Chapter 1113: Dare I Ask Where the Sword Lies?
Wang Po possessed a pair of very distinctive eyebrows.
To be precise, the distinctiveness lay in the relative position between his brows and eyes.
The distance between his brows and eyes was somewhat close, and the tails of his brows drooped slightly, giving him a somewhat shabby appearance.
However, when he raised his brows, they would separate from his eyes.
It was like the primordial separation of heaven and earth.
At the same time, the tails of his brows would lift like an iron spear, pointing straight toward the sky, magnificent and unparalleled.
In short, when he raised his brows, he was no longer associated with the word "shabby."
Moreover, when he raised his brows, his shoulders would often rise as well.
Compared to his brows, Wang Po's shoulders were more famous, because they drooped more often and were easier to see.
When he moved his shoulders, it usually meant he was about to draw his blade.
Just like at this moment, a fiercely cold blade intent suddenly appeared in Hundred Flowers Alley, shooting straight into the sky.
Hundreds of Holy Light Crossbows and all the weapons of the court's experts were aimed at Wang Po.
Prince Xiang's expression was grave, his hands having long since left the fat piled up on his belt.
Wang Po said nothing, merely gazing quietly at the National Academy.
Like Prince Xiang, he knew that the one executing the Sun-Scorching Art at this moment was not Chen Changsheng.
Then it could only be Shang Xingzhou.
What exactly was the relationship between Shang Xingzhou and Emperor Taizong?
Could he also be a member of the Chen Imperial Clan?
Wang Po did not dwell on these questions.
Instead, he thought about the records painstakingly preserved by his elders.
In those records, besides the most striking, blood-soaked words "family ruined and dead," there were many scenes of bitter wind and cold rain.
In those scenes, there was always a young man with a gloomy temperament. According to the judgment of the Wang family ancestors, that young man was the mastermind behind the family's destruction, likely a member of the imperial clan, but neither at the time nor afterward could his identity be traced.
In any case, that young man had brought much bitter wind and cold rain to the Wang family.
Wang Po had never seen Emperor Taizong, but Emperor Taizong was still his enemy, because this was a family grudge.
That young man from back then was naturally also his enemy.
He had thought that person had long since vanished into the river of history, but today he realized that person was very likely still alive.
The atmosphere outside the National Academy was exceptionally tense.
Wang Po looked at the academy gate, silent.
In the end, his shoulders drooped again.
At the same time, his brows also fell.
It was as if thousands of sighs echoed simultaneously through Hundred Flowers Alley.
Not regret, but relief.
...
...
The Sun-Scorching Art was an exceptionally powerful and very special cultivation method.
Among the myriad techniques in the world, the foundation of all lay in true essence transformed from starlight.
Only the Sun-Scorching Art gathered not starlight, but solar fire.
Solar fire was not as clear and gentle as starlight, but it far surpassed it in power.
Yet precisely because it was too violent and scorching, cultivators simply could not gather it and then convert it into true essence.
Since the descent of the Heavenly Book Monoliths and the beginning of human cultivation, for countless millennia, only the Chen Clan, due to their special fate wheel structure, could cultivate this method.
Whether in Daoist scriptures or historical records, this was seen as the Heavenly Dao's favor toward the Chen Clan. Thus, whether in times of chaos or peace, the Chen Clan held an extraordinary status in Tianliang County and across the entire continent, as if they were inherently shrouded in a sacred radiance.
For a thousand years, the Chen Clan had produced countless experts, such as the young hero Chen Xuanba, and Emperor Taizong.
Of course, there was also Prince Chu, who was rumored to have once been wise and martial.
Until today, the experts of the Chen Imperial Clan continued to emerge in an endless stream. The dozen or so princes in Hundred Flowers Alley at this moment were all experts, and Prince Xiang had already entered the Divine Domain. Adding the imperial clan members scattered across the various prefectures and counties, this was truly an extremely powerful force.
However, in recent years, first there was the Heavenly Sea Saint Empress, and later Shang Xingzhou, so this force had never truly been unleashed.
But why could Shang Xingzhou cultivate the Sun-Scorching Art? Was he a member of the imperial clan? What exactly was his relationship with Emperor Taizong?
These questions flashed through Chen Changsheng's mind, but quickly vanished without a trace.
He had already guessed as much in the Zhou Garden; now it was merely confirmed.
And Shang Xingzhou once again stood before him.
He held his sword with both hands and slashed down toward Chen Changsheng's head.
This strike was extremely simple, with no technique or profound meaning—just a straight chop.
Sunlight shone on his tightly bound black hair, reflecting light.
Sunlight shone on his bare arms, reflecting light.
Sunlight shone on the Dao sword he held, reflecting light.
He was like a god.
The sword in his hand could sever everything in the world.
First, the sky.
A line, both real and illusory, appeared in the azure sky.
A fiercely unmatched sword intent, accompanied by blinding light, fell toward Chen Changsheng's head.
Chen Changsheng didn't know if he could withstand it.
He was somewhat tense, and because the sword light was too dazzling, he narrowed his eyes.
Between a person's subtle movements, there was often a connection.
When he narrowed his eyes, his hand subconsciously tightened.
Then, his palm gripped the sword hilt.
The hilt was slightly hard, having been hidden in a tree hollow for several years, its surface somewhat slippery, whether from moss or decaying mud.
This sensation was not unfamiliar, because he had gripped countless swords, but it was also not something he was accustomed to; he was certain he had never held this sword before.
There were too many swords in the Sword Pool; he couldn't be familiar with every one, and he didn't know this sword's name or origin.
But he knew that what he held was straight, hard, and sharp.
This was a sword.
That was enough.
...
...
Sword met sword.
It was like cold air sweeping down from the frigid snow plains meeting the heat wave rolling in from the Western Sea.
A thunderclap suddenly rang out.
The lake water surged into waves, crashing into inverted waterfalls, falling as torrential rain, washing everything between heaven and earth from different angles.
Dozens of thick ancient trees slowly fell with a cracking sound.
Amid the flying wood chips and branches, the sunken ground could faintly be seen.
Countless cracks, some deep and some shallow, appeared on the walls of the Hundred Herbs Garden.
Not far away, the Imperial Palace automatically activated its formation, and a clear light descended, cloaking everything in a mysterious veil.
In Wang Zhice's eyes, this was very much like Wu Daozi's recent paintings—the brushwork extremely simple, even deliberately crude, but the colors exceptionally bold.
Like those reds resembling blood and rust.
Smoke and dust settled.
Chen Changsheng knelt on one knee by the lakeshore, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
More terrifyingly, there was no longer a sword in his hand.
That sword had fallen far away on the grass, stuck in at an angle, looking like a tattered banner or a stele.
The sword was still trembling incessantly, emitting a faint hum—not a lament, but somewhat apologetic.
Shang Xingzhou appeared before Chen Changsheng.
Even he found it difficult to break the defensive sword technique that Su Li had passed on to Chen Changsheng.
But he had the Sun-Scorching Art.
He still suppressed his cultivation realm below the Divine Domain, but with the Sun-Scorching Art, he possessed unimaginable, inexhaustible power.
No matter how formidable the sword technique, it could not withstand such overwhelming force, especially over a prolonged period.
In this process, Shang Xingzhou's true essence consumption and cost were greater than Chen Changsheng's.
But Chen Changsheng no longer had a sword.
Shang Xingzhou looked at him with a cold expression and raised the sword in his hand.
He didn't believe that his disciple would have such good luck again, casually pulling a sword from a broken tree.
Strangely, Chen Changsheng's face showed no sign of panic, and his gaze remained as calm as the lake water.
Then, he reached his hand into the lake water and pulled out a sword.