Chapter 827: A Single Cushion
Since a falling out is inevitable sooner or later, why not face it with the strongest stance from the very beginning?
If this were a game of chess, the Songshan Military Prefecture was merely a casually placed piece, representing the Divine Academy’s renewed voice across the continent. The second move, placed in Wenshui City, was the decisive move—one could even call it a move of life or death.
The person who wrote that letter intended to force Chen Changsheng to adopt the toughest possible stance through the incident with Tang Thirty-Six.
This stance was meant for the Tang Clan to see, but not for the Second Master of the Tang Clan.
Although the main branch had lost power, the Tang Clan was still Old Master Tang’s Tang Clan.
The letter writer was betting on what decision Old Master Tang would make when faced with the Divine Academy’s most unyielding attitude.
The biggest problem now was that the Tang Clan’s situation over the years had already proven that Old Master Tang clearly supported the second branch. In other words, between Shang Xingzhou and Chen Changsheng, master and disciple, he had already made his choice. And how could someone like Old Master Tang change his stance just because the Divine Academy took a hard line?
...
...
Before Old Master Tang, the Divine Academy first had to face the Second Master of the Tang Clan.
This middle-aged man, who was said to have completely taken control of the Tang Clan, was undoubtedly one of the most powerful men on the continent.
But outside this quiet Daoist hall, he looked like an ordinary middle-aged man.
Perhaps it was because the Bishop of Wenshui had not treated him with the usual humility today, nor shown any fawning behavior.
The bishop truly seemed to regard him as an ordinary middle-aged believer who wished to pay respects to His Holiness the Pope.
At dawn, the three great figures of the Divine Academy and a hundred riders had entered Wenshui City.
Not long after, many sounds came from within the Daoist hall.
The Second Master of the Tang Clan had arrived at the stone steps at that time, stating that he wished to visit His Holiness the Pope.
The bishop helped relay the message, then said that His Holiness had just woken up and was washing up, which would take some time.
This was a normal matter, and although the Second Master knew it was surely an excuse, he could only wait at the foot of the stone steps.
But he never expected that this wait would last an entire half-day. The morning light dispelled the mist in the forest, then turned into the rare warm sunlight of winter.
As time passed, the faces of the two honored guardians standing behind the Second Master, along with his attendants, grew increasingly grim.
The Pope had come to Wenshui; of course, the Tang Clan should send someone to pay respects. But why make the Second Master wait so long? Was this meant to intimidate the Tang Clan?
If not for the Second Master’s unwavering silence, they might have already caused a commotion.
Remember, this was Wenshui City. In a sense, the head of the Tang Clan was the true emperor.
Whether it was the late Emperor Taizong or the infamous Empress Tianhai, their decrees had never been as effective in this city as a single word from the clan head.
In their view, the Second Master represented the Tang Clan. Even the Pope had no right to humiliate him like this!
The Second Master of the Tang Clan stood with his hands behind his back at the foot of the stone steps for an entire half-day. Not only did anger not appear on his face, but even impatience never showed.
But that didn’t mean his mood was equally calm.
In truth, his mood was extremely bad at this moment.
Three years ago, during the incident at the Mausoleum of Books, he had played an extremely important role. The common people didn’t know, but those who were qualified to know had all learned of it.
From that moment on, he had become a pivotal figure on this continent.
Although he had not yet become the master of Wenshui City, everyone knew that day was not far off.
Moreover, whether it was the family business or the internal affairs of the various branches, the Old Master had entrusted everything to him.
He was already the de facto master of Wenshui City.
Especially since half a year ago, when Tang Thirty-Six was locked in the ancestral hall, no one dared to question this anymore—not even the Snow Old City.
Even if he had gone to the capital for an audience last month, he could have entered the hall directly without needing any announcement!
Who would dare to leave him waiting for so long now?
“It’s truly regrettable that I didn’t kill you in the Snow Ridge. And now you’ve ended up in Wenshui. That fool Baishi—how did he get discovered? But even if you’ve come to Wenshui, what can you do besides throw a tantrum like a child? Your Holiness the Pope... are you really that great?”
The Second Master of the Tang Clan gazed at the eaves of the Daoist hall deep in the forest, his expression calm as he entertained some treasonous thoughts.
When he reached the last line, he found it amusing—how witty he was—and the corners of his lips lifted slightly.
On any other day, the Bishop of Wenshui, standing beside him, would have tactfully flattered him with a question about what made the Second Master laugh.
But today was different. The Bishop of Wenshui looked at him seriously and said, “Mr. Tang, please maintain proper decorum.”
The Second Master’s smile vanished instantly. He could no longer keep his composure, and a layer of frost settled on his face.
Just as all patience was about to run out, the sound of an announcement finally came from within the Daoist hall.
The Second Master and his party ascended the stone steps, passed through the quiet winter forest, and arrived before the Divine Gate. Looking up, he saw that pear tree.
There was no figure beneath the pear tree. The ground held neither snow nor snow-like white blossoms. The bluestone slabs had just been washed with water, damp and clean—perhaps there had been blood earlier?
The clouds across the sky and the warm winter sunlight had not vanished. Nightfall was still far off, but many lamps had already been lit inside the hall.
Standing outside the Divine Gate and looking inward, one might occasionally feel an illusion, as if gazing upon a vast sea of stars.
The Second Master stepped through the Divine Gate.
The two honored guardians and the Tang Clan guards prepared to follow him in but were stopped.
The Bishop of Wenshui looked calmly at the Tang Clan crowd and said, “Also, don’t wander around the forest. Otherwise, you’ll die too.”
As they spoke, dozens of priests arrived at the riverside in the rear garden. Two heavy iron chains slowly emerged from the water, blocking the river.
Due to certain Tang Clan rules, there were basically no boats on the Wenshui River within the city, but the Daoist hall had still made thorough preparations.
The Second Master looked at the sea of lamplight inside the hall, like a starry sky, and after a moment of silence, raised his hand to signal his attendants to stop.
Crossing the high threshold, he arrived before the quiet hall and saw the King of Linghai and Anlin.
The two archbishops stood on the stone steps before the hall, looking like two divine statues.
The Second Master greeted them, then slowly opened his mouth.
He was smiling, but there was no sound.
This was his habitual expression—sometimes comical, sometimes terrifyingly eerie—but always filled with mockery and malice toward the world.
The King of Linghai looked at him expressionlessly, as if he were a fool.
Anlin nodded slightly in return and then ignored him.
The Second Master gradually withdrew his smile and said, “Using two archbishops as gatekeepers—has any previous Pope ever done that?”
With that, without waiting for a reply, he lightly flicked his sleeves, pushed open the hall door, and walked inside.
Countless lamps were lit in the hall, the light bright, falling upon his face.
He bore some resemblance to Tang Thirty-Six—handsome features—but his brows and eyes were more indifferent.
In the next moment, that indifference finally dissipated, replaced by an indescribable emotion.
In the center of the Daoist hall sat a single cushion.
This was, of course, meant for someone to kneel upon.
...
...