Chapter 111: The Cool Sky's Wang Po (Part 2)
Decades ago, a young man emerged from Tianliang Commandery. His name was Wang Po.
From the day he appeared, the era of wildflowers blooming in the cultivation world officially began. He was a genius of cultivation and a prodigy of combat. Whether in cultivation talent or battle prowess, among the cultivators of his generation, he was always the strongest. After Zhou Dufu, he was the only unquestionable strongest who surpassed the boundaries of his era. From the Azure Cloud List to the Gold Touch List, and then to the Carefree List, he always topped the charts, even more illustrious than today's Qiushan Jun and Xu Yourong. Neither Xue Mei, who once won first place in the Grand Court Exam and was known as "Treading Snow," nor Liang Wangsun, whose family heritage of a thousand years burst forth in a single moment, could ever hope to match him. Because of Wang Po, Xue Mei had toiled bitterly in the Heavenly Tomb for over thirty years without finding a way out. The painter Jia Zhang, famed for his arrogance and madness, even went so far as to suffer qi deviation in his attempt to surpass Wang Po, nearly becoming a waste.
Now, Wang Po had cultivated to the peak of the Star Gathering Realm, second only to the Five Saints and the Eight Winds and Rains. Apart from Su Li, a peerless wanderer of the world, or legendary figures like Han Qing the Divine General, no one was stronger than him. And let it not be forgotten, he had only formally begun cultivation a few decades ago. The human world believed he could enter the Saintly Realm, becoming the next generation's saint or succeeding one of the Eight Winds and Rains, and might even go further, into the legendary Divine Concealment Realm.
The streets were dead silent.
People stared at the middle-aged man in green robes standing amidst the ruins of the inn, not daring to make a sound. At one end of the long street, Liang Hongzhuang's expression was extraordinarily complex. Recalling events from years past, an unhealthy flush crept across his face, which was more beautiful than any woman's, clearly indicating his mind was deeply shaken. At the other end of the street, Divine General Xue He looked at the casually held blade in Wang Po's hand, recalling what Su Li had said to him a few days ago, and felt an overwhelming sense of defeat.
At that time, Xue He had asked Su Li why everyone believed he could never catch up to Wang Po. Su Li told him that whether it was the blade or the man himself, he was too far from Wang Po. When Xue He pressed for the reason, Su Li said it was because he needed seven blades, while Wang Po only needed one. This exchange gave Xue He a glimmer of understanding, as if he had grasped something. But only now, watching Wang Po's blade send Jia Zhang flying twice, shattering walls in Xunyang City, did he realize that Su Li's answer had been a perfunctory excuse (fuyan).
His inferiority to Wang Po had nothing to do with how many blades he used. Even if Wang Po were willing to use three hundred and sixty-five blades, swapping one each day, Xue He would still be no match for him. The gap between them was too vast, unrelated to willpower or determination, only to talent. This realization was utterly despairing and heartbreaking.
Wang Po's appearance brought a tremendous spiritual shock to Liang Hongzhuang and Xue He, who were preparing to leave, and even greater pressure to the entire city of Xunyang, especially those who wanted to kill Su Li. The silence was absolute. Only Chen Changsheng, amidst his shock, felt an infinite warmth.
Yes, not ecstasy, but warmth.
Ecstasy often comes from surprise, from the unexpected. Warmth is gentler, deeper, longer-lasting—a comfort born from the perfect alignment of hopes and reality. Chen Changsheng didn't know why Wang Po had appeared in Xunyang City, but he was grateful for his arrival, grateful on behalf of Su Li and himself, grateful for those naive, childish thoughts that had now been vindicated.
Just then, Wang Po's body swayed slightly, and he began to cough.
He coughed up blood, each mouthful carrying a piece of his spirit and vitality.
Everyone could see it: with each cough, he grew more weary and haggard. Even if he was Wang Po, facing opponents of Jia Zhang and Liang Wangsun's caliber, especially two against one, victory was far from guaranteed. To drive them back with a single strike, he had used extremely forceful methods, suffering injuries he shouldn't have had to endure.
A gentle breeze stirred the ruins of the inn. The white paper on Jia Zhang's face rustled, but the confusion in his eyes refused to dissipate. Liang Wangsun's expression was unprecedentedly grave, also filled with intense shock and bewilderment. During the battle, both Jia Zhang and Liang Wangsun had cried out in surprise—they thought Wang Po had gone mad.
All were on the Carefree List, having sparred frequently since youth. They knew Wang Po well—his temperament, his realm, his allegiances, his likes and dislikes, his way of doing things. They knew that although Wang Po was now half-master of Huai, he never considered himself a Southerner. Moreover, it was impossible for Wang Po to have any goodwill toward Li Mountain. Most crucially, Wang Po didn't like Su Li—Su Li was too carefree, like drifting clouds, while Wang Po was too disciplined, like a ledger read countless times. So why was he saving Su Li?
All were peak Star Gathering Realm experts. They knew Wang Po's cultivation level well. Of course, Wang Po was absurdly strong, but there was no way he could so effortlessly defeat their combined efforts, even leaving them with injuries that wouldn't heal quickly. The only possibility was that Wang Po had used his most forceful methods, suffering severe injuries in the process.
Jia Zhang and Liang Wangsun were now heavily wounded, unable to continue fighting. Wang Po seemed to have some strength left, but in truth, he had paid a greater price, one that might even affect his future cultivation path. Why? Why was he so forceful and resolute, willing to pay any price? Why would he sacrifice so much for a Southerner?
"Why are you saving him?" Drops of blood dotted the white paper like plum blossoms, making Jia Zhang's eyes seem even more bloodshot and terrifying. He stared fixedly at Wang Po, feeling the rampant true essence in his meridians, and shouted hoarsely, both angry and bewildered.
Wang Po looked tired. The ends of his eyebrows drooped even more, making him appear even more shabby. Paired with his slightly faded green robes, he truly looked like an ordinary inn's accountant. He turned the question back on Jia Zhang: "Why are you trying to kill him?"
Without a moment's thought, Jia Zhang replied with righteous indignation, even grandly: "Because I don't like him."
Wang Po was silent for a moment, then ignored the madman and turned to Liang Wangsun.
Liang Wangsun's face was pale, his eyes gradually shifting from dim to bright. He said, "I have a grudge against him."
This was a calm and powerful reason.
Wang Po said, "Don't fight for a moment."
Liang Wangsun replied, "Only seize the day."
Wang Po said, "It goes against righteousness."
Liang Wangsun said, "Your righteousness is not my righteousness."
Wang Po said, "Righteousness is great benefit."
Liang Wangsun said no more.
Wang Po turned back to Jia Zhang, looking into the eyes behind the white paper, and said, "You don't like him, so you came to kill him. I don't like you killing him, so I won't let you kill him."
Just like the exchange between Su Li and Chen Changsheng earlier, many things in the world were that simple.
The Cool Sky's Wang Po, indeed, was not simple.
(Hello everyone, my name is Not Simple. See you tomorrow.)