The old things I repaired have become fine

Chapter 802 Peace... these peaceful days...

More than a thousand bamboo slips, some of which have regained their flexibility and elasticity, and others still soaking in test tubes, awaiting restoration, are neatly arranged in front of Shen Le.

Some have been rolled up: those are "Baihe", "Neigan", "Feiqian", "Wuhe" and "Benjing Yinfu Seven Arts", which are the existing and lost parts of "Guiguzi" and are only preserved in this lacquer box;
Some were still scattered and disorganized, and Shen Le hadn't had time to sort them out yet. The vast majority were names; each bamboo slip corresponded to a name, followed by a list of nationality, date of entry into the mountains, age at which they left, what they did, and year of death—

Judging from what they did, the vast majority of them were engaged in assassinations, arson, and disturbances, and many died in the line of duty.

If it weren't for the clearly distinct red and black ink marks on the bamboo slips, Shen Le would have even suspected that he had been trapped in some kind of animated film.
Is he watching Naruto?

After removing the records of "Guiguzi" and these names, there are still some miscellaneous descriptions. These include locations—a certain mountain, a certain valley, a certain cave, another cave, yet another cave;
There is a training method: when young children enter the valley, they first learn to breathe like a tortoise, leap like a monkey, and stand like a swan, so that their minds are calmed, their courage is subdued, and they can hide and conceal themselves. Then they are taught martial arts.

There is a selection and elimination method: those with clear eyes and strong bones are selected for the test. The five sons sleep in the same coffin. At midnight, the board is pulled out. Those who cannot climb the coffin wall are eliminated.
Different training models exist for disciples from different backgrounds—Gan Mao, a disciple of the Martial Clan, led five strongmen into the valley to teach them the techniques of Iron Hammer, Charge, and Shield Strike.
Young Master Yuan, a disciple of the literary lineage, entered the valley with two maids and was taught the arts of poison detection, search and secrecy.
There were even targeted teachings for disciples: the best ones were taught the Book of Poetry to understand elegant language, to emulate the courtesy and deference of scholars and officials, and to spy on banquets;

The middle class was taught the "Ji Ran" to learn arithmetic and to become skilled in business dealings, so that they could infiltrate the marketplace.

Those of lower rank are taught the skills of butchers, wine sellers, and other artisans, and are made to perform duties similar to those of laborers, such as night patrols, poisoning, disturbances, and arson...

"Judging from this training, it's completely the style of an assassin, killer, or ninja..."

Shen Le read through the bamboo slips one by one, sensing the faint metal elemental energy within them while diligently organizing them, categorizing them, and placing them in their proper places:
"Adopting and buying orphans and poor children, training them in martial arts and other adaptations, and sending them on covert missions of espionage, assassination, and sabotage... What is the purpose of Guiguzi training such a force...?"

He continued to restore the bamboo slips, restoring one and reading it.

After quickly glancing through it and putting it down, a woman in a flowing dress floated past, picked up the bamboo slips, went to take photos, input the text, and then returned them to the pile according to the content, awaiting further analysis and arrangement.

The process was smooth and orderly, without disturbing a speck of dust, and did not interfere with Shen Le's train of thought or interrupt his restoration work.
Shen Le worked on the spell one by one, with fluid, effortless movements. He didn't know how much time had passed, nor how many times he had cast the spell; all he knew was that when he finally reached for the shelf for the last time, his fingertips were empty.

He repaired all the bamboo slips without exception.

At the moment the last bamboo slip was restored, a long golden glow rose from the newly restored bamboo slips.

The radiance swept through the entire studio, enveloping all fifty scrolls and more than a thousand bamboo slips.

They trembled gently, as if they were about to float up from the table, as if they were about to fly away on their own, find their own companions, and arrange themselves back into their original form;

However, perhaps they were too heavy, or perhaps their spirituality was too weak, or perhaps the power Shen Le provided to them was insufficient, after a tremor, they finally lay back down on the table.

Only that thin wisp of golden light struggled to gather, sweeping down upon Shen Le—

In that instant, Shen Le felt the light and shadows swaying in front of him, and he was once again swept up and moved rapidly, landing in a place he had never been before.

"No, I have been there before." Shen Le looked around and found that the mountains and rivers in front of him looked somewhat familiar, as if he had just seen them recently.
Yes, he had just seen it. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the babbling brook and the uniquely shaped cave at the end of the brook.

This is Yunmeng Mountain, the Yunmeng Mountain he recently explored, the Yunmeng Mountain where he obtained that precious lacquer box, the Yunmeng Mountain where Guiguzi taught and trained his disciples, and now it seems he's also training assassins...

The difference is that in this mountain forest, there are no roads paved by modern industry, no specially set road signs and directional signs, no electric lights, and no speakers disguised as stones;
There were only a few thatched huts, some of which had collapsed, some were on the verge of collapse, and some had only two or three walls left.

In front of the only barely intact thatched hut, an old man with white hair sat on a piece of dead wood, poking at the fire with a stick.

“Last month, the merchant from Chu only wanted to hire a bodyguard... and the price was only one-tenth of what it was ten years ago.”

"Guard the house? All those skills we learned, like standing on tiptoe and climbing like monkeys, searching and inspecting for drugs, are they for us to guard people's homes?"

Another white-haired old man, missing a finger, wrapped his coarse linen clothes tighter around himself and gave a cold laugh.

Judging by his clothes alone, he was no different from an old farmer in the mountains. Only when he occasionally raised his eyes did a cold glint flash in them, revealing a hint of the composure that someone who had seen life and death before.

He flipped his hand, and a thin, short knife appeared at his fingertips, then suddenly slashed down.

With a soft snap, the dry firewood in front of him was separated with unusual smoothness and cleanliness, following the grain. Upon closer inspection, the old man's hand held not the dagger that had once taken lives, but clearly a slightly damaged wood-chopping knife.

"Even if I'm old and crippled, I can still wipe out all those people in one night! The guards... heh!"

“Ten percent is already a lot.” The white-haired old man who had spoken first calmly and silently scattered a handful of withered leaves into the fire, watching them curl up, turn black, and finally turn into a wisp of smoke.
"...With the world at peace, there are fewer wars and bandits, and no one needs to risk their life to survive. Who would need us?"

A long silence followed. After a long while, another old man, who had been feigning sleep against the stone wall, chuckled softly without even opening his eyes:
"The world is so peaceful that it makes one's skin itch."

Peace...

The old man who had spoken first fell silent for a long time. He looked up at the drifting clouds in the sky, and after a while, he pulled a piece of taro from the fire, peeled it with his sharp fingers, and stuffed it into his mouth while breathing out hot air.

He swallowed the dry, hard taro bite by bite, struggling to get it down before finally letting out a long sigh.

"Peace is all right, isn't that good? Have you forgotten why we, the disciples of the hidden lineage, were adopted and taught?"

A moment of silence. Then, reflexively, the elderly men began to recite in unison:
"When the Zhou dynasty declined, the feudal lords divided their lands, and the people were treated like straw dogs. The disciples of the prominent lineage were adept at maneuvering and scheming, while the hidden lineage would become the hidden blades of the world."

...Some assassinated the arrogant king in his tent, some burned provisions behind enemy lines, some sowed discord at banquets. The death of ten men could save ten thousand; though it defied the will of Heaven, it was ultimately in accordance with righteousness..."

That was the original aspiration of the Hidden Lineage disciples, which they had to recite every day from entering the valley to leaving it, from before they could read to completing their training and becoming masters. It was the great righteousness that allowed them to stand in the world.

Their existence is for the sake of peace in this world. But what comes after peace?
"What's so good about it? Nobody remembers us anymore. Not to mention our hidden lineage of Ghost Valley, even the disciples of the visible lineage are forgotten! Xin, do you still think this kind of life is good?"

Xin fell silent. He was an orphan, a disciple of the Ghost Valley Hidden Lineage. Every one of them was an orphan, picked up from the battlefield or from the streets and taken into the valley.

They train their minds, their martial arts, and their physical constitution—they have no surnames, only given names, the simplest of names.

Like him, he only had the name "Xin" (薪), given to him by his master, referring to the firewood beside the stove when he entered. Back then, the flames roared, licking the firewood, and a large pot of wheat porridge simmered, giving him his first full meal. But now, the house is about to collapse, the fire is about to go out, what can these remnants of firewood do?
"...At least we survived, we've lived to this age...Gu, do you still remember Yang?"

“Yang… he’s stronger than all of us. He’s the bravest and the fastest…” The old man, known as “Gu,” suddenly lowered his voice:

"The elders said he was a hidden genius of the Ghost Valley lineage, a talent that appears only once every fifty years... He debuted at the age of twelve, and by thirteen, he had already made a name for himself... Before he set off for Xianyang, I saw him off, right under this tree..."

The old man picked up a ceramic bowl, tilted his head back, and took a gulp. The bowl was empty of strong liquor, not even weak liquor; only the clear water from the stream remained.

However, after taking that gulp, Gu choked violently, coughing uncontrollably, his cheeks flushed red, the fiery liquor burning his chest like fire.

"Later, later..."

Later, news arrived that the true nature of Jing Ke had been revealed, his mission thwarted, and Yang's blood was spilled before the Qin palace steps, leaving no trace of his body...

"And Shi. Do you remember how Shi died?"

“Of course I remember… he was the strongest one among us…”

That burly man, silent as a mountain, could stop a galloping horse with his bare hands and break its neck.

After Chen Sheng and Wu Guang launched their uprising in Dazexiang, he was sent out by the elders. It is said that he once single-handedly guarded a pass, sustaining dozens of wounds, and killed so many Qin soldiers that they dared not advance.

In the end, however, he fell, like a real stone, sinking into the torrent of the uprising, and not even his remains were ever found.

"And Asu, you used to like Asu the most, right?"

Gu Canglao's hand trembled, and the ceramic bowl plummeted to his feet, shattering into pieces. He had no time to lament; he simply looked up at the sky, a hoarse sound escaping his throat.

"Ah Su..."

That Yue woman with dimples when she smiled, that petite girl with sparse, blond hair when she first entered the valley, the one who bandaged everyone's wounds...

Every boy training with her in the valley couldn't help but stare at the girl who was circling around her...

She specializes in poisons, and every boy of her generation has fallen victim to her tricks. The elders say that the poisons she uses can cause even kings and nobles to fall silently during banquets.

She went to the land of Chu and never returned. Later, some people said that she was defeated by a witch doctor in Xiang Yu's army and was made into a poison urn...

Only the flowers and plants she had planted, those rare and precious plants used to develop poisons, still bloom quietly in the valley.

Withered, curled, and poorly grown, it was completely unusable. After all, these unsophisticated people didn't know anything about plant care; they only knew to water and fertilize haphazardly…

These once blazing and dazzling flames that illuminated his life went out one by one.

"They're all dead, all of them are dead..."

Xin sighed softly, his voice heavy and hoarse. In order to bring peace to the world and stabilize the universe, these hidden disciples were sent out one by one to carry out all kinds of missions, and they perished in one critical and dangerous mission after another.

He himself, the "tinder," was deemed "unfit for great responsibilities" by the elders because he was not quick enough or ruthless enough, always falling short at crucial moments. The tasks assigned to him were always insignificant.

Spying, delivering messages, surveillance, providing cover...

It was through these seemingly insignificant missions that he miraculously survived. He lived through Qin's unification of China, through the struggles for power among the various warlords at the end of the Qin Dynasty, and miraculously, he survived to this day, to the founding of the Han Dynasty, to the establishment of a peaceful and stable world…

He was once ashamed of his incompetence and hated himself for not being able to burn his life at its most intense moment and do the most remarkable things like his companions.

Yet now, he feels grateful to be alive, to be able to see this day for his fallen comrades. At the same time, an endless emptiness creeps in, seeping into his very bones.

The crowd remained silent for a long time. The fire had gone out at some point. A mountain wind blew by, carrying a biting chill, and a few crimson embers flickered in the air before disappearing completely.

"This world no longer needs us." Someone whispered, expressing the sentiments of everyone.

Xin finally slowly raised his head and looked westward, towards Xianyang and Chang'an.

In his cloudy old eyes, he seemed to see again the dust and smoke of the earth-shattering blow at Bolangsha, the blood-red sky of the Battle of Julu, and the end of the overlord on the banks of the Wujiang River—

That was the rise of heroes from all walks of life, the battles between kings and generals, and the occasional glimpse of brilliance from the hidden disciples of Guigu amidst the chaos of the world…

“It’s not that the world doesn’t need it anymore.” His voice was hoarse yet calm, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself:

"The world that needed us is dead."

After speaking, he lowered his head again, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and bent over as he entered the hut. He groped around in the darkness for a moment, grabbed a handful of straw, twisted it into a rope, and began skillfully weaving:

We chatted a little longer today. There are still three straw sandals left to weave. We need to weave another batch so we can exchange them for some salt when the peddler comes...

In the box beside the bed, a pile of bamboo slips lay haphazardly rolled up. Shen Le waited patiently for a long time before Xin put down the straw sandals in her hand, picked up a roll of bamboo slips, and quietly caressed it in the darkness:
It's not about revisiting the art of killing; it's simply a silent tribute to those once vibrant names...

"The Hidden Lineage of Guigu..."

In the darkness, Xin and Shen Le sighed softly in unison.

(End of this chapter)