Chapter 692: Thoughts Without Guile
The Xue residence, once desolate and rarely visited, was still not bustling, but at least some people had come—and all of them were important figures. Before the spirit tablet, the Prince of Zhongshan merely nodded casually before turning to leave, while the Minister of Rites earnestly offered a stick of incense and murmured something under his breath. No one knew what he had said.
In the eastern courtyard, a quiet chamber had been set up. Chen Changsheng, Su Moyu, the Prince of Chenliu, and Tianhai Shengxue sat on chairs.
All four of them were young; the oldest, Tianhai Shengxue, was only in his thirties.
Chen Changsheng looked at the wound on Tianhai Shengxue’s face and wanted to say something.
Tianhai Shengxue spoke first.
After the Grand Examination that year, the grudges between the National Academy and Tianhai Shengxue had been resolved, and there was even some unspoken understanding between them in private. That understanding, along with past promises, seemed fragile and easily shattered against the backdrop of the upheaval at the Mausoleum of Books. But still, they had once shared that tacit agreement.
Moreover, as previously mentioned, they were all still young.
When young people spoke, there was much less stale air, and they were much more direct.
“You should be well aware that all these big shots who came to the Xue residence today want to borrow your influence to test or confirm the current state of the court,” Tianhai Shengxue said. “The Dao Sovereign’s supreme authority in the imperial court relies on Zhou Tong’s survival as proof. At least for now, no one dares to challenge that. But I believe that as time passes, our fathers won’t be content to play second fiddle forever.”
His father was Tianhai Chengwu, and the Prince of Chenliu’s father was the Prince of Xiang—both true heavyweights of the Great Zhou dynasty.
Chen Changsheng understood his meaning. After a moment of silence, he said, “No one knows how long that will take.”
“You can’t just take a step blindly just because the path ahead is uncertain, because it’s easy to stray onto the wrong road,” the Prince of Chenliu said, looking at him earnestly and advising, “Everything should be guided by the greater good. Your succession as the Pope is the greater good that outweighs all else, and it’s worth enduring and waiting for.”
Chen Changsheng said nothing. He had a different view on this.
He knew his teacher better than anyone, including the Pope.
In the fourteen years he had lived in the old temple in Xining Town, that middle-aged Daoist had been both his teacher and his father. But now, looking back carefully, neither he nor Xuanyuan Po had ever seen the true face of that middle-aged Daoist. What they had seen were merely the tip of a mountain in thick fog, a sliver of blue sky on a cloudy day, a flower by the stream.
Now, after so many events, many images and fragments of memory had gradually coalesced into a coherent picture. Whether it was the flower by the stream, the mountain in the fog, the blue sky behind the clouds, or the Daoist scriptures in the temple, those details that seemed aimless but actually concealed boundless cunning had formed a true landscape—that was his teacher, Shang Xingzhou.
His Holiness the Pope wanted to pass the Orthodoxy into Chen Changsheng’s hands. He believed that with the power of the Li Palace and his own prestige, he could ensure that after he returned to the sea of stars, at least no one within the Orthodoxy would dare oppose this matter. As long as the Orthodoxy remained stable and unified, the imperial court would have no way to interfere.
But Chen Changsheng knew that things would never develop that way. He was absolutely certain that the day his uncle the Pope returned to the sea of stars would be the day his teacher made his move against him. He would either be killed or, like the little black dragon, be imprisoned forever in some sunless abyss.
—Either outcome was not what he wanted.
Tianhai Shengxue sensed something and said, “If you really think something big is going to happen, you should start preparing now.”
Chen Changsheng shook his head and said, “Any preparation is largely meaningless.”
Just like that night, when the Imperial Carriage Diagram failed, the entire situation in the capital depended on the battle at the Mausoleum of Books.
The history of the continent had always been decided by the strong in the sacred domain.
There was an insurmountable chasm between the sacred and the mundane.
No matter how great Chen Changsheng’s talent in cultivation was, he could not cross that chasm in just a few dozen days.
“You should leave,” the Prince of Chenliu said, offering a different view from Tianhai Shengxue. “While His Holiness the Pope can still force your teacher not to act… this is the best and last chance.”
Su Moyu glanced at Chen Changsheng.
In the National Academy, he had once made the same suggestion.
Chen Changsheng said nothing. He knew he couldn’t leave.
Tianhai Shengxue left. Before stepping out of the quiet chamber, he said, “In a few days, the celebration will begin.”
Many major events had occurred this autumn: Her Holiness Tianhai had returned to the sea of stars, and the Demon Lord had fallen into the abyss of death.
There were also things about to happen that could be compared to these two events—only the unification of the North and South.
In a few days, the celebration of the North-South unification would be held in the capital. According to what was said in the spring, the White Emperor and his consort might come to observe the ceremony.
Chen Changsheng understood what Tianhai Shengxue was trying to remind him of.
Luoluo might return to the capital.
…
…
Zhou Tong returned to the North Military Command Alley.
He stood under the courtyard wall, hands clasped behind his back, staring at the deep tree pit with an expressionless face, saying nothing, waiting for the return of the crabapple tree.
In the slanting autumn sky, a shrill bird cry suddenly rang out. He and several of his subordinate officials looked up and saw a dark shadow fall feebly and powerlessly from the sky.
It was a red hawk, the most enduring for long-distance flights, capable of crossing thousands of mountains and rivers in a single night without tiring.
This red hawk, returning from the south, had been worked to death.
Something major must have happened in the south.
The Li Mountain Sword Sect? The Qiushan family? Or… the Huaiyuan Academy?
Zhou Tong’s eyebrows shot up.
A subordinate hurried over, presenting urgent intelligence from the south.
Wang Po had left the Huaiyuan Academy.
The secret agents of the Qingli Department who had been following this man had lost him two days ago at Qingjiang, and Wang Po’s trail had vanished.
No one knew where Wang Po was going or where he was now.
Zhou Tong stared at the subordinate, saying nothing.
The subordinate’s voice wavered with hesitation: “He… might be coming to the capital.”
Zhou Tong’s expression shifted. He was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, “I need to enter the palace.”
The subordinates were a bit slow to react. If Wang Po was really coming to the capital, why wasn’t their master rushing to arrange for an interception or elimination, but instead urgently seeking an audience at the palace?
“Are you all deaf?”
Zhou Tong’s face was pale, his voice sharp.
He was rushing to the palace because he was now very uneasy, even fearful.
Only in the imperial palace, under the watch of the Dao Sovereign, did he feel safe.
He was certain that Wang Po would come to the capital.
He was certain what Wang Po intended to do.
…
…
Back at the National Academy, Chen Changsheng also learned of this news.
Su Moyu was puzzled and asked, “What is he coming to the capital for? To pay respects to Xue Xingchuan?”
No one had dared to collect Xue Xingchuan’s corpse, no one had dared to mourn him. At a time like this, Wang Po’s appearance would fit the world’s impression of him.
Chen Changsheng didn’t think so. He knew it wasn’t for paying respects, nor for anything else.
Wang Po was coming to the capital to do only one thing.
He wanted to kill someone.
Kill Zhou Tong.