Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter 88: The Ethereal Pavilion

The Misty Pavilion was merely a building in the imperial capital, plain and unremarkable.

Yet the vastness of the territory it governed, the depth of the power it concealed, and the cruelty of its methods were enough to move anyone.

Over the course of ten years, nearly half the civil and military officials in the court had fallen into its hands. The lightest punishment was loss of office and dismissal; the gravest, extermination of the entire clan.

The charges the Misty Pavilion laid down were bizarre beyond measure.

There had once been a general who, after drinking too much, let slip a few curse words about the former emperor. In the end, his nine kinship lines were implicated, and the severed heads dumped at the market execution ground filled three entire cartloads.

As for exactly what he had said, who had heard it, and who could bear witness, no one knew.

With nothing more than a single sentence issued by the Misty Pavilion, more than a hundred members of that general’s family died violent deaths.

Even more shocking, a beggar who slept one night at the pavilion’s gate led to more than half the beggars in the city being killed the very next day.

So now, at the entrance to the Misty Pavilion, not even stray dogs dared go near it, let alone beggars.

It was a place where birds would not land and children fell silent at the sound of its name.

The Misty Pavilion wielded special authority: it could execute first and report later. Even if it killed the wrong person, it need only push out a scapegoat to settle the matter.

It could be said that the Misty Pavilion was a sharp blade hanging over the heads of all the great ministers of the realm.

The one who held that blade was the Imperial Preceptor, Wei Mocheng!

If he wanted to kill someone, all he needed was an excuse; whether it was reasonable or not was of little concern.

In recent years, the emperor had grown ever more neglectful of state affairs, sinking into obsession over forging the Sword of the Son of Heaven, while the Misty Pavilion, which held the emperor in its grasp, had become a power to terrify the world.

As the son of the current first minister, Zhou Yuanliang could clearly feel the gloom that shrouded the imperial capital.

That gloom was called the Misty Pavilion.

“I once believed that so long as I made no progress, acted absurdly, behaved like a good-for-nothing, and became the most detested young master in the imperial capital, while constantly smearing my father’s name, I could make the Misty Pavilion ease off its targeting of him, thereby finding some balance between the current first minister and the Misty Pavilion.”

Zhou Yuanliang shook his head with a bitter laugh, self-mockery all over his face.

“Alas, I underestimated the Misty Pavilion’s ruthlessness. They had already moved against my father. If not for Junior Sister Luo discovering the gu poison, who knows? In another year or half, my father might have simply died.”

“If the current first minister were to die suddenly, the Misty Pavilion would certainly intervene to investigate. They would already have the cause of death prepared too—sudden illness. They would hasten the funeral and then choose a new first minister completely under the Misty Pavilion’s control.”

“In that way, the civil officials would basically all be in the Imperial Preceptor’s hands. Then, once the leader of the military, the Duke of Yu, is removed as well, the world could be unified at once, and the Yan Empire would be entirely controlled by the Misty Pavilion.”

He lowered his head and drank a cup of wine in one gulp, then let out a burp and said gloomily:

“Since that last trip to Misty Mountain, when I watched my junior sister die before my eyes, I finally realized that blindly biding one’s time only leads to the loss of the most important people one by one. Only by constantly strengthening oneself can one contend against the hidden crises and enemies in the dark.”

“I was wrong. Utterly wrong...”

Zhou Yuanliang’s voice grew lower and lower, and his spirits sank with it.

He had fallen into the trap he himself had drawn, unable to free himself.

Cloud Lack was momentarily speechless.

He could understand Zhou Yuanliang’s disgraceful facade, the shameless act he put on in order to protect his family.

Was he not the same?

To uncover the truth behind his father’s death, the young Marquis of Coldwater had once again and again swung his longsword deep within the marquis residence. No matter the gale or the driving rain, no matter the blinding snow, he had never stopped.

Even knowing he possessed no spiritual root, he had still pressed forward without fear or retreat.

They were, in truth, the same kind of person.

For their families, they could give everything without regard for cost.

Only, Zhou Yuanliang had underestimated the Misty Pavilion’s methods and the Imperial Preceptor’s viciousness.

Cloud Lack had not previously known that the Misty Pavilion had always been targeting the current first minister. After hearing Zhou Yuanliang’s account, he also attributed the crisis surrounding the Duke of Yu’s estate to the Misty Pavilion’s doing.

The fellow disguised as Blue Feather Rise was very likely connected to the Misty Pavilion!

And the golden flood serpent in the river was also highly likely to have been raised by them!

“Then the charges against the Mu family were surely also the Misty Pavilion’s handiwork. The Imperial Preceptor’s line is truly terrifying.”

Looking out at the night beyond the window, Cloud Lack murmured, “The men the Misty Pavilion placed outside the Mu family mines were not there to guard the mines, but to keep watch for the barbarians, to warn Mu Wan of danger, and to help the Mu family firmly establish the accusation of collusion with the barbarian tribes.”

The ones truly colluding with the barbarian tribes were not the Mu family, but the Misty Pavilion!

“The Misty Pavilion acts in secrecy and with great caution. It is not easy to seize hold of their weakness. Even if everyone knows in private that they are the ones colluding with the barbarian tribes, without evidence no one can bring them down. And even if evidence is produced, they can still change course and twist black into white.”

Cloud Lack fell silent.

Speculation was useless. When it came to figures like the Imperial Preceptor, nothing so flimsy as hearsay could shake them.

To act rashly would only invite the other side’s killing intent.

There were countless censors in court, and they remonstrated the emperor every day. Yet few had ever been punished for it. How much less likely was it to move the Imperial Preceptor, who controlled the Misty Pavilion?

Cloud Lack had once seen Wei Mocheng at the Duke’s banquet and had only thought him steady, seasoned, and deeply scheming. He had never imagined he was such a troublesome person.

What Cloud Lack had never imagined even more was that the seemingly prosperous Yan Empire had rotted to such an extent that it was already on the verge of collapse.

“Have you ever thought of using Sword Palace to contend with the Misty Pavilion, even a little?” Cloud Lack asked.

“It would be of little use. The elders cannot interfere in state affairs. That is the rule of the upper sect, and no one dares violate it. Dynasties rise and fall, and Sword Palace has nothing to do with it. Even if the barbarians reached the city gates, even if they occupied the entire Yan Empire, Sword Palace would still be Sword Palace. At worst, it would simply change its name.”

Zhou Yuanliang sighed.

“Most of the sword disciples are Yan citizens; their families are all in Yan. Who would be willing to risk opposing the Misty Pavilion? Aren’t they afraid of retaliation?”

“If the Misty Pavilion is not removed, Great Yan is doomed sooner or later,” Cloud Lack said helplessly.

His own strength was too meager to contend with the gigantic Misty Pavilion. Even knowing the Imperial Preceptor harbored treacherous designs, he had no good solution.

For now, he could only place his hopes on the civil-military pact between the current first minister and the Duke of Yu, praying that those two old men might yet preserve the empire’s final breath of life.

“In the end, it comes down to our cultivation being insufficient. If I could form my core, I would already have stormed into the Misty Pavilion, dragged Wei Mocheng out, and beaten him until he talked, no matter what!” Zhou Yuanliang said bitterly. “So this time, in the Sword Child contest, I will not hold back. I mean to charge into the Foundation Establishment realm!”

Over the years, the Sword Palace’s Sword Child contest had been about more than the title; it also carried astonishing rewards.

One of them was the Foundation Establishment Pill, the most crucial medicine for advancing into Foundation Establishment.

“I’m rooting for you.”

Cloud Lack smiled and looked out at the long street beyond the window.

Because they sat on the third floor of the wine house, the view was excellent. The city was bright with lantern light, and the streets were crowded with people.

Farther still stood the imperial palace, resplendent in gold and jade and occupying a vast expanse of land.

Behind the palace, at the very center of the imperial capital, towered a great structure.

It was a sword.

A golden giant sword, forged entirely of bronze and iron, nearly a hundred feet tall.

“The Sword of the Son of Heaven...”

Cloud Lack gazed at the giant sword in the distance and murmured softly.

The Sword of the Son of Heaven was not yet complete; it was already about ninety percent finished, with only the final sword tip remaining.

Countless iron chains could be seen hanging from its body, while craftsmen labored day and night, without sleep or rest, forging this sword of the nation’s destiny for the emperor.

The distant Sword of the Son of Heaven plunged Cloud Lack into deep thought.

The originator of all conspiracies, the hidden hand stirring the dark currents—very likely the Imperial Preceptor!

What exactly was Wei Mocheng’s purpose?

What was the use of the Sword of the Son of Heaven?

What connection existed between the Misty Pavilion and the barbarian tribes?

One question after another rose in his mind, yet none had any answer.