Chapter 1110: Six Six Six Six
(The chapter title has nothing to do with the number thirty-six, nor with any famous screenwriter. It's purely for fun, and I genuinely feel that Chen Changsheng and Tang Thirty-Six are very impressive...)
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The National Academy had a long history, predating the founding of the Great Zhou Dynasty. Countless ancient trees grew there, some even over a thousand years old.
Many ancient trees were destroyed in the bloody incident twenty years ago, but even more survived. The grove near the imperial palace, in particular, was lush with foliage, deep and secluded. When Chen Changsheng first entered the National Academy, he had noticed this grove. Since then, he had spent countless mornings here, practicing his sword countless times.
He knew these trees were hard, and naturally, the stumps were hard as well, but he still found something strange.
That thing was very hard, but its edges weren't sharp. Instead, they were somewhat smooth, as if they had been polished.
He turned back and saw a pit about a foot deep where the tree had broken off.
The leaves obscured the already dim sky, and there was snow and dust in the pit, making it hard to see what was inside.
So, before the tree broke, this must have been a tree hollow.
The thing his right hand had touched was in this pit.
In other words, that thing had been stuck in the tree hollow all along.
Chen Changsheng couldn't determine what that thing was.
Shang Xingzhou's sword arrived.
The Dao sword of Changchun Temple, carrying the purest yet utterly ungentle intent, cut through the cold wind and descended towards his chest.
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As Shang Xingzhou walked towards Chen Changsheng, Xu Yourong was also walking into the National Academy.
Wang Zhice once again pointed a finger through the air.
The breeze by the lake remained undisturbed, and no sharp sound was heard, as if nothing had happened.
But in reality, between the National Academy and the Hundred Herbs Garden, another invisible barrier had appeared.
At this moment, Xu Yourong made a very peculiar move.
She raised her left hand and gently pointed her finger into the void.
Crack.
A soft sound.
Like the most fragile bubble being pierced by the softest hair.
The invisible barrier vanished without a trace.
Xu Yourong finally stepped into the National Academy.
Her face was as white as snow, and a trace of extremely fine blood appeared at the corner of her lips.
Wang Zhice wasn't using a finger technique, but rather the Star-Plucking Hand he had created while studying in his old residence on Donglin Lane.
He hadn't expected Xu Yourong to be able to receive this move, which surprised him.
What surprised him even more was that after entering the National Academy, Xu Yourong didn't look at him again. Instead, she turned her gaze towards the master and disciple in the grove.
A gentle breeze stirred, her white ceremonial robe fluttered slightly. The Tong Bow was in her hand, the Wu Arrow was on the string, ready to be loosed at any moment.
The situation became extremely tense.
She was preparing to use the Wu Arrow to stop Shang Xingzhou. Wouldn't Wang Zhice stop her? Or did she believe someone would hold Wang Zhice back?
Who was that person?
It certainly couldn't be Tang Thirty-Six.
He was restrained by Wang Zhice, turned into a statue by the lake.
Unable to turn his neck, he couldn't see what was happening in the grove, only the lake and the sky.
The snow had stopped falling, but the clouds hadn't dispersed, blocking the sky's light and making the capital seem exceptionally gloomy.
At first, he had been complaining, shouting that the heavens were blind.
Now, he was only praying for Chen Changsheng, hoping that the heavens would open their eyes soon.
Suddenly, a clear cry came from the grove.
A flash of light appeared in his eyes.
A crack opened in the clouds.
Heavenly light poured down from that gap, like a waterfall, incredibly beautiful.
Tang Thirty-Six thought in shock, could it be that someone really did open their eyes?
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The dragon's body, like a black mountain range, undulated slowly behind the clouds, stirring up countless gale winds.
Little Black Dragon hadn't left the National Academy. Instead, she had quietly lurked here, ready to break through the clouds and descend at any moment.
If Chen Changsheng was truly in danger, she wouldn't care about any rules of combat. As for that referee... she had long wanted to fight him to the death.
The sea of clouds suddenly churned, tearing open a gap.
She looked down at the ground in surprise.
She saw the streets and alleys of the capital, saw the Mausoleum of Books, saw the imperial palace.
Finally, she saw the National Academy.
Where the National Academy met the imperial palace, there was a dark grove.
That grove suddenly became bright.
Not because of the heavenly light falling from the sky, but because of a sword light.
More than a dozen broken trees were arranged in a straight line, pointing towards the deepest part of the grove.
The half-broken tree that had once been there had vanished, turned into countless pieces of bark and splintered wood, floating silently in the air.
Floating along with these pieces of bark and wood were the light snow that had been falling since morning and the lake water that had poured down like a torrent not long ago.
In the center of this strange scene were two figures.
Shang Xingzhou stood before Chen Changsheng, looking down at him, his Dao sword already swung down.
Chen Changsheng wasn't dead, because a sword had appeared in his hand.
It was this sword that had blocked Shang Xingzhou's sword.
Chen Changsheng was still using the Clumsy Sword.
This sword technique was considered by Su Li to be the world's best defensive sword, and it had saved Chen Changsheng's life countless times.
Just now in the Zhou Garden, Chen Changsheng had relied on this very sword technique to escape death multiple times in a row.
But this time, Chen Changsheng wasn't sent flying.
His left foot was deeply embedded in the ground, as stable as if it had taken root.
This was, after all, a sword technique. Only by using a sword could one truly unleash its exquisite power and might!
The question was, where had this sword come from?
No one had time to ponder this question.
A clear, sharp cry rang through the snowy grove.
Shang Xingzhou's Dao sleeve fluttered lightly, and his Dao sword rose and fell again.
Wind and snow rose with it.
Shang Xingzhou's figure vanished.
Countless sword lights appeared.
The grove was filled with sword marks.
Suddenly, it fell silent.
Chen Changsheng raised his sword to meet the attack.
Clang! Clang!
Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!
Dozens of crisp sword cries suddenly sounded around him.
In that incredibly brief moment, Shang Xingzhou had struck out dozens of times!
These sword strikes fell so fast that even the sound of the two swords colliding couldn't spread in time!
But Chen Changsheng had caught them all!
He held his sword level with his brow.
His left knee bent slightly.
He stood his ground.
He didn't move.
No matter how mysterious and inscrutable, how unpredictable the sword intent, he simply held his sword horizontally, sank his heart, and retreated into his little tower, unified and whole.
This was the true Sword Domain!
But under Shang Xingzhou's storm-like assault, how long could he hold out?
Even with his perfect Sword Domain and Star Domain, with his unimaginably abundant true essence, he couldn't possibly sustain this forever.
Moreover, Shang Xingzhou was no ordinary figure. Having cultivated thousands of Dao techniques, who knew what terrifying methods were hidden within his drooping sleeves?
Chen Changsheng didn't intend to give his master such an opportunity.
At an unpredictable moment, but one he knew would come in advance, he struck first.
A sword light illuminated the dark grove.
This sword was unimaginably fast, like a true bolt of lightning.
The sword intent of this strike was very light and shallow, but not simple. It was like a fish in a stream, right before your eyes, yet difficult to reach out and touch.
The trajectory of this sword was even more exquisitely mysterious, giving a feeling of being unfathomable even to gods and ghosts!
This sword pierced through three pieces of bark in succession, sliced through a few splinters of wood, bypassed his left hand, and seemingly casually stabbed into the wind and snow.
From somewhere came a muffled grunt, and the wind and snow became slightly chaotic.
Shang Xingzhou appeared on the snowy ground several zhang away, with a tear in his sleeve.
Chen Changsheng stood up straight, holding the sword in his hand, and looked at him calmly.
(Three-Seven Chinese)