Chapter 711: The Path of Sequence (1)

Chapter 711: The Path of Sequences (I)

On the outskirts of the old capital, chaos reigned without end.

A thick, unyielding crimson filled Zhang Siyuan's eyes; amid the chaotic crowd, the overlapping pressure of ritual arts and Hebo force came without cease, as law-rulers and blades struck in concert, granting him not a single moment to catch his breath.

Sticky blood pasted robes to skin; Zhang Siyuan felt as if his mind had been stirred into a paste, roaring tumultuously, his five senses upside down, forcing him to rely solely on instinct to dodge the relentless attacks.

Zhu Yiyan had spoken of keeping him alive as bait, yet these Sequence followers under his control showed no intention of leaving any survivors, striking without mercy.

It was only at this moment that Zhang Siyuan truly understood the power of the Zongheng Sequence.

If it were a one-on-one duel, killing a Zongheng Sequence of the same rank was not difficult for Zhang Siyuan. But if the opponent was equipped with enough 'Position-Karma', even just a team of a hundred or two could unleash combat power that would suppress him utterly.

The Law Sequence and Soldier Sequence encircled the front, while the Confucian Sequence and Zongheng maintained pressure from the rear, the different sequences cooperating seamlessly, exploiting strengths and avoiding weaknesses to perfection.

Moreover, their morale was incredibly high; even if half their number fell, no one retreated in fear.

"But in the end, it's because the Confucian Sequence is not really a fighting sequence,"

Zhang Siyuan thought helplessly. The Zongheng Sequence wielding 'Position-Karma' was formidable, but not without weakness.

At this moment, standing at the outermost edge of the battle, a Zongheng Sequence Four who had been watching with folded arms from start to finish was the 'Flag Bearer' appointed by Zhu Yiyan to manage the strategy of distant alliance and nearby attack; all the users of this small portion of 'Position-Karma' were connected and commanded by him.

If only he could kill that man, all dangers would naturally dissolve.

But the problem was that Zhang Siyuan was already at the end of his tether, utterly incapable of breaking out to decapitate the enemy.

"It looks like I'll be leaving my bones here today. But that's fine; at least I won't have to keep watching that stubborn, unreasonable old man anymore."

"Just a pity I haven't had a few good days. Oh, last time in the frontier, Zou Sijiu told me about the White Emperor Mixed Soup—I wonder what it's really like?"

Zhang Siyuan's eyes were vacant, murmuring to himself. In his hand, the firearm named 'Mortal Echo' was dyed in gold and green, lighting up the Daoist texts and Buddhist sutras engraved on its body one by one. The barrel, as thick as a cannon's mouth, spewed out a gorgeous and deadly brilliance, blasting those before him into fine blood mist.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The gunfire erupted again, even more savage and ferocious than before.

Zhang Siyuan brought his 'Shooting Art' to its fullest expression; even in a state of sensory chaos, he still never missed a shot, each round fatal.

Whether Confucian, Soldier, Law, or Zongheng, once locked in 'Mortal Echo''s sights, the only outcome was to burst into a splattering mess of shredded flesh and blood.

But this scene in the eyes of that Zongheng Sequence Four was merely the last counterattack of a cornered beast before its death. If they could survive this wave, Zhang Siyuan would be like fish on a chopping block, at their mercy.

Thinking thus, the Flag Bearer Zongheng did not hesitate, caring nothing for the rapid depletion of 'Position-Karma', ordering the Sequence followers to surround again, intent on using their lives to completely drain Zhang Siyuan's strength.

'Mortal Echo' had just roared deafeningly when a Six-Art Soldier Sequence rushed close and grabbed its barrel with bare hands.

A numb red mechanical eye met a bloodshot human eye; the frantic sound of the overclocking mechanical heart in his chest rang out together with the gunshot.

Bang!

Half of the mechanical body blasted into scrap metal; the flying mechanical bones shot in all directions like sharp swords.

Zhang Siyuan, standing close, was also badly hurt; countless steel fragments struck his body, punching out dense bloody holes.

Agonizing pain gnawed at his heart; the Hebo force that had invaded his body took the chance to wreak havoc. Zhang Siyuan's vision went dark in waves, and his movements suddenly became extremely sluggish.

A law-ruler struck his shoulder heavily; blood spurted from his mouth and nose, and he was sent flying horizontally.

The grand voice interrogating his crimes still echoed in his mind, torturing his will. But the chaotic footsteps suddenly fell silent.

The only reason the enemy didn't press their advantage was that they were waiting for Zhang Siyuan to suffer a fate worse than death.

In the invisible realm, the temptation of Hebo force continued to intensify; combined with the suppression of Six Arts and ritual law, it tried to forcibly brand the Zhu family's mark onto Zhang Siyuan's consciousness. This pain was beyond any physical torture.

"Damn, it hurts like hell."

Zhang Siyuan struggled to stand, his right arm trembling uncontrollably; the 'Mortal Echo' that was once light as nothing now weighed like a mountain, impossible to lift again.

After repeated attempts to no avail, Zhang Siyuan twitched his mouth, let go of the gun, and slowly raised his right hand, pointing his index finger at his own temple.

This gesture was so childish, like a mischievous child pretending a finger was a gun.

"No wonder I always read about people preferring death to surrender in books. Back then, I thought they were just melodramatic. Now that it's my turn, I finally understand—sometimes living is truly worse than dying."

The Flag Bearer Zongheng watched with calm eyes, seemingly unconcerned about Zhang Siyuan's suicide.

His Majesty only wanted the Zhang family's name. If they could control him through Hebo, that would be best; if not, it didn't matter.

Even if Zhang Siyuan died, His Majesty could still make 'him' live.

"Bang!"

Zhang Siyuan made a sound with his mouth, but his two fingers shaped like a gun suddenly aimed at the Zongheng Sequence Four in the crowd.

An invisible wave shot swiftly, but a nearby Confucian Sequence leaped up and used his body to block this 'Shooting Art'.

"Zhang Siyuan, if you truly had the guts to kill yourself, I might have thought better of you. But unfortunately, you're just a coward."

The Zongheng showed a cold smile, but at that moment, a harsh sound of tearing air suddenly rose behind him, speeding from afar.

"Hmm?"

The Flag Bearer issued orders; with the command, action stopped.

The Sequence followers surrounding Zhang Siyuan reacted swiftly, but the newcomer's speed was clearly faster, crashing into the crowd with brute force.

Shen Li let out a furious roar, bending his back slightly, using his tiger armor to withstand all attacks, like a valiant soldier breaking through enemy lines to seize the flag and decapitate the commander.

Bang!

The change wasn't entirely unexpected, but Shen Li's ferocity exceeded the Flag Bearer Zongheng's anticipation; a fist carrying tremendous force smashed his head.

With the man dead and the flag fallen, without a commander, this 'Position-Karma' should have dissipated.

But the enemy did not scatter and flee; instead, they continued their encirclement.

With the pressure suddenly relieved, Zhang Siyuan took a deep breath, kicked the fallen 'Mortal Echo' into his hand, and looked at the 'human flags' rising continuously in the distant night.

The Zhu family dragon banners had already been planted all over Jinling.

In a corner of the imperial city, within a tunnel.

The sounds of slaughter here had completely subsided. The night wind, which had been cowering aside, finally dared to step in and began to clear the lingering smoke and pungent blood.

Yang Baize held his hand over the wound that pierced through his abdomen, using his longsword as a crutch, staggering through the corpses scattered across the ground.

He kept his head down, carefully looking at every face—some terrified, some despairing, some hateful.

Hope and unease flickered in his eyes, alternating as he examined each one.

After searching for a long time, Yang Baize finally saw, beside a mountain of corpses, that aged face stained with blood and sweat.

Pei Xingjian sat cross-legged at the foot of the old, mottled city wall. The Zongheng Sequence who bore the flag here knelt before him.

"You sure are lucky, boy. I thought you'd be dead by now,"

The old man lifted his heavy eyelids, shifting his cloudy pupils toward the youth staggering closer.

Upon recognizing the face, his brows and eyes trembled at once, though the words he spoke were far from pleasant.

Fortunately, the youth had long been accustomed to his temperament and gave a cheeky grin.

"If I weren't lucky, how could I become your student?"

Yang Baize discarded the sword he used as a crutch and bent down to help Pei Xingjian up, but the old man said, "Your master is down to his last breath, so don't you go jostling me."

"Old man, what nonsense are you talking about?"

Yang Baize's eyes flickered, but the moment his fingertips touched the old man's arm, he jerked back as if shocked.

The sensation that came through was limp and powerless, as if all of Pei Xingjian's bones had been ground to dust.

"Didn't I tell you the truth?"

"If you don't want to move, rest a little longer. We'll go when you're ready."

Yang Baize forced calm, ignoring Pei Xingjian's teasing, and sat down close beside him.

But the next moment, he could no longer hold back and spoke hoarsely.

"Why is it like this?"

"There's no way around it."

Pei Xingjian exhaled a long, murky breath: "If these machinations of the Zhu family had no real power, how could they have sat securely on the throne for a thousand years?"

"You know that's not what I mean!"

Yang Baize's eyes reddened, his words rushing: "Why didn't you leave? You knew full well—"

"Knowing he was deliberately walking to his death, why didn't I abandon him?"

Pei Xingjian smiled faintly and asked, "Then why didn't you leave? Why stay in this city of Jinling?"

"Because you are my teacher," Yang Baize blurted.

"But he was also my teacher."

Yang Baize opened his mouth to speak, hesitated repeatedly, and finally pressed his lips tight, burying his head in silence.

"He had his loyalty to fulfill; as his student, I could not stop him. Now I have fulfilled my own loyalty. As my student, Little Baize, you should congratulate your teacher, shouldn't you?"

"You're all fools," Yang Baize suddenly cursed.

"Others say we of this Confucian lineage are bookworms—of course we're all fools."

Pei Xingjian's hearty laugh abruptly stopped as he coughed up a mouthful of blood mixed with fragments of organs.

His originally ashen face flushed slightly, regaining a bit of strength.

A broken neck vertebra prevented him from turning his head, but he still seemed to see the sorrow on Yang Baize's face.

"Don't look so downcast. If I don't die today, I'll die tomorrow anyway. No one escapes the fate of returning to dust. The Zhu family schemed for a thousand years, and still no emperor ever achieved immortality."

"But that doesn't mean you should die here. Others want to return to their roots when they fall. Shu is so far; how can I carry you back?"

"You little brat, who taught you to be so sharp-tongued?"

Pei Xingjian scolded with a laugh and continued, "I don't care much for such things. Bury me where I die. Here I can keep Liu Jinxun company and teach that old disciple-betraying wretch a lesson."

Yang Baize said softly, "Others of the Liu family have a towering clan tower, sheltered from wind and rain. But you and I have empty sleeves—nothing at all."

"Is that so? Then you'd better carry me back, or it would be too embarrassing."

Pei Xingjian laughed: "Worst case, in the next life you be my teacher and I your student, and I'll repay you."

"Forget it. I couldn't teach a student like you."

Yang Baize's tone was full of disdain.

"True. Besides him, probably no one could put up with me."

Pei Xingjian's eyes dropped, his gaze falling on his own feet.

"When I was young, your teacher loved to call himself a barefoot commoner who feared no well-shod noble. But if given the chance to wear good shoes, who would choose to go barefoot? It was just pride talking—stubborn words."

"But the more lies you tell, the more they seem true, as if you were born to disdain all wealth and glory, with a fate as thin as paper yet a heart higher than the sky."

Pei Xingjian murmured to himself: "To avoid being looked down upon, I cultivated a foul temper, looking down on everyone. Liu Jinxun was well-born, so I deliberately opposed him in everything. If he said east, I said west; if he agreed, I protested—bickering just to spite him. Even Old Man Zhang I cursed for years. It's a testament to his good temper that he didn't kill this wayward disciple of his."

"A fault confessed is half redressed. That was your mistake; you owe them a proper apology."

Yang Baize leaned his head against the wall, mimicking his teacher, lowering his gaze to his toes.

"The father's debt, the son repays. That's your job now."

Pei Xingjian said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Why else would I have you as a student?"

"But come to think of it, I suppose I've done a few decent things in my life. At least I took you as my student, so in the end, it wasn't for nothing."

Pei Xingjian smiled: "You, boy, are far better than I was at your age. You have ideals, principles, perseverance, tenacity, and more importantly, that fiery spirit. Many Confucian scholars have long lost that completely—whether well-shod or barefoot."

"I like hearing that. Gives me strength. Say more, so my legs will have power when I carry you back."

"Fine then, prick up your ears."

Pei Xingjian said: "Since you didn't die, then live well. In the future, do something grand and aboveboard, so the world will remember your teacher is Pei Xingjian. That way, when I face those two old bastards Liu Jinxun and Li Bufeng in the underworld, I'll have some face too."

"What great thing can I accomplish? Everywhere I go, I'm just a burden."

Yang Baize's face was full of self-mockery, and he did not notice the old man straining to turn his eyes to the right, desperately hoping to see his face.

"That is only for now, not for the future. When you are tired and want to stop, don't think of me—think of your grandteacher. Old Man Zhang walked so many wrong paths and was a burden so many times that even he probably lost count. But when you succeed, all the past indignities will be overlooked."

"In youth, to crack the whip and ride, to tread snow in search of flowers—that is only your own high-spirited vision. In old age, to return to the old capital under the silver moon and withered trees—that is no less a glorious achievement revered by ten thousand."

Each word rang out, resolute and clear.

Even Yang Baize, whose heart was dead with grief, could not help but waver.

"Little Baize, from now on you must walk your own path."

"I'm afraid that one day I will err without knowing it and never be able to turn back."

"Then just follow that road to the end. Why worry so much?"

A cynical smile suddenly appeared on the old man's face. Imitating the words he had once heard from someone else, he shouted in a thick Sichuan accent:

"I'm an old man, not scared. You're a young lad, what are you afraid of? The world is going to change soon. Won't take long. Just wait and see, got it?"

His voice boomed, echoing between the old city walls and the piles of corpses and seas of blood.

Yang Baize sat up straight, gently cradling the old man's slumped body, and looked up at the sky above.

Boom-boom-boom.

The sound of sonic booms rolled, and the shrill, piercing wail of a suona rang through the entire city.

A black-red thunderbolt came from the northwest, ripping through the night, crashing into Jinling.

Then, a terrifying figure over ten zhang tall fell from the sky, raising dust and smoke that blotted out the stars and moon.

"I got it."

A white-haired head rested against his shoulder.

Yang Baize moved gently, carefully brushing the dust from between the strands of hair, and smiled to himself.

"Don't worry. I'm not scared."