Chapter 121: A Born Sage?
In the blink of an eye—
Twenty-three fierce, lifelike beast phantoms surged into view behind the youth of Shi Village. The aura they exuded wasn't a shade weaker than that of the elite Human Clan warriors.
Sixteen or seventeen—it's an age of raw energy and hot blood.
They may not all be Shi Yi or Shi Hao, but that didn't mean the Human Clan were ripe for the taking. These were sons of the Great Wilderness, tempered in wild lands and hardship. They weren't about to bow their heads to anyone.
Here's the thing.
The people of Shi Village knew full well that in a one-on-one fight, they wouldn't last long against true elites from the Human Clan. But they weren't naïve or noble to a fault. Why fight alone when they could fight as a group—justly, tactically?
Shi Yi had always hammered one lesson into their heads: If you can fight in a group, never go it alone. Don't try to play the lone hero. That's just ego wrapped in suffering. Coordinated effort, pooled strength—that's the smart path.
This mindset didn't come from nowhere.
In his past life, Shi Yi had watched anime of this world. He remembered clearly how Shi Hao—the one who would become the Desolate Emperor—was constantly being ganged up on. If he wasn't getting beaten down, he was on the way there.
Sure, being the lone hero is dramatic. It's cool. But it's also a fast track to tragedy. Shi Yi had no desire to follow that path. He believed in networks, in division of labor, in infiltration and disassembly from within—not charging headfirst into every problem.
He didn't buy into the myth that the Other Realm was some perfect, unified wall. He didn't believe the highborn dark entities were all loyal and harmonious.
As long as they had thoughts, they had ambition. Where there's ambition, there's weakness.
Why charge alone into a wall of enemies when the smarter move is to divide them?
After all—
This world doesn't belong to just one Shi Yi. It's everyone's. So why should he bear the burden alone?
That was something he could never quite understand about Shi Hao. That stubborn fool always picked the hardest road, shouldering the pain of the world as if that were some kind of virtue.
If he had even a shred of strategic instinct—bring in allies, turn enemies into followers, strike from the shadows—things wouldn't have gotten so bloody.
But Shi Yi wasn't being unfair.
Sometimes it wasn't Shi Hao's fault.
The world itself was broken.
Fight. Fight. Fight.Kill. Kill. Kill.
That's all anyone ever knew.
Hundred Shatter Mountains. Silent Valley.
"The stars... the meteors... it was all so beautiful."
Yun Xi hadn't fully shaken off the brilliance of last night's meteor shower. Even now, as morning sun replaced moonlight, she remained lost in that moment.
"The mortal world holds endless beauty," Shi Yi said lazily, stretching as he lay with his head resting on Liu Shen's lap.
No one else could see Liu Shen—she existed outside ordinary perception. To Yun Xi, Shi Yi looked as if he were reclining midair.
And that wasn't impossible. Cultivators in the Cave Heaven Realm could float with a single strand of divine radiance. But Shi Yi looked like he wasn't even trying—just hovering there as if born to it.
"There's no choice," Yun Xi said, shaking her head. "If you don't fight, someone else will."
She wasn't a natural killer. But in this world, you either learned to draw blood or became someone else's stepping stone. Kindness didn't keep you alive.
Shi Yi gave her a slow, amused glance.
"Contending isn't always contending. Refusing to contend can be the greatest form of contention. Only the one who doesn't fight becomes the one no one dares fight."
He wasn't against struggle. That would be naïve. The strong devour the weak—it's natural law. Survival is contention.
But meaningless, headlong struggle? That's not bravery. That's stupidity.
Humans are human because they have minds.
Mindless fighting is the last resort. Wisdom is the first.
To conquer without bloodshed, that's true victory.
Now, to be clear—
Shi Yi wasn't saying never to fight. You needed a hard fist to back up your words. Power was truth. Without a big enough fist, your reasoning didn't matter.
But that didn't mean you only use your fists.
Even Confucius—the revered Sage—preached with discipline, backed by the strength of his three thousand disciples. People listened not just because of his wisdom, but because they had to.
So in the end—
You need both fists and reason.
One forces your enemy to sit down.The other convinces them to stay seated.
Wisdom is power. But it's not a replacement for strength. And strength without wisdom is just noise.
"Holy Child, I don't fully understand your meaning," Yun Xi said honestly.
She wasn't pretending. She was well-read, but the idea of winning through non-contention—that you could rise above the struggle by refusing to play—was foreign to her. Shi Yi's words made her feel as though a new path had opened. One not paved in corpses.
"Because you do not see yourself, you see clearly.Because you do not assert yourself, you shine forth.Because you do not boast, your merits endure.Because you are not proud, you never fall."
Shi Yi recited the ancient words calmly. Though in the old tongue, the meaning was sharp. These were the teachings of Laozi, the Daoist Sage—simple on the surface, deep at the core.
Yun Xi bowed her head in reverence. "Holy Child's words are wisdom made flesh. I thank you."
Even just a few lines of Laozi's words stirred something in her—something deeper than brute force or blind ambition. Something that spoke to a greater Dao.
"No need for thanks," Shi Yi said, waving her off. "These aren't my words. The Sage deserves the credit."
Though truth be told…
He didn't think the so-called Sages of this world were worth much. They fought, they killed, and that was the end of it. The true Sages—the ones who taught with vision—came from his previous life.
Confucius. Laozi. Their ideas were richer than any divine technique.
No Sage is greater than another. But their paths—those were worlds apart.
Laozi was a Sage of the Way—calm, effortless, in harmony with nature.
Confucius stood for order, hierarchy, and duty. But even he wielded discipline like a weapon.
Shi Yi had memorized Daoist texts from cover to cover. As for Confucian teachings? The Analects were all he had—reinterpreted, misquoted, and half-sarcastic at that.
Confucius once said: When death draws near, the truth comes out.
Confucius also said: Even the stubborn get polite when they're about to be beaten to death.
Shi Yi's internal monologue was full of irreverent paraphrases. Not because he was mocking them—but because, honestly, most people used Confucianism however it suited them. The original meaning rarely survived the retelling.
Take repaying wrongs with virtue—people loved quoting it. But the second part, repay kindness with kindness, repay grievance with justice, was conveniently forgotten.
Daoism, at least, resisted distortion. Its core was stillness, non-action, natural balance. That couldn't be spun.
Confucianism debated human nature endlessly—were people born good, or evil?
Daoism didn't bother.
Some people are born monsters. They do evil naturally and only stop when laws force them to.
Others are kind without trying. They don't need rules to act with compassion.
"Holy Child… You bear the Double Pupils. Are you… a born Sage?"
Yun Xi's voice was full of awe.
Shi Yi paused.
"A Sage? Me?"
He said nothing more.
But the look in his eyes made it clear.
He didn't need the title.
And he didn't want it.