Chapter 695: The Wind Has a Promise
After an unknown amount of time, Iron Tree opened his eyes. A flash of ferocity passed through them, followed by a trace of bewilderment, revealing an exceptionally complex mix of emotions.
Beneath the ancient tree, amid the yellow leaves, on the stone bench, he sensed the aura Wang Po had left behind in recent days. He had not expected that Wang Po's blade path had grown even more profound.
For a cultivator to reach Wang Po's realm, taking even a single step forward was incredibly difficult. Yet this man had improved so much in such a short time... Back in Xunyang City, when Wang Po faced Zhu Luo, though his iron blade was strong, he could find no opening. But after days of quiet contemplation at Tanzhe Temple, the situation was no longer what it had been.
If Wang Po were allowed to continue improving, no one knew when he might cross that threshold.
For the first time, Iron Tree felt pressure.
Then, his killing intent grew even more intense.
Neither the court nor he would permit Wang Po to achieve mastery of the blade path.
Rising from the stone bench, he looked toward Tanzhe Temple, quietly sensing the flow of all energy between heaven and earth.
Someone was inside the temple, at a very high realm, only a few threads away from his own.
He walked in that direction. The wet yellow leaves beneath his boots shattered piece by piece, turning into the finest filaments, like blooming chrysanthemums.
The autumn wind parted the curtain of rain and pushed open the temple gate, while he was still more than ten zhang from the threshold.
The biting autumn wind could not rage; it was neutralized by two streams of fresh, calm wind that came from a pair of sleeves.
The person in the temple was not Wang Po. It was Mao Qiuyu.
The bamboo fence beside the temple was pushed aside, and White Rock Daoist walked in through the rain.
King of Linghai and Master Siyuan approached from the mountains to the east and west.
In the autumn rain, many red-robed figures flickered in and out of sight among the forests.
Four giants of the state religion, each bearing precious treasures, along with countless high-realm red-robed bishops, had tightly surrounded Tanzhe Temple.
This formation was truly immense.
To kill a powerhouse of the Divine Domain, such a formation was necessary.
Iron Tree looked at Mao Qiuyu, his eyes slowly narrowing. His killing intent did not diminish in the slightest but instead became even more terrifying.
So the Li Palace had made its move. Were they trying to protect Wang Po, or were they truly seizing this opportunity to kill him?
He knew well that if it were the latter, even if he managed to leave alive today, he would have to pay an extremely heavy price.
He extended his hands into the rain, letting the cold rainwater wash over them continuously.
Looking at Mao Qiuyu, who was slowly walking out of the temple, he said expressionlessly, "Is this His Holiness the Pope's decree?"
Mao Qiuyu did not directly answer his question. Instead, he looked into the distance.
Iron Tree had already sensed it, which was why he had asked.
In the distance were the mountains. The rich yellow and red hues brought by autumn had long been washed pale by the cold rain.
At some point, a royal carriage had appeared at the edge of that cliff.
Prince Xiang had arrived in person.
This assassination plot by the court against Wang Po could potentially become the Li Palace's siege against Iron Tree.
If that royal carriage had not appeared on the cliff, if the thunderous sound of hooves from a great army had not faintly echoed from behind the mountains.
Whether it was an assassination plot against one or the other, it had now become an open game.
"His Majesty wants me to ask you something." Mao Qiuyu looked at Iron Tree and said, "Have you all forgotten the oath sworn under the stars back then?"
Many years ago, the powerhouses of the Divine Domain, led by the Pope, had sworn an oath under the stars.
The content of the oath was that everything must prioritize the interests of humanity, and they would never take the initiative to harm those cultivation prodigies who carried the future and hope of mankind.
Wang Po was, of course, the first on that list.
Back in Xunyang City, when Zhu Luo struck at him with his sword, it could already be considered breaking the oath, but he could still find excuses.
His sword had been aimed at Su Li.
It was just that Wang Po insisted on standing in front of Su Li.
What about today? Iron Tree had come to Tanzhe Temple drenched in autumn rain, clearly intending to kill Wang Po. What excuse or reason could he find?
His Holiness the Pope had Mao Qiuyu ask him this question. How could he answer?
Iron Tree did not reply.
Mao Qiuyu looked at him and said, "Since you cannot answer, then do not touch Wang Po."
Iron Tree's gaze grew colder. His hands, washed by the rain, became even whiter, like lotus flowers.
This meant he was very angry now.
No flower stays red for a thousand days, no person remains good for a hundred.
He laughed with a hint of mockery.
The Pope's days were numbered.
"His Majesty also wants me to tell you..."
Mao Qiuyu seemed to know what he was thinking and said calmly, "If, after he returns to the starry sea, you still insist on moving against Wang Po, then the Li Palace will exterminate your entire clan."
If the Li Palace could also be considered a sect, then it was undoubtedly the most powerful in the world, for it was the state religion.
No cultivator could stand against the state religion head-on.
Not even someone as strong as Iron Tree.
Not even the Heavenly Mechanism Elder, who was once the foremost of the Eight Winds and Rains and commanded the terrifying organization known as the Heavenly Mechanism Pavilion.
Of course, a powerhouse of the Divine Domain, unless trapped like today, would be difficult to kill even if they could not defeat the Li Palace.
Yet, though cultivation was a solitary path, truly solitary cultivators were rare.
He would have family, relatives, friends, classmates, clansmen, and fellow Daoists.
After Mao Qiuyu finished speaking, a dead silence fell over the scene.
Exterminate your entire clan.
These four words were as hard and cold as Iron Tree himself, carrying a metallic taste that inspired fear.
Iron Tree looked at him and said, "You should all know very well that Wang Po came to the capital to kill."
Mao Qiuyu's expression did not change. "If he kills and violates Zhou law, the court's officials will naturally punish him."
Many eyes fell on the royal carriage on the distant cliff.
Prince Xiang did not emerge from the carriage.
Iron Tree laughed, with sarcasm and derision.
Mao Qiuyu's statement represented the Li Palace's attitude.
That attitude was very cold.
"He wants to kill, and you do nothing. I have not killed anyone yet, so why does His Holiness the Pope have to interfere?"
"Because you have the intent."
"This is not fair."
Mao Qiuyu did not answer Iron Tree's words. He turned and walked out of the mountains.
King of Linghai and the others followed.
The Pope indeed had no intention of killing Iron Tree.
Just like back at the National Teaching Academy, the Li Palace was only displaying its power.
So-called protection was like holding a blade in front; so-called escort was like placing a boat ahead. There was no need to draw the blade or actually collide. That was enough.
Iron Tree watched the state religion's people leaving in the autumn rain, the corners of his eyes twitching slightly.
These people were all major figures of the state religion, yet not one of them was his match. Still, he dared not strike.
Indeed, it was not fair.
Just as he had said to Xiao Zhang on the mountain path earlier.
Before the Pope and the state religion, what right did he have to speak of fairness?
...
...
The yellow leaves had all fallen, and the chill deepened.
This year, winter in the capital seemed to arrive earlier than usual. By the calendar, it was still deep autumn, yet several snowfalls had already occurred.
The people of Beixin Bridge felt this keenly, huddled in their homes, constantly rubbing their hands and cursing the weather.
No one noticed that this bitter cold was related to that abandoned well.
Cold wind continuously blew out from the well mouth, whimpering without end, like the sound of a flute, or like weeping—weeping with joy.