Chapter 49: Chen Changsheng’s Arrangements
A thunderous crash.
The entire city heard it.
Countless years of accumulated dust fell from the beams.
The people in the streets looked bewildered, unsure of what had happened again.
The court officials, who had just received news from the south, were stunned into silence, wondering if another mountain had collapsed.
The rumbling, thunder-like sound gradually faded.
That enormous dragon claw slowly withdrew behind the clouds.
The formation of the Prince of Xiang’s residence had been broken. Even if it hadn’t been reduced to rubble, it wasn’t far off.
The wooden bridge had snapped, and the dilapidated evening pavilion tilted askew into the lake. The lake water surged endlessly toward the shore, turning the yellow sand of the horse grounds into a muddy mess.
Smoke and dust filled the residence, screams could be heard everywhere, and glaring bloodstains marred the white walls and red tiles.
Beyond the collapsed wall came the orderly yet oppressive footsteps of the priests from the Li Palace, plunging the chaos into even greater disarray.
Deep within, the flower hall was relatively quieter, and the buildings were better preserved, save for two holes that had appeared in the corner wall.
Suddenly, a blinding light shot out from those two holes, resembling a sword.
The wall, built of hard blue bricks, was sliced apart as easily as a sheet of paper.
The entire corner, along with the high eaves above, fell neatly to the ground.
Crack, crack, crack, crack!
Amidst the crisp sounds of impact, the weathered bricks, tiles, and ridge beast ornaments shattered into fragments.
If one looked closely, they might see the straight lines hidden within those fragments, along with the smooth edges that gleamed like gold.
The corner of the wall was gone, and the figure naturally revealed itself.
The old Taoist squinted slightly, trying to confirm the other’s identity.
The man wore a blue robe, but it didn’t evoke thoughts of a young man in thin garments; it only made one think of a servant.
Of course, he couldn’t truly be a blue-robed servant.
The old Taoist quickly guessed his identity.
In this world, aside from that person, who else could find such an impeccable moment to strike?
Whose sword could be so fast, so ruthless, killing him in a single blow?
The old Taoist sighed with emotion and said, “I didn’t expect you to have truly reached half-step sanctity.”
The blue-robed servant was Liu Qing.
After Su Li and that mysterious figure left, he became the most fearsome assassin in the world.
Only he, having reached half-step sanctity, still insisted on doing such shady work in the darkness.
Liu Qing did not answer the other’s question.
This was caution, and also a professional habit.
The old Taoist was slightly displeased and raised an eyebrow.
Then, his eyebrow snapped.
A bloody gash appeared in the very center of his left eyebrow.
That gash was extremely thin, even appearing somewhat delicate.
If it had been cut by a sword, one could imagine the sword’s control over such fine details was nearly divine.
Blood seeped out from that delicate wound.
The old Taoist sighed and sat down against the wall.
The blood from the wound grew more abundant, even seeming to gush forth.
Liu Qing didn’t look; his gaze had been fixed on the old Taoist’s hand the entire time.
From the moment he appeared, it had been so.
The old Taoist’s hand held no sword.
That sword had vanished into the sky.
But he didn’t let his guard down.
Because the old Taoist’s hand remained loosely clenched.
Only now did the old Taoist’s fingers finally begin to relax.
After holding his breath for a long time, he finally exhaled.
That breath was as hot as magma, instantly turning the snowflakes drifting in the sky into wisps of smoke.
A sizzling sound arose.
Liu Qing’s gaze shifted upward, lingering on the old Taoist’s face for a moment.
The old Taoist had closed his eyes and stopped breathing.
At last, he truly relaxed, but there was no joy on his face—only a pallor.
To kill the other, he had also suffered severe hidden injuries.
…
…
Without the formation, and without a true powerhouse like the old Taoist, the Prince of Xiang’s residence’s resistance lasted only a short time against the Li Palace’s immense force.
The Li Palace quickly took control of the entire residence, and even brought the two neighboring residences under control as well.
Household Thirty-Two instructed his subordinates, “Don’t startle the women in the rear quarters.”
The state religion had finally launched an attack on the imperial clan. Regardless of the aftermath, they needed to secure enough benefits now. Some account books and secret items were things the Li Palace had to obtain. How to handle the people in the residence was another matter entirely.
Bishops from the Azure Sun Thirteen Division and divine arts bishops from the Li Palace were tending to the wounded.
From time to time, holy light flickered in the ruins, followed by groans.
Even the wounded from the Prince of Xiang’s residence received treatment, though they were prioritized after the Li Palace priests.
Priest Siyuan frowned slightly, his right hand touching his slightly bulging belt.
He strongly disapproved of this approach, but it was the Pope’s command.
The bottle of cinnabar pills in his belt had also been personally handed to him by the Pope.
Even those whom holy light arts couldn’t save would be hard-pressed to die with this bottle of cinnabar pills.
Of course, those already dead could no longer be revived.
Priest Siyuan looked at the old Taoist by the broken wall, a complex emotion in his eyes.
That old Taoist was somewhat gaunt and short, his white hair disheveled, covered in blood.
No matter how powerful a person was, they seemed weak after death.
He knew the old Taoist’s origins and identity.
This old Taoist was the one he and Linghai Zhiwang had feared most beforehand.
In recent years, the Heavenly Judgment Hall had sent many people to watch the Changchun Temple in Luoyang, especially this old Taoist.
As soon as the old Taoist left Luoyang, he and Linghai Zhiwang found out and reported it to Chen Changsheng overnight.
Chen Changsheng was practicing his sword in the stone chamber at the time and made no response.
Only today did Priest Siyuan realize that the Pope had long made arrangements.
His gaze fell on the old Taoist’s broken eyebrow.
A trace of sword intent still lingered there.
That sword intent was like willow catkins about to break but not yet broken—extremely subtle, extremely clear.
Brushed by the cold wind, it naturally evoked a biting chill.
For someone to kill this old Taoist, how terrifying must that assassin be?
Thinking of that blue figure deep in the wind and snow earlier, he raised an eyebrow slightly, wondering what exactly the relationship was between the Pope and Liu Qing.
At that moment, three people suddenly appeared in the ruins.
Priest Siyuan was neither surprised nor wary, clearly knowing in advance about this tunnel beneath the flower hall.
He bowed to the two Taoist nuns and said, “Greetings, two seniors.”
Huai Shu said sternly, “Since you were going to act, why didn’t you inform the Holy Maiden beforehand?”
This Taoist nun, rough-tempered and somewhat irritable, was clearly in a very bad mood.
If Priest Siyuan weren’t the state religion’s magnate in charge of the Holy Hall, she might have been even angrier.
Priest Siyuan smiled bitterly and said, “I only learned of the Pope’s arrangements just before coming here.”
Hearing this, Huai Shu was stunned, and even Huai Ren was somewhat surprised.
Priest Siyuan knew it was hard to explain and said no more, turning his gaze to the other person.
With the help of three Taoists from the Changchun Temple, the Prince of Chenliu still hadn’t reached the Luo River, let alone Hanqiu City, which was still a thousand miles away.
His face was somewhat pale, with some bloodstains on his clothes, but his expression remained calm as usual.
Priest Siyuan felt a hint of admiration, then once again thought the Pope’s arrangements might be inappropriate.