Feng Bo'e, however, couldn't help but think this was too far-fetched. Borderline conspiracy theory. So he disagreed.
He muttered, "Then why, though? … why pretend to be clueless? Why throw away such a treasure?"
Bao Butong was silenced. That was the question neither could answer.
Murong Fu, who had remained silent until now, tapped his folding fan against his palm, gaze still fixed on the distant pavilion behind them.
"Simple," he said.
"He doesn't want the palace to know."
The fan closed with a crisp snap. Murong Fu's expression had settled into something cooler, more focused.
"This entire performance—from his ignorance to his generosity—is misdirection."
He mounted his horse.
"If a man throws away gold in front of you, it's only because there's something bigger in his hands he doesn't want you to see, or…"
He paused and then continued, "That's the only thing he has left. Throwing away gold is a tactic to protect himself. It's a bluff to make the world think he still has power."
If Bao Butong saw through the meeting to a certain extent… would Murong Fu stay blind?
"From the start to the finish, the whole discussion was under his command. Whether it was the crane startling us, the introduction of the sword manual, or even gifting it to me," he said.
Inwardly, he muttered to himself, 'Especially when he threw away the martial art like it was trash and I caught it with both hands like… like I was some kind of…'
Humiliation bubbled inside him. Bending like a beggar in front of the prince. The scene repeated itself in his mind, like a broken movie reel.
He did his best to hide his emotions as he patiently explained things to his team.
"You ask why he would act so naïve?"
Murong Fu's voice turned sharp, the air around him subtly shifting.
"It's simple."
He slowed his horse, drawing his fan across his palm as if slicing through fog.
"One—because the reigning Imperial clan of the Ashenvale Dynasty has always favored literature over the sword.
Ever since the founding of the empire, they've suppressed martial power to prevent another military coup from destabilizing the throne."
He looked at his companions, eyes gleaming with clarity and conviction.
"Two—and more importantly—though the Duke of Sundawn rose through scandal and misfortune, his bloodline traces directly back to the lineage of Emperor Asheville."
He tapped the side of the saddle thoughtfully.
"I've heard that the current emperor… is narrow-minded. Petty. Unwilling to tolerate those who overshadow him."
Murong Fu paused, letting that idea linger.
"Every new title, every gesture of favor granted to Riveron Ashvale only breeds more resentment among the court. Riveron Ashvale is probably more powerful than anyone thinks. I believe the court doesn't know this.
Look how easily things cooled down after he was crowned. No voices of dissatisfaction, nothing from the ruling class families in these lands. You think that's natural?"
He leaned forward slightly, voice low.
"Now with this martial art 'gifted' to us as a 'favor'. If 'something' happened, he could use our name. After all, martial warriors repay their favors.
An already existing powerful martial family as an ally is the best cover. It's not good to let the court know he is more than just a martial talent.
Not for him. Not for anyone connected to him. And I bet the Emperor had already hinted or told him outright to stay in this border land without climbing the ladder."
He snapped the fan shut.
"But a hidden dragon in the abyss… does not and cannot remain hidden forever."
He smiled coldly.
"This Riveron Ashvale… he doesn't look like a youth planning to remain some idle noble, lounging by the lakeside with wine and poetry.
He's preparing. Quietly and patiently. And when the time comes…"
His gaze turned distant, as though peering far beyond the horizon. As if looking at the golden opportunity shining on his face.
"If we can align ourselves with that rising storm… if his rebellion stirs unrest in the imperial court—succession struggles, regional strife, a fractured Imperial family…"
He exhaled.
"That chaos could become our opportunity."
Bao Butong and Feng Bo'e exchanged glances.
They had heard such words before.
The Murong family had chased restoration for years, plot after plot, each ending in failure or irrelevance. But something about Murong Fu's tone this time felt… different.
Even Bao Butong, who was usually the first to blurt out "No, no!" with skepticism, fell quiet.
There was something sharp and clear in the air now.
Murong Fu's excitement was palpable. He was drawing lines in the sand, connecting pieces, seeing openings where none had existed before.
Bao Butong interjected with a question in a hushed voice, "Master, are we actually planning to overthrow Ashenvale?"
Murong Fu listened and let out a sigh.
"Once, we might have had the strength to compete. But now, things are different. A mighty behemoth like this thirty-thousand-year-old dynasty isn't something we can easily just 'overthrow'.
But if I die after laying a foundation solid enough for my descendants to climb in power, then isn't this a glorious achievement itself?"
As he spoke, his emotions ping-ponged from solemnity, severity, joy, and melancholy
The two subordinates also sighed. If that was achieved, they could move away from this borderland.
"Thinking about foundations…," Murong Fu mused, his voice smooth now, calculating.
"He refused my offer to exchange ten Mystic-grade martial arts manuals for the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual. With that gesture, he shows he's not swayed by greed."
He clicked his tongue.
"But then, he deliberately mentioned the Star-Shifting Technique. The 'name' of the martial art we take pride in. You think this was some kind of 'coincidence'?
He knew what he was doing. He was subtly hinting that this was the price he truly sought."
"This—!"
Bao Butong's eyes widened.
"Young Master, you mustn't! The Star-Shifting Technique is the lifeblood of our clan—it's our family's most sacred inheritance!"
Murong Fu hesitated, just for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"No. You're wrong, Brother Bao."
"To achieve great things, one must take great risks."
He spoke clearly, his voice now resolute.
"If it means reviving our name—if it means seeing the banner of our old kingdom's rise once more over these lands—then what is one manual?"
"If it takes giving away the entire Repaying Water Pavilion, then so be it."
He waved his fan in a sweeping arc.
"And besides… this Evil-Repelling Sword Manual—though strange and dangerous—is no ordinary scroll. I suspect what I've seen is only a fragment."
His voice lowered.
"If complete, it may very well be a Heaven-tier martial art."
Feng Bo'e sucked in a breath.
"Heaven-tier?" he repeated.
"That's… that's the kind of technique spoken of in myths. With it, one could transcend the mortal peak. Forge a path to the legendary realm of the immortal warrior."
Not much was known about the arts of this caliber.
Murong Fu nodded slowly.
"Every Heaven-tier martial art is a foundation unto itself. Enough to build a sect or an entire dynasty around. Enough to shift the power structure of the entire Martial world."
He turned his horse toward the path.
Bao Butong muttered into hushed incredulity: "If this manual ever spreads… the blood it will spill will dye the rivers red."
Murong Fu nodded to himself, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of his fan.
"Our family's Star-Shifting Technique," he muttered, "has always had a fatal flaw."
He turned his gaze toward the horizon, voice low and thoughtful.
"While powerful in application, its greatest weakness lies in internal cultivation. It lacks the capacity to generate true force. Without a foundation of inner strength, it can only reflect the energy of others—never produce it."
He exhaled slowly, a familiar bitterness creeping into his expression.
"For generations, our family has scoured the martial world, searching for a complementary internal skill. Something to complete the Star-Shifting Technique, to transform it from a mirror… into a weapon."
His voice fell quiet for a moment.
"But no one succeeded."
Then, a flicker of excitement returned to his eyes.
"If the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual truly originates from a heaven-tier art… even as a fragment… then this might be the opportunity our clan has waited for."
In the world of martial cultivation, internal arts always outweighed external ones in value.
Where fists and swords could be trained through sweat and repetition, internal cultivation required comprehension—intuition—alignment with the flow of qi, it was the heart of all true martial mastery.
The Evil-Repelling Sword Manual, from what little he had seen, offered both.
Not just a refined and dangerous inner method, but also an exquisite sword technique—elegant, unorthodox, and deadly.
A dual treasure.
"If I can fully comprehend it… integrate it with the styles I've studied… push my understanding beyond current limitations…"
His fists clenched slowly at his side.
"Then I'll easily step into the Innate and fully become an innate creature of heaven and earth.
A transformation of life, power, and perhaps even our destiny."
His excitement bubbled beneath his skin.
"On the surface, I appear to have made a foolish trade," Murong Fu whispered, a slow smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.
"But in truth… I've gained far more than I gave."
…..
Meanwhile, inside the Pavilion.
"I've gained far more than I gave."
Riven Ashvale sat still, cross-legged beneath the vaulted rafters, his breath calm, his body motionless.
Then he took a deep breath, and his eyes suddenly sprang open.
They glimmered like mighty golden stars piercing through fog, each speck of light carrying a depth impossible to fake.
It was not some brightness of vision.
It was the light of comprehension. The wisdom of perfect clarity.
The system's transmission technique had finished.