Chapter 111: The Pope
The sea in the old man’s eyes was very calm, giving a feeling of infinite mercy... but it was still a sea. It was hard to imagine what towering waves that sea would churn up when the old man grew angry, what thunderbolts would be born in the spray, what a majestic and sacred scene that would be.
“I was just talking with you, and you fell asleep like that. What else could I do but read a book?” the old man said, looking at Merisa with a smile.
Merisa still stared at the green leaf in the basin, shaking his head as he said, “You know very well why I’ve come. You should show the children the way.”
“Every person walks their own path.”
The old man in the linen robe said, “That child has been walking steadily ever since he arrived in the capital. I’m not too worried, I just hope... he can mature a little faster.”
Clearly, the old man cared deeply about the child mentioned in these words.
Hearing the word “mature,” Merisa fell silent for a long time. In the quiet, deep halls of the detached palace, it seemed as if an invisible pressure was gradually building.
“Maturity needs the nourishment of rain, and sometimes it needs pressure even more.”
The old man in the linen robe said, “The Heavenly Mechanism Pavilion’s new rankings should be arriving soon.”
Merisa understood his meaning—rankings were pressure. The three lists—Carefree, Gold-Touch, and Azure Clouds—held countless experts and geniuses. Countless people racked their brains and trained arduously, just to secure a place on them. And those who had already made the list, seeing the names ahead of them, would generate endless motivation. The reason the continent had the Heavenly Mechanism Pavilion and these rankings was to provide pressure for the cultivators of both the human and demon races, so they could stand against the powerful demons.
“That child has no chance of making the list. Besides, his life has been tragic and his fate difficult. He probably sees through fame and fortune even more clearly than you or I.”
Hearing this, the old man in the linen robe sighed and said, “Then we’ll have to see if the Grand Examination can help him.”
Merisa thought it over and agreed with the old man’s view, because above the starry sky lay fate, and beneath it, only life was worthy of reverence. Life itself was the greatest pressure. Under that pressure, that child would surely mature quickly.
“I’m leaving.”
He stood up, bowed to the old man in the linen robe, then turned and walked out of the detached palace.
The old man in the linen robe made no response. He picked up his scroll and continued reading.
Time passed slowly and stubbornly.
The green leaf in the gray basin was still, because there was no wind.
No one knew how much time had passed when the old man in the linen robe lifted his gaze from the scroll and looked at the sky outside the detached palace. A look of envy suddenly appeared on his face.
If the priests of the detached palace had seen the expression on his face at that moment, they would have been utterly shocked.
What was there on this continent that could still make the old man envious?
A clear, melodious bell rang out from afar. It wasn’t the signal for classes to begin at the detached palace’s affiliated schools or the Sacrificial Institute, but the start of the regular Light Assembly, held every ten days.
The old man stood up and removed his linen robe.
A black-robed priest, who had emerged from nowhere, silently replaced the old man’s robe with a sacred vestment.
The old man walked toward the stone steps. As he passed the lotus platform carved from crystal, he casually picked up the crown, handling it as if it were a piece of rubble.
The black-robed priest following behind him was known throughout the state religion for his cold severity. His expression had barely changed in decades, but every time he witnessed this scene, the corners of his eyes would twitch uncontrollably, because he always wondered—what if the Yin-Yang Crown shattered?
At the top of the stone steps was a mural, painted in thick ink without color, exuding an intense, solemn air.
The old man stood before the mural and placed the crown on his head.
The mural wall slowly parted to both sides, and infinite light surged forth from beyond the wall like a tide.
That tide of light danced ceaselessly around the old man’s crown and sacred vestment, as if celebrating, as if worshipping.
Beyond the wall lay an immensely lofty cathedral.
This was the heart of the detached palace, the heart of the state religion, the heart of the continent’s faith—the Hall of Light.
On both sides of the hall stood dozens of towering statues: legends of the continent, ancient sages, saints, and the twelve guardian knights.
In the tide of light, countless priests knelt in worship.
Their foreheads touched the backs of their hands, their devotion palpable.
The object of their worship was that old man.
The fourth Pope of the state religion.
When Chen Changsheng and his group walked out of the Little Detached Palace, it was already afternoon. He looked at the slightly slanting sun, unsure of the exact time. Turning back to gaze at the Pure Virtue Hall, which stood as clear and open as before, and looking at those blue bricks, he felt a sudden daze, thinking that he had actually been in another space just moments ago.
The detached palace in late autumn wasn’t entirely bleak. The slightly warm afternoon air seemed to invigorate the cold-resistant green locust trees and snow pines, making their branches and leaves appear even greener. Looking downward, one saw a panorama of spring scenery, pure and boundless, giving a sense of time flowing backward.
They walked down the long stone steps. From a great distance, they could already faintly see that many people were gradually appearing on both sides of the Sacred Path, and some had even stepped directly onto the path, ready to block them.
“I told them to dare not leave. So what do we do now?”
Tang Thirty-Six looked at the cold-faced detached palace priest, his expression somewhat irritated.
This detached palace priest had met them at the Pure Virtue Hall earlier and led them into the Little Detached Palace. Now, it seemed he was escorting them all the way out of the detached palace. Tang Thirty-Six knew this was Luo Luo’s request, to prevent them from clashing again with those students.
He wasn’t very satisfied with Luo Luo’s arrangement, because it made it seem like he was afraid of trouble. Jin Yulu made no comment, not feeling that this was a sign of dissatisfaction with his work. Chen Changsheng had no complaints at all, because this was exactly what he had asked Luo Luo for.
Buzz, buzz, buzz—just then, a clear bell rang out from some unknown palace or academy. Unlike the pleasant, melodious class bell, this bell’s tone was steady and harmonious, likely meant to announce some news or convey some information.
“Could it be that they’re ringing the bell to gather for this kind of thing? Is this the detached palace or a military camp?” Tang Thirty-Six thought this might be a signal from the students of the detached palace’s affiliated schools or the Sacrificial Institute to start a brawl. Seeing this formation, even someone as fearless as he was felt a slight change in his expression.
Just then, a flock of birds in the sky suddenly scattered, as if clearing a path. A hole appeared beneath the clouds in the east, and a black shadow tore across the sky at an unimaginable speed, then followed the space cleared by the birds, flying rapidly toward the detached palace.
Xuan Yuan Po was a young demon, having grown up in the wilderness. He had seen many birds and had eyesight several times sharper than a human’s. Shielding his eyes from the light, he recognized the black shadow and said in surprise, “It’s actually a Red Swan!”
Compared to quasi-divine beasts like unicorns or ten-thousand-mile deer, Red Swans weren’t particularly special. But one advantage of this bird was its speed—it was one of the fastest known birds on the continent, second only to the Red Eagle used by the military for communication, though this didn’t include the White Crane.
By the time Xuan Yuan Po finished speaking, the black shadow had already reached the sky above the detached palace. Some priests with deep cultivation on the ground, as well as people like Tang Thirty-Six, could already see the bird dragging a long red tail—it was indeed a Red Swan.
The Red Swan left an afterimage in the autumn sky and instantly disappeared into the depths of the detached palace’s many halls, landing somewhere unknown.
“What’s happened?”
Tang Thirty-Six thought that since it wasn’t a Red Eagle, it couldn’t be related to any demon activity in the north. It probably wasn’t bad news either, or the earlier bell wouldn’t have been so steady. So what required the dispatch of a Red Swan? And wasn’t it time for the Light Assembly? Weren’t they afraid the bell would disturb it?
No matter how much he thought, he couldn’t guess what was happening. Chen Changsheng and the others, led by the detached palace priest, continued forward. Before long, they reached the bottom, where they saw the Sacred Path ahead crowded with people. It was impossible to tell how many had come because of Tang Thirty-Six’s words that morning.
The detached palace’s affiliated school on the left side of the Sacred Path still had its gate tightly shut. Gou Han Shi hadn’t come out, nor had the other three of the Seven Laws of the Divine Kingdom. Even the female disciples of Saintess Peak and the other southern youths from various sects hadn’t appeared.
Chen Changsheng’s gaze passed through the snow pines and settled on the affiliated school, silent.
Because of his engagement to Xu You Rong, ever since arriving in the capital, starting from the Eastern Divine General’s Mansion, he had endured contempt, disdain, ridicule, and even humiliation. Naturally, he had no good feelings toward that man named Qiu Shan Jun, and by extension, his sect.
At the Green Vine Banquet, he had finally met them.
But contrary to his earlier imagination, these two encounters had shown him that they weren’t behaving badly. Whether it was Gou Han Shi, Guan Fei Bai, or Qi Jian—each had their merits: one was magnanimous, one had a pride worthy of respect, one had a persistence that moved people. In short, they all had commendable qualities. He could tell that Gou Han Shi and the other Li Mountain disciples’ respect for Qiu Shan Jun was genuine. So how could Qiu Shan Jun be someone who deceived the world for fame?
The autumn wind brushed his face, not cold, and woke him up.
He smiled wryly to himself, thinking he was overthinking things. As an idol admired throughout the continent for his talent and virtue, Qiu Shan Jun wasn’t necessarily a bad person. It was just because of their opposing positions that he thought this way.