Chapter 57: Everything Became Unclear

Cheng Guang fell silent for a while, scrutinizing the task before him, then his gaze drifted to the task’s reward.

“This time, the reward is rather interesting—it’s a Divine Talisman.”

“And of the Deification rank...”

“I wonder, among all the Divine Talismans in this world, where does a Deification-ranked one stand?”

Cheng Guang pondered. Though he was unfamiliar with the term “Deification rank,” it was, after all, a reward granted upon reaching the Celestial Realm—surely it would not be mediocre.

Suppressing the turmoil in his heart, Cheng Guang rose and seated himself at the desk. Carefully, he began to contemplate his next steps.

Moonlight spilled through the window lattice, illuminating the writing desk; a solitary lamp cast a weak yet steadfast glow in the night.

Sitting upright, Cheng Guang unrolled a sheet of rice paper. His brush drifted across the page, inscribing line after line.

His expression was grave and focused. The young prince’s arrival had, inevitably, placed him under pressure.

In the silent night, only the soft rustling of the brush could be heard.

Time slipped away; the darkness gradually faded as the first light of dawn crept in.

Cheng Guang finally set down his brush, exhaling a long breath. Upon the rice paper, each character radiated the freshness of spring, the strength of clouds, the grace of cranes riding the wind, and the elegance of wild geese at play.

The page was filled with the character for “tranquility.”

With his cultivation ever growing, Cheng Guang no longer felt fatigue even after going three or five days without sleep. His spirits remained undiminished. He gazed at the word “tranquility” for a while, then rose, washed simply, and stepped out into the morning sunlight, making his way toward the Archive Pavilion.

In the courtyard, Lin Cheng was still yawning in the early hours.

He had noticed that the light in the young master’s room had burned all night, so he had stayed nearby, accompanying him through the darkness.

He thought, the young master truly works hard—even late into the night, he does not rest, but remains at his desk, writing.

Lin Cheng didn’t know exactly what Cheng Guang was writing, but could vaguely guess it was poetry.

Otherwise, how could the young master possess such astonishing talent?

Upon seeing Cheng Guang emerge, Lin Cheng hurried after him toward the Archive Pavilion.

“Good morning, Young Master,” Lin Cheng greeted.

Cheng Guang acknowledged him with a nod but was too preoccupied to respond further, continuing on his way.

Time was pressing. The prince could return at any moment, and before that happened, Cheng Guang had to be fully prepared. One false step would lead to utter ruin.

After a night of meditation, Cheng Guang felt more composed than ever before.

Unflappable composure—perhaps the greatest quality he had brought from his previous life.

He entered the Archive Pavilion and began searching through the books.

This time, he was specifically seeking hidden truths concerning the royal bloodline. Once inside, he went straight to the relevant sections.

It took only a short while before Cheng Guang sensed a gaze upon him.

It was the reclusive elder of the pavilion.

Yan De.

“Lately, the young master has been visiting the Archive Pavilion quite often. What brings you here today?” Yan De emerged from a side chamber, his deep eyes studying Cheng Guang with a genial smile.

Cheng Guang was surprised; the two had rarely conversed before. Yan De was always mysterious and powerful. Even as the young master, Cheng Guang did not warrant his attention.

Such a formidable figure, yet he had chosen to remain secluded within the Archive Pavilion of the Duke of Zhen’s estate, never stepping outside—a truly astonishing notion.

Suppressing his surprise, Cheng Guang greeted the stooped elder with a smile. “I’m researching some records, hoping to learn more about the royal bloodline.”

Yan De nodded gently, unsurprised, and smiled again. “So you wish to know about the royal bloodline? There are no great secrets—everyone knows only those of royal blood can cultivate the Spiritual Path. It is the most exalted bloodline in the realm.”

“Now that you have merged with the royal bloodline, young master, you too can cultivate the Spiritual Path.”

As Yan De spoke, it was clear he already knew about Cheng Guang’s fusion with the royal lineage.

Cheng Guang’s eyes widened slightly.

Such a secret should be known only to the duke and Cheng Zhihai.

How did Yan De know?

Did he deduce it himself, or had the duke told him?

Cheng Guang was momentarily puzzled.

Noticing Cheng Guang’s surprise, Yan De merely smiled and brought the conversation back on topic. “What is it about the royal bloodline that you wish to know, young master?”

Cheng Guang was silent for a moment. A light breeze stirred his brocade robe, and a sincere, inquisitive smile appeared on his youthful face.

“I’d like to know, Elder Yan, is it possible to reclaim a royal bloodline once it has been extracted?”

Cheng Guang’s question was both vague and direct.

Since Yan De knew about his fusion with the royal bloodline, he likely knew more than Cheng Guang himself.

By asking in this way, Cheng Guang could steer Yan De toward considering whether, after the prince’s birth, the extracted Great Zhou royal bloodline could be reclaimed.

Yan De seemed to interpret it as such.

“No,” Yan De replied without hesitation. “The Great Zhou royal family forbids their bloodline from circulating outside their ranks, especially not in the hands of the Duke of Zhen’s household. After all, there must be distinctions between sovereign and subject—and this household is no ordinary vassal.”

He flicked his sleeve lightly. “Now that you have a new royal bloodline, young master, one no less pure or potent than that of any prince or princess in the palace, there’s no sense dwelling on reclaiming an old bloodline.”

Cheng Guang merely shook his head. Yan De’s answer was not wrong, but it was not what he sought. He cared nothing for the possibility of reclaiming the other prince’s bloodline—he wanted to know about his own.

“Elder Yan, just tell me the method. I’m simply curious—I won’t do anything foolish.”

Yan De hesitated, studying Cheng Guang as if unable to fathom his intent.

He pondered for a long time but could not make sense of it.

After all, now that Cheng Guang possessed the royal bloodline, and given how severe the previous bloodline’s rejection had been, no one would consider reclaiming their own bloodline.

Now, with a brand new royal bloodline, what would be the point of reclaiming the old one?

There was even less reason to risk offending the royal family for such a thing.

He could only conclude it was the young master’s curiosity.

After a moment’s thought, Yan De reached for a volume hidden deep at the bottom of a bookshelf, drawing it out with a gesture.

“Young master, here is the method for extracting bloodlines. The royal blood is incomparably precious, and there is never a shortage of those desperate enough to gamble their fate for a chance at greatness.”

“Extraction is not difficult—the challenge lies in fusion. Even the Duke of Zhen, at the Celestial Realm, would struggle to forcibly merge royal blood.”

“If the extracted blood is originally your own, however, fusion poses no issue.”

Yan De handed the book to Cheng Guang.

Cheng Guang thanked him, accepted the book, and departed.

Yan De watched his retreating figure, struck by the sudden radiance in the young master’s eyes.

Could he really be considering reclaiming his own bloodline?

Impossible. To attempt such a thing would be to challenge the entire Great Zhou royal family.

Yan De could not help but chuckle, his gaze following Cheng Guang.

As Cheng Guang left, his posture was tall and unyielding. With every step, the pines and cypresses at his waist gave a gentle resonance.

Every movement exuded an inescapable nobility.

He walked in brilliance, as if surrounded by a thousand blossoms in bloom.

The path of stargazing lies in observation.

Yan De watched Cheng Guang’s receding figure, his ancient eyes—flecked with the light of distant stars—betraying a rare hint of emotion.

For the first time, he realized—

He could no longer see through him.

...

End of section.