Chapter 447: Let's Go!

Chapter 447: Let’s Get to Work!

“Seems like you’ve all made up your minds to stick with Brother Zhang Qinglu through thick and thin?”

When Mingzhi Xiao encountered Yanglong in the hidden chamber where Xiao had concealed the Huangliang Host, the reason for their meeting was self-evident.

Yet Chen Qisheng wasn’t surprised at all. After all, both he and Yanglong belonged to the same Dragon-Tiger Mountain sect. Even he himself had no intention of severing ties, so Yanglong and his companions naturally wouldn’t return home empty-handed.

“Can’t be put that way. I don’t know about others, but before me, Zhang Qinglu hasn’t yet earned the right to command.”

Chen Qisheng merely gave a cold smile upon hearing this: “Then what’s the meaning of your appearance today, in that guise?”

“Brother Yanglong, don’t be hasty. Though we’re not exactly on friendly terms, there’s still the matter of who arrives first. This batch of Hosts I won’t clash with you over.”

Yanglong paused, then smiled: “Besides, my destiny isn’t tied to these things.”

Upon hearing this, Chen Qisheng felt not an ounce of relief—instead, his brow darkened further.

“Brother Yanglong, you’re joking, aren’t you? You came to the War Zone not to chase after the ‘Immortal Seat’?”

“Before Zhang Qinglu convened that dream meeting, my goal was also the Immortal Seat. But afterward, I suddenly realized.”

The Huangliang Host temporarily ‘inhabited’ by Yanglong suddenly raised both arms, his voice tinged with longing: “Destiny needn’t always be material—it can also be a person.”

“Who?”

“You.”

Yanglong smiled: “The opportunity for me to become an Immortal lies in you, Brother.”

“Brother, your cunning is a bit too sharp.”

Chen Qisheng replied coolly: “Brother, I’m just an ordinary sixth-level cultivator, even a disdained old hermit. What merit could I possibly have to be the opportunity for your ascension?”

Not knowing why, after Yanglong manifested, Chen Qisheng found his voice link with Zhou Siu had been severed, no longer hearing a single word from him.

“Destiny, after all, is an uncertain opportunity. Whether it leads to success or failure is my own doing. I just want to ask you, Brother—do you wish to kill Zhang Qinglu?”

Chen Qisheng blurted out: “Doesn’t he want to?”

“Then we must be kindred spirits.”

Yanglong said: “Kill Zhang Qinglu, and Brother, you’ll claim the Immortal Seat, soaring upward to become a fourth-level Immortal. From then on, no one in our sect will dare slight you.”

“Your auspicious words hit the mark.”

Chen Qisheng seemed unmoved, instead asking: “But how do I only hear of my own benefits? Where’s your destiny in all this?”

“One person’s ascension sends chickens and dogs flying to the heavens. If we both go, supporting each other in the Jade Court, isn’t that a good thing?”

So this was the nature of destiny.

Chen Qisheng suddenly understood, a serene smile spreading across his face.

But in the next instant, his expression darkened, his voice cold: “What if, after becoming an Immortal, I don’t help you?”

“Our Dragon-Tiger Mountain sect doesn’t mind internal conflicts, but if it involves deliberate harm, that’s another matter entirely.”

Yanglong calmly replied: “Yet I trust you, Yang Xuan, aren’t the type to cut down a bridge after crossing a river.”

“Brother, you underestimate me too much. One major flaw of old-school cultivation is its indulgence in worldly desires—the moral foundation of a person isn’t that solid.”

Chen Qisheng smiled: “Why don’t you ascend first, then pull me up? That way, we can all support each other.”

“You clearly misunderstand me, Brother.”

Yanglong’s tone softened, but his words suddenly shifted: “If we’re in different realms, why even discuss destiny with you? Yang Xuan, you should know—this time’s opportunity isn’t those human-form Hosts or the Jade Court’s authority. It’s, like me, tied to a person, to that lone warrior of martial cultivation!”

Chen Qisheng fell silent for a moment, “And then what?”

“Zhang Qinglu is the one who ruined my destiny. He’s also ruined mine. If we don’t join forces, we’ll both be his victims!”

Chen Qisheng suddenly felt a chill, his face darkening with murderous intent.

“Then he’s a dead man.”

“In that case, we’ll meet later.”

With a satisfied smile, Yanglong’s voice faded, and the human-form Host he’d ‘inhabited’ collapsed limp, crashing to the ground with a thud. In its bewildered eyes, the character ‘Zhou’ flickered once more.

“That scoundrel’s gone?”

A faint voice whispered in Chen Qisheng’s ear.

“You can hear him?” Chen Qisheng stared in surprise.

“Of course I can, Zhou Ye. What kind of barrier do you think this is? Don’t tell me you’re fooled by my identity.”

Zhou Siqiu asked, puzzled: “I heard the end of it, but didn’t quite grasp it. Do you cultivists always chat by playing with destiny?”

“When we exorcists read the stars, do we not also enjoy riddles?”

“How could it be the same? Our rituals are meaningful! We speak in plain words now—how can we deceive? How can we make people grateful to the heavens and purify their hearts?”

“Stop babbling.”

Chen Qisheng rubbed the blade of his flying sword hidden in his sleeve: “Quickly peel off the permissions—Old Li might cause trouble.”

“Understood.”

“I understand. Start relocating all the rooms.”

Under the eaves of a street-side building, Xingshi Dongtong ended the call in her ear, her face—ordinary, even plain—showing no trace of emotion.

She inhaled deeply, extending one foot beyond the eaves. Just as her foot touched the ground and she was about to step forward, a blinding white light suddenly flooded the entire alley.

Boom.

A deafening thunderclap echoed from the darkened sky.

A single raindrop whistled down, landing squarely on Xingshi Dongtong’s shoe.

She glanced up at the dense rain streaks above, pulled up her collar, and stepped out without hesitation.

Xingshi Dongtong strode on, unaware that in a corner behind her, a pair of eyes glowing with a faint green light watched her intently.

At the alley’s end, she turned left, and the scene opened into a vibrant vista.

This was a street meant only for pedestrians, its end at midnight yet bustling with life.

As its name implied, Changling Street.

Changling Street was Osaka Castle’s most notorious red-light district, the primary outlet for the city’s residents to vent their desires. The Security Bureau, well-versed in ‘Nine Blocks, One Drain,’ had not harshly suppressed it, merely setting its business hours post-midnight.

Thus, many black-market merchants, having escaped disaster, flocked here, making the street even more prosperous.

Adorned with bright lantern signs, red-lit paper lanterns, and fishermen’s banners fluttering with fireworks and light.

The Security Bureau’s extralegal mercy had not reined in the merchants here; their methods to attract customers grew increasingly brutal.

A semi-naked flying taoist nun drifted above pedestrians’ heads, her exposed chest bearing the name of her brothel.

White Snake, Nine-Tailed Fox, Five-Headed God, Woman of the Earth, Feathered Robe Woman—no matter if from the Ming or the War Zone, any yokai or spirit associated with lust in culture was projected onto this street.

Pedestrians with parasols strolled through, their faces twisted into grotesque masks by the chaotic light and shadow, resembling demons draped in human skin.

The Night of the Hundred Ghosts had arrived.

Xingshi Dongtong walked through the crowded crowd, her figure brushing past floating signs, her ears filled with mirthful shouts, curses, haggling, footsteps, crackling electricity, wind, and rain all jumbled together.

【As long as you come, you need not move. Don't worry about having the will but no power; besides the flesh, we also have dreams.】

After the new policy was implemented, the number of youths in the Wò region plummeted rapidly, and the main clientele of the red‑light district also changed accordingly.

Elderly patrons have now become the primary consumers of this industry.

[Longevity surgery is 20% off today; Siamese facial features, Pagan internal organs, imperial prosthetic bodies—everything you could want is available.]

Longevity is also the hottest black‑market venture in the Wò region today; whether it be modification or transplantation, demand has reached unprecedented heights.

[Appetite and desire are both a paradise; a night that never ends can be boiled.]

Even advertisements from the Consolation Office promoting labor export are mixed in.

Shengshi Dongtong cares nothing about his surroundings, his sole focus being to move forward.

The bright shop window on the street reflected her elongated silhouette; after she passed for a moment, a pair of eyes glimmering with a greenish hue drifted by.

The owner of the eyes was about six feet tall, swathed in a black cloak that made gender indistinguishable.

Suddenly, the cloaked figure's footsteps halted.

Before him lay a crossroads, amid a dense flow of pedestrians, and he could no longer tell which one was Shengshi Dongtong.

Target lost!

The sudden anomaly seemed to exceed the cloaked figure's understanding, leaving him standing dumbfounded in place.

Strange attire and odd behavior instantly attracted a swarm of scrutinizing gazes from those around.

After a brief pause, perhaps receiving new orders, the cloaked man stepped into the crowd, moving brutally, charging headlong and stirring a chorus of curses.

Having broken through only a few meters, the cloaked figure halted again.

A plain face stood before him, and it was none other than Shengshi Dongtong!

“Are you looking for me?”

As the words faded, a slender fist lightly floated down onto his heart.

Thud.

A muffled thud resonated as a gust of wind lifted the cloaked figure's garments, pulling them backward as if unfurling a massive bat's wings.

Shengshi Dongtong slowly withdrew her fist, still embedded in flesh, and white synthetic blood trickled down the blade.

Thump.

The heart had become an empty cavity; his skin was torn from his face, and amid the bleeding, a bright yellow talisman hidden beneath was revealed.

“So it was a Yellow Turban Warrior.”

Only now did the surrounding crowd finally notice the sudden, gruesome killing.

Terrified screams rose and fell, and the turmoil spread uncontrollably.

The throng, with Shengshi Dongtong at its center, fled in panic in all directions.

Like a beach after the tide recedes, the wet ground bore only the litter left by the crowd.

And nine motionless silhouettes stood.

Tall or short, stout or thin, they all wore the same robe, yet careful observation revealed subtle differences in the patterns upon their garments.

“So you don’t run—are you preparing to surrender, or do you think you can stand against us alone?”

The speaker stood in the north, beneath a jade‑crowned headdress, his handsome face revealed.

Longhu Mountain Taoist Abbey, Zhang Qinglu.

Shengshi Dongtong surveyed the scene: “I never expected that the solitary Longhu Mountain Taoist disciple would ever band together.”

“If you enjoy showing off your tongue, Master, I can forge you into a tireless Yellow Turban Warrior, endlessly reciting the Great Dao Canon.”

Zhang Qinglu stood with his hands behind his back, his brows filled with cold aloofness.

“What you seek is the sorghum mainframe that bears the heavens, not me.”

Shengshi Dongtong remained unusually calm: “Give me a chance to live, and I can hand over the sorghum mainframe I hold.”

“Know what’s sensible, and that will do.”

Zhang Qinglu was highly satisfied with Shengshi Dongtong’s submission: “Yet you just killed a Yellow Turban Warrior of mine.”

“I can offer you this arm as compensation.”

“How much is an arm granted by a Spring Emperor decree of the agricultural order worth?”

Zhang Qinglu chuckled, “I can spare your life, but you must tell me where Mingzhi Qingshou is now hidden.”

“I don’t know.”

Shengshi Dongtong answered without hesitation, “Do you think she would let a pawn like me know her whereabouts?”

“The left and right hands of Shengshi, famed as they are, are also pawns?”

“His eyes no longer hold the Shengshi family.”

Shengshi Dongtong bit his lip, sighing, “He has gone mad.”

“One cannot abandon the genes of desire; they are destined to become waste. The martial order is like this, and so is your agricultural order. Only by transcending emotion can one reach immortality.”

Zhang Qinglu’s robe billowed, slowly lifting him into the air, his eyes alight with fiery blue light.

“Release the defensive enclosure you have built beyond ‘self‑owned fields,’ let me read your memories; if there is nothing I desire, I can spare you.”

Shengshi Dongtong tightly closed his mouth, his face contorted in struggle.

BOOM!

At this very moment, thunder cracked within the black clouds.

A group of Longhu Mountain Taoist disciples, sensing something, turned in unison toward the true east.

In the fleeting flash of light, they all clearly saw a flamboyant face.

In an instant, the hiss of flying swords spewing flame, the hum of carved talismans, the clatter of moving Dao tools rose and fell.

Amid the clamor, Daoist number Yanggu of Longhu Mountain suddenly felt wind at his back, turned in surprise, and his sight was filled by the shining cold light descending.

“How could he be this fast"

Ssshh!

The embroidered spring blade plunged directly into his brow, the mighty blade piercing through his skull from behind.

With a slight twist of the wrist, the decapitated head was instantly torn in half. Yanggu's corpse crashed to the ground, and the sparking arc danced across the puddle, strikingly beautiful.

[Obtained 50 proficiency points]

This Taoist disciple didn't even have time to activate his escape technique before being killed outright!

“Zhang Qinglu.”

Li Jun smiled, speaking each word deliberately, his gaze falling upon the floating Taoist: “We meet again.”

Kill first, then greet.

Alone he walks the martial sequence, truly living up to its rigor!

Zhang Qinglǜ's face hardened to iron, his teeth clenched: “Yan Jun, you have brought this upon yourself.”

“There are still quite a few of them.”

Li Jun glanced around, affectingly patting his chest, “But all is well; the lot I bring this time is no small number.”

As his words fell, the footsteps of one after another drew near, echoing like thunder.

A fierce host of Jin Yiwei emerged onto the street, surrounding the Dragon‑Tiger Mountain martial order in a tight circle.

.