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Translated by: Hypersheep325
Edited by: Michyrr
All the people in the streets of Xunyang City were shocked by Su Li's one strike. Even the insane Xiao Zhang was forced to express his admiration.
Chen Changsheng did not think this way. On the contrary, he felt somewhat saddened.
In the eyes of everyone else, Su Li's hand held the Yellow Paper Umbrella, and then with a single strike that flew through the rain, it had easily and silently slain a Star Condensation expert. This was truly a level of cultivation on the path of the sword that could shock the entire world.
But when he had gone from the Garden of Zhou to the snowy plains, he had once seen Su Li's true strike.
The Su Li of that time had similarly been holding the Yellow Paper Umbrella, the handle not fully pulled out. The sword intent flew through the stone, traveling dozens of li. A Demon General at the edge of the snowy plain collapsed from this strike, the black shadow of his mountainous figure suddenly being cut in two.
Compared to that Demon General, what did a rat like Lin Canghai amount to?
Compared to the strike from back then, what did this strike that flew through the rain-soaked Xunyang City amount to?
As they had journeyed south over these past few weeks, Su Li had finally managed to save up enough for one strike. It fell short of even one-tenth of his power at his peak, and yet it still shook the heavens with its might. If he could return to his peak, no, even if he were just a little less injured, who could kill him? Who would even dare to come and kill him?
It was a pity that the human world only possessed cold, hard facts. There were never any 'if's.
After this strike, everything truly had come to an end.
"Has no one come?"
Su Li looked through the rain at Xunyang City, examining all the guests that had come to attend this feast. He was quiet for a very long time, and then he shook his head. He calmly said, "From the looks of it, no one else will be coming."
He had asked the question, and then answered it himself. Within this one question and one answer, there was an indescribable sense of frustration, a sense of someone who had lived through the many changes of the world.
His expression was still indifferent as usual. He said to Chen Changsheng, "You see, the facts have finally proved that I am right."
Chen Changsheng maintained his silence as he thought to himself, what's the point in continuing to argue about it?
Su Li's expression suddenly became more solemn, his tone very ponderous. "Besides an idiot—or maybe ‘imbecile’ would be better—like you, who would just randomly go help other people? Just where in the world can you find such people so deserving of trust?"
Even at this time, the Mount Li Sword Sect had still not sent anybody, nor even a message. The sects and monasteries of the Longevity Sect and the Holy Maiden Peak had also not said anything. True, the Southern Heaven was very far away, but words and attitudes should have been able to reach Xunyang City in time and appear before the common people. Somewhat sorrowfully, those words and attitudes did not appear.
Or perhaps this represented the entire human world's attitude towards Su Li.
That the world was not divided into north and south; that people were not divided into the virtuous and the foolish; that they all wanted him dead.
Watching the silent figure of Su Li in the rain, Chen Changsheng suddenly felt very sad. His nose felt somewhat sour, his eyes seemed to sting, and his voice was a little tense. "Maybe…maybe something happened at Mount Li."
For those people called legends, when the curtain finally fell, they would often be alone. Yet Chen Changsheng could not stand to see this curtain. Whether in the folk stories or the annals of the Orthodoxy, he had never enjoyed reading the sentences about the breaking up of a feast. He did not want to see Su Li leave in such a miserable fashion.
Su Li smiled at him. "You idiot, is this supposed to comfort me?"
The rain-soaked Xunyang City was silent and chilly, and seemed to be getting colder. From far away abruptly rose the sound of a zither. No one knew who was playing the zither. Perhaps it was the house musicians of the Liang Household, or maybe it was Liang Hongzhuang's bosom friend. The zither sobbed and the voice was hoarse. One could faintly hear something like 'old soul' and 'old city' in there, but it wasn't all too clear.
Upon hearing this song, Liang Hongzhuang became silent. His torn dancing dress floated up in the wind and rain as he clasped his sleeves behind him and left.
Leading away his Red Cloud Qilin, Xue He silently bowed to the second floor of the inn, and then turned to leave.
The sound of the zither gradually faded away, the voice of the singer slowly disappeared, and then…
Xiao Zhang roared!
The white paper obscuring his face whooshed!
The metal spear thrust straight at Su Li!
Liang Wangsun grasped the Vajra Pestle in his hand, his steps as heavy as a lotus and his spirit complete like jade. His Qi enveloped the entire inn.
With a sudden gale, Chen Changsheng was flipped over and found it hard to get up.
This song was about to end.
That would be the time of Su Li's death.
And yet, there was someone who was not willing to let this song end.
It was not Liang Hongzhuang in his torn dress who had turned to leave.
It was not Divine General Xue He in his damaged old armor, leading his Qilin away.
It wasn't the Liang Household's musicians that wanted to keep playing, nor was it that bosom friend who wanted the song to reach to the ends of the world.
That zither, that voice, had already ceased. Yet within the inn, or more precisely the first floor of the inn, there was a crisp clack. It was like the sound of wood striking or a bamboo zither. In brief, it continued this zither song. These crisp clacks were in abundance, beating out a fast tempo as if they were giving new life to this song.
At both ends of the long street, Liang Hongzhuang and Xue He simultaneously halted their steps. They swiftly turned their bodies to the inn, their faces pale from shock.
Just what object was making this noise?
The counter on the first floor of the inn was very old, its paint peeling off. Atop it was an abacus.
The beads of the abacus were at this very moment ramming against each other.
Yet the person who had been moving these beads around to calculate was no longer there.
With a sharp clack, dozens of white and turbulent streams of air appeared in the ruins of the inn.
Seeing these streams of turbulent air, Liang Wangsun's face grew solemn. His princely robe whistled upwards and his two eyes glowed like stars. Xiao Zhang's expression instantly became incomparably shocked, and then turned into violence.
With a rip, the floorboards between the first and second floor were torn apart like a fragile piece of paper. A blade slashed through the floorboards, flying through those dozens of masses of air. With a terrifying screech, it slashed at Xiao Zhang!
Xiao Zhang had appeared in an unbridled manner, but this blade was even more unbridled than he had been. Because this blade had no intention of blocking that spear, but was aimed at the person behind the spear. This clearly said to Xiao Zhang, my blade is definitely faster, heavier, and crueler than your spear. Before your spear can kill Su Li, my blade will definitely cut your head off!
Seeing this metal blade that was slashing at him head-on, Xiao Zhang was shocked, and then furious.
He knew this blade. He knew that this blade had been personally forged by the Old Master of the Wenshui Tangs, and then gifted free of charge. He knew especially that although this blade looked ordinary, it possessed a might which even spirits and ghosts would find hard to resist.
The blade sobbed like the weeping of a poverty-stricken scholar, like the wailing of a child in the wreckage of its home.
This blade was very angry.
Xiao Zhang had exchanged countless blows with this blade. After Xun Mei entered the Mausoleum of Books, the person that had battled this metal blade the most times was him. Of course, he had also lost to it the most times. But he had never seen the blade this terrifying.
A hole also seemed to be cut open in the dark clouds above Xunyang City, and one could faintly make out the blue sky.
Xiao Zhang knew he absolutely could not retreat, or else he would definitely lose to this blade. This angry blade might even cut his Dao heart and battle intent into pieces, turning him into a cripple for the rest of his life. His two hands tightly gripped his spear, and then swung it horizontally towards the blade.
The white paper floated up into the air. Some blood had spattered upon the paper.
Xiao Zhang flew backwards, spitting blood. He crashed into the courtyard across from the inn.
From the clouds of dust and shattered stone came a furious and unwilling roar.
"Wang Po, you would actually launch a sneak attack!?"