Chapter 694: Autumn Rain
As time passed, the autumn deepened. The yellow leaves had all fallen, leaving only bare trunks and branches on the ancient trees in Tanzhe Temple.
The path into the mountain was still covered with fallen leaves, but after being soaked by an autumn rain that had begun the night before, they had lost all their beauty, becoming as irritating as drenched bedding.
Still, wet leaves had one advantage: walking on them made no sound. Taking advantage of the gloomy sky and the veil of rain, dozens of Great Zhou military experts, along with even more assassins and spies from the Ministry of Justice, trod silently on the sodden leaves, slipping through the mountain path and vanishing into the autumn woods on the mountainside.
All passages leading out of Tanzhe Temple were sealed. No one could leave.
A rustling sound arose, crisp and dry, as if someone were walking on the golden leaves from days past, crushing countless withered fragments.
But it wasn't the sound of leaves breaking. It was the autumn wind, passing through the curtain of rain, ceaselessly rustling paper.
A man walked down the mountain path. His face was covered with a sheet of white paper, hiding his mouth and nose, with only two black holes where his eyes should be. It looked terrifying.
— Painted Armor Xiao Zhang.
The rain falling from the sky veered away before reaching him. The white paper bore not a single trace of water, clean and dry.
In this era of blooming wildflowers, countless geniuses of cultivation and domineering experts had emerged. He was the most fearsome and powerful among them.
Like Xun Mei, he had been undefeated throughout his life—except against Wang Po. Not once had he won. Whether at the Stone-Boiling Assembly or on the Carefree Ranking, he could only take second place.
But he was not afraid, nor discouraged. He challenged Wang Po again and again, losing yet fighting on. Even when he nearly died from qi deviation, his will never wavered.
Being second only to one seemed an impressive position, but he refused to accept it.
Today, under the dreary autumn rain, he walked down the mountain path. Naturally, he intended to fight Wang Po once more.
He didn't wonder whether Wang Po would accept. With the court's experts gathered around Tanzhe Temple, if Wang Po wanted to leave alive, he would first have to defeat him.
— Defeat him again, or be defeated by him.
The autumn wind stirred the white paper, making a sound like crushed dry leaves.
The autumn rain fell on the mountain path. Wet leaves made no sound at all.
Xiao Zhang did not reach the front of Tanzhe Temple, because someone appeared before him.
Walking on wet leaves truly made no noise. That person had silently slipped through several layers of blockade on the mountain path, and even Xiao Zhang hadn't sensed him in advance.
Who was this, to be so strong?
The man was dressed in black, letting the rain soak him, giving off an extremely cold and hard aura.
His clothes, his brows and eyes, the lines of his shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back—all seemed forged from iron.
Standing there on the mountain path, he separated the autumn rain from the ground, the autumn wind from the white paper, and Tanzhe Temple from the surrounding wilderness.
He was like a wall—not an ordinary wall of mud or brick, but an iron wall, utterly impervious to wind.
Xiao Zhang knew who this man was. The two black holes on the white paper grew deeper, faintly revealing a glint of fervor.
"You want to stop me?" Xiao Zhang said, looking at the iron-walled man.
The man stared at him expressionlessly, as if Xiao Zhang's words were utterly foolish and not worth answering.
The whole world knew that Painted Armor Xiao Zhang was a true madman, his actions exceptionally violent and arrogant. No one dared to offend him lightly, let alone show him contempt.
Yet this man did so. And shockingly, though the battle intent in Xiao Zhang's deep eyes grew stronger, in the end... he did not strike.
Xiao Zhang recalled the rumors. Given this man's connection to the Western Continent, there was no reason for him to act against Wang Po. "If that's not the case, then why are you blocking my path?"
The man said, "Since I am here, you naturally must leave. You are no match for him. I don't want you to scare off the prey."
Xiao Zhang was furious. The white paper on his face rustled loudly.
Then, suddenly, the autumn wind vanished from his face. He fell silent, because he understood the man's meaning.
"This is unfair to him," Xiao Zhang said, staring into the man's eyes.
The man was clearly going to Tanzhe Temple to fight Wang Po.
Xiao Zhang said it was unfair to Wang Po.
This meant that, in his view, this man's realm and strength far surpassed Wang Po's. By all logic, he should not lower himself to face Wang Po.
Wang Po was the top of the Carefree Ranking, and in the eyes of the world, the strongest below the Divine Domain. Who in the world could be said to far surpass him in realm and strength?
If such a person existed, they must be the great figures of the Divine Domain—those old monsters that could be counted on one hand.
Who was this man? Which of the Eight Winds and Rains? Or some reclusive master of many years?
Xiao Zhang knew who he was, which was why he called it unfair. But that didn't mean he feared him.
He seemed to see, moments later, Wang Po fallen beneath that ancient tree, covered in blood.
This was hard for him to accept.
Like Xun Mei, he had spent his whole life trying to surpass Wang Po. He couldn't bear the thought of Wang Po being killed before he himself succeeded.
At that moment, a fierce urge to stop this man surged within him.
This man could kill Wang Po. Wang Po was stronger than him, yet he wanted to stop the man. No matter how you looked at it, it was an utterly mad idea.
But he was, after all, a very mad man.
Rain fell on the iron spear, wetting his hand.
That was Xiao Zhang's hand, tight and powerful.
"You... what right do you have to speak of fairness to me?"
The man glanced at Xiao Zhang, his expression indifferent, as if seeing nothing.
His shoulders, like an iron wall, were washed by the autumn rain, as if polished countless times, emitting a metallic sheen. Then, the edge was revealed.
A muffled grunt escaped through the white paper.
Autumn rain washed the iron spear. Between his fingers, it was slightly pale.
In the end, Xiao Zhang did not thrust his spear.
Or rather, he could not thrust it.
He could only watch as the man, in the autumn rain, walked toward Tanzhe Temple.
Like an iron wall, radiating cold light.
...
...
Iron Tree, one of the Eight Winds and Rains.
He was born in the Western Continent. As a child, he fell into the sea while fleeing disaster, crossing the vast ocean, nearly dying. He was saved by someone on the shore—a man called Star Gazer.
In the past ten years, he had drifted on the Southern Sea to comprehend the Heavenly Dao. Now, he had finally returned.
He comprehended the Heavenly Dao and cultivated his physical body, becoming immensely powerful.
Iron Tree in bloom was as famous as the Little Red Flower of Other Splendor, but no one had ever seen it.
He arrived at Tanzhe Temple.
The leaves of the ancient tree had all fallen. A few yellow remnants lay on the ground, soaked in the rain.
Iron Tree walked to that stone bench, sat down, and closed his eyes.
Just as Wang Po had done these past days.