The Kingdom of Li was restless. Since the northern border cities started to recover, the emperor's sleep had grown shorter, and the officials' voices in the hall longer. They demanded action. If some hidden power had risen beyond his reach, even the silent heavens might turn against him.
At last, the Emperor gave a quiet order.
"Send the cultivators of the Azure Dragon Hall. Let them see who commands my lost towns. If he is a rebel, destroy him. If not, bring me his name."
The Azure Dragon Hall was not a regiment; it was a whisper. Made up of the empire's strongest shadow cultivators, they could kill a man without leaving a footprint. Each of the three dispatched north was known to move faster than a hawk's shadow.
For three nights, they scouted the mountains, following broken clues and half‑erased energies. They found old footprints of demons, faint divine auras buried under the soil, and even traces of thunder in the clouds—but never the presence of a "commander".
When they reached Frostveil City, they disguised themselves as merchants. From there, they began observing every officer and squad leader.
What they saw puzzled them.
There was no grand general's tent, no golden banners, and no trace of royal etiquette. The soldiers here lived simply—repairing armor, forging spears, laughing around campfires. They were disciplined but strangely warm‑hearted, greeting strangers like old kin.
And among them, sitting cross‑legged beside the largest bonfire, eating simple porridge with the rest, was a man named Ling Chen.
He wore no ornaments, no robe of high quality—just a rough grey uniform like any other. His hands were calloused from sword drills. At night, he shared blankets with exhausted troops. During storms, he stood guard beside them, never asking for special treatment.
At first, the spies ignored him. Too ordinary. Too plain. But by the second day, one of them started to notice something—how every soldier unconsciously mirrored his movements, how his smallest nod silenced quarrels, and how even Mo Han, the fierce demon‑general in crimson armor, bent his head slightly when this "low soldier" spoke.
Still, they couldn't pinpoint anything supernatural. The man's spiritual aura was weak, no higher than a Core Formation stage. He often joked, carried water, and helped stitch torn tents. To the cultivators' eyes, he was a man with no ambition—just another exile trying to survive.
Late one evening, they hid behind the training ground's shadows as Ling Chen climbed onto a small wooden platform. The soldiers gathered around, half‑drunk and smiling.
"You've all worked hard today," he said, voice warm but firm. "I used to live in a palace where people commanded without lifting a finger. But now, eating beside you, I've learnt what real strength feels like. From now on, we rise and fall together. No brothers left behind."
The soldiers roared their agreement, banging cups and weapons in rhythm.
One of the spies lowered his hood, whispering to the others, "This can't be him. He's no commander of gods—just a fool inspiring farmers."
The others nodded. "Still, we'll report. The emperor must hear."
When they left that night, unseen eyes followed them from the watchtower. Yue Zhilan sighed softly as the wind brushed her silver hair. "They came and went without knowing they stood beside gods," she murmured.
Behind her, Ling Chen stepped out of the shadows, wiping dirt from his hands. "They saw what I wanted them to see."
She turned slightly. "You let them live."
"They found nothing worth killing them for," I said. "Let them return with tales of ordinary soldiers and campfires. The more ordinary I seem, the longer we'll have to grow."
Mo Han appeared next, his armor still faintly glowing. "You humble yourself too much, my lord. In my world, warriors of your rank command cities, not share blankets with peasants."
I smiled, shaking my head. "Those 'peasants' will be my shield one day. If I don't share their cold, why would they share my battles?"
The demon general paused, then bowed deeply. "Then you truly are the man my soul once vowed to follow."
Yue Zhilan said nothing but looked strangely pleased, her eyes reflecting the bonfire's light.
The next morning, I sat again among the soldiers, helping a young recruit fix his broken spearhead. My fingers were raw, but the laughter around me made the pain worthwhile.
"Brother Ling, you shouldn't work this hard," the boy said shyly. "You fight better than any of us."
"We fight the same fight," I replied with a grin. "I just happen to swing earlier."
As the sun rose, the Myth System whispered softly in my mind.
"Ding! Hidden Condition achieved—'Heart of Mortals'. All mortal units under your command gain +20% loyalty and +10% combat morale."
"Imperial spies have retreated to the capital. The report is classified as 'No evidence of rebel activity'. Security Risk: Low."
I let out a breath of relief. The illusion had worked perfectly.
Wen Zixing approached quietly, holding fresh orders from our rebuilt cities. "The emperor has accepted the spies' report," he said. "He believes the rumours are exaggerated. For now, we're safe."
"Good," I said. "That gives us time."
"What will you do with it?" he asked.
I watched the soldiers training in the distance—their laughter turning into roars of determination as Mo Han barked commands. "Build," I said simply. "Not just armies, but people. When the empire finally looks here again, they won't find rebels—they'll find a nation united by loyalty."
Yue Zhilan smiled faintly. "A low soldier building nations. The heavens will laugh."
"Let them laugh," I said, stretching. "By the time they stop, it'll be too late to stop me."
That night, as I lay on the cold ground among my brothers, staring at the stars through the tent's holes, I felt a strange peace.
Once, I had slept on silk sheets, alone in golden halls. Now, surrounded by the warmth of shared struggle, I realized I had finally found something worth protecting.
And somewhere far away, in his quiet palace, the emperor dreamed peacefully—never guessing that the soldier eating porridge with his men would soon change the fate of worlds.