Chapter 342: Celestial Azure
The miserable howls of the demonic beasts gradually ceased, and the Never-Setting Sun Prairie returned to calm. Only occasionally did a clap of thunder still echo in the high sky, the energy contained within the thunderclap not knowing where it should land, thus dissipating in midair, shaking the clouds into endless fragments.
Chen Changsheng gripped the short sword and walked up the divine path. With each step, splashes of water rose, and countless fine sword marks appeared on the bluestone ground—traces of overflowing sword intent. He looked down the divine path. Nanke had already awakened, and the two maidservants lay unconscious behind her, but they were still alive.
Nanke was covered in blood, sitting in the rain, her face abnormally pale, especially between her slightly wide brows, where the pallor seemed almost translucent. Her soul had previously merged with the Roc and was severely wounded by the Ten Thousand Swords Transforming into Dragons; she could no longer stand. She looked at Chen Changsheng, a hint of bewilderment in her expression, unable to understand what had happened. Why had the Sword Pool helped this human youth? What was that dragon about? Why were there two types of dragon might—the Golden Dragon and the Frost Dragon? If it had been Xu Yourong, she might have accepted defeat, because she was a phoenix and held a natural advantage over the Golden-Winged Roc. But how could Chen Changsheng? A dragon… shouldn’t it be Qiu Shanjun?
Her bewilderment lasted only a moment. She quickly regained clarity, raised her hand with some difficulty, wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, and looked at him expressionlessly. “Do you think you can leave the Garden of Zhou like this? Such a thought is deeply disrespectful to the great souls within the tomb.”
Chen Changsheng thought to himself that the prairie had already been destroyed like this, and the Sword Pool was no more—what was there to speak of respect? He didn’t answer the question, because he wasn’t good at conversation. Throughout the battle, he had responded to similar questions not with words, but directly with his sword.
“You will still die in this prairie,” Nanke said. “We will all die here.”
Chen Changsheng didn’t understand why she said such things—was she trying to buy time before death, hoping for a miracle? Seeing his expression, Nanke knew he didn’t grasp her meaning. She asked with a hint of mockery, “Have you never wondered why there is a Sword Pool in the Garden of Zhou?”
Standing atop the divine path, he looked out over the vast, boundless prairie. Of course, he had thought about this question. Many believed the Sword Pool was Zhou Dufu’s burial object, a silent monument he erected for himself. But after entering this prairie and experiencing this heart-stirring battle, how could one still think of it so simply?
Zhou Dufu had fought countless battles in his life. The world said he was obsessed with martial arts, but he was no fool. If he sought the Heavenly Dao, opponents like the Demon Lord, Chen Xuanba, or the head of the Li Mountain Sword Sect would suffice. Yet clearly, many of these battles involved opponents unworthy of being his foes. Moreover, why did he keep the swords of his defeated enemies in this prairie after each victory? And what was it that bound these swords, preventing them from leaving?
“You know nothing, yet you acted, and… you even succeeded. I don’t know whether to call you lucky or foolish,” Nanke said, looking at him with a complex expression—unclear whether it was pity or mockery.
Before the demon general couple resolved to die, they had expressed similar sentiments, feeling Chen Changsheng was too fortunate. But Chen Changsheng knew well that his fate was not good. If what Nanke said was true, then his actions were merely foolish. He didn’t know what to say.
After entering the Garden of Zhou, Nanke hadn’t laughed, not even in Snow-City. But now, she laughed joyfully, her smile innocent yet her eyes malicious, like a child who had succeeded in a prank. “You’ve done so much, struggled so long, even burned your life to carve a path to survival, only to die in the end. Everything becomes meaningless. Are you feeling desperate now?”
Chen Changsheng vaguely sensed she was telling the truth, that something might happen next. Though he didn’t understand it, he thought for a moment and said, “Even if we all die in this prairie later, it’s still better than… us dying while you live. If that’s the case, then our efforts are certainly meaningful.”
His voice was tired, very calm, yet still left no room for argument.
But in his heart, a voice kept urging him to leave.
After this brutal battle to attack the tomb, countless demonic beasts had died. Yet compared to the ocean-like tide of beasts, it was still a small fraction. One could imagine the terrifying numbers and combat power of the beasts. But… these beasts weren’t used to suppress the Sword Pool; they were tomb guardians.
Everything should have its reason, especially a place like the Garden of Zhou. Since the beasts were Zhou Dufu’s means to prevent humans or demons from approaching his tomb, why did he leave these ten thousand remnant swords in the Garden of Zhou, buried in the watery marshes of the prairie? And what did he use to bind these ten thousand swords around the tomb?
Chen Changsheng had no answer, and neither did Nanke.
Before entering the Garden of Zhou, her teacher, Black Robe, had warned her that a mysterious force in the prairie suppressed the Sword Pool, while the Sword Pool also suppressed that mysterious force. A balance between the two ensured the prairie’s existence. Thus, upon entering, she should not seek the Sword Pool, and even if she found it, she should do nothing.
So after entering the prairie, she had let Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong escape for so long while searching for Zhou Dufu’s tomb, showing no interest in the Sword Pool. Yet the Sword Pool was still discovered—a sea of swords in the prairie. Then the ten thousand swords in the pool were summoned by Chen Changsheng. From that moment, she knew the balance of the Never-Setting Sun Prairie was broken, and the Garden of Zhou would face catastrophe, even direct destruction. To prevent this, she had made great efforts, but ultimately failed.
Still, what exactly was that mysterious force?
Chen Changsheng looked into the depths of the prairie, found nothing, then turned and didn’t continue down the divine path. Nanke and the two maidservants were crippled and couldn’t stop his departure. The sight of the demon general couple staring at each other and dying amidst the ten thousand sword lights earlier had tired him, and he needed to hurry.
Walking to a corner beside the main gate of the tomb, he reached out to support Xu Yourong, intending to take her away. But just as his hand was inches from her shoulder, it suddenly froze in the chilly wind. After a moment, he slowly straightened up, turned, and looked down at the tomb again.
A mournful, sobbing cry rose across the prairie, like the sound of a leaf flute played by the former Xiuling tribesmen.
It was the severely wounded Earth Monkey crying. Amid the filthy water, grass debris, and demonic beast corpses, it hugged the thick leg of the Collapsing Mountain Boar, weeping in sorrow. What was this cunning, sinister, even terrifying high-level beast crying about? The battle between the Ten Thousand Swords Transforming into Dragons and the Golden-Winged Roc had ravaged the prairie surface, adding more horrific wounds to the Collapsing Mountain Boar’s body. But as the third-ranked beast on the Earth Beast List, it could clearly endure and wouldn’t die. Was the Earth Monkey crying over its broken leg?
Chen Changsheng didn’t understand, but a chill ran through his body. The Earth Monkey’s cry was so miserable, so heart-wrenching, so fearful. As its cry spread, more and more demonic beasts howled in agony. These low-level beasts couldn’t cry, but their pained roars and moist eyes were their tears.
Nanke closed her eyes. She was waiting for death—not at Chen Changsheng’s hands, but for the Garden of Zhou’s destruction.
Chen Changsheng silently watched the prairie. The sky had cleared, dawn was approaching, and azure reappeared. The thunder had faded, and all was serene.
Only the beasts’ mournful cries constantly reminded him that destruction was imminent, and everything was too late.
The prairie showed no abnormality, but in his eyes, it seemed to have grown lighter, undergoing some subtle, incomprehensible change.
It was a feeling, perhaps because all the swords in the prairie had been taken away by him.
The prairie grew lighter, the sky turned azure, and the light became clearer.
A clear light emerged from somewhere before the tomb, crossing countless miles across the ground, landing in the azure sky.
Silent, as if nothing had happened, like a drop of ink falling into a bowl of clear water.
Ink entering water seemed gentle, but in the next moment, the bowl of clear water would turn entirely black.
The azure sky suddenly faded, or rather, grew clearer.
Over time, the sky’s color grew paler and paler. Paleness meant transparency, meant brightness.
Where the clear light vanished, a piece of the bright, transparent sky fell.
It was a true piece of sky.
That fragment of sky drifted slowly toward the ground.
Chen Changsheng stared at that fragment, his face growing paler and paler.
All the demonic beasts raised their heads, gazing at that fragment, ceasing their mournful howls, falling into dead silence.
The sky fragment fell slowly, like a real falling leaf, seemingly avoidable. But the ocean of beasts on the prairie surface made no move to dodge.
This was the Garden of Zhou, their entire world. Now, the whole world was about to be destroyed—where could they flee?
The prairie around the tomb was silent, only the Earth Monkey still weeping in sorrow.
No matter how gently the Collapsing Mountain Boar stroked its head, it couldn’t stop its lament.
It and its companions had lived in this vast prairie for countless years. Now, this prairie was finally going to be destroyed. They had guarded this tomb for centuries, yet still failed to protect it. How could they not be furious, not fearful, not despairing, not anguished?
The Earth Monkey’s mournful cry echoed over the dead prairie, rising and falling with the drifting space fragment, like an endlessly sorrowful song.
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(Yesterday was the happy wedding day of fellow reader Nine Classmates. Here, I offer warm congratulations, wishing all the washboards in Guangdong sold out. The next chapter should be out before ten. Also, this chapter has nothing to do with Jay Chou’s wedding—I’m very blessed.)