Chapter 693: The Blade Has Its Way
The news that Wang Po might come to the capital quickly spread, causing widespread shock.
After Su Li, among the younger generation of cultivators on the continent, Wang Po had become the greatest idol.
He was not as free and easy as Su Li, nor did he possess Su Li's unique charm—cold and ruthless yet commanding awe—but he was equally a once-in-a-century cultivation genius. He had once suppressed Ta Xue Xun Mei, forcing him to remain secluded in the Mausoleum of Books, and left no openings for Hua Jia Xiao Zhang or Liang Wang Sun. Beneath the sacred domain, there were many strong figures, such as Xue Xingchuan, who topped the Carefree List, yet Wang Po was universally acknowledged as the strongest.
Moreover, compared to Su Li, he fit the common definition of a hero more closely, as seen in that rainy night in Xunyang City.
Most importantly, the legendary aura surrounding him was too thick. As the sole descendant of a fallen noble clan, he grew up in a harsh environment, enduring more hardship than other cultivation prodigies. After working as an accountant for the Tang family in Wenshui for a few years, he began traveling the continent. In just over a decade, he established the Huai Courtyard in the south, becoming a regional power.
Like Su Moyu, upon hearing this news, everyone's greatest question was—why was he coming to the capital, and what did he intend to do here?
The tale of "Tian Liang Wang Po" was known across the entire continent. As a descendant of the Wang clan, choosing "Wang Po" as his name carried an obvious meaning. Perhaps for this reason, the imperial court had always been wary of him, attempting countless times to suppress him. He was well aware of this and rarely appeared in the capital.
Wang Po coming to the capital was undoubtedly a major event.
In the past, even when he came to the capital, he did so quietly and discreetly, like the night Xun Mei died.
Now, the situation was entirely different from back then. Even if he wanted to enter the capital discreetly, he couldn't.
That night at the Mausoleum of Books, Zhu Luo, still gravely wounded, forcefully intervened, launching the grand campaign of "World Against the Heavenly Sea," paying the price of his life and soul to secure the promise made by the new dynasty, represented by Shang Xingzhou—that the Wang clan would never rise again.
The Wang clan meant Wang Po.
If Wang Po remained in the southern lands, quietly guarding the Huai Courtyard, with the support of allied sects like the Li Mountain Sword Sect, united in voice, the court would not dare to strike at him. Under the backdrop of north-south unification, a surface-level peace had to be maintained. But if he left the Huai Courtyard and entered the capital alone, the court would never let such an opportunity slip.
No matter how strong he was, he could not be a match for the Great Zhou imperial court.
If he appeared in the capital, the court had countless means to kill him.
Thus, no one understood why he was coming.
Chen Changsheng understood, because he had weathered storms with Wang Po in Xunyang City.
He greatly admired this strong figure, and in recent years, his actions had subtly leaned toward emulating him—something Tang Thirty-Six had once been very worried about.
Besides Chen Changsheng, there was one other person who clearly knew Wang Po's intentions.
That was Zhou Tong himself.
So upon learning the news, he immediately entered the palace, seeking an audience with Shang Xingzhou.
Shortly after he entered the palace, the situation in the capital grew tense again. From the Ministry of Military Affairs to the Ministry of Justice, from the Office of Discipline to the City Gate Bureau, countless experts and assassins began searching the streets and alleys.
Chen Changsheng grew worried. After a night of deliberation, he took the risk of asking people within the State Church to help search, but found nothing.
The court also found nothing.
No one could find Wang Po.
He had simply vanished.
……
……
Time passed slowly, and the autumn deepened.
The celebration of north-south unification was approaching. The Great Zhou court made extensive preparations, renovating all the famous buildings in the capital, even tidying up the Mausoleum of Books.
Yet the atmosphere in the capital was not entirely joyful and relaxed. The aftershocks of the Mausoleum of Books incident had not fully dissipated. The National Academy still refused to hand over Her Holiness the Empress's remains, and Wang Po had not been found.
At this moment, the National Academy received two letters. One came from Saintess Peak, personally written by Xu Yourong.
She had returned to the Nanxi Studio. In principle, she should recall the disciples of the Nanxi Studio, and she mentioned this in the letter, but she still left eighteen young maidens for Chen Changsheng.
Chen Changsheng knew well that these female disciples held the spirit of the Nanxi Studio's sword formation. If they exerted their full power, as long as no sacred-domain strong figures or armies attacked, he would be safe.
The other letter came from Wenshui, personally written by Tang Thirty-Six.
No one except Chen Changsheng knew the contents of this letter, not even Su Moyu.
Su Moyu and the teachers and students of the National Academy only knew that after reading the letter, Chen Changsheng's spirits were very low, and he remained silent for a long time.
Golden ginkgo leaves carpeted the ground at Beixin Bridge.
Not far away was the imperial palace, with light spilling out from within, falling on the ground as if the setting sun had returned to the mortal world.
Standing beneath the tree, watching this scene, Chen Changsheng silently thought that once the sun set, it would not return, and it seemed that friends who had left had no chance to come back either.
The whole world seemed bathed in gold, making the color of the well appear even deeper.
At the moment when the light from the palace dimmed slightly, Chen Changsheng's figure vanished from beneath the tree. A gentle breeze stirred at the edge of the well, lifting the golden leaves into the air—a beautiful sight.
The ginkgo leaves outside the imperial city were a famous scenic spot in the capital.
Few knew that outside the capital, there was a Daoist temple called Tanzhe, which had a similar, even more beautiful scene.
In the center of the courtyard behind the temple stood an ancient ginkgo tree, said to have been planted by Emperor Taizong himself. In autumn, the ancient tree was covered in golden leaves, like golden clouds or fireworks. Beneath the tree, thick layers of leaves piled up like golden clouds settling on the ground. Seen from a distance, it looked like a golden waterfall.
Deep within the golden ginkgo leaves was a stone table, with a stone stool beside it. At this moment, someone sat on the stool. He was not drinking tea but meditating on the blade.
The entire continent knew he had come to the capital. Countless people searched for his traces within the city, but found nothing, because although he had come to the capital, he had not entered the city.
If the world knew this, they would surely be astonished, for it was unlike his usual way of doing things.
In people's minds, since he had come to the capital, he would surely enter the city, because his character, like his blade path, was straight.
Zhou Tong had thought the same, and he was also wrong.
Wang Po had been staying at Tanzhe Temple for eleven days.
Every day, he came to sit quietly beneath the ginkgo tree.
He meditated on the blade without practicing it. That iron blade remained in its sheath, the sheath resting on his knees.
The ancient tree continuously shed its leaves, covering the earth, making it appear exceptionally pure and dazzlingly beautiful, so much so that it was hard to imagine what lay beneath the leaves.
Those golden leaves naturally fell on him as well, piling up in his robes, gradually covering the sheath, making it hard to imagine the blade within.
Wang Po's blade path, amidst this sky full of yellow leaves, was subtly undergoing a transformation.