Chapter 1153: Burning the Garo Monastery
A kite drifted in the sky.
In a remote corner, Wang Po wiped the mud and water from his face, squinting toward the small hill. He immediately recognized it—that was Xiao Zhang’s kite.
Hadn’t that kite already shattered against the walls of Snow Old City a few days ago?
That kite had once been tethered to a person. Today, it was tethered to a painting.
The painting was enormous, over ten zhang in both width and height, swaying gently with the wind like waves of wheat. Yet the scenery on the canvas remained unaffected, incredibly clear.
Looking at that painting, Fei Dian, the divine general who had just been revived by a Vermilion Cinnabar Pill, gradually focused his unfocused gaze, sharpening it to an extreme.
On the southern plains, three old men from a grain convoy simultaneously narrowed their eyes, overwhelmed by endless memories.
Atop Snow Old City, in the shadow of the tower, the Black Robe clasped his hands within his sleeves, a faint, mocking smile curling at the corner of his lips.
They had all seen the scene in the painting.
That Garo Monastery, impossibly exquisite, beyond what the mortal world could produce.
The Buddhist lineage had been broken for countless years.
The incense of the Garo Monastery had continued long after.
Until a thousand years ago, it was finally destroyed in the flames of war.
When the demon race invaded, Luoyang was besieged for three months. Only three out of ten of the city’s population survived. The civilian casualties were devastating—sixty million people were killed.
How many treasures of civilization like the Garo Monastery were destroyed?
So-called elegance and refinement were all consigned to a single blaze.
This painting depicted the burning of the Garo Monastery.
Now, few had seen the Garo Monastery with their own eyes, but many had seen depictions of it in books, and many knew that story.
As for the Siege of Luoyang, it was a humiliation and tragedy that all humanity could never forget.
That massive painting hanging in the sky was exceptionally well done, lifelike, as if it were real.
Looking at the flames in the painting, the soldiers seemed to hear the agonizing creaks of the great halls as they were about to collapse.
In that painting, there were also many faces—agonized, twisted, bewildered, numb. In the end, all these people died, perishing in that great fire.
Seeing that painting, the soldiers on the front lines once again understood a simple truth.
This was history.
This was the source of their anger.
This was why they now stood beneath Snow Old City.
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As that painting and the information it carried spread through the military camp, a conjecture also spread alongside it.
Legend had it that in ancient times, the Painting Sage Wu Daozi had spent years painting murals in the Garo Monastery. Could this painting be his work?
Now the entire continent already knew that Wu Daozi had not died; he was traveling the world with someone.
If Wu Daozi had come, did that mean... that person had also come?
Thinking that a legendary figure like Wang Zhice might appear on the front lines at any moment, the morale of the human army soared.
In contrast, the morale of the demon race suddenly dropped significantly, and the degree of this drop was even more exaggerated than the human army’s rise.
For the human army, the influence brought by Shang Xingzhou and Wang Zhice was roughly the same. For the demon race, it was completely different. They might not know who the current human emperor was, nor Chen Changsheng, nor that Shang Xingzhou was the human emperor and Chen Changsheng’s teacher, but they absolutely knew who Wang Zhice was.
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At dusk.
The setting sun dyed the western side of Snow Old City red.
Half the city seemed on the verge of bursting into flames.
Suddenly, from the city walls and the plains below, countless fervent shouts erupted.
The words of the shouts sounded like “Gulunmu.”
Many human soldiers could understand some simple demon language, especially the meaning of this word—they would never forget it.
When demon soldiers charged madly, willing to trade life for life, when they were surrounded on a hilltop and chose suicide, they all shouted this word.
This word meant “God Emperor.”
The Demon Lord had finally appeared.
Chen Changsheng took the telescope from Linghai Zhiwang’s hand and looked toward Snow Old City.
The air was exceptionally clear today, and the light of the setting sun did not obstruct his vision. He could barely make out the scene on the city wall.
Though somewhat blurry, Chen Changsheng still recognized that face he hadn’t seen for many years.
Compared to when he was in White Emperor City, the Demon Lord appeared much more composed, his demeanor more majestic.
Looking at the beard the Demon Lord had deliberately grown, Chen Changsheng thought of Tang Thirty-Six, and then he saw the Demon Lord’s demon horns.
Logically, as a member of the royal family, the Demon Lord should not have had demon horns, yet he had crafted two and adorned them, making them particularly exaggerated.
Clearly, this was a method to win the favor of the lower and middle-class demons.
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Shang Xingzhou had arrived.
The Demon Lord had appeared.
This meant that the final decisive battle was imminent.
For the demon race, if they could stubbornly defend Snow Old City until winter descended, that would naturally be the best approach. But they had no way to solve the problem of provisions, exactly the same situation Luoyang had faced back then. Even if they slaughtered their own people to reduce the non-military population, they could not solve the food problem for the hundreds of thousands of tribal warriors outside the city.
Moreover, the human army would not leave them any remains of their comrades.
With the right timing, geographical advantage, and unity of the people, it now seemed the demons held the geographical advantage, and the humans held the unity of the people. As for the timing...
The recent snowfall seemed to indicate that the Heavenly Dao favored the demons more, but the timing of the decisive battle was determined by the humans.
So who would ultimately win this war?
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Another early morning.
The plains outside Snow Old City were so quiet they seemed not to have woken up.
Suddenly, the sound of war horns rang out.
And so, the entire world awakened.
All life in this world had been waiting for this moment.
Perhaps no one had truly been able to sleep last night.
The demon race’s main force of wolf cavalry launched a fierce attack on the human Eastern Route Army.
Black soil on the plains was flung into the air, falling like raindrops. Everywhere was the sound of weapons clashing, muffled groans and screams, and the sound of formations activating.
The Eastern Route Army endured the demon race’s tide-like assault with difficulty, finally managing to secure a rare moment of respite by the afternoon.
The main camp sent urgent orders to the front line, demanding that the foremost units retreat as quickly as possible and complete a rotation with the reserve cavalry.
Arrows flew through the sky, suppressing the enemy’s spearmen while providing cover for their own side.
All procedures were proceeding in an orderly fashion, but they encountered trouble in one place.
The Northern Third Battalion, which had been holding the front line since the battle began, refused to retreat.
Because Guan Feibai would not obey the military orders.
He was not the commander of the Northern Third Battalion, but he was a disciple of the Li Mountain Sword Sect and the strongest member of the unit.
Earlier, he and two junior brothers had risked their lives to climb the cliff and be the first to reach Snow Old City.
Now, the entire Northern Third Battalion only listened to Guan Feibai.
The reason Guan Feibai was unwilling to retreat was also simple.
His junior brother Liang Banhu was dead, and Guan Bai had also died trying to rescue them.
He had been fighting with bloodshot eyes.
At the most tense moment, accompanied by a crane’s cry, Xu Yourong arrived on the scene.
Guan Feibai gripped his sword, squinting at her, his voice hoarse and low to the extreme, like a beast that hadn’t drunk water for many days.
“Junior Sister, don’t try to persuade me.”
His squinting eyes were filled with blood.
Xu Yourong knew that although he seemed to still have reason and spoke coherently, he was in fact mad and beyond persuasion.
“I remember that Senior Brother Qiushan should have prepared a brocade pouch for you.”
Xu Yourong looked into his eyes and said, “You should open it and take a look.”
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(My mother starts the next round of chemotherapy tomorrow. I hope everything goes smoothly. I’ll definitely have less time to write in the coming days, but don’t worry—I’ve already saved up some drafts over the past ten days. I’ll try my best to keep updating, and it looks like I should be able to manage. Thank you all.)
(37 Chinese)