Chapter 373: Ambitious Son, Huangtian Blade

Chapter 373: The Ambitionist, Huang Tianzou

A broken, patchwork head, stitched together with desperate effort, stood before the face of Su Zhegui.

The head’s eyes, a single, murky orb, still bore the clarity of shock and bitterness that had been frozen within them.

“Even my own master didn’t leave a complete corpse. How dare you do this?”

“Life or death, I wouldn’t risk my life.”

“Indeed, it’s the same old vendetta and old grievance, no room for mercy.”

Su Zhegui reached out, brushing against the wide, furrowed eyes of Huang Tianzou, his gaze meeting the imposing figure before him.

“Ah, the former martial sect leader of the Yellow Mountain region in the Jiangzhe area, Huang Tianzou—gone like this? It’s as if the fate was written long ago.”

Su Zhegui shook his head, his true intent unmistakable beneath the bravado. “It seems the official still holds him in high regard for his capture of the dragon. I thought he’d earned a decisive victory, but it turns out so easily you could have crushed me.”

“So, your methods are so sharp, or is your master’s spirit finally gone?”

Su Zhegui smiled faintly, his words dripping with a calm detachment. “The rules of the sect were forged to protect us, to subtly shape our destiny. The weight of that legacy is heavier than any single battle.”

He paused, the weight of the moment pressing upon him.

A spark of flame emerged from Su Zhegui’s hand, drifting toward the face of the seated figure. He lifted it, offering it to the air before the man.

“Come, a single smoke. The master of the sect, the one who sat with me, the wise Liqian—he’s a fool. I have no need to worry about her.”

Su Zhegui’s tone was sharp, yet measured. “These missing souls are remnants of the old ways. They hold no power over the present.”

He straightened, bowing slightly, his posture a blend of respect and resolve.

“Perhaps you should clarify the matter of the rites. The suspicion of the Capital’s officials is well-founded.”

“Enough. Let us settle this matter.”

Su Zhegui pressed a finger to his lips, then lightly tapped the armrest.

“These are the signs of the Doctrine. But do you not see the signs of the immoral?”

Su Zhegui turned, his eyes glinting with quiet intensity.

“Every smoke must be examined. The capital’s officials may have their reasons, but the truth is clearer now.”

He stepped back, the silence between them thick with unspoken history.

A flicker of flame rose from Su Zhegui’s hand, drifting toward the air.

“Now, a single smoke. The master of the sect—whether he’s a fool or a foolish servant—will have to answer to me.”

Su Zhegui straightened, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, Master. I’ll wait for your reply.”

The man rose, bowing deeply, and the room seemed to hold its breath.

“Master, this is how you handle your disciples—softly, but firmly. The dragon was defeated, but the fire remains. If you were to return now, you’d face consequences.”

"Rest assured, while I remain, the heavens shall not fall."

The words were brief, yet possessed the indomitable grandeur of a mountain.

Qian Fengting was clearly long accustomed to the other's overbearing manner, his expression one of helpless resignation.

"My Lord, then why do you suppose Tokugawa Hiroshi and his cohorts would risk so much to provoke the Daoist Order?"

"Those missing Disciples of the Order—what do they all have in common?"

"The Yellow Millet Authority?"

Qian Fengting was taken aback. "They seek neither to become Buddhas nor to play the part of ancestral patriarchs, nor do they read fortunes or divine the future. What are they tinkering with those things for?"

"How should I know? I have never so much as laid eyes on that stuff."

Su Ce rose to his full height, turning his gaze toward the map of the Japanese District that occupied the entire far wall behind him.

"So, let us wait and see for now. Let those audacious Daoist bandits and gold-diggers pave the way and scout the path for us."

Meanwhile, a vehicle departed from the Thousand-Household Office.

"One horizontal, one vertical—what grand and imposing rules."

Huangshilie leaned back against the rear seat, his lips peeling back into a ferocious grin. "A pity, then, that I do not smoke."

A lone fist extended out the window, five fingers slowly unfurling as the ashes of the burnt cigarette were swept up by the freezing wind, vanishing into the dark night.

"Fellow Daoist, please stay your steps."

The speaker wore his hair in a Daoist topknot, his face as flawless as carved jade, his features sharp and striking, his skin entirely clean and white, devoid of any visible pores.

Clad in a purple Daoist robe against the backdrop of the surrounding snow, he seemed to drift above the mortal world, utterly transcendent.

Compared to Chen Qisheng, who was bundled tightly in a heavy quilted cotton coat, he utterly overwhelmed him on appearance alone.

Yet in Chen Qisheng's eyes, this man blocking the path exuded an annoying, thoroughly pervasive aura of falsehood from head to toe.

"Which temple of the new sect do you belong to?"

Chen Qisheng knit his brows slightly, his fingers twitching faintly within the concealment of his sleeve. "Do you not know that those words, 'stay your steps,' are not to be uttered lightly?"

"This humble practitioner is Xin Dian, of the Chongyang Palace."

The white-clad Daoist bowed with hands clasped in salute toward Chen Qisheng, though as he spoke, his handsome eyes and brows remained completely motionless, only his lips parting and closing slightly, eerie and stiff.

"Forgive the sudden intrusion, and I pray my fellow Daoist will show forbearance."