Yefutidaolu

Chapter 318 Yang Ling and Qin Long

One day later, at the border, where Yang Ling was.

He held the manifesto in his hand.
"This is a proclamation. If I thought it was a proclamation, I would have thought it was about treason." Yang Ling looked at the proclamation.

The origins of the statement can be easily discerned from its wording alone.

Moreover, it was transmitted openly and legitimately.

Each two-character name strives to highlight its core abilities, techniques, fighting style, and so on.

By following these clues and conducting an investigation, we can determine which of the eight realms of the Jin family it belongs to.

After all, the eighth and ninth realms are not commonplace. With these characteristics, it is natural to deduce which expert from the Jin family it is.

Yang Ling quickly compiled a list, and behind each name was a force powerful enough to stir up a storm and a background not to be underestimated.

"That's quite a generous gesture. Well then, Mr. Shu Jian, I'll trouble you to deliver this to the Qilin tribe. You're also a caterpillar, so seeing the Qilin pattern should be beneficial to you." Yang Ling compiled a list and handed it to the rat in front of him.

The mouse has already received the news.
To be honest, Yang Ling still didn't know how to deal with Gao Jian's plans and objectives.

However, regardless of the circumstances, this method of transmitting messages is indeed quite blatant, which shows that Youmingdi and the Jin family are not afraid of their identities being exposed.

That makes sense, of these fourteen people, twelve are martial artists, only the two from the Netherworld are ninth-realm cultivators who cultivate qi and blood, and the other three brought six ghost kings with them this time.

Six ghost kings, all at the ninth realm!

With such strength, it's no wonder that Youmingdi and the Jin family felt so confident that they could announce their strength in the manifesto.

When your strength is roughly equal to your opponent's, concealing your true strength can help you achieve victory and win by surprise.

However, when your strength is ten times that of your enemy, loudly proclaiming your strength can defeat your enemy from the inside out from the very beginning, and even win without a fight.

That's probably what the Jin family was planning.

Yang Ling was not intimidated. He simply sent the rat to deliver the message while he prepared at the border. Then, he set off on his own and found Qin Long.

The wind at the border is fierce; it feels like a knife when it hits your face, but when it hits the ground, it makes a rustling sound, like sandpaper being polished.

The wind, too, seemed to be wearing down Qin Long, its howl whipping and tugging at his long robes. He leaned against a weathered, riddled boulder, gazing at the distant, hazy horizon—the direction of the Hu people's camp.

The dark, short sword at his waist felt cool and familiar against his skin, like a piece of ice that would never melt.

The gourd of grass seed wine was empty, but the burning sensation in my throat seemed to linger.

Suddenly, Qin Long heard footsteps behind him.

The footsteps were very light, making a soft rustling sound as they stepped on the gravel. Qin Long didn't turn around; his senses, honed by his status as a Grandmaster of the Ninth Realm and Second Stage, had already detected the other's arrival.

"This wind is even rougher than the knife-like wind of Liaobei. If you leave the area protected by the Temple of Heaven and enter the Sharp Blade Plain, the wind will be mixed with the grass blades of the Sharp Blade Plain, making it even more prickly." Yang Ling's voice rang out, carrying a hint of imperceptible fatigue, as if it had been worn hoarse by the wind and sand.

He walked over to Qin Long and leaned against the boulder as well. He didn't look at Qin Long, but instead cast his gaze towards the vast expanse of land.

"Hmm," Qin Long hummed in response.

He remembered first meeting Yang Ling in this desolate place. Back then, Yang Ling was like a drawn sword, burning with flames, his eyes sharp enough to pierce through the heavy veils of aristocratic families.

He stood before a group of refugees who had been exploited to the point of near death by powerful families, speaking of the possibility of resistance. His words were like a hot iron, imprinted on Qin Long's heart, which had been frozen for many years.

Qin Long had never seen anyone like this before—knowing that ahead lay an impenetrable wall, an abyss, yet still standing tall, without a trace of fear of the powerful families, only a pure, almost martyr-like conviction in his eyes. It was that inextinguishable "torch" that first stirred in Qin Long, this "venomous snake" wallowing in the mud, only seeking revenge against the powerful families, an impulse to follow the light, to become the light himself. What he admired was not Yang Ling's cultivation level, but that conviction that would almost burn himself out to illuminate the darkness.

Therefore, he was used by Yang Ling, and he became the 'foundation' of all of Yang Ling's actions and the source of Yang Ling's confidence.

In reality, Qin Long is Yang Ling's source of confidence, and Yang Ling is also Qin Long's stronghold.

Without Yang Ling, Qin Long wouldn't have dared to attack the Fang family, let alone the Jin family. Although he could easily wipe out the entire Fang family with a single blow, he lacked the confidence and ambition to do so.

But after Yang Ling joined him, Qin Long gained the courage to draw his sword.

This courage comes from 'belief'.

Courage arises from faith; when the path is righteous, faith is firm; when faith is firm, courage is bold; when courage is bold, spirit soars like a rainbow. When one follows the right path, faith is like the root of a rock, growing stronger with each passing year; even when alone, one possesses the indomitable spirit of ten thousand men. As the ancients said, "When reason is righteous, spirit is strong; when justice is just, words are stern." This is the essence of it all.

In the past, Qin Long was wicked, so he dared not do much in front of the Fang family. But with Yang Ling's Dao, he felt that his back was straighter when he drew his sword, as if some invisible force was supporting him.

Therefore, he trusted Yang Ling and was willing to help Yang Ling.

Just then, Yang Ling walked to the back and suddenly asked, "Do you remember the first time we met?" His voice was low and slightly swaying in the wind.

"I remember." Qin Long's voice was hard, like a stone. "In the refugee camp in Liangzhou, you were so hungry that you were just skin and bones, but your eyes were frighteningly bright. You said you wanted to overturn the granaries of the Liangzhou gentry."

Yang Ling seemed to chuckle very lightly, a laugh quickly shattered by the wind. "Yes, back then we were fearless. We believed that as long as reason prevailed and people's hearts remained steadfast, there was no mountain that couldn't be pushed over."

The two fell silent. The wind whipped up sand and gravel, lashing against the boulders with a fine, crackling sound. In the distance, the faint shouts from the camp drifted up, desolate and far-reaching.

“Qin Long,” Yang Ling spoke again, his voice deeper than before, carrying a weight Qin Long had never heard before, “Over the years… we have killed many aristocratic families and government officials, blocking the path of many aristocratic families. Liangzhou, Liaobei, and even further… if the corpses were piled up, they could probably form a small mountain.”

"But at the same time, we also killed many innocent people. The most recent example is when you drew your sword and destroyed a flying ship in an attempt to intercept the high-ranking officials above."

Qin Long turned his head slightly to look at Yang Ling. Yang Ling's profile was somewhat blurred in the sandstorm, and his temples seemed to be frosted with gray. He was no longer the thin yet fiery young man he once was; his brows were heavy with too much, like a rock whose edges had been worn away by the sandstorm, heavy and weary. "So what?" Qin Long's voice carried a hint of incomprehension, and also a trace of barely perceptible wariness. "A rock blocking the way should be kicked away. A mountain that oppresses people should be carved through. That's what you told me."

Yang Ling remained silent for a long time, so long that Qin Long thought he would never speak again.

But after a while, he finally spoke.

"Yes, I taught you." Yang Ling's voice was as soft as a sigh, yet so heavy that it made Qin Long's heart skip a beat. "But lately... I've been thinking a lot, are we... wrong?"

The sound of the wind seemed to freeze for a moment. Qin Long felt his mind go blank for a split second, and his eardrums were ringing.

He slowly turned his head, staring at Yang Ling's face as if he were seeing this person for the first time. Those eyes, which once burned with an indomitable flame, now reflected the gray-yellow sky of the border, only contained bottomless weariness and...confusion?
Qin Long's body remained completely still, as if even his breathing had stopped. Only his pupils, constricted to their limit, were fixed on Yang Ling's face, like the most composed hunter assessing the prey's fatal flaw, or as if confirming whether the person before him had been switched.

Yang Ling did not avoid those eyes. His gaze was still weary, but now held an almost cruel honesty. "I said, all these years... we might have been wrong."

Yang Ling's gaze turned towards the direction of the Hu people. As far as the eye could see, there was only a hazy, yellowish horizon churned by wind and sand. It was too far, so far that even the indistinct outline of a camp was invisible, let alone any smoke rising from its chimneys. Beyond that desolate expanse lay the impending onslaught of iron hooves—the elite of the Qilin tribe, a coalition of various grassland tribes, carrying the murderous aura of the Sharp Blade Plains, about to breach the gates.

Yang Ling's voice was ethereal: "Look at them... they've been driven to the brink of extinction by the oppressive rule of the powerful families, which is why they've come knocking on our gates. We're rebelling to give everyone a way to survive."

"I used to think that the Hu people and the old farmers in the Divine Dynasty lived under the same sky, but... were they really from the same sky?"

“I used to think that the Hu people and the old farmers toiling in the fields of the Divine Dynasty were all unfortunate people exploited by the aristocratic families and officials of the Divine Dynasty, and should have been pitiful creatures struggling in the fields. But they…”

Yang Ling's gaze remained fixed on the vast, windswept sand line, as if trying to pierce through the chaos and see the essence of the world on the other side. "Is it really... part of the same world?"

He recalled what he had seen and heard when he ventured deep into the Hu tribes. The children of the Qilin tribe who chased and played on the bitterly cold wilderness were incredibly strong. In their play, they could easily overturn stones weighing hundreds of pounds, and they could roll around on the Sharp Blade Plain without dying.

The Qilin tribe and other grassland tribes possess the power of 'mythical beast patterns'. This special cultivation system, derived from caterpillars, has led to the existence of cultivators outside the Divine Dynasty.

Ordinary people and spiritual practitioners never breathe the same air.

The old farmers of the Divine Dynasty, facing the loess soil with their backs to the sky, prayed for favorable weather, bountiful harvests, lighter taxes, and the safe growth of their children and grandchildren. Their suffering stemmed from human exploitation; their struggle was for the most basic sustenance and survival. Their "way to live" was the land beneath their feet, the grain in their granaries, and the roof over their heads that sheltered them from the wind and rain.

This is the world of mortals.

As for the Hu people... especially these Hu tribes that can survive and thrive in the harsh wilderness and organize large armies to knock on the gates, their roots have long been planted in another world—a world that belongs to strength, talent, and the rough, primitive yet real "cultivation".

Their suffering was certainly caused by the oppression of the Divine Dynasty's border troops and the exploitation of merchants, but at a deeper level, it stemmed from the absolute elimination of the "weak" by their very living environment! Their inability to "survive" was not merely due to a lack of food and clothing, but rather the decline of their entire tribe's "power" in the harsh environment and brutal competition. Their "way to survive"—was it food or land?

No, that's just the surface. What they truly crave is to plunder the cultivation resources accumulated by the Divine Dynasty—spirit stones, spiritual herbs, and blessed lands imbued with the primordial energy of heaven and earth! They want to seize the "cultivation resources" that will make their cultivators stronger and more courageous, and ensure the continuation and growth of their tribal bloodlines!
Yang Ling's long-held belief was to equate all the oppressed with the oppressed lower class of the Divine Dynasty, attempting to understand and tolerate them with the simple justice of "giving everyone a way to survive," and even once fantasizing about uniting with them... Now it seems that this was somewhat wishful thinking.

“They and our Divine Dynasty’s old farmers,” Yang Ling’s voice was somewhat subtle, “are not pitiful creatures exploited by the same ‘heaven and earth’.”

"They are wolves living under the rules of another 'world'..."

"And we mortals of our divine dynasty are, in their eyes, merely sheep."

Yang Ling said this.

"Is that so?" Qin Long remained noncommittal. "So what?"

"That means we were wrong before, our strategy was wrong, and now I'm a little unsure which direction our swords should be pointed at." Yang Ling's tone was somewhat bewildered; he was unsure where the troops, supplies, and weapons he had gathered should be directed.

In the past, he was very decisive in his actions because he knew what he was doing, who he was going to ally with, who he was going to attack, and what strategies he was going to implement; his sword had a direction.

Now, however, he feels somewhat lost as he does these things. It seems unnecessary for him to do them anymore, as both motivation and goals are clearly lacking.

On the other side, Qin Long heard these words and seemed a little puzzled.

“Yang Ling, you are well-read and think comprehensively. I am a rough man, a martial artist, and I don’t understand those things. But I just think that the aristocratic families of the Divine Dynasty should still be the target, right?”

"Yes." Yang Ling nodded.

"Isn't our goal to bully the weak?" Qin Long asked again.

"Yes." Yang Ling nodded again.

"That's fine then, isn't it? In any case, the Jin family and Youmingdi are going to make a move. We can deal with the rest later." Qin Long put down his short sword and lay back down.

He gave Yang Ling a very martial arts-style answer.

However, it is still an answer.

The confusion in Yang Ling's eyes gradually faded.

"Alright, no matter what, we must fight this battle."

“Then, let’s set off.” Yang Ling nodded heavily.

"Well, whether the Qilin Tribe is friend or foe is not important. What's important is that what we're doing won't change. Yang Ling, come here." Qin Long said, taking out another pot of wine.

He loves to drink; there's no way around it, everyone in northern Liaoning loves it.

Yang Ling smiled and waved his hand, "Never mind, I don't drink. I'll drink after we win."

(End of this chapter)