Chapter 37: Falling Ill

"What kind of talk is that?"

Murong Bo felt that his son was becoming increasingly strange. He must be ill! Could it be that he had been putting too much pressure on Murong Fu lately? Alas! That affair from many years ago had not been handled elegantly enough, leaving him under suspicion. Not only had it failed to incite hatred between the Liao and Song dynasties, but it had also brought trouble upon himself; he feared he would have to find a way to lie low. Before hiding away, he had to settle his family affairs.

"Fu'er, you must be ill, suffering from some sort of delusion!" Murong Bo was convinced that Murong Fu had fallen sick. He reached out to grab him, aiming for several vital pressure points on Murong Fu’s body—once caught, Murong Fu would be unable to move.

But he was dealing with Shi Fei. A man whose strength was unknown even to himself.

Facing this grab, Shi Fei merely parried it with a light movement, brushing the hand aside before striking a palm against Murong Bo’s chest. Murong Bo felt a mountain-toppling, sea-draining force, and he found himself flying uncontrollably through the air!

With a thud, he slammed into the bookshelf behind him. Yet, he was unhurt, and the bookshelf remained intact. Without a doubt, Shi Fei had held back. After all, Murong Bo was the father of this body; to beat him senseless the moment he arrived in the guise of Murong Fu would be truly unseemly.

"I am indeed ill, but not in a way that you can cure," Shi Fei said, shaking his head. Why did he dream? Why did every dream feel like a person’s entire lifetime? Why did one dream inherit things from the last? What exactly did this represent? He was deeply perplexed.

"Your cultivation..." Murong Bo rubbed his chest, looking at Murong Fu in disbelief. Such effortless grace, devoid of any trace of struggle—even he could not achieve such a feat.

"Fu'er, what illness do you have? Father can find a doctor!" Murong Bo said, a mix of shock and joy. "With such cultivation, why worry about failing to restore the Yan kingdom?"

Shi Fei asked, "Restore which kingdom?"

Murong Bo replied, "The Great Yan!"

Shi Fei asked, "Which Yan?"

In history, there were quite a few states that went by the name "Yan."

Murong Bo spoke solemnly, "The Yan kingdom founded by our Murong ancestors! We are the descendants of emperors." Pride shone on his face; he was proud of his lineage.

Shi Fei was silent for a moment before saying, "Go out to the street and look. Of those surnamed Liu, Li, or Ji, how many are not descendants of emperors?"

Murong Bo also fell silent. In this land, the one thing there was no shortage of was descendants of emperors and aristocrats.

Shi Fei continued, "Murong Huang established the Former Yan and made Longcheng the capital. Murong Chui established the Later Yan, Murong Hong the Western Yan, and Murong De the Southern Yan. Which one are you trying to restore?"

It was fortunate that Shi Fei remembered such obscure history; only then did he know that the Xianbei Murong clan had established Yan kingdoms in the Liaoning region during the Eastern Jin period. At its peak, Murong Huang's Former Yan had included parts of Jizhou, Yanzhou, Qingzhou, Bingzhou, Yuzhou, Xuzhou, and Youzhou. But its glory was short-lived. That was during the Eastern Jin, roughly between 330 and 410 AD. Shi Fei recalled that the story of *Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils* began during the reign of Emperor Zhezong of the Northern Song, thirty years before Murong Bo's faked death. That would make it roughly the era of Emperor Yingzong of the Northern Song, around 1047 AD.

That was a gap of nearly 700 years. Seven hundred years! Not seventy! In between, there was the short-lived Sui Dynasty, the glorious Tang, then the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, and finally the current Song. Murong Bo actually wanted to restore a 700-year-old kingdom. It was akin to someone in the twenty-first century dressing up in bizarre costumes, wandering the streets, and posting on short-video platforms, claiming they wanted to restore the Great Han—not the Han of Liu Bang, not the Shu-Han of Liu Bei, but the Chen-Han of Chen Youliang! If the local tourism department heard of it, they would have to give him an award for boosting the local economy, or no one would even know who Chen Youliang was!

Murong Bo insisted, "Regardless of which Yan, they are all our ancestors." In truth, even after reading the books in his home, he couldn't distinguish the differences between these Yan kingdoms. The family records were full of contradictions. In those accounts, he was a man who worked himself to the bone for his country, worried about the people, and struggled his whole life for Yan, only to be thwarted by too many vermin and incompetent fools around him. It was a matter of fate. But in the words of others, this man was arrogant, stubborn, reckless, greedy, and lustful—not even sparing his own niece. Those caught in the currents of history could not always see history clearly.

"The family records say as much," Murong Bo added.

Shi Fei said, "I thought I was a bit crazy, but now it seems I am quite normal. I think you are the one who has gone mad, wanting to restore a country from seven hundred years ago."

"And a minor regional regime built by the Xianbei Murong clan at that."

"Shut up! How can you look down on our Murong ancestors so?" Murong Bo bellowed at Shi Fei. "You are truly ill! You used to worship our ancestors above all else."

The phrase "minor regional regime built by the Xianbei" felt like a needle pricking Murong Bo’s heart. Compared to the Great Han or the Great Tang, or even compared to the "Song," their so-called "Yan" was indeed a minor regional regime. He was certain that the Murong Fu before him had undergone some change; he really didn't seem like his son anymore.

He channeled his energy, raised his hand, and pointed into the void at Murong Fu’s chest. This finger strike was the Murong family’s secret technique, the "Canhe Finger." Murong Bo boasted that its power was comparable to the "Six Meridian Divine Sword" of the Dali Duan clan.

Shi Fei watched this move with helplessness. Ignoring the finger, he countered with a finger strike of his own. This single movement left Murong Bo paralyzed, his body feeling as though one half were burning while the other was frozen, and he found he could not even utter a sound.

A quarter-hour later, Shi Fei finally released the hold. He looked at the sweat-drenched Murong Bo and asked, "Can you listen to people properly now?"

When you lack a fist, no one will listen to you. His martial arts started with Yin and Yang, and disrupting the internal flow of Yin and Yang in others was simple.

"What is this martial art? Who are you!" Murong Bo felt sore all over; the pain he had just endured was like being in hell. Was there really such a torturous method in the world? Was this truly his son? Murong Bo began to doubt himself.

"No matter who you are, don't forget to restore the Great Yan!" he shouted.

"With you like this, you still want to restore a country?" Shi Fei sneered. "Do you even know how to restore a country?"

Murong Bo replied, "Rally the heroes of the pugilistic world, respond to a single call. Use discord and intrigue to create conflict. Amass wealth and grain, and raise an army."

Shi Fei shook his head and said, "If that could successfully restore a country, I would never eat savory tofu pudding again!"

"And I wouldn't eat sweet either!"

Although Murong Bo didn't know what restoring a country had to do with tofu pudding, he clearly heard the disdain in Shi Fei's tone. As he glared, he heard Shi Fei continue: "Beg me, and I will tell you what professional rebellion looks like."

"When it comes to treason, I am a professional."