Chapter Seventy-Nine: Clash of Generals

Fan Zhang was universally acknowledged as the foremost sage of calligraphy in the Kingdom of Zhao—not only renowned within his homeland, but also wielding extraordinary influence across neighboring realms. Having departed this world more than two centuries prior, every piece he left behind had become an irreplaceable masterpiece.

The “Record of Cloud Path” was penned during one of his mountain excursions. Witnessing lofty peaks and white clouds drifting across mountain trails, evoking the image of a pathway of clouds, he composed this anthology. Though its literary merit was modest, the rhythm of the brushwork was unparalleled, lauded by later generations of Zhao as “the greatest script of the kingdom.”

Yet Fan Zhang himself was a free-spirited soul, indifferent to wealth and power, enamored more of the teachings of Laozi. In his later years, he astonishingly gifted this manuscript to a hermit in the deep mountains.

From then on, the “Record of Cloud Path” vanished without trace. Most surviving copies in the world were counterfeits, and none knew how it had come to be concealed within the layers of a fake calligraphy piece by Huang Zhen, eventually falling into the hands of Liang Yan. The hidden story behind its journey was beyond the grasp of the two men present.

“Senior Brother Ma, you truly deserve your reputation in calligraphy. You discerned its essence at a single glance. I only guessed that something extraordinary lay within, but I couldn't recognize Fan Zhang’s authentic work,” Liang Yan said with a slight smile.

Ma Yuan’s eyes remained fixed on the manuscript, not budging an inch, too absorbed to converse with Liang Yan. He leaned closer to examine the calligraphy.

“It’s genuine, indeed! Remarkable—such talent among mortals. The rhythm of this brushwork is truly exceptional!” Ma Yuan muttered to himself. He then raised his hand, collected the manuscript, and—without the slightest hint of embarrassment—tossed it straight into his own storage pouch.

Liang Yan coughed, saying, “Since Senior Brother Ma is fond of it, how about exchanging it for your ‘Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing’?”

But Ma Yuan rolled his eyes and retorted, “What nonsense, junior. The ‘Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing’ was left by an emperor of the previous dynasty, while this ‘Record of Cloud Path,’ after all, is merely an ordinary mortal’s work. How can the two be compared? You think you can trade a mere manuscript for my antique? You’re dreaming!”

“You—!”

Liang Yan was momentarily speechless with anger. Had he not reminded Ma Yuan earlier, the latter would scarcely have remembered the “Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing.” Yet when he saw the “Record of Cloud Path,” he was visibly shocked. Anyone with eyes could see which was more valuable.

“This man is deliberately making things difficult. Who knows what scheme he’s plotting?” Liang Yan thought to himself.

Before he could speak, Ma Yuan continued, “Let’s do this—I see junior is quite taken with the ‘Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing.’ Why don’t we wager? If you win, I’ll grant your wish; if I win, the ‘Record of Cloud Path’ stays here. What say you?”

“...How does Senior Brother propose we wager?” Liang Yan asked with a frown.

Ma Yuan smiled mysteriously, “Simple. Let’s have a cricket match.”

Liang Yan was momentarily confused. But a moment later, he waved his hands, “I’ve never dabbled in such things, nor do I have a cricket fit for battle. How can I compete with you?”

“No need to worry. I have five generals and a grand marshal among my crickets. We each pick one to compete. To be fair, you may choose first.”

“But I can’t tell good from bad among crickets. How am I to choose?” Liang Yan asked.

“That’s up to your own ability, junior. It has nothing to do with Ma Yuan,” replied Ma Yuan, hands behind his back, looking utterly relaxed. He glanced at Liang Yan, who hesitated, then sighed, “If you aren’t truly interested in the ‘Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing,’ then please leave.”

“Fine! Since Senior Brother has drawn the line, I must accept. If, by chance, I win, I hope you’ll keep your word and give me the ‘Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing,’” Liang Yan said, taking a deep breath.

“Certainly!”

Ma Yuan grinned, his face gleaming with excitement, as if meeting an old friend for a cherished game, urging Liang Yan toward the backyard.

They arrived at the rear courtyard. Ma Yuan summoned his spiritual power, drawing a circle on the ground—the arena for their contest. He then produced six exquisite cages from his storage pouch, each holding a cricket.

“Please, junior, choose first!” Ma Yuan gestured generously.

Liang Yan surveyed the six crickets: some had round heads and stout yellow legs, some had golden jaws and long, slick wings, others looked plain and grey all over. But, unfamiliar with cricket fighting, he had no idea how to judge their quality.

He crouched, sneaking a glance at Ma Yuan, who stood with hands behind his back, looking unconcerned.

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“He mentioned earlier: five generals, one grand marshal. If I pick the grand marshal, victory is assured. If I choose wrongly, he’ll surely recognize the grand marshal himself, and I’ll have no chance.” Liang Yan pondered briefly, then smiled, “So that’s it—this must be the marshal among crickets.”

“What? You actually know!” Ma Yuan exclaimed, peering at the ground, but Liang Yan hadn’t picked yet—only looked at him with a half-smile.

“You little rascal, trying to trick me!” Ma Yuan fumed.

“Heh, thanks for letting me win, Senior Brother,” Liang Yan chuckled. His words were deliberately meant to startle Ma Yuan and observe his reaction. Sure enough, Ma Yuan’s startled gaze instantly darted toward the second cricket from the left.

Liang Yan followed his eyes and saw that cricket had slick wings, golden jaws, a square face, and long, pure-colored antennae. He was secretly delighted: “It truly looks like a grand marshal!”

Without hesitation, he picked up that cricket and said, “I’ve chosen. Please pick yours, Senior Brother, and let’s begin.”

Ma Yuan shook his head, looking disgruntled, and picked one from the remaining crickets.

Liang Yan glanced at it: the cricket was entirely gray-black and utterly unremarkable. Whether in color, spirit, or vigor, every other cricket seemed superior. Yet Liang Yan suddenly felt a sense of unease.

Ma Yuan set his cage down and opened the iron door. The gray-black cricket crawled out slowly, circling the ground, looking lethargic.

“Please, junior.”

Liang Yan nodded and opened his cage. His golden-jawed cricket leaped out energetically, rushing straight toward Ma Yuan’s gray-black cricket.

But just as it approached, the seemingly listless cricket suddenly lunged, biting the golden-jawed cricket and striking its legs downward, nearly flipping it over.

“Hiss!”

Liang Yan gasped. The gray-black cricket, unassuming at first, proved astonishingly fierce, relentlessly biting and kicking the golden-jawed cricket, overwhelming it.

“Ha! You fell for it!” Ma Yuan finally laughed heartily.

Before cultivating immortality, Ma Yuan had been a street hooligan. Only when a Foundation Establishment deacon from Chess Star Pavilion noticed his barely adequate spiritual root did he bring Ma Yuan into the sect and teach him the arts.

In the tricks and schemes of the marketplace, Liang Yan was still a bit inexperienced compared to Ma Yuan. Ma Yuan had seen through Liang Yan’s bluff and feigned being tricked, actually luring him to pick the golden-jawed cricket.

By now, Liang Yan realized he’d set a trap for himself.

Ma Yuan, elated, laughed, “You’re too green, junior! Don’t you know the five don’ts for crickets? Don’t pick those with short, thin fighting whiskers; don’t pick those with slick wing colors; don’t pick those with hollow backs, thin ribs, or stiff waists; don’t pick those flat and slippery; don’t pick those with impure colors. Your golden-jawed cricket is fine in many ways, but it breaks the rule of slick red coloring, destined only to be a frontline general, never a marshal. Hahaha…”

Liang Yan glanced at the arena, puzzled. “By your logic, your cricket seems thoroughly flawed. How could it be a marshal?”

“You don’t understand. This one is called ‘Eight Defeats’!”

Ma Yuan, proud, recited, “This insect bears defeat in every aspect, a true absurdity among thousands. Let those with discerning eyes not pass it by: when eight defeats converge, it’s the king of crickets!”

Liang Yan was taken aback, then smiled wryly, “So it’s a king of crickets?”

“Exactly! You’ve already lost, junior. I’ll keep the ‘Record of Cloud Path.’ Hahaha!”

“That’s not certain!”

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As Liang Yan spoke, he suddenly pointed a finger, sending a streak of blue light into his golden-jawed cricket. The creature sprang to life, bracing its legs against the gray-black cricket and biting back.

“You’re cheating!” Ma Yuan shouted angrily.

Liang Yan rolled his eyes. “I’m not! I may not play cricket-fighting often, but I know the only rule is that outsiders can’t kill the opponent’s cricket. There’s nothing against aiding your own!”

“You—!” Ma Yuan was momentarily stumped.

Indeed, in the world of mortals, the rule was only against attacking the opponent’s cricket. No one had ever said you couldn’t secretly help your own, but that was simply because mortals lacked the means.

Seeing Liang Yan’s cricket now fighting with fierce vigor, driving Ma Yuan’s king into retreat, Ma Yuan finally couldn’t resist. He formed a spell and sent a blue light into his own cricket.

Both crickets’ forelimbs flicked furiously, blue streaks glinting and leaving marks across the arena’s ground. By now, it was no longer a match between crickets, but a contest of magical skill between Liang Yan and Ma Yuan.

Yet channeling spiritual power into a cricket was not about the amount, but finesse. Crickets were mere mortals, unable to contain excess spiritual force; overdoing it could cause them to burst and die.

The two crickets battled fiercely, while their masters glared at each other in tense silence.

Suddenly, the golden-jawed cricket ducked a slash, then kicked back, a blue streak striking the gray-black cricket’s abdomen. The gray-black cricket screeched and rolled backward.

“Stop! Stop!” Ma Yuan cried, waving desperately, looking stricken.

He rushed into the arena, grabbed his gray-black cricket, inspected it, and only then, relieved, placed it back in its cage.

“Thank you for letting me win!” Liang Yan said, smiling and bowing.

“Ah, what rotten luck, encountering a rascal like you!” Ma Yuan grumbled, swiping his storage pouch. With a flick of his hand, a gleam flew toward Liang Yan.

Liang Yan caught it: a quaint copper coin, inscribed with “Heavenly Blessing Eleven”—the very Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing!

“Unexpectedly, Senior Brother Ma, for all his eccentricity, does keep his word,” Liang Yan thought.

He started to offer thanks, but Ma Yuan wouldn’t even look at him, waving his hand, “Go on, you’ve got what you wanted. Off with you!”

Liang Yan offered a sheepish smile and bowed, “Thank you, Senior Brother Ma. I’ll take my leave.”

…

That night, in the dormitory for miscellaneous workers of the Formation Division.

Liang Yan sat cross-legged. Inside his storage pouch lay three items: “Spirit Monkey Wine,” “Intoxicating Fragrance,” and “Treasure Coin of Heavenly Blessing.”

“With these three, everything is ready. Now, I need only await the day of the ‘Marvelous Calligraphy Gathering.’”

With this thought, Liang Yan closed his eyes, began his cultivation, and slowly prepared himself for the best possible state…

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