Chapter 1116: Shang Xingzhou Lost
The Maple Pavilion had already half-collapsed, with broken walls and shattered windows everywhere.
Skylight fell down, filtered by the thin clouds slowly drifting back and the tall red maples, becoming somewhat dim.
The dim light, refracted by over a thousand swords without cease, did not grow brighter but instead resembled the sheen of water.
Chen Changsheng let go. The short sword that had been hidden in the flowerpot for many years flew away, merging into the rain of swords in the sky.
He reached out and plucked a sword from the air, as if picking a fruit from an autumn tree laden with harvest.
That sword was also very short, but extremely bright, appearing incomparably sharp—it was Stainless.
The wooden hairpin had broken into two pieces, its whereabouts unknown.
The Sword Concealing Sheath lay at Shang Xingzhou's feet.
This sheath, named Sword Concealing, had once been a treasured artifact of the Li Palace. Chen Changsheng had kept it by his side ever since leaving Xining Town.
At first, it might have been just an idle stroke by Shang Xingzhou, but today it finally became an inconceivable hidden tactic.
At the start of the battle, he had snatched the Sword Concealing Sheath from Chen Changsheng's hands.
The Sword Concealing Sheath cut off Chen Changsheng's spiritual sense, preventing him from recalling those swords.
He had fallen into a desperate situation, one could even say a death trap.
But later, he had successively found many swords within the National Academy, and those swords all possessed sword intent.
The sheath could block his spiritual sense, but for some unknown reason, it could not completely block the sword intent.
Sword intent was the will of the sword.
The will of those swords was a summons, a call to stand shoulder to shoulder, to share garments, to be comrades in arms.
At this point, the sheath could no longer prevent all the swords from leaving, even though it was named Sword Concealing.
Because those sword intents were bared to the fullest.
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...
Prince Xiang's eyes were slightly reddened, perhaps due to the wood chips drifting out from the National Academy.
Or maybe it was because, through the thick courtyard walls, he had glimpsed those fully exposed sword intents.
He raised his sleeve to wipe his eyes, then suddenly turned and walked out of Baihua Lane, causing quite a stir.
Wang Po glanced at him but did not follow.
It didn't take long before Prince Xiang's figure appeared at Naihe Bridge.
Winter had already passed; all things were reviving, and the breath of spring was approaching. The Luo River had thawed, flowing slowly with some ice shards.
Two lines of clear tears trickled down Prince Xiang's cheeks.
His face was round and large, so the scene looked somewhat comical, not sorrowful.
Standing beside him was an old man with graying hair, whose face was also round and large, looking equally comical, or rather, born with an extremely festive appearance.
The old man was Cao Yunping, the nephew of the Old Man of Heaven's Secrets, and once one of the Eight Winds and Rains. Over a hundred years ago, he had been defeated by Su Li's sword. In his grief and indignation, ignoring the dissuasion of the Old Man of Heaven's Secrets and the Holy Maiden of Tianhai, he had discarded his entire cultivation and started over from scratch. As a result, he had gone into qi deviation, and his mind had become damaged.
In recent years, Cao Yunping rarely appeared before others.
Only a few people knew that Chen Changsheng had once encountered him on the road to White Emperor City.
He had originally been invited by a certain power-holder to make trouble for Chen Changsheng, but was instead persuaded by Chen Changsheng to prioritize the greater good of the human race.
Later, he killed Mu Jiushi on the Western Sea.
Yes, this expert of the Divine Domain had fully restored his cultivation, even surpassing his former self.
As for his intellect, no one knew whether he was truly as innocent as a child or had learned to feign innocence.
But why had he appeared in the capital today, and why was he meeting Prince Xiang by the Luo River?
Could it be that the one who had originally asked him to make trouble for Chen Changsheng was Prince Xiang?
"Why are you crying?"
Cao Yunping looked at Prince Xiang very seriously and asked, "Because no one is willing to give you candy?"
Before Prince Xiang could answer, he added in a very fast tone, "Xu Yourong only gave me a bag of candy. I definitely can't share it with you."
These two simple sentences, seemingly childish, cute, or even pitiful, had already revealed enough information.
If this were a condition for negotiation, it could also be said to be very clear.
Prince Xiang wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes with a handkerchief and said with emotion, "I'm sad because the Dao Lord is about to lose. Life will be very hard from now on."
Hearing this, Cao Yunping was stunned for a moment, then grinned, innocent and carefree, and said, "You liar, how is that possible?"
Indeed, there was no reason for Shang Xingzhou to lose to Chen Changsheng. The gap in realm between the two sides was too great.
However, this battle between master and disciple had a precondition from the very beginning: Shang Xingzhou had to suppress his own realm below the Divine Domain.
With a Nanxi Zhai sword formation at his disposal, Chen Changsheng could now be considered the strongest below the Divine Domain. Even the Demon Lord and Qiu Shan Jun were no match for him. Even looking back across tens of thousands of years of cultivation history, it would be hard to find anyone as powerful as he was before breaking through to the Divine Domain.
Prince Xiang had taken one look through the courtyard wall and started to cry, because he had seen those sword intents, and he was truly somewhat disappointed.
It seemed Shang Xingzhou had no choice but to lose.
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...
The Maple Pavilion was very quiet.
The National Academy was very quiet.
The wind brushed over the lake and the maple grove, threading through the ruined Maple Pavilion, being sliced apart by the swords in the sky, then coming back together, producing a very complex sound.
Some sounds were like sobs, some like resentful howls.
"I won't lose to you."
Shang Xingzhou said to Chen Changsheng, "You were taught by me."
This was his reasoning, or rather, his justification.
I won't lose to you—these words actually meant I cannot lose to you.
Shang Xingzhou took a step forward and spoke a single word.
This word sounded very simple, just a single syllable.
But when this word was heard, it revealed its true face, displaying an incredibly complex fluctuation of tones.
In that extremely brief fragment, it seemed to contain endless information.
This was not human language, but a remnant of an ancient civilization, an indescribably magnificent world of wisdom, as splendid as a sea of stars.
His green Daoist robe danced in the wind, and a dragon's roar followed, resounding through the National Academy.
Shang Xingzhou's pupils turned a pale white, like a ghost or a god.
An unimaginably ancient aura rolled toward Chen Changsheng and the rain of swords in the sky.
Chen Changsheng stared into Shang Xingzhou's eyes and suddenly spoke a word as well.
That word was also a single syllable, yet equally strange and complex, utterly incomprehensible, remote to the extreme.
From the high sky, now covered again by clouds, came a faint dragon's roar, filled with surprise and relief.
Countless swords fell according to Chen Changsheng's will.
The sword intent was grim and imposing, sword cries echoed everywhere, unbroken and continuous. Countless straight and profound sword scars appeared in the sky.
With a soft snap.
The wind stopped.
The world between heaven and earth became utterly silent again.
The rain of swords was about to fall but did not, hovering in the sky.
Shang Xingzhou stood before Chen Changsheng, drenched in blood.
His right hand gripped Chen Changsheng's throat.
With just a slight squeeze, Chen Changsheng would die.
Just then, Wang Zhice's voice rang out.
"You lost."
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(This time, I've really been sick enough to suffer. Today, I wrote a chapter purely on nerves. Tomorrow, I might say I won't write at any time. The writing is still acceptable, after all, these are some of the most important chapters, so I dare not be careless. But I really don't have the energy to think of a good chapter title. Still, this is fine—simple, clean, and direct. Praising myself. Wishing everyone a pleasant weekend.)