At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, they called me a demonic monk.

Chapter 19 Power is the best aphrodisiac

Fang Xiaohe's gaze shifted from "Mencius said" to the slightly tattered cover of the yellowed booklet. When he saw the four powerful and vigorous characters "Canglang Sword Manual" in the lamplight, his pupils suddenly contracted, and he gasped.

"This...this is...the secret sword manual of the Canglang Sect?!" His voice was extremely low, as if afraid of disturbing something. His fingers hovered above the pages, not daring to touch them easily, as if the thin pages contained a force of a thousand pounds.

Fang Yingyu nodded vigorously, suppressing her excitement, and recounted in detail how she met Song Liu in the alley that evening, and how Song Liu presented her with the book of Confucian classics and accepted her as a disciple. Fang Xiaohe listened quietly, his expression growing increasingly solemn. After his younger brother finished speaking, he remained silent for a long time, then suddenly closed the copy of Mencius in his hand and solemnly pushed the book of sages aside.

"Yingyu," Fang Xiaohe's voice was more serious than ever before, "Do you know why the Canglang Sect was wiped out overnight ten years ago?"

Fang Yingyu was taken aback, then shook her head blankly: "I don't know. I only vaguely heard people mention it, saying it was very tragic."

"When I was studying at the county school, I once heard the instructor sigh a few times after drinking." Fang Xiaohe's brows were heavy. "The Canglang Sect was once known as 'When the sword is drawn from Canglang, the world stops fighting.' Its disciples were all chivalrous and righteous, and it was extremely famous and respected by the people in our Jiangxi area. But later... for some reason, news suddenly spread in the martial arts world that the sect leader had gone mad, slaughtered all his disciples, and finally hanged himself in front of the palace." He paused, lowering his voice even further. "But the instructor shook his head and sighed at the time, saying that there must be a shocking secret behind it, and it was definitely not as simple as it seemed on the surface."

Fang Yingyu was deeply moved as he listened, his fingers unconsciously tracing the charred and curled burn marks on the edge of the sword manual. These silent marks seemed to become scalding hot at his fingertips, as if silently accusing that bloody and turbulent night, hiding countless unsolved mysteries and injustices.

"Brother, you're well-read and knowledgeable, could you help me take a look at this sword manual?" Fang Yingyu asked pleadingly as she turned to the first page. "I don't know many characters, I'm afraid... afraid I won't be able to understand its deeper meaning."

Although Fang Xiaohe's talent for martial arts was far inferior to his younger brother's, his comprehension and understanding as a scholar were exceptionally high. He took the sword manual and studied it carefully by the dim light of a lamp. On the title page, besides the weathered ink marks of the two characters "Canglang," there was also a line of neat and vigorous small regular script:

Martial arts are not merely skills for slaying dragons; they should be used to advocate for the common people.

"Excellent! What a wonderful 'Martial Arts is not a Dragon-Slaying Technique, but a Call to Arms for the Common People'!" Fang Xiaohe couldn't help but applaud, his eyes shining. "This sword manual has lofty ideals and a heart for the world. It is far beyond the ordinary martial arts of fighting for power. Yingyu, what you have gained is probably more than just a sword manual."

That night, deep within the Ruan residence, Song Liu (Bie) sat alone beneath the ancient ginkgo tree, drinking alone under the moon. He had already finished half a jar of Xinghua Village liquor, and the cool moonlight shone upon him, as well as upon the "farewell knife" in his hand, which he had not shown to anyone for ten years. His fingertips slowly traced the cold blade, and memories flooded his mind like a tide.

"Second Senior Brother..." he murmured to the void, his voice hoarse, "The person I chose this time... will definitely not... repeat the mistakes of the past."

The night dew slowly condensed on the roof tiles, dripping onto the eaves with a soft sound. The strong liquor burned his throat, and Song Bie suddenly clenched his fists, shattering the wine cup in his hand with a "crack." Shards pierced his palm, drawing blood, but he remained oblivious.

The incredibly complex smile Xie Chenghuan wore before falling off the cliff became clearer and clearer in his mind—the look in his eyes when he looked at him last time, now seemed less like deep-seated resentment and more like a bitter smile of... a sense of triumph and relief.

He closed his eyes in anguish, gazing up at the unchanging starry sky. The confusion and torment of the past ten years surged into his heart once more, transforming into a long-suppressed murmur: "Master... why did you choose to expel me from the sect back then... instead of telling me the truth? Why..."

Meanwhile, the oil lamp in the Fang family's hut burned late into the night. The two brothers huddled together, engrossed in the precious sword manual. Fang Xiaohe patiently explained the obscure techniques and incantations, combining them with the annotations in the book, attempting to elucidate their essence; Fang Yingyu, on the other hand, practiced the moves according to the illustrations in the book, carefully understanding the key points of each movement. Before they knew it, the east outside the window had already turned white.

"Yingyu, the preface mentions that the Canglang Saber Technique emphasizes intent over form, stressing 'the saber surges like waves, the intent rises like the tide.'" Fang Xiaohe said, rubbing his sore eyes, his tone filled with excitement. "You must remember, techniques are static, but the person is dynamic. The true essence of the Canglang Saber Technique lies in cultivating that vast, unstoppable, and indomitable spirit!"

Fang Yingyu nodded emphatically, as if she had understood something, and kept her brother's words in her heart.

Power, once freed from the constraints of etiquette and institutions, is like a wild horse that has broken free of its reins, difficult to tame. Yan Timur—this powerful minister of the Yuan Dynasty—had long been deeply intoxicated by this unbridled power. He especially yearned for the carefree life depicted in Han Chinese poetry: "Awake, he wields power over the world; drunk, he rests on the lap of a beautiful woman," and indeed, he recklessly turned this fantasy into reality.

The Grand Chancellor's residence had become a veritable palace. Its pavilions and towers rivaled even the imperial palace. White jade steps, gold leaf beams, and even the rare stones in the garden were transported from the south of the Yangtze River. Moreover, the "king" here indulged only in sensual pleasures. Every night, the place was brightly lit, and the sounds of string and wind instruments filled the air.

He not only forcibly took Empress Babuhan, the wife of the late Emperor Taiding, but also extended his clutches to noblewomen of the imperial clan. In just a few years, he forcibly took more than forty women of the imperial clan as his concubines. Some were daughters of princes, and some were even wives and daughters of Yan Temur's political enemies. Now, they have all become caged birds in this gilded cage.

"The Prime Minister has taken another concubine today," a woman in a crimson palace dress whispered to her companion, her round fan swaying weakly. "She's the daughter of Chancellor Wanze, only fourteen years old."

Another woman in a lake-blue ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress) sneered: "Wanze was impeaching the Prime Minister for abusing his power in the Censorate last month, and this month his daughter has been sent here."

They exchanged bitter smiles, their eyes filled with helplessness. In this magnificent cage, they were both victims and witnesses, witnessing how a powerful minister gradually descended into madness.

He held immense military power, his henchmen were everywhere in key positions, and his cronies were numerous and deeply entrenched. Even Emperor Wenzong, during his lifetime, had to defer to his wishes. Power became his best aphrodisiac, making him increasingly addicted to this debauched and unrestrained path of no return, unwilling to turn back.