[Sir,
It has been two hundred and ten years since we last parted.
During these years, I have traveled across the mountains and rivers of Great Yan, following the guidance of the maps you prepared for me.
Along the way, I have also befriended many honorable and admirable people of the martial world.
I have experienced much over the past two centuries, and I have written you many letters.
I wonder whether all of them have reached you?
During my travels, I once received a formal invitation to a duel.
It was the first time I came to understand just how much ceremony and significance humans could attach to combat.
Although I have long since forgotten who won or lost that particular battle, I believe it awakened something within me.
Perhaps it was curiosity.
I gradually found myself drawn toward the lives of ordinary people.
I wanted to understand what kind of beings humans truly were, and how they could continue living with such warmth and vitality upon this land that had endured so much suffering.
They reminded me of wild grass.
No matter how relentlessly the desert sands battered them, they would always find somewhere to put down their roots.
The people of the imperial capital are very different from those who live along the frontiers.
For that reason, I hope you will forgive me for deciding, on my own, to remain in Yumen.
There is something else I wish to tell you.
I have given considerable thought to the advice you offered me all those years ago.
A century ago, I finally decided to abandon my identity as Shuo and enter the human world as one of its people.
I sealed away the consciousness I possessed as a fragment of Sui within my sword.
The name I use today was given to me by a dear friend.
Chongyue.
A hundred years ago, I arrived at this frontier of Great Yan and became one of its military commanders.
And yet, another century has passed in what feels like the blink of an eye.
Throughout these years, I have remained stationed along the northwestern border, teaching martial arts, defending the nation, and protecting its people.
I have become someone worthy of being called a pillar of the country, and my reputation as a martial arts grandmaster has spread throughout the land.
And yet…
When the cold of early spring returns in the third month, and fierce winds sweep across the frontier, I cannot help remembering the friends who have passed away, one after another.
There is no longer anyone with whom I can share those memories.
On occasion, I climb the fortress walls and gaze toward the distant horizon.
And in those moments, I can almost see you standing there once more, explaining the principles of martial arts as you once did.
It is for this reason that I have decided to write you another letter.
Sir, I wonder…
Have you been well lately?]
Having finished writing the letter, Chongyue gently returned his brush to its stand.
Outside, the yellow sands of the frontier swirled ceaselessly in the fierce wind.
A solemn silence hung over the land.
“Alas, no one understands the longing behind my gaze from these heights.
How far must one travel through the windswept borderlands?
What remains beyond the desolate wilderness?
A thousand miles of yellow sand still stretch before me, yet the familiar faces of those years are nowhere to be found.”
Chongyue couldn’t help reciting a few verses that Hongyu had once spoken.
In the past, he had never understood why Hongyu would occasionally recite poetry to himself.
But now, he was beginning to understand.
Unlike ordinary people, who poured their emotions into poetry, Sir had been trying to experience emotions through it.
Over the past three hundred years, Sir had rarely sent letters.
No, that wasn’t quite right.
He had never sent a single letter.
After all, if Sir wanted to visit, he could appear at Chongyue’s side in an instant.
It was just that more than two hundred years had passed since his last visit.
Time was impartial.
At least, that was true for ordinary people.
But did the same principle apply to Sir?
Chongyue didn’t know.
Even he, a giant beast, had changed considerably over the centuries.
And yet, in his memories, Sir seemed to remain exactly as he had always been.
‘Time really does pass quickly…’
“General!
The followers of the giant beast Ya are attacking again!”
Just as Chongyue was lost in his reflections, a soldier arrived outside his tent to deliver an urgent report.
“Ya, is it…”
Chongyue rose to his feet.
Without displaying the slightest anger, he nevertheless exuded a commanding presence.
“Order all troops to defend Yumen.
No one is to engage the giant beast without authorization.”
“I will deal with Ya myself.”
‘Ya…’
‘For humans, possessions take precedence over people.
For beasts, compassion is found in emotion.’
‘Those who follow you are little more than an absurd mixture of violence and cowardice.’
‘Perhaps some of them truly are your apostles.’
‘But many are simply fanatics who covet wealth and harm their fellow human beings.’
‘They are weak and pitiful.’
‘They possess martial skills that are somewhat superior to those of ordinary people, yet they use their bloodstained weapons against the innocent.’
‘Rather than earning a stable and fulfilling life through their own labor and sweat, they commit disgraceful acts under the banner of being followers of a giant beast.’
‘Though born human, they insist on pursuing the traces of giant beasts, hoping to become their claws and fangs.’
‘They borrow the names and powers of giant beasts to spread chaos among ordinary people.’
‘In the end, all that awaits them is destruction.’
‘They are worth even less than ants.’
‘After all, ants have never truly been defeated.’
‘But a disorganized mob will inevitably destroy itself.’
Shaking his head, Chongyue stopped dwelling on the matter.
He slowly walked out of Yumen and into the boundless yellow sands.
…
“Shuo…
You really do think rather highly of yourself, don’t you…?”
Sensing Chongyue’s arrival, Ya spoke with barely concealed irritation.
To Ya, everything Chongyue had done was an act of rejection and provocation.
As a giant beast, Ya looked down upon everything in the human world.
Contemptuous and arrogant, the creature remained immersed in the prideful attitudes of ancient times.
Ya mocked Chongyue for choosing to live among humans, exposing himself to their endless suspicion, doubt, and contempt.
The beast also ridiculed him for abandoning his identity as a fragment of Sui merely to pursue an answer to the question of who he truly was.
“Ya, you will never understand humanity.”
Chongyue approached the giant beast alone, his voice calm.
“Ridiculous!”
“A mere hundred years!”
Ya’s voice dripped with contempt.
“How dare you claim to understand the despicable and shameless nature of humanity after only a hundred years?!”
In Ya’s eyes, a century was scarcely enough time for a giant beast to lick its wounds.
How could Chongyue possibly claim to understand human beings after such a brief period?
Yet while a hundred years might mean little to Ya, to Chongyue they represented more than thirty thousand days and nights.
Days spent patrolling military camps, guarding fortresses, scouting the frontier, and marching into battle.
Years and months passed differently for human beings.
For them, time was measured in the smallest moments of life, from one bitter winter to the blazing heat of summer, and onward to the next winter.
To Chongyue, Ya, who had been born standing above humanity, seemed both arrogant and pathetically fragile when compared with the resilience of ordinary people.
Ya laughed at humanity’s weakness and despised the creatures who called themselves human.
Yet the beast seemed to have forgotten what had happened a hundred years earlier.
Back then, those very “ants” had hunted Ya down, forcing the supposedly superior giant beast into a humiliating retreat and a long slumber merely to survive.
And now, after awakening…
‘You still haven’t learned a thing?’ This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Chongyue slowly exhaled and assumed a martial arts stance.
“That is precisely why I said you would never understand humanity.”
“You’ve talked enough!
Are you finally going to stop avoiding a fight with me, Shuo?!”
Ya’s eyes widened with excitement.
The giant beast’s divine authority surged outward, isolating the surrounding region of heaven and earth.
‘Such arrogance…’
Chongyue sighed inwardly.
‘Fortunately, Sir was there for me back then.’
‘Otherwise…’
‘At the very least, I doubt I would have reached enlightenment nearly as quickly.’
“I am nothing.”
He silently invoked the words.
In the next instant, Chongyue’s clenched fist shot forward.
The heavens and earth seemed to change color.
…
(Damn it, I didn’t even notice that “beast intercourse” was a censored phrase when I wrote this part…
You’ve really outdone yourself, Hedgehog Cat.)
…
At the Sui Regulator.
“Big Brother has written another letter to Sir?”
Wang, who had gradually risen to become the second most powerful person in the Sui Regulator after Hongyu himself, received the letter Chongyue had sent.
Over the past century, Hongyu had publicly declared that he was growing old.
Everyone had witnessed him gradually transferring his authority to Wang.
Initially, many people had opposed this arrangement.
After all, the Sui Regulator had originally been established to supervise the fragments of Sui.
Although the organization had gradually become indispensable to Great Yan over the past century, frequently handling matters that would ordinarily fall under the jurisdiction of departments such as the Ministry of War and the Ministry of Justice, its fundamental purpose remained unchanged.
Surveillance.
However, when the previous Emperor passed away and a new Emperor ascended the throne, the imperial palace underwent a thorough political purge.
Strangely enough, all those voices of opposition disappeared afterward.
“Jie, where’s Sir?”
Wang turned toward Jie, who occasionally came to help him with the paperwork.
“Sister Ling got completely drunk and rode off on an Originium slug.
Nobody knows where she went, so Sir went looking for her.”
Jie spoke with an expression of utter exasperation.
“How have I somehow gotten used to this…?”
Wang sighed helplessly.
“Forget it.
I’ll give Sir the letter when he gets back.”
“Hey, what do you think?
Are those poems the Grandmaster recites actually his own work, or did he learn them somewhere?”
“I once heard him recite a line that went, ‘I long to buy osmanthus blossoms and bring wine aboard, yet nothing compares to the journeys of youth.'”
“I’ve never found those words in any ancient text.”
“Maybe the Grandmaster wrote them himself?”
“Or perhaps they were written by his teacher, the first Grand Warden?”
“Come on!
Of course the Grandmaster wrote them himself!
I’ll bet five LMD on it!”
“Tch!
That’s stingy!
I’ll wager ten LMD that the first Grand Warden wrote them!”
“What if neither of them wrote those verses?” someone suddenly interjected.
“How could that be possible?!”
“Poetry that beautiful and evocative must have come from either the Grandmaster or the Grand Warden!”
“Otherwise, how could I have never encountered it in any books before?!”