The Man Behind the Greatest Under Heaven - Chapter 2

The first time he saw Luo Ziqi, he was playing cuju with his junior brothers. By accident, he kicked the ball into his master’s courtyard, where it caught in a tree.

Though he was their senior brother, he had joined the sect last and came from the poorest family, so errands always fell to him. He climbed over the wall on his lame leg to retrieve it.

Inside the wall, a young swordsman in robes white as snow was practicing.

One glance left him spellbound. By the time he came to himself, he realized he was crying.

By then, he knew good swordsmanship from bad. He sensed that he could never attain such skill—not in his entire life—and a boundless sorrow swept over him.

Yet beneath his jealousy lay an even deeper sense of relief. “I may never reach that height, but someone in this world has. I saw it with my own eyes.”

Below, the young swordsman sheathed his blade and looked up at him. His eyes were quiet and clear, reflecting peach blossoms and a bright sky.

Caught watching, he perched awkwardly on the wall and applauded. The cuju ball slipped from between his hands and fell.

The young swordsman picked it up, dusted it off, and held it up to him.

Reaching for it, he said, “Hello, my name is…”

“Ziqi.” A group of young men and women with billowing sleeves approached along the covered walkway. Their white robes bore exquisite blue trim, and each held a keen sword identical to his.

“Let’s go!” they called loudly.

“Coming.” The young swordsman passed him the ball, turned, and left.

He never got to introduce himself.

After he climbed down, his junior brothers clutched their chests and repeatedly asked whether anyone had seen him. “If the Sect Leader finds out, he’ll chew us out!”

“Not the Sect Leader. There was just someone practicing his sword.”

He told them what had happened inside the wall. They exchanged knowing looks. “Oh. Luo Ziqi.”

When he asked who Luo Ziqi was, they all curled their lips, their faces brimming with envy, jealousy, and resentment.

“Those personal disciples are different from us,” they finally explained with admirable concision. “We call the Sect Leader ‘Master,’ but only in name. They truly inherit every move and form from the great masters. Not like us, stuck with rotten wooden swords.”

After that, deliberately or otherwise, he learned a great deal about Luo Ziqi.

Born to a distinguished family and blessed with exceptional aptitude, at only thirteen he already stood foremost among his generation in the sect. Even among his elders, only his master and martial uncle could exchange sword moves with him. Upright in character as well, he had been named the next Sect Leader of Mount Qingcheng and was plainly destined to become another legend of the martial world.

No one dared say it aloud, but everyone was waiting—waiting for Luo Ziqi to grow up and become the greatest under heaven.

After hearing all this, he could not even bring himself to feel jealous. He simply sat there dazed, thinking, This is what a life should be.

The life he wanted.

He developed a strange concern for Luo Ziqi. To him, Luo Ziqi was another version of himself, one who had suffered no misfortune. Born into the right family, gifted beyond measure and comfortably provided for, he had never had his leg broken, never gone hungry. He had fine teachers and good friends, patrons who recognized his worth. It was as if everything between heaven and earth were helping him, with nothing to stop him from reaching the summit of the martial world.

Suddenly, he understood why he had suffered so much. Trembling, he decided that the world was fair after all. Luo Ziqi’s fate was too blessed, so another version of him in the world had to bear the bad luck—the two faces of a mirror.

He thought that was just fine.

“If someone has to be unlucky, let it be me.” Kneeling before the Founder’s shrine as he made an offering for lamp oil, he secretly wished, “May Luo Ziqi be safe, may everything go smoothly for him, and may he become the greatest under heaven.”

For all he could not accomplish, he prayed that Luo Ziqi would.

Luo Ziqi embodied everything he longed for.

After watching his martial uncle cross swords with Luo Ziqi from afar once more, he told his master that he would stop practicing martial arts.

He might have been a disciple in name only, but because of his martial uncle, he could still speak directly with his master.

His master asked, “Then what do you want to do?”

He replied, “I have no lofty ambitions. I only wish to tend to Master’s daily needs and fulfill my duty as a disciple.”

His master sighed and let him have his way.

At first, he did tend to daily needs. He cooked meals, ran errands for the Sect Leader, and delivered letters. Everyone in the vast sect knew him, while he knew the particulars of every one of them.

Gradually, he began frequenting the storerooms. How much had been spent on iron today? How much rent would the estates collect tomorrow? His master said, “You’re good with accounts, and you have sharp eyes.” So he was allowed into the secret archive to organize and copy martial arts manuals.

Later still, he accompanied the Sect Leader when receiving guests.

They were all prominent elders of the martial world, smiling as they praised Luo Ziqi in front of his master.

During those years, Luo Ziqi traveled the martial world with his martial uncle, his fame rising swiftly.

His fragrance had drifted from inside the wall to the world beyond.

He felt a secret joy.

A child of my house was coming of age—Luo Ziqi of Mount Qingcheng.