Three Generals Compete for Talent

Watching his own grandson get kicked off the martial stage, Song Qingtian felt no regret at all. On the contrary, he seemed relieved, even breaking into a smile.

Beside him, the Emperor also noticed the change in Song Linjie’s aura beneath the stage—was this a breakthrough to the second rank? How old was this boy? Throughout Chen’s history, there had been very few who reached second rank at such a young age. The most talented the Emperor had ever seen was Zong Chentian, who achieved second rank at sixteen years and eight months.

Unable to contain his curiosity, the man from Chenliu asked, “Dean Song, how old is your grandson this year?”

Those unaware might have thought the Emperor was about to arrange a marriage for him, but only the martial masters and those privy to the truth understood: second rank was the peak for ordinary men. Beyond that, progression required enlightenment in the martial path itself, not merely surpassing the limits of the body as with the lower ranks.

The astonishment in the crowd stemmed from the longstanding belief that the earlier one reached second rank, the greater their future accomplishments—unless they fell into depravity or died young.

The decade following the coming-of-age ceremony was considered the most profound period for understanding life; after the next ten years, one’s insight diminished year by year. Thus, all martial artists strove to reach second rank before the age of twenty, hoping for more years to seek higher realms.

Kicked off the stage, Song Linjie felt not the slightest disappointment. On the contrary, he was grateful for a blessing few could ever hope for. Besides, if he kept fighting in his current state and got injured, his foundation would become unstable, perhaps even regressing in rank. To return to the peak would be all the harder.

After a while, the others also noticed that the young man lying on the ground suddenly saw his aura soar. The civil officials felt little, but the military men were moved—some in admiration, others in jealousy. They were scions of noble military families, yet after decades of bitter cultivation, few exceeded the third or fourth rank.

Unconsciously, these men revealed their own strength, though only Song Qingtian could discern it.

Seeing such a rising star, three ministers with the power to recruit him stepped forward. But in Song Qingtian’s eyes, two were of first rank, one stayed indifferent, and another gave way.

Of the two who approached, both appeared in their fifties, one looking slightly older—perhaps from years spent at the harsh frontier. Despite their rugged faces, their physiques were robust and their steps sure.

The man from Chenliu leaned on the railing with a look of amusement. “Looks like those three old fellows are about to start arguing again.”

One of the officers, his beard wild and unruly—not from slovenliness, but a result of illness in his youth—rushed to Song Linjie’s side. Without waiting for him to stand, the officer grabbed him upright, straightened his posture, and with an official’s tone declared, “Boy, you’re Song Linjie, right? I am Zou Wu, Chief Commander of all Chen’s armies, of second rank. Join my command and you’ll be made a captain on the spot. If you have the ability, you could even succeed me one day.”

Following close behind, another officer gave Zou Wu no face at all, pushing his chin aside with a raspy voice—clearly the result of an old throat injury. “Scruffy Lion, get lost. I’m the First Rank Inspector-General and haven’t spoken yet. Where do you get off poaching talent before I do?”

Zou Wu, a dignified second rank officer, had no patience for being called “Scruffy Lion.” He snapped, “Wei Liyang, get your tongue straight before you talk to me. You’re just a First Rank Inspector-General—what makes you so cocky?”

The final officer, unhurried and without a fault to be found, finally caught up and gently tried to mediate, “Gentlemen, let’s not quarrel. We each command an army; there’s no need to rank ourselves here. Let’s talk things over properly.”

The elder, cautious not to offend anyone, was nonetheless dragged into the fray and scolded as well.

Zou Wu barked, “Hou An, don’t think you can play the peacemaker just because you’re the Grand General. His Majesty only gave you General Zhang’s post because of your age.”

Wei Liyang chimed in, “Exactly. Don’t get too full of yourself.”

The three mighty ministers, heedless of decorum, began cursing each other outright, paying no mind to their ranks or dignity.

The officials above were long accustomed to such scenes. Compared to the earlier, nameless duel, this war of words was the true spectacle. Only a few, always reserved and never smiling, found it disgraceful, but they dared not interfere—lacking both rank and martial prowess, a single word might cost them their hats.

The young men come to compete, however, were truly amazed. Was this how high-ranking officials behaved—brawling with words in public, utterly without restraint?

At last, someone outside the arena spoke up, “You three have squabbled long enough. Shouldn’t you ask for his own wishes?”

The trio glanced at the interloper and fell silent at once. Had it been anyone else, they would have bristled, but this was the Chancellor. If they continued, they’d only bring disaster upon themselves.

Song Linjie, having been tossed about and battered by the commotion, finally recovered his wits and respectfully replied, “Sirs, I am a wanderer at heart and have no desire for office.”

With his simple declaration, the three generals ceased their bickering and returned to their places, wearing sour faces, occasionally exchanging disgruntled glances.

While the dignitaries argued, Mo Li had already slipped off the stage, sparing himself the embarrassment of being the victor whom everyone ignored.

Amidst all eyes, Zhang Ling was taken aback by the breakthrough he witnessed. Even following his own path, reaching second rank would have taken at least a year or more. In the whole realm, his own pace was considered meteoric, yet compared to this genius and martial fanatic, not only was it impossible to compete in the same rank, but even catching up at all was uncertain. He recalled that just over four months ago, Song Linjie had only reached third rank.

Lost in thought, Zhang Ling didn’t realize it was his turn until Li Jingqiu called his name.

The Sevenfold Cottage had been incorporated into the imperial fold with the late emperor’s support, with hundreds of disciples under its banner. Yet only Fang Haiding showed promise, and even he had reached no higher than fourth rank at nineteen. Compared to Song Linjie, who achieved second rank at sixteen, the difference was like starlight to the blazing sun—utterly eclipsed.

Thus, even as he stepped onto the stage, Fang Haiding could not hide his jealousy.

He glanced at Zhang Ling, who was now mounting the platform, and, without hesitation, drew his gleaming silver saber. Though the blade was fine, it was still inferior to Song Linjie’s Heaven-Forging weapon. Not only did he envy Song Linjie, his greed for that blade was even greater. If only he could wield it, perhaps he too could slay across realms.

Zhang Ling’s eyes locked onto Fang Haiding’s, as though seeing straight through his thoughts.

With a cold sneer, Zhang Ling provoked him further, stoking the fire of Fang Haiding’s envy until, unable to restrain himself, he charged forward with his blade.

His momentum was slight, but the murderous intent was unmistakable.