Chapter 112: Wind and Rain Block the City
The long street was silent. Hundreds of people made no sound at all.
Chen Changsheng stood among the ruins of the inn and glanced at Hua Jiefu. Earlier, this chief bishop of Xunyang City had warned him that a major figure from Huaiyuan was traveling in the northern lands and could very well bring immense trouble.
Now it seemed that the National Church was indeed the most powerful force on the continent, capable of accurately detecting even such secret intelligence. But the bishop had miscalculated—that person wasn’t trouble. Besides that… Su Li had also been wrong.
Chen Changsheng looked at Wang Po’s back and said to Su Li, “See? In the end, there are still people willing to help you. This world isn’t entirely dark. It’s worth trusting.”
In the faint, cold drizzle, Wang Po stood like a solitary tree. He had driven back Liang Wangsun and Xiao Zhang, cutting them down with an incomparably ruthless hand until they could no longer fight. In doing so, he had also suffered severe injuries, coughing up blood, his voice sounding somewhat weak.
“Let’s go,” he said without turning around.
Chen Changsheng knew these words were meant for him. He helped Su Li up from the chair and followed Wang Po, stepping unsteadily over the rain-soaked broken beams and rubble, heading toward the street.
Su Li found this somewhat troublesome. Most importantly, being supported by Chen Changsheng meant he couldn’t walk with casual grace, and with hundreds of people watching, this severely damaged his legendary image.
“I told you before we entered the city not to let those two hairy deer go so quickly, but you wouldn’t listen,” he complained angrily to Chen Changsheng. “I don’t care—find me a mount right now.”
Chen Changsheng felt helpless, thinking where on earth could he find a mount at a time like this. “We’ll deal with it after we leave the city,” he said.
Su Li pointed at the Fire Cloud Qilin that Xue He was holding at the other end of the street. “That beast isn’t bad. It can fly.”
Chen Changsheng thought that the entire continent knew it wasn’t bad. The problem was that it wasn’t yours, nor mine—it was the mount of a Great Zhou divine general who was desperately trying to kill you. Why not just leave Xunyang City quickly instead of messing around with this?
Seeing the expression on his face, Su Li reluctantly said, “If that’s really not possible, Liang Wang’s chariot would do.”
Chen Changsheng remained silent, thinking he had truly been wrong. Back then, at the Snow Ridge hot spring, he shouldn’t have walked back. As the two of them spoke, Wang Po had been quietly waiting ahead, showing great patience. Suddenly, he turned and walked toward the crowd, stopping before a cultivator and extending his right hand—that cultivator was holding a yellow-maned horse.
With the clatter of hooves, Wang Po led the horse back, handed the reins to Chen Changsheng, then turned and continued walking down the long street, carrying his iron blade. Watching his back, Chen Changsheng was slightly stunned, never expecting him to be such an interesting person.
He looked like a shabby bookkeeper, but he was an extremely clever one.
“Wang Po is a very amusing man. Back when he was an accountant in Wenshui City, I had high hopes for him. It’s just that… his eyebrows are poorly shaped—too shabby, too sorrowful.”
Riding the yellow-maned horse, Su Li was in a much better mood and felt like chatting and reminiscing. Pointing at Wang Po ahead, he said, “If he were better-looking, I would have treated him better back then.”
Wang Po must have heard his words. His steps paused slightly, then he moved forward again, splashing through the rainwater on the street. Just then, the rain falling from the sky gradually stopped, and in the distance, the sky revealed a patch of azure blue.
This grand feast in Xunyang City had attracted many guests, including figures from the Carefree List like Painted Armor Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun, as well as many other powers. Now the feast was about to end, but there were still many unwilling to leave their seats.
Those people had blood feuds with Su Li, old grievances that could never be resolved.
Wang Po’s blade could drive back Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun, but it could not intimidate people’s hearts. Since those people had come to kill Su Li, they had already set life and death aside. Not fearing death, they naturally wouldn’t fear Wang Po either.
The blue stones on the street were wet with rain, turning into countless black inkstones. Many people stood along the street.
Wang Po led with his blade, Chen Changsheng followed with the reins. The clatter was the sound of rainwater dripping from the eaves, the sound of blood flowing, and the sound of hearts beating.
The crowd’s gazes were complex—awe, fear, anger, unwillingness.
Wang Po’s expression did not change at all. Chen Changsheng looked at his feet. Su Li still gazed at the sky, utterly carefree, which in the eyes of his enemies naturally seemed particularly detestable.
Someone finally couldn’t hold back. He leaped into the street and shouted, “Su Li, your life is mine!”
Chen Changsheng remained silent, his left hand already gripping his sword hilt. Su Li still looked at the sky, completely unconcerned.
From the snowy plains all the way south, over tens of thousands of li, the two had already faced too many attacks. Now, the southbound group had gained one more person, growing from two to three. They had even less to worry about.
A sharp and steady blade intent soared into the air. With a dull thud, the man hadn’t even reached the middle of the street before he was knocked flying back, crashing heavily into a wall, unconscious amid the dust.
Another came, only to be sent flying again by the iron blade. On the long street of Xunyang City, figures flew everywhere, blood sprayed, muffled cries of pain rang out, and desperate, anguished roars filled the air.
Wang Po led the way, carrying his blade. He simply swung his iron blade seemingly at random, and no one could get past it to approach Su Li—whether it was a northern Gathering Stars initial-stage expert or a genius from some sect.
From start to finish, he never used the blade’s edge, so no one died.
On both sides of the long street, cultivators lay everywhere, unable to rise.
Truly, he was the strongest on the Carefree List.
Unless a sage came in person, or the Eight Directions Wind and Rain arrived, who could stop the Sky-Chilling Wang Po?
Chen Changsheng still gripped his sword hilt tightly, silent and vigilant.
His gaze did not linger on Wang Po, nor on that unpredictable iron blade, though he knew this was a rare learning opportunity. Instead, it fell on those easily overlooked spots along the street.
—Broken walls, hanging eaves, injured cultivators, cursing youths.
They were about to leave Xunyang City, but this was also the most dangerous time.
He had never forgotten that assassin who always lurked in the shadows.
The one who had silently followed him and Su Li for thousands of li, with patience terrifying enough to earn the title of the world’s third-best assassin.
The assassin with a very ordinary name: Liu Qing.
He felt Liu Qing would strike.
Now that Wang Po had arrived, if Liu Qing didn’t act during the final chaos in Xunyang City, once they left, he might never find another chance, eventually trapping himself in the most awkward situation, just like Su Li.
The city wall of Xunyang grew closer. After turning the corner ahead, they would see the closed city gate.
Just then, Liang Wangsun spoke.
From the moment they left the inn, Liang Wangsun had been following them.
He could no longer fight, but he refused to leave.
He wanted to see if Su Li could survive, wanted to see if heaven would finally open its eyes.
He said to Wang Po, “The world is vast, but there is no place for Su Li to hide. Where can you take him?”
Wang Po stopped.
The yellow-maned horse stopped.
Wang Po turned to face him and said, “I’ll send him back to Lishan.”
Chen Changsheng had brought Su Li tens of thousands of li.
So, what if he also took Su Li tens of thousands of li, all the way back to Lishan?
“But… even if you send him back to Lishan, what meaning does it still have?”
A faint voice sounded from the other end of the long street.
Chen Changsheng thought, yes, if Lishan had truly changed, what good would it do for Su Li to return?
Could it be that the world was so vast, yet truly had no room for him?
Then, he suddenly snapped to alertness and looked toward the source of the voice.
Who was speaking?
Wang Po’s expression became extremely grave, solemn and silent.
He was vigilant—far more vigilant than when facing Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun together.
Looking at the figure slowly emerging from the street corner, Chen Changsheng felt his body grow cold.
No way.
He thought silently.
Then, he was filled with fury.
Stories shouldn’t have such an ending.
A feast that devours people—why should it end according to the host’s will?
Fury stemmed from helplessness.
Chen Changsheng felt helpless at this moment because he was truly in despair.
Whether facing Xue He or Liang Hongzhuang in the wilderness, or seeing Liang Wang’s chariot at the inn, he had never despaired. Even facing Xiao Zhang’s iron spear, when he couldn’t even lift his sword, he still didn’t despair.
Because he was still alive, Su Li was still alive, and he believed someone in this world would come to help them.
He had shouted those four words into the bright spring light of Xunyang City, and there must be an echo.
And indeed, Wang Po had come.
He had come riding the wind and rain.
But now… this person had also come.
No matter how bright the spring light, it would eventually fade.
The echoes he clung to would also fade.
Even if someone was still willing to help them, what use was it?
Now, who could still help them?
At the street corner appeared a middle-aged man.
His long hair hung over his shoulders, but within it, many snow-like traces could be seen.
So much so that it was impossible to tell how many years he had lived, how many years he had cultivated.
Decades or centuries?
He was tall and gaunt.
He had an extraordinary bearing, unmatched in elegance, for he was the leader of the great clans.
His expression was very cold, for he was the sect master of the Emotion-Severing, Nature-Extinguishing Sect.
Looking at Wang Po and Chen Changsheng, he naturally exuded a domineering and condescending aura.
Even when looking at Su Li, he made no effort to hide his confidence and arrogance.
His name shook the eight directions; wind and rain darkened the sky.
The newcomer was none other than the Eight Directions Wind and Rain.
Zhu Luo.
He was the strongest on the continent.
He was the god of the cultivation world.
The long street of Xunyang City fell silent, then countless sounds arose.
Hundreds of cultivators prostrated themselves.
Liang Wangsun bowed deeply.
The white paper on Xiao Zhang’s face shifted.
Wang Po did not move, did not bow, standing still as he looked at the man opposite.
Chen Changsheng did not bow either. He had forgotten to bow.
Su Li sat on the horse, looking down from above.
He said to Zhu Luo, “You old bastards finally couldn’t hold back.”
Zhu Luo said, “I simply couldn’t bear to kill you with my own hands, so I didn’t want to meet.”
Su Li was silent for a moment, then said with emotion, “It seems my judgment back then was indeed correct.”
Zhu Luo asked, “What judgment?”
Su Li looked at him seriously and said, “You’re all bastards—old bastards.”
(The impact of quitting smoking on writing is truly too great. I’m always trying, getting better and better.)