Chapter 517: Performing a Duet

Chapter 517: The Double-Pile Performance

“Who? Who dares to be so bold?”

The crowd stretched their necks, their expressions a mixture of urgency and impatience. It was as if a group of old, bone-eating patrons had just met a new, promising young talent—like a sprout bursting through the cracks of an ancient courtyard.

In truth, such matters were strictly regulated, and there was no room for frivolity. Even if Lu Vali had fallen, there would still be a high-ranking figure within the Liao Dynasty to hold the throne of the east.

If one day this very thing were to threaten them, Confucius himself might have been on the verge of extinction.

So, in this moment, the anxiety and anger displayed by these officials were merely curiosity.

“I don’t know who it is, but I can tell you that almost all of the living souls inside its mouth were Confucius disciples.”

Jing Jing slowly unraveled the mystery. “And considering the sequence of abilities, it’s probably the ones from the Shaolin sect.”

A pause. Then, with a sigh, Jing Jing chuckled. “Speaking of this, just think—if you can master these two things, you’ll be a true immortal, able to rival the Three Teachings and the Nine Schools.”

Jing Jing’s right hand curled into a fist, his gaze lingered on the left hand that seemed to be hiding something.

Jing Jing smiled, his words sharpening with purpose. “Remember, this is about power. If you want to rise among the officials, you need two things: influence, and a name that commands respect.”

“Even the humble monks of the Shaolin sect can’t match the power of the Liao Dynasty,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “They’re just a shadow compared to us.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a heavy fog.

“To think that they might have underestimated you… it’s almost too much to believe.”

One of the officials, a clever strategist, finally spoke up. “Perhaps this is just a test of our ability to handle the consequences of our actions.”

Jing Jing’s eyes lit up with resolve. “Then let us not be caught off guard. We will rise, and we will not be silenced.”

One by one, the officials rose, bowing their heads in solemn acknowledgment. The air crackled with tension, the stakes higher than ever.

For in this moment, the stage was set—not just for the performance, but for the fate of all who dared to stand in the spotlight.

Voices erupted in chaos. Zheng Jinzhi let out a resigned sigh, "Well then, I'll try to plead with Chen Er for you, but he's no longer the master of the Liu household. Whether this can be resolved or not depends on your own fate." "If you're willing to help, this minister is already deeply grateful," Old Hu replied, his voice trembling with emotion. So it seemed they would also need to prepare a proper gift for Zheng Jinzhi. Once the agreement was reached, the scene swiftly turned to one of convivial celebration. Cups clinked in a rhythmic dance, and the officials lavishly praised both Zheng Jinzhi and the absent Liu Chen. Each official, with unwavering conviction, declared that the successor to the Liu family's position would undoubtedly be the illustrious Liu Chen, who would shine brilliantly in the new policies. When Liu Chen ascended, the position of Minister of the Ministry of Revenue would undoubtedly become Zheng Jinzhi's. Breaking through the ranks, leading the Zheng clan to become a first-rate faction—it was only a matter of time. At that time, they would undoubtedly continue to serve the Zheng family with unwavering loyalty, just as they did now. Some even whispered, "Since we've called him a mere acrobat, why bother intervening? In my view, this Li Jun is nothing more than a hypocrite. Even his revenge is only against the soft target of the ink shop. What kind of person would dare avenge a dead man? Let him fight with the ink shop—dog biting dog." Drunk and careless, Zheng Jinzhi waved his hand dismissively, his face contorted in disdain. "The era of single-clothed warriors and swift swords has long passed. Now is the time for the Confucian order to establish its rules. A martial faction like him has no right to run wild!" The crowd erupted in laughter, but Zheng Jinzhi suddenly felt an unusual sound beneath his feet—like a collision. Instinctively, he looked down. A twisted, grotesque face lay upside down, its wide eyes locked onto him. "A head?!" His face instantly turned red, then blue, then white, mirroring the corpse's pallor. He couldn't tell who was alive or dead. "Who is it?!" His frantic gaze followed the crimson trail of blood, only to see a spear, its tip dripping with a suffocating screech, hurtling toward him! Clang!