Chapter 2: On the Way

At dusk, the setting sun melted into gold, plating the imperial road in a warm hue.

The post station by the roadside had long been occupied by those who arrived first—the caravan from Hedong Commandery. They were several hundred people stronger than the Pingyang Commandery group. The young ladies and masters of the Commandery Governor’s family had filled the guest rooms, while the rest of their party set up camp nearby, encircling the post station in a spectacular display.

If it had been a small county’s caravan, the leading commander would have simply marched up and seized the space by force, and no one would have dared to argue. Unfortunately, Hedong was a major commandery of the Chu State, and the Governor’s Wang family possessed formidable strength; few dared to provoke them. The Zhao family’s commander gritted his teeth and ordered his group to set up camp on an empty plot of land to the side, choosing not to contest the territory.

By the time Zhao Chun and her party climbed down from their carriages, the camp had already been established. After the bumpy journey, many children were too weak-legged to get down on their own and had to be carried by the accompanying martial artists. The commoners did not receive such treatment; they were tossed off the carriages like chickens, grabbed by the collars, and left to weep as they began to pitch their own tents.

Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian were full of energy the moment their feet touched the ground, chattering away incessantly.

The Royal City seemed to place great importance on the conscription. Zhao Chun noticed a middle-aged man in purple robes following the commander. Despite the title, the Zhao family’s arrogant commander was extremely polite to him, chatting and laughing with ease.

There are levels among warriors. Zhao Chun had heard Instructor Zheng explain that those just entering the martial path must begin with "Skin Refining," tempering the epidermis until it is as hard as iron, impervious to ordinary weapons. This stage is called "Body Forging" and is the mandatory path for any warrior entering the ranks.

Only after entering the ranks can one be called a "Martial Warrior." There are three stages of martial arts: the first, where blood and qi are full and one has the strength to lift a tripod; the second, where technique reaches a microscopic level and martial arts are perfected; and the third, where intent arises from technique, achieving a state of total mastery. As for the ultimate peak of the martial path, it is the convergence of all methods into one, where the physical body becomes a divine weapon—this is the "Grandmaster."

Instructor Zheng had caught a glimpse of his opportunity in a moment between life and death, his blood and qi boiling within him, allowing him to step into the first stage. Many people are trapped in Body Forging their entire lives, unable to ascend to the rank of warrior; those as lucky as Instructor Zheng are few and far between.

However, each of the three stages is harder than the last. Zhao Chun’s father, Zhao Jian, had reached the second stage with his blade technique before the age of thirty. In the twenty years since, he had not made an inch of progress. With no hope of reaching the third stage in this lifetime, he pinned his hopes on his offspring so that the Zhao family would not fall into ruin.

The commander, surnamed Pang and named Zhen, held a transcendent position in the Zhao family. Aside from Zhao Jian, he was the only second-stage warrior. Zhao Jian regarded him as a sworn brother, and Zhao Chun had to address him as Uncle. Pang Zhen was not a man of tact; if he could be this polite, it meant the man in purple possessed heaven-defying strength. Even with a mandate from the Royal City, Pang Zhen would not have lowered his head otherwise.

Zhao Chun understood that this middle-aged man in purple was likely at the third stage of the martial path—the level the instructor called a "Martial Master." Once one reaches this level, the world must address them with the honorific "Master."

Earlier, while on the carriage, she had seen a man in similar attire at the post station. He was younger than the one with the Zhao family and was likely a warrior sent by the Royal City to Hedong Commandery. She wondered if every city had one. If so, with over a hundred cities in the Chu State, the total strength of these dispatched Martial Masters would be enough to rival the combined power of several small nations.

Take the Lu State, where Instructor Zheng lived before he fled; the entire nation had fewer than twenty third-stage warriors, yet that was enough to carve out a territory. It was only unfortunate that they were crushed in less than a month under the grinding pressure of the Jin and Wu states—giants that were no less powerful than Chu.

With Grandmasters rarely appearing in the world, the number of Martial Masters is essentially the fundamental measure of a great power’s strength. The Chu State’s heritage is deep, and its capital is naturally abundant. Zhao Chun was fortunate among the unfortunate; born in a great nation, she was spared the suffering of war.

However, the grand gesture of sending out so many warriors was not only to show the importance placed on the conscription but also to intimidate local forces and consolidate centralized power.

Political maneuvering was far removed from Zhao Chun. She only wished to enter a Daoist temple to cultivate, hoping to spend the rest of her life in peace. Holding onto this expectation for the future, even the simple meal tasted sweet. While Zhao Yue complained incessantly, Zhao Chun ate heartily.

Finishing her soup and rice in a few bites, Zhao Chun took her book into the tent. The carriage drivers said that once they reached the dense mountain forests where bandits were common, the caravan would stop resting daily and instead travel through the night to reach the Royal City. Zhao Chun cherished this rare moment of ease and prepared to rest early. Her two sisters, having slept well on the carriage, picked at their food before running off to other tents to play.

Those camping near the Zhao family were also prominent families from Pingyang Commandery. The juniors were familiar with each other, so the Zhao sisters’ arrival did not seem abrupt. Several families sat together, noisy and boisterous, which made it difficult for Zhao Chun to sleep.

As the night deepened into a heavy darkness, the commoners fell silent, all having retired for the night. The families nearby were still rowdy until Pang Zhen roared at them twice, after which no one dared to make a sound. Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian stumbled into the tent in the dark, continuing to whisper. Zhao Chun, still awake, pricked up her ears and caught a few words, learning that several more groups had arrived—though they were all from remote, small cities, some with only a few dozen people. The Wang family of Hedong had even sent someone over with wine and food, hoping to discuss traveling together the next day for mutual support.

The next day, Zhao Chun rose early to wash her face and practice two sets of sword forms. By the time the sky was fully bright and someone beat a gong to wake the caravan, Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian finally got up.

Hedong Commandery had indeed sent someone—a tall, thin man who was likely the Wang family’s commander. He was straightforward and direct, which suited Pang Zhen’s temperament. The two immediately agreed to merge the groups into a long, four-column formation. As for the small cities, they were not in the commanders' considerations; whether they wanted to follow behind or wait until the main group had left was entirely up to them.

The Wang family had selected twelve children this time, twice as many as the Zhao family. Most were boys; there were only two girls, Wang Chuyan and Wang Yijiao. The two were very polite and willing to converse with the Zhao sisters, though their expressions remained distant and unenthusiastic. Zhao Yue and Zhao Mian assumed they were just shy and introverted, constantly pestering them for news about Hedong Commandery. Zhao Chun, however, could see that the Wang sisters looked down on them and were only lowering themselves to chat because they were bored.

"I've never been to the Royal City. They say it's the most prosperous place. I wonder how it compares to Hedong Commandery?"

Wang Chuyan curled her lip and said, "A remote, impoverished place—how could it compare to the Royal City?" She tugged at her handkerchief and added, "My and Jiaojiao’s maternal grandparents live in the Royal City. We go back every year for ancestral rites, so I don't find it particularly special."

The Wang sisters were the legitimate daughters of Lady Wang, possessing noble status and considering themselves superior. After speaking, Wang Chuyan fell silent. The two sat there with an air of arrogance that made Zhao Mian’s face turn green.

Zhao Yue, who had asked the question, didn't seem to notice. Being thick-skinned, she simply said, "Oh," and continued, "It's our first time going. My mother said this time, some Daoist temple is selecting people to become immortals. I don't want to go. What's so good about being an immortal? You're locked in a temple for your whole life, unable to see anything."

Hearing Zhao Yue’s rejection of the selection, the Wang sisters exchanged a glance, as if a burden had been lifted, and revealed their first smiles since meeting. Zhao Chun had remained silent, observing the others in the carriage while reading. Seeing this strange reaction, she felt puzzled. Logically, Daoists were not currently in high favor, so the Wang sisters shouldn't have reacted that way.

After much thought, Zhao Chun attributed it to them wanting a stable future, just like herself. Then she heard Wang Chuyan speak: "Everyone has their own destiny. The current King honors the Daoist path, so there must be a reason." As for what that reason was, she refused to say. Zhao Chun grew even more suspicious, but she kept it to herself, planning to inquire further once they reached the Royal City.