Chapter 350: From Zhou Garden to Snowfield
A giant umbrella formed of swords covered the sky above Zhou Garden, blocking the falling streams of fire and holding up the fragments of space that were shattering and falling. Those falling sky fragments should have been weightless, but as they adhered to the invisible umbrella surface, they generated an almost infinite weight. With a crisp cracking sound, Chen Changsheng's feet sank deep into the hard rock, countless fine cracks spreading at the edges, and his trousers instantly turned into countless shreds.
The next moment, his body trembled violently. The unimaginable weight and pressure of the sky transmitted directly through the ten thousand swords onto him. Every bone in his body seemed to creak and groan, on the verge of breaking at any moment.
The terrifying sound of cracking continued. His feet kept breaking through the hard rock. He could no longer support himself. His left knee gave way, and he knelt down, his knee striking heavily against the rock, smashing out countless gravel and dust.
A rumbling, thunder-like muffled sound came from below. Dust rose in great clouds, gradually obscuring the nearby grassland and the White Grass Path that had long lost its original form. The entire mausoleum began to tremble, and then, in an extremely short time, it sank several feet!
This was the weight of the sky.
Chen Changsheng knelt on one knee atop the mausoleum, beneath the sky. His face grew paler and paler, his expression more and more pained. His body, bathed in True Dragon blood, could be said to be as hard as steel. Even Nanke's Peacock Plumes could not break through his external defenses. Yet under this pure, terrifying weight, even if his body were truly made of steel, it seemed it would be crushed into iron sheets.
Fortunately, it was not the real sky, only fragments torn down by the energy storm. Though it was extremely painful, and he had nearly been crushed into spiritual oblivion, he still managed to hold on, and his body gradually stopped trembling.
The eleven stone pillars around the mausoleum had also truly calmed down. A certain aura seemed to flow between the black stone tablets. If not for the black stone left by Wang Zhice, neither he nor Xu Yourong, nor the human cultivators and demon beasts in Zhou Garden, could have maintained even this slim chance of survival.
He knelt at the highest point of the mausoleum, his left hand holding the yellow paper umbrella, his right hand gripping the short sword embedded in the rock. With extreme difficulty, he raised his head and looked into the distance, hoping that this slim chance had already arrived.
The shattered sky was already very gloomy. Now covered by countless sword shadows, the world of Zhou Garden was even darker. The collapse of heaven and earth had temporarily stopped. The hurricane on the grassland was still raging wildly. He could see many demon beasts running to the edge of the grassland, and in the distance, among the burning gardens, he could faintly sense auras rapidly fleeing. Had some people already left?
Then, his gaze pierced through the wildly dancing wind and sand into the distance. He could vaguely see that the Roc bird, carrying the young girl, had already flown out of the grassland and disappeared into the mountain ranges on the horizon.
You must live. Live well.
He thought silently in his heart.
The gate of Zhou Garden might have already opened. The people participating in this trial were leaving. Those demon beasts might also escape with their lives. But he could not leave. Once he withdrew the ten thousand swords, the sky would fall directly, crushing him and Zhou Garden into smoke.
The hurricane on the grassland was still violent. His knee was deeply embedded in the rock at the highest point of the mausoleum. He lowered his head wearily, feeling that his situation was like that famous tragic hero in the myths of the National Religion.
That hero, on a steep mountain path, used all his strength to hold up a rolling boulder. If he relaxed even slightly, he would be crushed to death by the boulder. Day and night, endlessly, he consumed his life in the struggle against the boulder.
Chen Changsheng had never imagined he would fall into such a desperate situation. He did not want to be a tragic hero, nor did he have any thought of sacrificing his life for righteousness. He was not that great. He just wanted to live, and he wanted many people to live.
Like those he knew, those he cared about.
Zhe Xiu, if you are still alive, then live. Qi Jian, you should also live. And that Xiuling clan girl who had just disappeared into the mountains, who shared his surname and had a beautiful name… Miss Chu Jian, you must live well.
As for what he should do next? He had just told Xu Yourong that he would figure it out. Those three words, "figure it out," actually meant he didn't know what to do. But he really did want to see if the change he was waiting for would appear.
The famous tragic hero in the myths of the National Religion had exhausted his years and life in the struggle against that rock, until despair turned him into a stone statue, because no one came to help him during those long years. The reason no one was willing to help him was that he had once been proud and had never been willing to help those lowly commoners.
Although Chen Changsheng often left people speechless, no one would ever consider him proud. Confidence and pride were never synonyms. Moreover, he had always been very willing to help others, like those human cultivators currently fleeing out of Zhou Garden.
One who gains the Way will have many helpers.
Great figures of the National Religion like Archbishop Meilisha, and powerful experts like Zhu Luo drinking alone under the moon, were all outside the gate of Zhou Garden. As long as he held on a little longer, these people would surely come to save him.
That was what Chen Changsheng thought.
But how long did he have to hold on? How much longer?
The terrifying weight of the sky caused pain in every part of his body. As time passed, the umbrella he held in his right hand grew heavier and heavier, until his arm gradually lost all feeling, as if it were useless.
No one knew how much time had passed. From the short sword embedded in the rock at the top of the mausoleum, the Black Dragon's voice sounded: "You… are you alright?"
Chen Changsheng lowered his head and asked, "Are you alright?"
He was more concerned about how it was doing. Earlier, to fight against that Golden-Winged Roc, the Black Dragon's separated soul had awakened from the lake outside the Netherworld and entered the short sword. After that, there had been no time for any communication.
The Black Dragon was silent for a moment, then said, "I'm fine."
Chen Changsheng said, "I'm fine too. I can… hold on a little longer."
The Black Dragon said, "I understand. This is what you humans call a pun. But you know, compared to Dragon language, this technique, or rather, this complexity, is pitifully unimpressive."
Chen Changsheng said wearily, "Can you talk about something else?"
The Black Dragon said, "Hmm, there's something you might not know yet. I'm wondering whether to tell you…"
Chen Changsheng said, "It doesn't matter."
The Black Dragon's voice became a little cautious: "You… won't die, will you?"
"No." Chen Changsheng answered directly without thinking.
The Black Dragon was silent for a long time, then said, "It seems… you really are going to die."
Chen Changsheng was a little helpless and said, "Why do you say that? I said I won't die."
The Black Dragon said, "Your answer just now was too fast… you didn't mean it."
Chen Changsheng couldn't be bothered to deal with it anymore, but he vaguely felt something was off. That the Black Dragon could speak human language didn't surprise him, but why was its voice so clear, delicate, and soft, like a woman's…
He didn't ask, because he was really tired, really exhausted, really in pain, and about to… lose his grip.
This was the weight of the sky. How long could a mortal hold on?
He wasn't sweating, but he felt that all the muscles inside his body had torn, and he was about to lose all strength. His consciousness was becoming dazed, his true essence was exhausted, and even his vision was blurry.
The ten thousand swords were silent. He was silent too, even entering a state of forgetting both self and the world, forgetting everything.
No one knew how much time passed. The howling wind gradually weakened. The pressure from the violent energy turbulence gradually disappeared. The weight on the yellow paper umbrella gradually vanished. Heaven and earth became completely quiet.
Chen Changsheng opened his eyes, exhausted to the extreme, and looked around.
At that moment, a snowflake fell, landing on the surface of the yellow paper umbrella. Such a gentle snowflake, yet it caused a sharp pain in his wrist, and he nearly lost his grip on the umbrella handle. Zhou Garden… was it snowing?
No.
This was not Zhou Garden. This was a snowfield.
He looked into the distance. Under the shadow of the sky, he could vaguely see a majestic city.
Where was this? He was very confused. He didn't know what had happened. Shock and exhaustion left him unable to move. He still maintained his previous posture—kneeling on one knee in the snowfield, his left hand gripping the short sword, his right hand holding the yellow paper umbrella.
The sky here was not collapsing. The snowfield was serene and beautiful. Of course, he looked somewhat ridiculous.
Footsteps sounded. Someone walked up to him, let out a soft exclamation, and said, "There's a sword."
Then that person reached out and took the yellow paper umbrella from Chen Changsheng's hand.
……
……
(The Zhou Garden arc officially ends here. Of course, there are still many aftereffects. All the interesting things you can think of are yet to come. I myself really like the plot in Zhou Garden. It was something I confirmed in advance when I was outlining last year. I wrote it very seriously and diligently. But when the Zhou Garden plot reached its midpoint, I started imagining this chapter in advance. What I wanted was that final image. I have seriously rehearsed this scene with friends in real life many times. I acted out Chen Changsheng half-kneeling in the snowfield, offering the umbrella, and also acted out the cool guy casually taking the umbrella. In short, this image was the purpose of writing. When I write novels and tell stories, I always aim for countless beautiful images. For example, the Spring Breeze Pavilion in Nightfall, when the Senior Brother made his grand entrance, there was also a soft exclamation, and so on. This is what they call "never changing despite being beaten." That's me. I hope everyone likes it. The Golden Keyboard Award voting runs until the end of the month. Please take a moment to cast your free votes for Ze Tian Ji. Thank you very much.)