Jian Zhi headed to his cave in Devil’s Mountain. Deep inside, he felt a lingering dissatisfaction—a flaw in his training had been exposed.
He went to The Flow of Magic (灵流瀑布 - Líng Liú Pùbù). In the fading twilight, as light surrendered to darkness, he drew the Punisher and let Yǐnhún Zhě roam free near the farm.
He stepped into the pounding force of the waterfall and sat beneath its crushing weight. There, he began to meditate, diving deep into the most hidden parts of his mind.
[????]: Why have you come now? What do you want?
[Jian Zhi]: I need your help.
[????]: Help? From me? Look at my state before you speak, you fool.
An unknown aura radiated from the figure—chained in heavy metal, trapped in the deepest dungeon of his soul, surrounded by darkness.
[Jian Zhi]: I know I am the one who locked you away. But it is the same me asking for your help. Your coldness, your ruthlessness—I need them. Combine with me. Remember the day Mother was killed? That was the first day you and I met.[????]: Stop your nonsense. I was being myself. I should have killed that bastard before burning the house. But you stopped me. You locked me away. If you hadn’t, the world would have been mine.
[Jian Zhi]: I know what you are capable of. But raw power without discipline is wasted. Even though you are stronger than I in every way, I locked you away because your sorrow was consuming you. That is not what Mother would have been proud of.
[????]: Tch. Then why ask for my help if you’re so high and mighty on your own?
[Jian Zhi]: We must combine. Your strength and my discipline. Your fire and my metal. Yin and Yang.
[????]: Tch. Do not forget—I am only agreeing because I finally understand what Mother wanted us to be. After seeing those people place their hopes in you… Jian Zhi. Let me temper that metal of yours.
After the long conversation with his sealed self, the General of Fire and Metal was born.
Jian Zhi trained under the waterfall, its force hardening his resolve. He recreated Lǐ Wěi’s swordsmanship, merging it with his own speed and strength.
After a week, each swing of his blade carried immense power—cutting through air and water, slashing trees and rocks without direct contact. The very wind became his weapon.
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His intimidating, hellish aura became larger yet calmer, adding depth to his appearance. His Body muscles grew even tighter and stronger, and his cold eyes started to radiate fire.
In Liánhuā District, the people waited for their savior. For a week, their eyes remained fixed on the path he would return by.
Lian’s voice trembled, on the verge of tears. “Sister Mei Lin… do you think he left us? Or… has something happened to the General?
Mei Lin shook her head firmly. “No. He would not abandon us. We saw the courtyard—the blood, Lǐ Wěi’s body. He will return.”
Lian nodded, though unease still clouded her eyes.
Scribe Wén oversaw the reconstruction of the palace, preparing it for a new ruler—waiting, always waiting, for the Crimson General’s return.
Captain Zhào trained the soldiers and the Revengers’ Army, drilling them in the Devil’s Way and archery. His thoughts often wandered. Where did you go, you brat? When you come back, I’m smacking you right on the head.
At the safe house, Lin Wei sat by the entrance, her small face pale with worry. She stared down the empty path, day after day, hoping to see her brother return.
Then, one afternoon, she saw it—a faint blur of red and white in the distance. She rubbed her eyes, leaned forward, and her heart leapt. A smile burst across her face, bright and relieved. “He’s back! He’s back!” she cried, running to tell the others.
They rushed out, hearts pounding, and there he was—Jian Zhi, atop Yǐnhún Zhě, looking down at them with a calm, familiar gaze.
“Were you all worried during my absence?” he asked, a faint smile on his lips. “My apologies. I had to meet someone important.”
Tears welled in the women’s eyes. As he dismounted, they swarmed him—touching his armor, clutching his hands, their voices overlapping in relief and joy. “We missed you so much, General! You should have told us! We thought we’d never see you again!”
Jian Zhi raised a hand. “Everyone… take position. Wipe your tears.”
Instinctively, they straightened, composing themselves despite their emotion.
“I understand how you feel,” he said, his voice warmer now. “Now that I am here, let us go inside. Tonight, we feast.”
Word spread like wildfire. Joy erupted throughout Liánhuā District. Captain Zhào and his soldiers, along with the Revengers’ Army, dropped their training and ran toward the safe house. Scribe Wén watched them go, a deep, relieved smile finally gracing his weary face.
That night, under lantern light and laughter, the feast began. Captain Zhào reached for a jar of wine—only to freeze under Jian Zhi’s piercing gaze.
“What? It’s not the addictive kind! It’s just normal wine! Stop looking at me like that!” Zhào said, a nervous smile forming.
Jian Zhi’s expression did not change.
“Fine, fine! I won’t drink it. Just stop staring.”
Jian Zhi rose. His voice carried clearly over the celebration. “From this day forward, not a single drop of alcohol will flow in this district. We have all seen what it does to the mind.”
The people nodded, some with regret, most with firm agreement. The wine was removed.
Then Scribe Wén stood. The feast fell silent. awaits for Scribe Wén's words.
“People of Liánhuā,” he announced, voice strong and clear. “The time has come to name our new ruler. Jian Zhi—the Crimson General—shall be our king. We are no longer part of the Azure Mandate Empire (青天命王朝 - Qīng Tiānmìng Wángcháo). Our district is now the Dawn under the Crimson General’s reign.”
A roar of approval filled the night. They raised their cups—filled now with water and tea—to toast their future. A new beginning had truly arrived. The Crimson General's reign has began.
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