Chapter 830: The Waterweed at the Bottom of the Wen River
Suddenly, the wind stopped. Clouds obscured the setting sun, as if night had arrived early, and the golden threads on the water’s surface gradually faded.
In a very short time, both banks of the Wen River grew several degrees colder. Whether it was the tightly shut civilian houses or the two iron chains, everything exuded a sense of danger.
Luo Bu sat in the tavern, listening to the blind zither player’s music. He slowly closed his eyes, his right hand resting on his sword hilt, gently stroking it.
Facing the unfathomable strength of the Tang clan, even he had no confidence. In the past, he would have at most tried to find a way to warn others, but now he wanted to give it a try.
Because before, the sword he used was an ordinary blue steel blade forged for a few taels of silver at a blacksmith’s shop in a small town at the foot of the mountain. Now, he had changed his sword.
With this sword in hand, he could turn frost-covered grass into a blade, transform himself into the sword itself, and even against a powerhouse of the Divine Domain, he could keep his Dao heart clear and bright.
He closed his eyes, listening to the zither music drifting up from below, the sound of water slapping against the shore rocks, the noise of the iron chains meeting and then parting from the water’s surface, sensing everything between heaven and earth.
Suddenly, his ears twitched slightly.
He opened his eyes and looked into the river. His gaze grew deeper, seeing further down, until it finally settled on the waterweed.
He felt that patch of waterweed was strange—its color was darker than the surrounding weeds—but he couldn’t discern any other peculiarity.
At that moment, the blind zither player by the riverbank seemed to hear something as well. He looked toward the Wen River and forgot the movement of his hands.
The zither music came to an abrupt halt, very suddenly.
The eerie atmosphere on both sides of the river suddenly shifted.
The iron-armored boats upstream and downstream silently retreated.
The two civilian houses became empty.
The presences in the forest vanished without a trace.
The Tang clan’s offerings and attendants before the Dao hall grew much quieter.
Only the seven peddlers, six yamen runners, three fortune-tellers, two old men selling sesame candy, and a young girl buying rouge remained on the street, as if they would never leave.
The hall door was pushed open, and the Tang clan’s Second Master stepped out, his expression extremely grim.
He didn’t even glance at the King of Linghai or Anlin.
The death of White Rock Daoist showed that the National Church’s stance was exceptionally firm and unchangeable.
Walking down the stone steps, there was a large tree, and under it stood Zhexiu.
The Tang clan’s Second Master knew what he wanted to say and said coldly, “You’ve managed to live until today—it wasn’t easy. Don’t speak carelessly.”
Zhexiu replied expressionlessly, “For a weakling like you to live until today is even harder.”
The Tang clan’s Second Master slowly raised an eyebrow. His expression remained unchanged, but inwardly, he was already seething with rage.
Back then on Snow Street in the capital, Wang Po had told him that the moment he gave up cultivation and began learning strategy and pursuing power, he became a weakling.
Today, he was being judged that way again, and by a junior at that.
The angrier he was, the more indifferent he appeared. He looked at Zhexiu and asked, “Do you want to die that badly?”
Zhexiu didn’t answer his question. Instead, he said, “Don’t make a move against that guy in secret.”
The Tang clan’s Second Master stared into his eyes and said, “I’ve never understood how a wolf cub like you could become friends with that wastrel.”
“He and I are not friends.”
Zhexiu was silent for a moment, then continued, “He’s my employer, so don’t touch him.”
…
…
The Tang clan’s people had all withdrawn. The night was deep, and both banks of the Wen River were silent.
Chen Changsheng arrived at the riverbank. The King of Linghai and the others flanked him. Nanke, as he had instructed, stayed behind in the Dao hall.
Starlight fell on the water, creating countless silver scales. Even with the best eyesight, it was hard to see clearly what was happening at the bottom, let alone the waterweed in the depths.
The Tang clan’s eldest branch master—Tang Thirty-Six’s father—had always been in poor health, especially in recent years, growing worse. This was something many people on the continent knew, including Chen Changsheng. No one had ever doubted it, and even Tang Thirty-Six had never mentioned it in his letters.
But today, after hearing the Tang clan’s Second Master’s words, he felt something was off.
“Although we still haven’t figured out what illness it is, we’ve confirmed it’s not poisoning,” said Archbishop Anlin. “In the past, the Thirteen Division of Radiant Green and the Southern Brook Sect both sent people to examine him.”
The Wen River bishop glanced at Chen Changsheng’s expression and lowered his voice, saying, “Reporting to Your Majesty, before the Southern Brook Sect entered seclusion… that one once came.”
Entering seclusion meant closed-door cultivation. Over the years, Holy Maiden Peak had only one such instance that needed special mention, so the identity of the person he referred to was obvious.
Anlin showed a surprised expression. The King of Linghai raised an eyebrow slightly, because the Li Palace had no knowledge of this at all.
Chen Changsheng was even more shocked, wondering why she hadn’t told him.
The Wen River bishop said quietly, “That one ordered us not to tell anyone.”
If the Tang clan’s eldest branch master was poisoned rather than ill, the True Phoenix Blood should have been able to cure him.
Xu Yourong must have thought the same at the time.
Now, the eldest branch master was still bedridden, seemingly on the verge of death, which meant he truly wasn’t poisoned but was sick.
The change in Old Master Tang’s attitude was likely directly related to this.
Chen Changsheng knew why Xu Yourong had come—because she knew Tang Thirty-Six was his best friend. For that, he was deeply grateful.
After thinking it over, he decided to visit the eldest branch tomorrow.
It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the abilities of the Thirteen Division of Radiant Green or Xu Yourong; he just wanted to see if his own medical skills could change the tragic outcome for that elder. Moreover, he felt this matter wasn’t so simple—not after the Tang clan’s Second Master had spoken those words, and not after encountering that little monster in the Willow Lodge of Hanqiu City.
“Investigate a disciple of the Longevity Sect named Chu Su. His cultivation technique is very strange. No matter how well he hides, someone should have heard of him.”
He said to the King of Linghai and Anlin separately, “Write a letter to hurry the Southern Brook Sect. I asked them to look into something—have they gotten results?”
Anlin didn’t know he had written to the Southern Brook Sect and asked in confusion, “What’s so urgent?”
Chen Changsheng said, “I want to know where the inheritance of the Yellow Springs Stream’s techniques ended up, and whether it’s possible they’re in the south.”
The King of Linghai, connecting this to Chen Changsheng’s earlier remark about the Longevity Sect disciple Chu Su’s strange cultivation technique, changed expression sharply.
Anlin’s face also turned pale. She murmured, “Could the Longevity Sect dare to do something so insane?”
“I have no evidence.” Chen Changsheng was silent for a moment, then looked at the Wen River bishop and said, “Have someone check if the Tang clan has any connection to this matter.”
The King of Linghai and the other two accepted the orders and left.
Guan Feibai walked out of the Dao hall, sword in hand.
He didn’t want to chat with Chen Changsheng; he just felt that Chen Changsheng shouldn’t be left alone right now.
Gazing at the river under the starlight, Chen Changsheng stood in silent thought.
He truly had no evidence. The only clue was what the Demon Lord had said back in the Snow Ridge.
The Demon Lord had made it very clear: that young formation master was a little monster from the Longevity Sect named Chu Su, a tool of Shang Xingzhou and the Tang clan.
That day in the early morning kitchen of Hanqiu City, the Yellow Springs Stream monster he and Nanke encountered was covered in poison, terrifyingly sinister. At the time, he hadn’t thought of it, but later he recalled the Demon Lord’s words and connected the two incidents. The problem was that the Demon Lord’s words couldn’t be used as evidence. Everyone knew he might be sowing discord.
Chen Changsheng pondered these questions, unaware that deep in the river, like liquid silver, a clump of waterweed was gently swaying. This clump was a slightly different color from the surrounding weeds. Suddenly, it drifted away from the riverbed, slowly approaching the rocks beneath the bank, looking like a clump of mud dissolved in water, making no sound at all.