Chapter Twelve: The Way Out

Pei Xiunian stood atop the watchtower, sipping tea that carried a faint, elusive fragrance.

From his lofty vantage, he overlooked the formidable demon army, a force capable of threatening the capital itself. They had regrouped, and now moved westward in a sweeping tide, vast enough to swallow the wild hills whole.

Only when he saw them finally withdraw did Pei Xiunian exhale, feeling the weight lift from his shoulders. As he descended the tower, he pondered the risks lurking behind this closing move of his strategic game.

He understood that forcing the demon clan to retreat and allowing Great Zhou to reclaim the lost lands of Yunchuan was merely the beginning of securing his status as a prince. This achievement would not only shield him from impeachment and dispel previous rumors of collusion with demons, but would also earn him fame throughout the realm.

Pei Xiunian had waited two years for this chance to rise swiftly through the ranks. Now, the opportunity had arrived—not as some effortless ascent by way of sign-in boards or system panels, but as a precarious identity that could end in sudden death at any moment.

Once the battle report reached the capital, the entire court, even all of Great Zhou, would tremble at the unprecedented victory. With such merit, regardless of suspicions about his raising private troops, the emperor would surely summon him back to receive honors. Yet, this was exactly what Pei Xiunian dreaded.

Firstly, Great Zhou was a feudal dynasty within the cultivation world; returning to the capital carried the risk of tests to verify imperial bloodlines. Of course, such measures would not be casually used against a prince who had rendered great service. Only the emperor himself could order such a test. But all of this depended on Pei Xiunian maintaining perfect composure and avoiding the ire of rival factions.

Out here, on the borderlands where no one knew him well, Pei Xiunian could remain unperturbed. But once inside the palace, any hint of strangeness would expose his true identity—and exposure meant death.

So, the longer he could delay his return to the capital, the better. Yet he could not linger on the Yunchuan frontier either; he already carried the suspicion of raising private troops, and if he seized command of the Xiliang army, the court’s factions would quickly accuse him of rebellion.

Furthermore, the deception that drove the demon clan back would not fool Su Zhiqiu, nor the demon clan, forever. Though the grain supply leak would throw them into chaos for a time, eventually they would realize that the emperor had never issued any secret order.

Su Zhiqiu, the demon army’s commander and princess, who had been bluffed into retreat, would find herself deeply embarrassed.

Even if, by then, their supplies were depleted and continuing the fight would only waste more resources—rationally, withdrawing and negotiating was the best course—in hindsight, the fact that Pei Xiunian had deceived them would overshadow everything.

Avenging themselves against a prince guarding the border would not be difficult; sending an assassin squad would be all too easy.

Secondly, such great merit and renown would make Pei Xiunian a dark horse in the struggle for succession. The crown prince’s faction would take notice; the emperor, in his delight, might even grant him a fiefdom and title. But this would only escalate the efforts of those already seeking to eliminate him.

If they dared target a prince before, they certainly wouldn’t stop just because he had gained honor.

The original third prince had attracted attention before even venturing outside, and Pei Xiunian’s dramatic display likely amused his hidden enemy greatly.

Now, his foes lurked in the shadows while he stood exposed—a passive position.

When he reached the base of the tower, Pei Xiunian exchanged a nod of mutual understanding with Jiang Yunhe, without need for words, and the two resumed their journey on horseback.

Unlike their swift arrival, the return was leisurely, letting their horses wander at will.

They traveled down once-bustling streets, flanked by empty buildings. Beside him rode the serene Jiang Yunhe; only the wind and hoofbeats filled the air, a profound solitude.

Pei Xiunian, deep in thought atop his horse, saw only one relatively sound way to break the deadlock: cultivation.

Cultivation needed to be prioritized—not merely to strengthen himself.

Su Zhiqiu had said that, due to the constraints of imperial fate, members of Great Zhou’s royal family found the path of cultivation much harder than others; most of the court’s experts were sect patrons or noble clans, not royals.

Because of this, few princes wasted their time on cultivation, except those obsessed with martial arts or Daoist methods.

Ambitious princes spent their days scheming for succession—in crude terms, plotting how to kill their brothers and sisters, caring little for the pursuit of the Dao.

If Pei Xiunian chose cultivation now, it would signal plainly that he had no intention of competing for the throne, easing pressure from his royal siblings.

There was another key factor.

Reflecting on Su Zhiqiu’s words, Pei Xiunian recalled her surprise when she discovered his blocked meridians. From her reaction, he deduced that the royal princes likely did not have such a condition; the original third prince probably did not suffer from blocked meridians.

Regardless of the original prince’s condition, Pei Xiunian’s path of cultivation was essential; meridians could only go from blocked to clear.

But... why had Xiao Qin never mentioned this? This was information crucial to his very survival.

Pei Xiunian sensed something was amiss; this was no trivial matter. Yet, apart from being more cautious, he could do nothing about his fully-formed cultivation stage. It would require long-term planning.

For now, the most pressing task was to begin cultivation.

But to cultivate, he would need to open his “Heaven’s Gate”; the methods of immortals were not something any martial master could provide.

Pei Xiunian sighed softly. Though he had handed the coffin to Su Zhiqiu to buy some time without drawing attention, it would also prompt the emperor to send inspectors.

When that happened, if he had not altered his situation, his imposture would be exposed.

Jiang Yunhe, hearing his sigh, glanced at him. Her eyes were covered, so her expression was hidden, but her voice was clear as she asked, “What troubles you?”

Pei Xiunian did not expect the quiet young woman to be of much help, so he replied casually, as in idle conversation, “If I wish to cultivate, does Miss Jiang have any insights?”

After a brief silence, Jiang Yunhe answered slowly, “My teacher says that cultivation lies in action—walking among the dust of the mortal world, observing its myriad forms. First comes action, then the Dao. Only by holding to one’s own way and proving it can one become immortal.”

She turned her head to study Pei Xiunian. “Our paths do not intersect, so I cannot teach you, but I hope you will cultivate yourself and follow your own way.”

Pei Xiunian was used to her occasional “gaze.” Her words were simple enough, but he was not here to debate philosophy; directness was needed. So he said, “I meant to ask: do you think my constitution allows for cultivation?”

Jiang Yunhe, still with her head tilted, paused and then shook her head. “Your meridians are badly blocked. Ordinary Meridian Opening Pills are barely effective; you must open your Heaven’s Gate. But I cannot help you.”

Despite this, she handed him a small bottle of pills. “These are Meridian Opening Pills. They no longer serve me.”

“Thank you,” Pei Xiunian replied, surprised by the unexpected gift. He accepted, not wanting to refuse her kindness. Though he was far from opening his meridians, at least he now had some direction.

As they continued, Pei Xiunian glimpsed the city gates ahead, and beyond the mountains, rows upon rows of crimson banners stretching toward the sky.

Jiang Yunhe suddenly seemed to remember something and added, “But my teacher can.”