Chapter Thirty-Six: My Fate Is Determined by Me, Not by Heaven

The spatial restriction had originally been used to sever the connection between Yun Zheng and his followers, creating a closed environment like a beast’s cage, forcing both sides into a life-or-death battle with no retreat or support. At this moment, however, it became an obstacle to Chen Yuchong’s retreat.

The spatial restriction was lifted instantly. Chen Yuchong seized the iron crutch and fled in haste.

As Duan Zhengyan, it was absolutely impossible to flee before a junior like Yun Zheng. Therefore, after proposing to avoid the fight, he decisively relinquished control of his body back to Chen Yuchong.

With the map in hand and having familiarized himself with the nearby terrain beforehand, Chen Yuchong soon twisted and turned through the labyrinthine paths, successfully escaping with his life.

Seeing no one around, Chen Yuchong asked the question he cared about most once again: “Ancestor, could it be that Yun Zheng is truly the so-called Mandate of Heaven’s chosen?”

Duan Zhengyan sighed deeply. “A true Mandate of Heaven’s chosen will succeed by following the natural order. They would never be forced onto the path of slaughter and bloodshed.”

“Could Yun Zheng be the one who defies fate, the one you mentioned before? Does he dare to challenge the Mandate of Heaven?”

“That seems likely, but I do not know which lineage’s destiny he intends to overturn.”

Chen Yuchong’s eyes flickered. “Perhaps the Mandate of Heaven lies with the Duan family of Dali?”

“The existence of such a young warrior means that our Duan family will not have the Mandate of Heaven for decades to come. I believe the Mandate is more likely in the north, not the south.”

“Please, Ancestor, teach me.”

“First, leave this Great Wilderness City. You told me you have no heirs yet. Return and help expand the Duan family’s lineage. Wait patiently for the chance to restore the kingdom, decades from now.”

“Not kill Yun Zheng then?”

“Yun Zheng is a defier of fate, like Wang Mang who founded a new dynasty. Those who dare to rebel against the Mandate of Heaven will be rejected by the forces of heaven and earth. But as challengers of fate, such defiers possess extraordinary fortune and power. Ordinary men who dare challenge them rarely fare any better than the defiers themselves.”

Just as he finished speaking, Chen Yuchong suddenly raised the iron crutch and struck it lightning-fast toward his own chest.

A deep internal force gathered at his heart, yet the iron crutch, a treasured heirloom of the Duan family, was no mere thing to be resisted by internal power alone.

The iron crutch pierced through Chen Yuchong’s chest with almost no obstruction.

He spat out a mouthful of fresh blood with a “wah.” He felt a sharp pain in his chest and difficulty breathing, likely caused by blood congestion pressing on his windpipe.

In the distant past, healers believed the heart to be the seat of the soul. Yet Chen Yuchong, well-versed in Western knowledge, knew that the Purple Palace was where one’s spirit truly resided.

But Duan Zhengyan was an outsider. He could not lodge his lingering soul in Chen Yuchong’s Purple Palace; he could only inhabit his heart, then extend his spiritual power to the Purple Palace to communicate.

Now that Chen Yuchong’s heart was broken, the lingering soul naturally dissipated like smoke in the wind.

---

“Ancestor, I truly owe you apologies this time. After all, I’ve betrayed my master so many times in this life; one more won’t make a difference,” Chen Yuchong muttered, his eyes flickering with madness. “I’ve wandered for decades, barely building something of my own. How could I give it up so easily?”

Chen Yuchong was never a martial artist, so he had no need to abide by martial ethics. Still, he regarded himself as a professional gunslinger. To protect his eyesight, he rarely engaged in activities that strained his vision these years, even entrusting his beloved ledgers to subordinates.

He trusted his gun, just as Duan Zhengyan trusted his “Son of Heaven’s Dragon Sword.”

“Ancestor, you lived centuries ago. How could you understand the power of an enchanted gun? Now, after your empowerment, my vision, hearing, reflexes, and limb agility have reached levels I never dared imagine. I am now as formidable as the world’s top gunmen.”

Life force ebbed bit by bit from Chen Yuchong’s body. He felt his limbs grow cold and damp, dizziness creeping in, and his pulse weakening.

But the next moment, a warm current surged from his liver, rapidly filling his entire body.

An unnatural flush rose to his cheeks, then faded back to pale.

If Chen Yuchong could perform the legendary “inner sight,” he would see green mucus mixing into his blood vessels.

Chen Yuchong was always a gambler. To a gambler, as long as one believed the success rate was over fifty percent, it was worth betting everything. Thus, he chose to continue his assassination attempt on Yun Zheng, and to gamble everything by destroying Duan Zhengyan’s lingering soul.

To ensure his plan’s success, he even picked up the iron crutch discarded by Duan Zhengyan before retreating.

Chen Yuchong admitted he didn’t absolutely have to kill the ancestor’s lingering soul. He was quite confident he could persuade Duan Zhengyan to accept his risky gamble. But he hated being controlled—deeply—and thus needed an excuse to break free from Duan Zhengyan’s control.

If he could accept being manipulated, with his former status in the Ye family, he wouldn’t have needed to scheme for the family’s inheritance.

Chen Yuchong raised Violet with both hands, his eyes filled with obsession and frenzy.

He loved this feeling—whether hunting and gambling in darkness, or deciding life and death with a single shot.

This gun, called “Violet,” came from the Netherlands, the land that changed his fate. It had accompanied him across the seas to the Central Plains and had always been his last trump card, constantly reminding him not to forget—to strike the enemy fatally at the most critical moment.

In this final battle, it was what he relied on.

Faintly, Chen Yuchong felt himself merge with Violet, his long-time companion, breathing with his breaths, pulsing with his heartbeat. It was as if the gun was not merely a weapon, but the source of his inner power.

Years ago, Chen Yuchong had stolen the priceless “Violet” amidst the chaos in the Netherlands. That was his most successful gamble and one of his two proudest achievements.

The other was founding the Mao Town Distillery.

“Yun Zheng, if you truly are the defier of fate, then by killing you, wouldn’t I seize your fortune?”

“My fate is mine to command, not heaven’s! I, Chen Yuchong, have talent and resolve. The best things in this world belong to me!”

---

In a daze, a mysterious force surged from deep within his bloodline, sounding an ancient summons in his soul.

Chen Yuchong’s consciousness was swept into a chaotic void. There, a gigantic winged lizard flickered in the empty space, the wind and clouds stirred endlessly by the dragon’s wings.

(Is this the Western mythological dragon? Bearing the royal blood of the Duan family of Dali, if I were to awaken the true dragon blood, would I take the form of a Western dragon?)

A flash of insight crossed Chen Yuchong’s mind: since the Wanli era, the earth’s vein consciousness has indeed been polluted by Western learning.

Clearly, under the tide of Western knowledge spreading eastward, the heavenly way had fallen into confusion and disorder to some extent.

At this moment, he watched as his hands were covered by a layer of fine scales. His back began to ache faintly, as if an overwhelming force surged wildly within, attempting to break free from the fleshly shackles.

Gradually, his back bulged upward, as if a pair of wings was about to burst forth, ready to carry him soaring into the vast sky.

A gleaming blade flashed suddenly in the darkness.

Chen Yuchong’s determined smile froze on his pale face, appearing especially eerie in the dim underground.

His head detached from his body, soaring high into the air.

A delicate, flawless hand, like finely carved white porcelain, lightly reached out and precisely grasped the topknot of Chen Yuchong’s severed head.

An Miao Tong was a woman of deep understanding. She had noticed Yun Zheng repeatedly examining Chen Yuchong’s asymmetrical ears. Clearly, the simplest way to make the severed head appear symmetrical was straightforward.

So she wielded her Emei Water-Splitting Thorn and cut off Chen Yuchong’s two ears—one large, one small—making the head’s appearance more comfortable for Yun Zheng to behold.

Deep within Great Wilderness City, in a broken ancient Baiwen stone stele, Duan Zhengyan’s Yang spirit also sensed that he had utterly lost all connection to that fragment of his dispersed soul.

An intense weakness struck him in an instant.

Yet he could no longer feel anger, for he knew Chen Yuchong’s inevitable fate.

“Foolish child...” came a long, drawn sigh from the stone stele.

Would there be another with his bloodline to come before this stele in the future? Or was this already the last chance for him and the Duan family of Dali?