Chapter 113: Three Pines (Part 1)
As one of the Eight Winds and Rains, Zhu Luo rarely appeared before the mortal world, but today he had to come. And to be honest, neither Wang Po nor the cultivators in Xunyang City found his appearance surprising. What kind of figure was Su Li? To kill him, the Black Robe had used the Zhou Garden as bait to weave a conspiracy, and the demon race had deployed such a grand formation on the wilderness before Snow Old City. Now the human world also wanted him dead—how could assassins along the way, or experts of Xue He and Liang Hongzhuang's caliber, be enough?
Even with the hundreds of cultivators now gathered in Xunyang City, plus the three strongest of the middle generation—Wang Po, Xiao Zhang, and Liang Wangsun—it still wasn't enough. Whether for a farewell or to summon his soul, when it came to a historic moment of life and death involving Su Li, even if the Holy Empress, the Pope, and other saints couldn't appear, the Eight Winds and Rains absolutely had to be present.
Zhu Luo, who seemed like a deity to the mortal world, descended from the sky to the ground, arriving in the noisy and chaotic human realm, appearing in Xunyang City at the end of the long street, precisely for this reason—he had come to kill Su Li. Thinking of the grove outside Hanqiu City, the pavilion beyond the grove, and the transcendent figure with long flowing hair beneath it, Chen Changsheng felt very uneasy. Then he heard Su Li's words and understood. They were all people living in this world—how could there truly be transcendent beings who dined on wind and dew, untouched by mortal smoke and fire?
Since they were worldly people, it was inevitable they'd do some despicable things, whether willingly or forced. Chen Changsheng looked at Zhu Luo's indifferent face and remained silent, recalling a line Tang Thirty-Six had said under the banyan tree at the National Academy: "No one's character naturally improves with age. Most of the time, a young idiot just becomes an old idiot." Old bastard, old idiot—these were all vulgar words, but at this moment, they carried weight. Chen Changsheng wouldn't say such profanities, but looking at Zhu Luo across the street, he couldn't help thinking these terms.
His feeling was correct. At this moment, Zhu Luo was no longer the cold, ethereal transcendent being from the pavilion outside Hanqiu City, nor the human hero who had slain the Second Demon General under the moonlight on the snowy plains centuries ago. This Zhu Luo was a clan leader, a Great Zhou aristocrat, a powerhouse of the continent, a human—an ordinary human.
An ordinary human who could kill for profit.
After bowing, Wang Po had stood quietly before Su Li and Chen Changsheng, neither speaking nor moving, nor showing any intention of stepping aside. He hadn't even sheathed his blade. Facing the Eight Winds and Rains, whose seniority, status, and strength far surpassed his, this silence and stillness were deeply disrespectful.
Zhu Luo looked at him and said, "I didn't want to appear, but you forced me to."
This referred to Wang Po's seemingly steady yet utterly mad slash—a blow that, at the heavy cost of his future, had gravely wounded Xiao Zhang and Liang Wangsun, then broken through the heroes of Xunyang, seemingly ready to take Su Li out of the city. If Zhu Luo hadn't shown up now, Wang Po might truly have defied the tide of the human world and helped Su Li survive.
Given Zhu Luo's status in the human world, this statement was extremely high praise for Wang Po, though his face showed no expression. Of course, praise wasn't admiration, let alone appreciation. To be precise, Zhu Luo used these words to clearly, even somewhat displeasedly, express both his appreciation and his lack of appreciation for Wang Po.
After saying this, Zhu Luo turned to Chen Changsheng and barked, "The Pope is worried sick in the Li Palace. Your teachers, elders, and friends are all concerned for your safety. Millions in the capital bless you, hoping you live. And yet you're alive, but you've dawdled on the road for so long! What are you trying to do? Are you planning not to go back?"
Compared to the senior tone he used with Wang Po, his words to Chen Changsheng were even harsher. Though Chen Changsheng was now the Dean of the National Academy, he was still young. From Meilisha's perspective, Zhu Luo considered himself a true elder to Chen Changsheng, so it was natural for him to be stern. That last line was nearly a scolding or reprimand.
Chen Changsheng didn't speak. Not because he was ashamed to face his teachers in the capital or embarrassed by the elder's lecture, but because he was still very angry. He feared that if he argued, it might show disrespect to his elder. Wang Po also stayed silent, because he felt no need to speak. He didn't need anyone's appreciation, not even Zhu Luo's.
The street was utterly silent. No one spoke.
Since Zhu Luo's appearance, aside from Su Li's lazy voice, only his voice could be heard in all of Xunyang City. The Eight Winds and Rains were the strongest—whether in this city or across the entire continent—so even if his tone was calm, it rumbled like spring thunder, and the whole world had to listen carefully. Moreover, his appearance on Xunyang's streets this time also represented the collective will of the Great Zhou court. As someone intimately connected with the Chen imperial clan, he had clearly reached some agreement with the Holy Empress and the state religion system.
The Holy Empress, the Li Palace, and Zhu Luo—these were the three mountains of the Great Zhou dynasty. Chen Changsheng had grown up as a young green pine on one of those mountains. Because of his high position, he was deeply respected and held a lofty status. But now, he had to oppose the will of the mountain beneath his feet and face the shadow of another mountain. What could he do?
He looked at Wang Po. Wang Po's tall, lean frame swayed slightly in the chilly wind, truly like a pine tree that had grown sturdy—not yet thick enough to withstand a lightning strike, but at least not easily bent by winds from any direction. Zhu Luo had arrived, but Wang Po hadn't bowed, hadn't stepped aside, hadn't retreated. He lowered his head slightly in the breeze, silent, lost in thought.
But that alone meant nothing.
He was the strongest of the middle generation, ranked first on the Carefree List, but he couldn't possibly be a match for Zhu Luo.
Zhu Luo was one of the Eight Winds and Rains, a figure who had stepped into the sacred domain.
In Xunyang City at this moment, across the entire continent, the only person who dared to look directly at—or even ignore—the Five Saints and the Eight Winds and Rains, aside from themselves, was just one.
Su Li didn't hide his contempt and mockery, saying, "You old fossils are now only good for scaring children?"
This referred to Zhu Luo's words to Wang Po and Chen Changsheng. Before Zhu Luo could reply, Su Li's sword-like brows lifted slightly, and he spoke again.
"I know you all want me dead… You've wanted me dead for many years, whether it's the Heavenly Machine Elder or you. Because even when I was young, you couldn't kill me. So the more you want to kill me, by the same logic, I think you actually want Wang Po to strike now, so you can find an excuse to kill him?"
These words struck deep, so the street remained silent.
People could only pretend not to have heard, including Wang Po himself, who couldn't react.
Zhu Luo's face was expressionless. He said nothing.
"As I grew stronger, you wanted me dead even more."
Su Li sighed. "Tianhai, Bai Yexing—that couple—and you eight wastes. Even Old Yin now wants me dead…"
The Five Saints and the Eight Winds and Rains—aside from Su Li himself—there were thirteen strongest figures on this continent.
He had just named twelve of them. He accused these godlike beings of being conspirators intent on murdering him.
"I'm not upset, because I've never been interested in standing with you bastards in the divine kingdom."
He curled his lip and finally said, "I just regret that I should have killed you eight wastes back then."
(That's all for today.)