Chapter 170: All Directions Await This Battle
Standing before the mist, Ji Dao Ren stopped walking. Yu Ren had a slight limp in one leg, but unless climbing steep mountain paths, he rarely used a staff. Somewhat unaccustomed to it, he tucked his crutch under his left armpit and gestured with both hands in front of him, asking: "The Grand Examination should have results by now, right? I wonder how Junior Brother is doing."
Ji Dao Ren's expression was ethereal and detached, his brows and eyes still as they were years ago, showing no trace of aging. Seeing the faint worry between Yu Ren's brows, he smiled and patted his head without saying anything.
Yu Ren gestured again: "Master, when do we go to the capital?"
Ji Dao Ren replied: "When you need to return to the capital, naturally we will go."
Yu Ren didn't notice that he used the word "return" when speaking of going to the capital.
This was the most remote barbaric mountain range on the Eastern Continent, teeming with demonic beasts and devoid of human traces, even more desolate than the great mountain behind Xining Town. The clouds and mist were heavy and damp, making it impossible to tell where one was while traveling through them, as if they had already left the mortal world. How could Mo Yu's people possibly find this master and disciple pair?
The fragmented sounds within the mist grew increasingly frequent, with faint signs of disturbance, followed by over a dozen imposing auras—likely some extremely powerful demonic beasts.
Ji Dao Ren didn't wish to face those filthy, ugly creatures. Frowning slightly, he said: "Clear the way."
Yu Ren obeyed, stepping forward and shouting toward the thick mist at the end of the mountain path.
Half of his tongue had been severed, so he couldn't speak like a normal person, but that didn't mean he couldn't make sounds. A piercing howl burst from his lips.
It seemed like a howl, but it was actually a word—a single syllable containing infinite information, the same kind of word Chen Changsheng used when communicating with the black dragon in the underground space: Dragon Speech.
Yu Ren's clear howl tore through the air, entering the clouds and mist without a trace, stirring not a single ripple. Yet the next moment, the crushing pressure contained within the howl spread through the mist to every direction of the mountain range. The demonic beasts hidden deep within the clouds let out fearful, uneasy low growls, signaling their submission and apology. With scraping sounds, they fled at the fastest possible speed, and the clouds fell silent once more.
In a place even more distant than the capital, there was a white desert. At the center of this desert stood a city built of stone, its walls stretching dozens of kilometers in circumference, a truly magnificent sight.
Hundreds of thousands of people knelt in the desert outside the stone city. Their knees and foreheads pressed against the white gravel, scorching hot under nine suns, giving off a faint burnt smell. Yet no pain showed on their faces—only absolute peace. No sound came from them either—only absolute silence. They were like a calm yet terrifying ocean, an ocean of humanity.
At the front of the crowd stood a wooden platform, its edges still adorned with countless green leaves, a stark contrast to the desolate, scorching, monotonous surroundings.
In the center of the platform stood a swastika-shaped symbol, imbued with a strong religious aura, emitting a faint holy light as the millions of believers prayed in silence.
A middle-aged man stood before that religious symbol, quietly gazing at the hundreds of thousands kneeling before him. Judging by his attire, he was a religious monk. Though middle-aged, with a few faint lines at the corners of his eyes, his perfect features remained undiminished. Most captivating were his eyes—those serene, clear eyes held infinite compassion and love, as if they could see into the farthest distances, as if they could see everything.
He raised his staff and smiled in the face of this perilous world.
The hundreds of thousands in the white desert rose to their feet, shouting in unison: "For the sake of our homeland!"
The capital was in early spring, still cold. Snow Old City's early spring was even more bitterly cold. Wind and snow wept and howled through the city's streets and alleys, like sandstorms, making it impossible to open one's eyes.
The demon race loved the night, loved silence, loved blood, loved slaughter. The latter was in their hearts, so in the demon artists' studios and the secret residences of the royal clan, one could always see large blocks of color or strange, twisted lines. The overall tone of Snow Old City was gray, inducing calmness or even numbness. People walking through the city also preferred to wear black robes, making it hard to tell who was who from a distance.
A demon walked through the wind and snow in a black robe. The robe was ordinary, somewhat old, even frayed at the hem's edges, but at least it was a different kind of black robe.
The black robe flickered in and out of sight in the violent storm. Even staring directly, it was hard to keep track of its position until he walked out of Snow Old City and stood on the southern glacier.
The cold wind howled, lifting a corner of his hood, revealing the demon's profile. That face was abnormally pale, as if it hadn't seen sunlight for years, as if it had just recovered from a severe illness, as if it had no warmth, as if it were completely lifeless, carrying a deathly aura that made one's heart tremble.
The demon looked toward the capital in the south, silent for a long time. The corner of his lips curled slightly, and his cold voice carried an unmistakable pleasure: "In the end, you can't keep ignoring his existence."
After Luo Luo moved to the Li Palace, the Hundred Herbs Garden was left uninhabited. The youths of the National Academy had all gone to the Grand Examination, so no one was there. When the new door in the wall was pushed open, naturally no one noticed.
The black sheep walked out from the door and headed toward the lake. There was still residual snow on the lakeside grass, the blades yellowed and withered. It looked somewhat puzzled, thinking that the grass the young man had fed it half a year ago didn't taste like this.
Her Majesty the Empress had also come to the National Academy.
This was the first time in over a decade that she had visited the National Academy.
Earlier, in the Hundred Herbs Garden, she had recalled Emperor Taizong's massacre of the royal clan there. Now, standing in the National Academy, she remembered her own massacre of the old faction of the National Religion.
After Emperor Taizong's passing, she had killed many people, because many opposed her. From the moment she began reviewing memorials on the Emperor's behalf, those people started opposing her. Even a dozen years ago, when the Emperor writhed in agony on his sickbed, they still disregarded everything, only thinking of opposing her.
Those who dared oppose her would ultimately be killed by her. She had killed for centuries, until a dozen years ago when she killed so many in the National Academy, and finally no one dared stand against her anymore.
She knew her hands were stained with blood, but she didn't care. Yet, coming to the National Academy after so many years, looking at the once-desolate old garden now restored, she naturally thought of those days of endless killing.
Such memories didn't displease her, but neither did they bring any joy.
Especially since among those she had killed were many she had admired—brave, incorruptible, capable, outstanding, excellent, resolute, noble people. She had given them many chances, yet they gave her none, even forcing her to kill them.
Because they wanted to prove to the world that she was a brutal ruler.
Her Majesty the Empress looked toward the Li Palace, thinking of what had just happened, and felt a chill—a chill in her heart.
One autumn rain brings one autumn chill.
The Pope had actually made his move.
She had once thought Chen Changsheng had reached his limit here, but now she understood that wasn't the case. So she wanted to ask those people: Where do you want to go? Are you going to force me to kill again?
Great figures have great figures' considerations; small figures need not trouble themselves with such things. Chen Changsheng didn't care how many people were watching the Grand Examination, watching him. As he had told Luo Luo, he only cared about whether he could win first place and enter the Lingyan Pavilion.
Before that, even a demon invasion was a minor matter, let alone anything else. So he prepared for the final battle with great patience, listening silently and attentively to the tactics Tang Thirty-Six laid out for him.
Tang Thirty-Six looked at him with unprecedented seriousness and said: "First move with emotion, then convince with reason, then overwhelm with authority, and finally fight. Three sentences, three methods—order is important. I hope it works. Of course, if that poor scholar remains stubbornly unyielding, I still suggest you consider a dignified way to concede."
Luo Luo whispered from the side: "Master, try bribing him."
Tang Thirty-Six sneered: "That's Gou Han Shi, a scholar who prides himself on moral integrity. How could he be bribed? He's not some poor kid like Zhe Xiu who's never seen money."
Zhe Xiu lay on a stretcher beside the white poplar tree. The bleeding had gradually stopped, and his spirits had somewhat revived. Hearing Tang Thirty-Six's words, he remained expressionless and silent.
Luo Luo leaned close to Chen Changsheng's ear and whispered a few words. Chen Changsheng was startled, unwilling to accept, but couldn't stop her from stuffing something into his arms.
Tang Thirty-Six looked at the object Luo Luo had shoved into his chest, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help but twitch slightly. Then he checked himself and found nothing of equivalent value. After thinking, he untied the Wenshui Sword from his waist and handed it over.
"I have my own sword. What would I do with yours?" Chen Changsheng asked, puzzled.
Tang Thirty-Six looked into his eyes and said: "My Tang family's ancestral sword, like Qi Jian's Discipline Hall ceremonial sword, isn't suitable for the Hundred Weapons Ranking, but that doesn't mean it's weak. Keep it with you. In a critical moment, it can block a blow for you. Even if you don't use it, it's not heavy. Will it tire you out?"
Chen Changsheng understood his intention. Unable to refuse the goodwill, he thought it over and accepted it.
"Makes sense." Reminded by Tang Thirty-Six, Luo Luo unhesitatingly untied the Falling Rain Whip from her waist and handed it to Chen Changsheng.
Xuan Yuan Po patted his thick palms all over his body but couldn't find anything worthwhile—not even a safety talisman. He felt somewhat dejected.
Chen Changsheng patted his upper arm and said with a smile: "You cook tonight."
Xuan Yuan Po grinned foolishly and said: "If you win, I'll add an extra two scoops of salt."
Chen Changsheng thought it over. If he really won first place in the Grand Examination, having a bit more oil and salt in one meal, along with two or three small cups of wine, probably wouldn't hurt.
He was about to leave the forest edge when he suddenly remembered something. Turning back to look at Zhe Xiu on the stretcher, he said: "Win or lose, I'll try to get that thing for you."
Zhe Xiu stared at him expressionlessly and said: "You must win."
Chen Changsheng walked into the Dust-Washing Pavilion.
Gou Han Shi was already inside, standing quietly. His cloth robe was washed somewhat white, and the sword at his waist showed no signs of value or rarity—just like the man himself.