Tome of Troubled Times-Chapter 717: A Stone Cast, Ripples Unleashed

At midday, the royal palace erupted with sorrowful wails.

The newly crowned tenth on the Ranking of Heaven, Ye Wuzong—the Thief Saint who had shone brightly in the Dragon-Slaying Battle, leaving Bo’e humiliated with a face as swollen as a pig’s—had passed away in meditation at the royal palace’s guest residence.

The queen of the Spirit Tribe, Xiang Simeng, whom Ye Wuzong had dotingly acknowledged as his true disciple and taught in earnest for a couple of months, wept as though her heart would break. She was said to have cried a river of tears, coughed up three liters of blood, and fainted several times.

In her grief, she lashed out at the surrounding guards, scolding them for failing to protect her master and delivering swift punishment to anyone she deemed negligent. She then ordered white banners, mourning attire, and other funerary items to be prepared immediately. The commotion quickly spread from the sacred mountain to the entire Spirit Tribe.

Word of the Thief Saint’s death traveled faster than the tribe’s investigative commands regarding celestial anomalies. Many Spirit Tribe villages and settlements had yet to receive their orders when they already heard the news that their queen’s master had passed away.

The people of the Spirit Tribe had no love for the Thief Saint. In fact, many secretly rejoiced in his death. Only now that he was gone could the Spirit Tribe properly claim control of the divine axe. While the artifact technically had already belonged to the tribe, Ye Wuzong had kept it under his authority, often saying, “Sisi, you can’t control it yet. Let your master hold onto it for now.” His behavior made it appear as though he had no real intention of relinquishing the axe.

To the Spirit Tribe, the old man was not a savior but an injured wanderer seeking refuge.

Yet he had none of a refugee’s humility. He strutted around as though he owned the place, acting like everyone’s father. When the queen sent the best tribal healers to treat him, he flatly refused their methods, dismissing them as “nonsense,” “absurd,” and “what is this garbage? You want me to eat bugs?” He would only accept medicine and treatments that fit his understanding of medicine, leaving the tribal healers fuming, their beards quivering in rage.

Who do you think you are? Everyone here is old. What makes you think you’re our senior? If anyone should die, it’s you. The sooner, the better—we can even set off fireworks to celebrate.

Now, Ye Wuzong was truly dead. His body rested in a high-quality coffin, placed in the sacred temple beside the divine axe, the crowning achievement of his life. The queen, dressed in mourning attire, skipped lunch and sat beside the coffin, staring blankly through her tears.

One had to admit that the queen looked stunning in her mourning attire.

Even the tribal chiefs who came to pay their respects, though well-acquainted with their queen, could not help but steal glances at her. In moments like these, she shed her usual mischievousness and air of cunning, revealing a rare vulnerability and grace. Whispers circulated, comparing her to the legendary Tang Wanzhuang, praised as the most beautiful woman in the Central Plains, and wondering if this was the same kind of elegance that captivated hearts. After all, in recent months, the queen had grown more refined and cultured.

But no matter how beautiful she was, she was untouchable. She belonged to the sacred envoy. Her authority was derived from the ancestral god. To desecrate her was to desecrate the very god they revered.

Yet whispers of doubt lingered. The so-called sacred envoy far away, waging battles in distant lands, hardly demonstrating any omnipresence as they believed a god’s vessel should be. Was he truly a sacred envoy? Many of the more discerning individuals suspected otherwise. The grand phenomenon of the spirits of myriad beasts that marked Sisi’s ascension to the throne was likely a clever illusion rather than divine intervention.

If Zhao Changhe was not a true representative of the ancestral god, then neither was Sisi.

Without that legitimacy, Sisi’s authority diminished. As a young queen without strong support from her own family, her foundation within the Spirit Tribe remained precarious.

The queen’s most loyal support base consisted of two key groups: the younger generation eager to break free from the confines of the Spirit Tribe’s small, insular territory and explore the vibrant outside world, and the Xia people who had once been given refuge and protection by the tribe. The former, constrained by the authority of their elders, struggled to make their voices heard within the tribe’s traditional hierarchy. The latter, having long forgotten the suffering they endured before being taken in, were now preoccupied with petty schemes and power struggles.

It seemed like the perfect time to exploit the so-called sacred envoy’s absence.

The slogan “the divine axe is destined to be ours” had become a thinly veiled challenge to the queen’s authority. It forced her to choose between prioritizing the axe for the tribe’s sake or honoring the old man’s wishes. Her decision to respect Ye Wuzong’s legacy stirred dissatisfaction among many neutrals, who began to question her judgment.

Ye Wuzong’s status as a Ranking of Heaven expert had silenced dissent during his lifetime, but now that he was dead, the murmurs grew louder.

Dead at last...

As tribal chiefs made their way to pay their respects, clandestine alliances began to form. Beneath the surface, tensions simmered, and plans were set into motion.

Meanwhile, Zhao Changhe, who had been silently observing and monitoring the situation, expanded the view of his Back Eye—now better termed Overlooking Eye—to its fullest extent, scanning the movements around the sacred mountain. His attention was suddenly drawn to individuals heading toward the ancestral burial ground where he had once lived in seclusion.

Zhao Changhe’s heart stirred. What’s over there? It’s clearly not just a burial ground. He remembered how, during his time there, he had experienced profound insights, and he knew Sisi had since arranged for strong warriors from the tribe to take turns guarding the area and receiving ancestral inheritances. The site was now one of the most fortified places within the Spirit Tribe, rivaled only by the sacred mountain.

Moreover, with the climate’s sudden chill, the thought of something connected to yin corpses could not be ignored.

The Thief Saint had intended to lure out those coveting the divine axe, but his plan had inadvertently revealed another thread. Zhao Changhe cast a final glance at Sisi. After some deliberation, he decided to move swiftly toward the burial ground.

That place might just be where the true drama was about to unfold.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Dali.

Yue Hongling had been closely observing the movements of Pan Wan, Dao Qingfeng, and the other tribal chiefs, but nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. All of Dali appeared calm, devoid of anything particularly noteworthy.

Yet her instincts told her something was amiss. Her Illuminating Sword Heart[1] resonated with a sense of foreboding, warning of an extreme and hidden danger. It was a rare feeling for Yue Hongling, even with her years of wandering the jianghu alone.

Trusting her intuition, she chose not to leave and search for Zhao Changhe. Instead, she stayed in the area, circling around and investigating the source of her unease.

Her efforts yielded nothing, and she had resigned herself to a break, sitting outside a White Hmong shop and eating rice noodles. Suddenly, a lone rider galloped past, carrying what seemed to be an urgent report.

Yue Hongling quickly abandoned her meal and trailed the rider into the White Hmong village.

Inside, Dao Qingfeng, the White Tribe’s chief, was still eating when the messenger burst in, laughing from a distance. “You’ve still got the appetite to eat?”

Dao Qingfeng was stunned. He glanced around, dismissed his subordinates with a wave, and lowered his voice. “What are you thinking, meeting me so openly like this?”

“What’s the harm?” the rider replied with a grin. “Thief Saint Ye Wuzong died half an hour ago in the Spirit Tribe’s secret realm. The news is spreading like wildfire. I came to inform you immediately.”

Dao Qingfeng froze for a moment, not immediately grasping the significance. “What difference does it make if he’s dead? He was just an injured old man. Even if he had some deterrent value, it wasn’t him alone that everyone was wary of.”

“We weren’t wary of him personally but of his ability to control the Divine Axe of Tngri. Its divine lightning is a significant threat to our plans. With him dead and no one to wield the axe, an opportunity has presented itself.”

“What do you mean no one can wield it? Xiang Simeng herself can still control it.”

“Not for long. There are those within the Spirit Tribe who won’t allow her to continue wielding the axe. Right now, their internal struggles are bound to erupt. This moment of chaos is a perfect opportunity. While they’re busy tearing themselves apart, we can coordinate from the outside. Those within the tribe who are driven by selfish desires won’t realize that their petty squabbles will lead to Miaojiang being overturned in a single day, with the entire Spirit Tribe reduced to our slaves.”

Dao Qingfeng’s expression finally shifted. “Are you certain there will be infighting within the Spirit Tribe rather than them quickly securing control of the axe?”

“I’m certain,” the rider said urgently. “This window of opportunity lasts only a few hours. If Xiang Simeng proves strong enough to suppress all opposition, seize the axe, and consolidate her power quickly, we’ll lose our chance. We must act now!”

Dao Qingfeng hesitated. “Isn’t this too sudden?”

“Everything is sudden. Ye Wuzong’s death was sudden, too. But we’ve been preparing for this moment for a long time. Xiang Simeng is the one caught off guard by these internal and external crises. If you’re worried about traps, let me assure you—the body is already lying in a coffin. Even if there are traps, we cannot keep waiting indefinitely. If not now, then when?”

After a moment of silence, Dao Qingfeng finally stood, pacing a few steps before declaring, “Then now it is!”

The White Tribe’s elites were swiftly mobilized. However, they did not head toward Taoyuan Town but instead toward a burial ground west of Dali—the burial site of the Black Hmong King, who had been slain years ago by Xia Longyuan.

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Since the failure of Lei Zhentang and the decline of the Black Hmong, the remnants of the Black Hmong had either perished or submitted to stronger tribes. One of the largest branches was conquered and absorbed by their archrivals, the White Hmong. Over the past few months, Dao Qingfeng had been systematically excavating the Black Hmong King’s tomb, selling off treasures unearthed there. The body, however, remained untouched.

No one knew why Dao Qingfeng had chosen not to destroy the corpse of the king he despised so deeply. But now, Yue Hongling might have just gotten the answer to that very question.

1. This is the sword heart capable of Sword Heart Illumination as mentioned in Chapter 709. ☜