Chapter 418: The First Answer in Xunyang City
As expected of the world’s third-ranked assassin, Liu Qing’s movements were eerily strange. Just as Chen Changsheng spoke those words, he turned into a wisp of smoke and vanished into the heavy curtain of rain. When he reappeared, he was already extremely close to the yellow-maned horse silently lowering its head in the downpour. Yet… his sword once again pierced Chen Changsheng’s body.
Su Li had taught Chen Changsheng three sword techniques, and he used all three of them now, growing more and more proficient with each use. That fierce intent to live or die together grew stronger and stronger, even beginning to enter a realm of effortless mastery. No one knew how many more times Chen Changsheng’s true essence could sustain him in using the final form of the Li Mountain Sword Art, but in any case, he had held on until now.
Blood spurted from beneath Chen Changsheng’s ribs, quickly washed away by the torrential rain. His face was pale, his expression somewhat dull, as if he could no longer feel pain. But in truth, his divine sense was still rapidly calculating, predicting the terrifying assassin’s next possible move, while also keeping watch on the battle between Wang Po and Zhu Luo at the other end of the long street.
This was the requirement of the Wisdom Sword—calculating everything: the timing, the terrain, the environment. Chen Changsheng stared at the assassin’s ordinary, unremarkable features, yet he always felt something was off in his calculations. He didn’t understand why his own blood had suddenly lost its taste, nor why the opponent’s sword wasn’t as terrifying as he had imagined.
His body, soaked in dragon blood, was far stronger than a perfect marrow cleansing. Liu Qing’s sword could easily break through his defenses, which was already quite formidable. But according to Chen Changsheng’s calculations, Liu Qing’s sword should have been even more terrifying. He had already endured seven strikes, yet he still stood in the rain, not yet fallen. Why?
Seven strikes happened in an instant—even the rain had only just begun to pool a fraction of an inch at the base of the broken wall. Neither the onlookers watching from afar nor those hidden elsewhere in Xunyang City had time to react. The torrential rain washed over the long street. In the dimness, only the figures of five people and one horse could be seen.
Wang Po stood in the rain. His iron blade slashed out countless spatial cracks, blocking the infinite radiance spilling over from the other end of the downpour. The edges of those cracks had grown very bright, illuminating his body. That light was all Zhu Luo’s sword light, seemingly gentle like moonlight, yet impossible to evade. Every beam of sword light that landed on Wang Po’s body cut a straight gash, and blood flowed out.
He had become a blood-soaked figure, and even the force of the rain could no longer wash it away.
Between the streets and alleys, there was no sound except the rain. The storm roared like thunder, seeming lively, yet those present felt only a dead silence.
Liang Wangsun, Liang Hongzhuang—those who would stop at nothing to kill Su Li—silently waited for the moment Chen Changsheng would fall. Xue He and Hua Jiefu, representing the Great Zhou court and the state religion, also remained silent. Hidden within Xunyang City and beyond, in the wind and rain, countless more priests and soldiers stayed quiet.
Because of Wang Po’s silence and persistence, because of Chen Changsheng’s resolve—everyone knew that the Saints wanted Su Li dead. Even Zhu Luo was merely carrying out the Saints’ will. Wang Po and Chen Changsheng were arguably the strongest of their respective generations, but compared to the Saints, they were ultimately mere mortals. Their current opponents were all powerhouses far surpassing them in strength and realm, yet they relied on their will and an indescribable force that erupted from within, holding on until now. Watching the two figures in the rain, who could remain unmoved?
Wang Po was a great figure of Huaiyuan, and Chen Changsheng was the heir of the state religion. They had no bond with Li Mountain; in fact, they should have been rivals. Yet to keep Su Li alive, they fought against the Saints’ will until this very moment. Why did they do this? Wang Po and Chen Changsheng disliked Su Li’s temperament. Under normal circumstances, they probably wouldn’t risk their lives for him. But not now. Su Li should not be killed by the human world after being gravely wounded fighting for it against the demons.
This was betrayal. This act was shameless.
In this matter, Wang Po and Chen Changsheng firmly believed they were right, and the Saints were wrong.
Therefore, in this matter, their choice was sacred and inviolable.
The reasoning was that simple, but carrying it out was extremely difficult.
Su Li sat on the horse’s back, looking at Chen Changsheng before him and Wang Po further down the rainy street. He said nothing. The lazy, carefree air in his expression had long since vanished.
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Before Wang Po and Chen Changsheng fell, Su Li would not die. This was the conclusion everyone in Xunyang City had reached. Wang Po’s death would inevitably shake the southern lands and have enormous repercussions, but if it meant killing Su Li, that price seemed payable. Yet the problem was that no one wanted Chen Changsheng to die.
Chen Changsheng was the dean of the National Academy and the heir of the state religion. His Holiness the Pope wanted Su Li dead but absolutely did not want Chen Changsheng to die. However, far away in the Li Palace in the capital, the Pope probably never imagined that Chen Changsheng would sacrifice his own life for the strongest opponent of the Li Palace.
From Xue He to Liang Hongzhuang, from Xiao Zhang to Liang Wangsun, from the military camps to Xunyang City, Chen Changsheng had fought all the way. Though he had faced life and death several times, he had never truly faced an absolute threat of death—partly due to this factor. Now it was different. Liu Qing was an assassin. Although he didn’t want Chen Changsheng to die by his hand either, he was paid for a job. Killing Su Li was his mission. Like all those who valued money—such as Zhexiu—these people placed great importance on completing their tasks. This even outweighed their own lives, and naturally, it outweighed the lives of others. For the first seven strikes, Liu Qing tried to avoid killing Chen Changsheng. But he realized that if he didn’t kill Chen Changsheng, he truly couldn’t kill Su Li. So… kill him then.
Liu Qing stared expressionlessly at Chen Changsheng and thrust his sword out once more. But this time, his sword wasn’t aimed at Su Li—it was aimed directly at Chen Changsheng. An assassin at the Gathering Stars Upper Realm was rare. How terrifying was such an assassin’s killing blow? Before Chen Changsheng even received it, he felt a wave of darkness rushing toward him, as if it would obliterate all light.
Chen Changsheng knew he was about to die. He had lived with the shadow of death for years, most sensitive and concerned about it. But at this moment, he didn’t care much—or rather, he had no time to care.
No one could change this. Not Su Li, gravely wounded and not yet healed. Not Wang Po, struggling desperately in the storm, already a blood-soaked figure. Hua Jiefu and the priests naturally wanted to stop Liu Qing’s sword, but they could only manage a cry of alarm.
In Xunyang City at this moment, only one person could prevent Chen Changsheng’s death—that person was Zhu Luo.
He was a legend who had stepped into the sacred realm. Although his sword light was blocked by Wang Po on the other side of the rainy street, as long as he was willing to pay a sufficient price, he could still find a way to come to this side.
Suddenly, a crack appeared in the rain clouds above. A brightness burst forth. In the rainwater on the street, it seemed as if a demonic moon had appeared—an illusory scene, yet also seeming real.
The iron blade remained steady in the wind and rain. Zhu Luo was still over there, but a middle-aged man with long hair flowing over his shoulders suddenly appeared before Su Li. It was a miraculous existence, almost like a split body.
Moon in the Water—this was a movement technique, even a divine art.
At the most critical moment, one of the strongest figures on the continent had finally used his most powerful means.
He reached out, grabbed Chen Changsheng, and flung him toward the side of the street, leaving Su Li to Liu Qing.
With such a simple appearance, a simple throw, a simple yielding.
Zhu Luo had solved all the problems.
He would let Chen Changsheng live.
He would let Su Li die.
And moreover, the one killing Su Li was an assassin—nothing to do with him.
Even if he was Zhu Luo, having the blood of Li Mountain’s Little Master on his hands was troublesome.
Truly worthy of being one of the Eight Winds and Rains.
Wind and rain shrouded Xunyang.
It turned out that from beginning to end, the entire situation had always been under his control.
Chen Changsheng had no ability whatsoever to evade Zhu Luo’s hand.
He watched Liu Qing’s sword brush past his side, thrusting toward Su Li.
He knew there was no way.
He felt some despair, then exhaustion.
But just then, he suddenly noticed that someone in the scene was smiling.
No, more precisely, two people were smiling.
The first to smile was Liu Qing—his smile was somewhat eerie.
Then Su Li smiled—his smile was somewhat reflective, his emotions complex.
Why were they laughing? Who was truly controlling the situation in the scene?
At the moment when Liu Qing’s sword did not pierce Su Li’s body but instead pierced Zhu Luo’s phantom…
Everything finally had an answer.
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(The chapter title from the previous chapter was inconvenient to continue using, so it was changed to this.)