filled with indifference, clarity, and even a flash of involuntary anger.

Xun Mozhi's gaze pierced through the wind and snow, landing on a young man.

There was a barely perceptible aura emanating from him.

It is the emperor's power hidden, like a dragon lurking in the abyss.

Xun Mozhi's eyes twitched.

"Another three hundred years." He seemed to mutter to himself, with a hint of self-mockery.

"The imperial lineage continues unbroken, repeating itself endlessly, a cycle of cause and effect..."

"Our four families, along with you, will be like wild grass, impossible to burn out. Next year, all things will revive, and within our clans, one or two more will inherit Divine Ability."

The man carrying the sword paused for a moment, then smiled with relief.

"Over the past three hundred years, I have honed my Divine Ability, reigning supreme over the world. Beautiful women, delicious food, fame, and wealth are all within my grasp, readily available to me. I have already made my fortune and have no need for this lifetime."

"But ultimately, the consequences must be repaid..."

Then, the wind and snow seemed to intensify, and a trace of fresh, clean air from the grass and trees filled the air.

The swordsman changed his tone again, as if he were entering a scene depicting a loyal, virtuous, and upright minister.

"Imperial lineage?"

His voice suddenly rose and then immediately fell back down, displaying an air of utmost loyalty.

"Brother Xun speaks of imperial lineage? Does the Former Wei family still have any bloodlines alive? But during the chaos of that year, Sima Ying massacred the Ye Capital, essentially wiping out the entire Wei Imperial House imperial family, even their corpses..."

"If there truly is an imperial lineage, we will certainly go. For loyalty and righteousness dictate our actions; we will go through fire and water without hesitation!"

"Killing them all... that's definitely not going to happen." Xun Xuanmo said with the same meticulous planning, his tone becoming excited and his emotions running high.

"Our current power and cultivation level correspond perfectly to the bright light of heaven and the manifestation of the Mingyang in the world!"

"If the Emperor is willing to risk his life, how can we remain unscathed!"

"Alright, Brother Xun, let's charge in! The day will be the day to serve the emperor and protect him!"

Xun Mozhi sighed bitterly.

"You and I? We wield Divine Ability, we are Purple Mansion True Person, but what are we in the eyes of those people?"

"Burdened by the reputation of her clan, and even more so by her clan, she was nothing more than someone else's plaything!"

He turned around and looked at the man carrying the sword. A hint of something unusual remained in his usually indifferent eyes as he spoke to himself.

"Xiahou Xuan, do you still remember the oath made at the Luo River?"

The swordsman, Xiahou Xuan, suddenly tightened his grip on the sword.

The rusty sword hummed, its sound echoing through the wind and snow.

"Luo River." He immediately understood and recited it.

"The Sima Clan made a solemn oath at the Luo River, a vow that was made with great ceremony and honor. They vowed not to kill Former Wei family or to dishonor the former officials of the previous dynasty."

The surging Luo River flows ceaselessly, day and night. That vow... remains unchanged.