Chapter 801 Not Asking About the People, Asking About the Heavens
"What do you wish to do?"
Wei Shaoqi called out anxiously to Ouyang Rong's retreating figure.
With thunder and clouds looming overhead, a dark cloud hung over everyone present, and they were utterly perplexed by the young man in the scholar's robe.
Xue Zhongzhu frowned deeply, staring at the dark clouds that were completely different from the lightning tribulation clouds she remembered, and felt somewhat at a loss.
When she protected her second junior sister, although Lei Yun was strong, he did not have such world-destroying power. It was still within her control, and she could even make the situation chaotic and fish in troubled waters.
However, after using that last, useless pill, the situation of the tribulation far exceeded her expectations.
Even if Xuezhongzhu racked his brains, he never imagined there would be so many "dirty things" on the field today that were intolerable to God.
One thing can overcome another.
Things that defy the rules, such as the reincarnation of the dead or paper dolls, are specifically countered by heavenly lightning. Even powerful figures like Cui Hao and Tao Yuanming will attract heavenly lightning if they reveal too much of their aura. They just hid it well before, but if they linger for too long, it will eventually come.
The blonde queen was unaware of these things, and for a moment, a hint of dejection appeared in the depths of her blue eyes.
Wu Daozi's expression was serious, and he spoke quickly:
"Your Excellency, please do not act rashly. This thundercloud is a rare sight, not something one person can accomplish alone. Even if the Confucianism amnesty is lifted now, there is no way to escape. Xiao Wei's suggestion is indeed useless. Now we can only try to seize a sliver of hope."
After a pause, the squinty-eyed old man turned his gaze to the bronze scroll in Ouyang Rong's hand, pointed at it, and said:
"The most urgent task is to work together to withstand the heavenly lightning. Could you please return this counterfeit Ding sword? The old lady and I have experience with this. We can use this counterfeit Ding sword to resist the heavenly lightning. We don't expect to withstand the main lightning, but only to avoid some of its sharpness and resist the remaining lightning after it strikes."
Perhaps because of the collapse of the Buddha statue, Xue Zhongzhu, who was the most hostile and stubborn, did not stop Wu Daozi's appeasement and remained somewhat silent.
"Mr. Wu is right, please calm down..."
Wei Shao and Wu Daozi both looked at Ouyang Rong with eager eyes.
The young man in the scholar's robe walked slowly forward without turning back, ignoring him.
The same thing happened on the other side of the platform. After breaking with the madwoman Song Mama, Yi Qianqiu, Old Yangtou and others first surrounded and controlled Song Mama.
Right now, they can only place all their hopes on Ouyang Rong.
But the old musician's words hit everyone hard:
"It's no use. This is the ninth level of heavenly lightning. When I traveled north, I passed through the deep mountains and saw the Taoist priests of Longhu Mountain assisting a rare and extraordinary Taoist priest in passing through the tribulation of lightning. At that time, it was the third level of heavenly lightning. Even so, they used all their talismans and treasures along the way. In the end, that extraordinary Taoist priest had to take a hit with his bare body. He was seriously injured and on the verge of death. Fortunately, he had prepared the Purple Pill of Gezao Mountain, which could bring the dead back to life and heal the wounded. Only then did he barely pass through the tribulation and break through his cultivation level..."
"This is still the Celestial Master's Mansion of Longhu Mountain, which is the most skilled in thunder magic in the world, and it is only the power of the third level of heavenly thunder."
The old musician sighed and shook his head:
“We are now facing nine layers of lightning, and even the fake Ding Sword won’t suffice. I have been the sword wielder for many years and know it best. Perhaps activating the Peach Blossom Sword Formation could withstand one layer of lightning tribulation. There are examples of this in history. There are examples of sword wielders using Ding Swords to withstand lightning tribulation. But now we have nine layers of heavenly lightning. Can we still produce nine Ding Swords in one go? Not to mention that each layer is stronger than the last. We won’t be able to withstand the later ones.”
The entire venue was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; only the old musician's words echoed.
Then, the atmosphere became deathly silent.
Wu Daozi gradually shut his mouth.
Xuezhongzhu's face turned pale and then purple.
Given their level of understanding, they naturally knew that the old musician was telling the truth, but they had previously held onto a sliver of hope.
Wei Shaoqi and Du Shuqing turned their heads and understood Wu and Xue's expressions, knowing what they meant. Their faces turned pale.
An atmosphere of despair gradually spread across the field.
Whether it was from hearing these words or not, everyone saw the young man in the scholar's robe slowly stop, without turning around, his back slightly tilted up, as if gazing at the dark, nine-layered thunderclouds that were about to overwhelm everything.
Seeing this almost invincible figure stop, it seemed to confirm the old musician's words.
There was no more hope on the field.
Yi Qianqiu, Old Yangtou, and the few female officials and soldiers below the stage gave up resistance.
It's as if they've given up on themselves, either standing or sitting in place.
The same applies to Wei Shaoqi and Du Shuqing.
At this critical moment, the court and the rebels have finally reached a complete ceasefire. Since they are going to die together anyway, the exhaustion accumulated from today's battle begins to wash over them, leaving them both mentally and physically weary.
Wei Shaoqi lowered his head and coughed violently for a while. He removed the handkerchief covering his mouth, smiled at Du Shuqing, and said:
"No matter who did it, at least the Buddha statue collapsed, so this trip wasn't a failure to honor Lord Yan."
Du Shuqing fell silent for a moment, then turned his head blankly and gazed at the tall, slender back of the young man in the scholar's robe in front of him.
The old musician simply sat down on the ground, not minding the dirty mud at all, and placed his zither on his knees.
His expression was serene as he reached out and touched the moist, fertile, reddish soil unique to the South.
The old man nodded gently, as if to say... it's a kind of homecoming for the soul.
Old Yang also sat down on the ground. He first took off the blue robe he had worn for most of his life as an executioner, took out a thin booklet of Confucian classics from his bosom, moistened his fingers with saliva, turned the pages, and began to read with great interest in the last bit of daylight before the dark clouds completely covered the sky.
He particularly liked a sentence in a reply from that scholar in Luoyang:
If I hear the Way in the morning, I can die content in the evening.
It's never too late to read when you're old, and it's never too late to read three quarters of an hour before you die.
Another old man on the field, Wu Daozi, only had half of his body remaining, and his facial features were not clearly visible.
The squinty-eyed old man silently turned his head, seemingly looking at his disciple Yuan Huaimin.
Yuan Huaimin was standing near the high platform with Yan Liulang, the Fang sisters, and others.
After observing for a long time like nobody else, even if they were stupid, they would have figured out the current situation.
Aside from the blue-clad constable who stubbornly remained steadfast in his belief in the prefect, standing there with his sword in hand and head held high, Fang Shengnan looked somewhat flustered. Fang raised his sleeves, lowered his head, and gazed wistfully for a moment before suddenly turning around and pulling his younger sister into his arms. Fang Shengnan was stunned for a moment, then hugged her older sister tightly as well, resting her head on her shoulder, and said with a sob in her voice:
"Sister, Mother was right again."
Fang Juxiu, her nose stinging with tears, tried to calm her voice and asked in confusion, "W-what did you say?"
"When she was little, she said that disobedient children who ran away from home would be struck by lightning. Sister, how come Mom was always right?"
Fang raised his sleeve: ...
Yan Liulang: ...
Yuan Huaimin had left them unnoticed, lifted the hem of his long robe, and strode up to the high platform.
He, who was never punctual and always unreliable, arrived beside Yi Qianqiu, who was trembling all over, and stood shoulder to shoulder with her.
This time I won't be late.
Yuan Huaimin turned his head, looked at Qiu Niang carefully, reached out and took the heavy weapon from her hand, and threw it aside.
He childishly bumped into Yi Qianqiu's tall shoulder. Yi Qianqiu was tall and burly, like a big, strong man, while Yuan Huaimin was thin and tall. When the two stood together, Yuan Huaimin looked like a lively "little wife".
Yi Qianqiu suddenly spoke up: "You don't hate me for those arrangements I made without your consent?"
Yuan Huaimin thought for a moment, then said somewhat shyly, "Not happy, but... quite blissful."
Yi Qianqiu was stunned.
Rongzhen, who had been standing on the high platform for a long time, suddenly shouted:
"Come back, you're not allowed to go."
The crowd looked in the direction of the voice and saw the girl in purple palace attire finish speaking, lift her skirt with both hands, and run off the stage towards Ouyang Lianghan.
She walked to his side with her long, flowing black hair cascading down her shoulders.
The two had a significant height difference; the woman was petite and delicate, while the man was tall and slender.
But to everyone present, one was like the bright moon in their arms, and the other was like a lush forest of bamboo, both beautiful sights in the world.
Princess Wei Rong of the Great Zhou Dynasty, with her face tilted upwards, presented a jade mandarin duck hairpin that was commonplace in Xunyang:
“Ouyang Lianghan, please help me fix my hair with this hairpin. I'll also help you straighten your clothes, okay…”
She paused for a moment, then spoke the last three words with utmost tenderness:
"OK."
Ouyang Rong hung the wine gourd back on his waist, his eyes regained their calm, and he turned his head to look at the usually stern and aloof Lady Historian.
He then looked at the hairpin that she was clutching tightly in her small hand, as if it were a precious treasure.
He pursed his lips.
This time, Rong Zhen didn't flinch at all. Meeting his gaze, ignoring the stares of those around her, she smiled sweetly, her teeth like pearls.
“My mother loved me dearly. A graceful and virtuous woman is the object of every gentleman’s affection. She often reminisced that my father was a true gentleman, not good with words, but honest and simple. Even when he was exiled three thousand miles away, he did not abandon my mother and me. Like Longcheng, it was a remote county. He died in office. My mother said that she had implicated my father, so she never returned to Luoyang until her death. Before handing me over to the palace maids in Luoyang, she supported her ailing body and did my hair for the last time when I came of age. As she applied makeup in front of the bronze mirror, she whispered in my ear, ‘Preserve your appearance, and meet your good man…’ Three days after I left, she also prepared her appearance and went to meet her good man.”
Ouyang Rong quieted down, took the jade hairpin with mandarin ducks in his hand, and looked at Rong Zhen, who was fearless of death and had no regrets.
He didn't speak, but Rongzhen understood what he meant.
Rong Zhen tilted her head slightly and pointed her index finger behind her:
"It's all the same, it's always been there."
It's unclear whether she was referring to the names of the two people who oversaw the construction of the Buddha statue, which are engraved on the lotus inscription on the dome, or to the entire Xunyang Grottoes, which were completed even though there was no Buddha statue.
Perhaps it's a combination of both.
Like everyone else on the field who were making their final arrangements and settling their regrets, Rongzhen took a step forward, almost pressing herself into Ouyang Rong's arms. She tiptoed slightly, her small hands almost touching the collar of his scholar's robe… Ouyang Rong suddenly turned and put away the jade hairpin with the mandarin ducks. He said:
"Wait a moment."
Rong Zhen stopped in her tracks and saw Ouyang Rong suddenly turn around and ask the old musician:
"You are also a Swordholder?"
Judging from her tone, it was as if she was finding out for the first time.
The old musician paused for a moment, then raised his hand to touch his thin, sparsely white head, a hint of reminiscence in his eyes:
"Yes, it is."
Ouyang Rong shook his head and said very seriously:
"No, you are not the Swordholder, nor are any of you."
Everyone, including the old musician, Wei Shaoqi, and Rong Zhen, opened their mouths.
After uttering a single word, the young man in the scholar's robe turned around, his back to Rong Zhen and the others, and continued forward.
At this moment, the thunderclouds had arrived, gathered, and pressed down on the main grotto, resembling a dark mountain.
Compared to the visible silver lightning, the thunder was slow to arrive.
"Thump—thump—thump—"
In the ensuing silence, the young man in the scholar's robe strode forward, lightly tapping his wine gourd with his palm, producing a rhythmic sound. Some people suddenly felt that the rhythm was faintly in sync with their heartbeats, though they were unsure if it was just their imagination.
He patted the gourd lightly, seemingly lost in thought.
The rhythmic clapping of the gourd, perfectly timed with heartbeats, struck the hearts of everyone present like heavy drumbeats. Everyone in the arena stared at the back of the young man in the scholar's robe, unconsciously holding their breath and waiting for the world-destroying thunderbolt to fall!
Ouyang Rong remained calm. He first glanced at the "invisible" white sturgeon hopping around his feet, then adjusted the eighteen seeds in his palm before opening the bronze scroll.
A paradise on earth leaps off the page.
Ouyang Rong pinched something out of the painting with two fingers.
A thin, wispy shadow.
Three hundred years later, the legendary swordsman pointed at the "Humble Scholar" sword and casually tossed it into the air.
A streak of sky-blue sword shadow rose up and arrived beside [Craftsman], who had been silently laying out his sword for a long time.
The craftsmanship is now enveloped in the azure glow of the cauldron.
The sword shadow of the [Humble Scholar] also enveloped the illusory image of the azure cauldron fire.
The two, one real and one illusory, attracted each other like magnets and merged into one.
The azure sword energy and the clear blue sword energy merged together.
It presents a dreamlike, ethereal color scheme where the sky and water blend seamlessly.
Smoky blue.
The smoky blue cauldron fire had grown larger, and even the fierce winds high in the sky could not shake it in the slightest; the flames of the cauldron fire seemed to remain still.
At this moment, Ouyang Rong stopped patting the gourd and suddenly spoke, asking the entire audience:
"Do you all know why the 'Humble Scholar' has no handle and is always hanging upside down in the air?" Before anyone could answer, he asked himself and answered, as if in a dream: "Because the Humble Scholar never points his sword at the common people, but only at the heavens, and only questions the heavens."
Today, the arc that had been drawn up for so long and had not fallen for so long finally came down.
It doesn't fall to the earth, but to the heavens.
In everyone's pupils, a line of arcs soared into the sky, a picture of unwavering courage.
Let us return home.
This time, it wasn't aimed at the common people on the ground.
The poor scholar, without any support, hangs a rainbow in the sky; he cares not for the common people, but only for the heavens.
Seeing such a shocking scene, some people belatedly realized that when the young man in the scholar's robe spread his sword and asked Xue Zhongzhu about swordsmanship, after [Arc] spread his sword, it seemed to be from bottom to top. This time it was the same, except that the enemy was no longer Xue Zhongzhu falling from the sky, but the thunder from the sky!
This is the legendary swordsman's strike.
Beneath the thunderous clouds.
A thin, bluish-green sword light collided with the first bolt of lightning falling from the dark clouds.
In the next instant, the entire world brightened by a third.
The flashes of lightning and swords illuminated the faces of those looking up inside the main grotto.
Nine bolts of lightning flashed in succession, filling the entire world.
The nine bolts of lightning were much faster than the roar of thunder from the heavens, arriving one after another... Witnessing this unforgettable scene, everyone in the audience forgot to count their heartbeats, feeling as if nine beats had been stolen from their hearts. They remained in a gazing-up posture, standing in place like statues.
Seeing lightning is like watching a silent play; hearing thunder comes only after a quarter of an hour.
(End of this chapter)
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