Chapter 775: Beacon Smoke on All Sides

Chapter 775: Smoke and Flames on All Sides

Baoqin said Feng Yin was ugly, but that was just her venting.

In truth, Feng Yin was no longer the dried-corpse figure Zhao Changhe had first met... His face was still gaunt, but it bore the flesh and blood of a normal person; if anything, he had a lean, immortal air about him, not ugly at all.

The change in appearance reflected their recovery—the more full and normal they looked, the closer they were to their peak strength.

Earlier, when his recovery was poorer, Zhao Changhe had yet to break through to the Imperial realm, relying on the divine power of Longque and Xinghe, plus bluffing, to scare him off.

By the time he fought Zhuque in northern Jin, his recovery was better, roughly at mid-stage, yet he suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of Zhuque, who had just entered the Imperial realm.

Now, after nursing the wounds from that beating, he emerged at the same level, facing Tang Wanzhuang, also a fresh Imperial realm cultivator.

Three strikes and you're out.

Feng Yin didn't believe everyone he faced had the ability to punch above their weight; he wouldn't be scared off again. Seeing Tang Wanzhuang seemed to use sound-based attacks, yet she willingly abandoned her zither for a sword and came to fight in close quarters... Feng Yin felt that if he still couldn't beat her, he might as well dig a hole and bury himself.

But the longer he fought Tang Wanzhuang, the more he doubted his own existence.

Wind was the most elusive and unpredictable, always a headache for enemies in close combat. Yet now he found this woman even harder to pin down.

Her sword light flowed like water, layer upon layer, beautiful to behold. But none of the sword lights he saw were real; inexplicably, damage came from places that shouldn't exist, omnipresent, ceaseless.

This wasn't just visual deception—at their level, they no longer relied solely on sight, yet even his perception seemed severely disrupted and deceived. This was supposed to be Feng Yin's own forte, but before her, it felt like a suppression at the level of laws—all his attacks dissolved in the endless spring water, while an accidental splash could leave him riddled with holes.

What was this?

For a moment, Feng Yin couldn't even fathom the foundation of her power.

Light—people were too accustomed to its existence.

Compared to wind, this was almost a complete transcendence and suppression of laws, an opponent on a different level.

"Swish!" Feng Yin's withered hand pierced through Tang Wanzhuang's abdomen.

But it was just empty space; Tang Wanzhuang wasn't there. The sword light, appearing from nowhere, had already slashed toward his throat.

Yes, from nowhere. After several exchanges, Feng Yin still couldn't find where she was. Like a traveler trudging through a vast desert who sees an oasis, but no matter how he walks toward it, he never arrives—everything seen and known is an illusion.

A mirage.

Feng Yin dodged the throat-slash in a flash, a chill of fear in his heart.

Fortunately, his own methods were also the kind that could drag things out; Tang Wanzhuang's cultivation was slightly weaker, so she couldn't win quickly. But the more Feng Yin fought, the more lost he became—he had no idea where she was or where the attacks came from, relying solely on his superior cultivation and speed to stall. How could he fight like this?

He looked down. Below, the Jinan troops cowered in fear beyond the range of the cannons, at least not fleeing outright, all craning their necks to see the outcome of the aerial divine battle, hoping their own demon god would secure victory for them.

Feng Yin was deeply troubled.

Originally, he had considered the possibility of an Imperial realm defender here, but Yanmen had few soldiers left. Logically, if he could tie down the Imperial realm, the army below could charge in, and the defenders could only watch helplessly as Yanmen fell.

But now? His side dared not attack the city, staying far away, while Tang Wanzhuang was perfectly at ease, holed up in the city with shelter and food, able to drag things out as long as she liked. How long could his army camp outside the city?

This battle seemed unwinnable.

With that thought, Feng Yin's fighting spirit waned, and he began to consider retreat.

A smile flickered in Tang Wanzhuang's eyes. She knew this one was always coming and going with the wind; his grit and bloodlust were the weakest among the demon gods she knew. He had been scared off by Zhao Changhe before, and now it was the same.

In a narrow path, the brave wins!

"Shua!" The spring-water sword light condensed into a single rainbow, shooting straight at Feng Yin's location.

Such a concentrated strike was hard to conceal; the qi resonance naturally alerted an opponent of Feng Yin's level.

Feng Yin instinctively unleashed a violent cyclone, enveloping Tang Wanzhuang's figure as she merged with her sword.

This was their first head-on clash. Feng Yin should have been overjoyed, relying on his higher cultivation to suppress her.

But in truth, Feng Yin hesitated.

He grew suspicious, thinking Tang Wanzhuang wouldn't so easily reveal her presence or abandon her law-based advantage so readily—it made no sense.

Though his attack seemed ferocious, at least half his mind was frantically sensing the surrounding light and shadow, and half his power was reserved to counter attacks from elsewhere.

The outcome was obvious.

"Clang!" The sword light easily pierced the seemingly violent cyclone, swelling within the wind and plunging into Feng Yin's chest.

It was the real body and real sword, nothing else! Mistaken, Feng Yin let out a pained scream. The next moment, a gale swept through, the intense wind pressure forcing Tang Wanzhuang back several zhang. Under the gaze of all within and outside the city, Feng Yin seized the moment of her retreat, turned with a whoosh, and vanished in an instant.

Both inside and outside the city, the soldiers' jaws dropped.

The Jinan troops were utterly stunned.

They couldn't follow the battle, only seeing that their demon god had lost a head-on clash, inexplicably pierced straight through the chest by a sword beam.

Then, relying on his incredible speed, he dodged the vital point and disappeared in an instant.

This was an ancient demon god! Even when he lost to Zhuque in northern Jin, it was said they fought for two or three incense sticks, reducing the area around the Qiao estate to rubble, a close defeat. How could he lose so quickly and so inexplicably?

Was this a demon god? In his appearances in this world, three battles, three retreats—he hadn't even fought a few rounds. Was his wind meant for fleeing?

Tang Wanzhuang suppressed the blood about to surge from her throat and said softly, "Surrender and you shall live."

People looked up at her figure slowly descending to the city wall, bathed in the morning light, dreamlike and ethereal.

"Miss!" The moment she landed on the wall, Tang Wanzhuang stumbled. Baoqin quickly supported her: "Are you hurt?"

"Yes. To end it quickly, I had to take a risk." Tang Wanzhuang's expression remained unchanged as she sat down and whispered, "I'll continue playing the zither. Don't let it show."

The zither's notes rose gently, no longer carrying the sound-based attack that had withstood the wind pressure. Soft as a breeze, they reached the ears of everyone far outside the city.

Then they rippled in their hearts, stirring tiny waves.

In each person's eyes appeared a white-haired mother at home, a peaceful countryside with lush green fields, children running along the ridges, laughter drifting with kites in the blue sky.

Ahead stood a fortified city with cannons, and a goddess who had shaken the world for over a decade.

This was a war they could never win, an unjust war.

Why rebel against Chief Tang?

Why let personal desires plunge everyone into the flames of war?

Why was Yanmen City empty? General Huangfu was leading troops north to fight the barbarians—what were they doing? In the annals of history, they would be forever infamous.

The value of sound-based attacks was never physical; it was the soul.

Tang Wanzhuang, long trapped by her injuries, finally bloomed on the battlefield, fulfilling the meaning of her lifelong cultivation.

"Surrender and you shall live." The voice echoed in their hearts, and slowly, some began to drop their weapons.

"Clang"—a sound like the morning bell and evening drum striking every heart. Like a domino effect, more and more weapons clattered across the plain outside the city. Even the enemy commander cast down his sword and knelt on one knee before the formation.

An army of twenty to thirty thousand, before a defending force one-tenth their size, laid down their arms and surrendered.

"Miss..." Baoqin leaned in and whispered, "What now?"

Tang Wanzhuang quietly swallowed a pill and said in a low voice, "You go accept the surrender... then use them directly to stabilize northern Jin... Zhuque's methods before were useless. We need to overhaul the system."

"Then... you... oh, why are you all wounded again, really..."

Tang Wanzhuang: "I'm not trying to seduce a man."

"...I didn't say that."

"You know exactly what you're thinking. You even want to ask if I ended it quickly to go help the north."

Baoqin: “…”

Tang Wanzhuang said crossly, “Injured or not, I cannot go beyond the frontier or anywhere else. The capital is not far from here—I can still come and go to provide support. If I went far away, the capital would be too empty… We still don’t have an exact count of how many ancient demon gods have awakened. If some new unknown demon god suddenly appears, it would be very troublesome.”

Yes, the empty-city stratagem was not here, but in the capital. No one had imagined that Tang Wanzhuang would dare leave the capital at such a time. The strongest in the capital was the Empress herself, who had just broken through to the Third Secret Vault… In past years, that would have been a stabilizing pillar, but today it was clearly insufficient.

Fortunately, this battle ended quickly. Injured as she was, it was nothing serious—she could still hold herself together. Tang Wanzhuang stood up, gazed northward into the vastness, gently pressed her lips together, and murmured to herself, “Feng Yin appearing here means Li Boping is indeed cooperating with the barbarians… So at this moment, the flames of war may not be limited to this place alone. I need to maintain mobile support and see if I should rush to aid elsewhere. The battle beyond the frontier… can only rely on him.”

Baoqin sniffled, her expression on the verge of tears: “Wuwuwu… Why pretend to be a gentleman all of a sudden? For ten or twenty days, he hasn’t stolen a taste—was I afraid he would? Wuwuwu…”

“His mind just isn’t on it… Even the usual scheming about stacking two people together, in the end it was always me who took the initiative…”

“Why don’t you take the initiative with me…”

“Hey, is that something an unmarried maiden should say?”

Baoqin sniffled and fell silent.

Tang Wanzhuang sighed: “Besides, this is for your own good. Your body is still intact. If he doesn’t come back, you’ll still be a maiden, and it won’t affect your marriage prospects.”

“If he doesn’t come back, will you live on alone?”

“No.”

“Neither will I! Old woman, mind your own business!”

Baoqin huffed, tossed out that remark, and left the city to accept surrenders. Tang Wanzhuang watched her increasingly impertinent maid helplessly and let out a soft sigh.

In truth, she had more confidence in Zhao Changhe, but was less sure about the battlefronts elsewhere.

Take Hangu Pass at this moment… Although the veteran Tianbang expert Cui Wenjing was stationed there, and Yang Jingxiu and others were said to be “in seclusion,” they might still resist if attacked. After so long, he might have already broken through to the Third Secret Vault… On the surface, it seemed reliable. Yet, similar to Xia Chichi in the capital, Cui Wenjing had yet to break through to the Imperial Realm… Called a Tianbang expert, but in this age of gods and demons, who knew if it was enough?

…

In reality, Hangu Pass had not yet seen battle.

Leading the eastward advance was Li Boping himself at the head of his army, while Cui Wenjing had stationed no small number of troops here—forces transferred from Jiangnan and Jianghuai for defense. They suffered from acclimatization beyond the frontier, but assisting in the defense of Hangu Pass was not too problematic. Tang Buqi and Wan Dongliu were both here, along with Cui Yuanyang and the entire Yang family—truly a gathering of strong troops and able commanders.

If neither side had the Imperial Realm, then this would be the closest to a normal large-scale war in history, impossible to decide quickly.

But Li Boping had no intention of stalemating with Cui Wenjing.

Regardless of the outcome of the battle beyond the frontier—if Zhao Changhe won and returned, Guanlong would surely be destroyed; if the barbarians won and marched south, he could only be their dog. Neither outcome served his interests.

The only thing that served his interests was to take advantage of the decisive battle beyond the frontier, which would not yield results in the short term, to break through the Central Plains with his forces and consolidate his momentum. By then, whether the Han army returned or the barbarians came south, they would have no way to deal with him.

But to quickly breach Hangu Pass, he needed a demon god of the Imperial Realm; otherwise, relying solely on warfare was a dream—how could it be so easy?

Yet even with a demon god of the Imperial Realm, it seemed to have no effect as imagined.

Huang Yang, his withered face flushed red in the camp, suddenly spat out a mouthful of blood.

Li Boping was shocked: “Sir, why are you injured?”

“Qinghe Sword…” Huang Yang’s mind flashed back to the icy gaze of that round-faced girl from a moment ago, still trembling with fear.

He had never imagined that the stabilizing pillar on the other side was not Cui Wenjing at all, but his young daughter, who had just come of age and married not long ago—or rather, the full-powered version of the Qinghe Sword!

The Four Swords of Mountains and Rivers, securing this cosmos.

These were swords forged by Piao Miao back then, specifically to suppress demon gods of destruction like Huang Yang and An Mie—a natural counter!

Not only that, but that girl’s cultivation was also somewhat strange.

On the surface, she seemed to have barely broken through to the Second Secret Vault, yet for some reason, Huang Yang’s divine art felt like it had slammed into a wall, nearly shattering his own soul.

Was it the protection granted by the Qinghe Sword to its master? Why did it not feel quite like that…

“General Li, do not rush. Let me try again.” Huang Yang adjusted his breath slightly and attempted once more.

This time, he did not target the camp but tried the ordinary soldiers on the periphery.

Huang Yang represented desolation and withering. He could cause the enemy’s entire army to decay and weaken, turning a thousand miles of fertile land into a wasteland. The more he did so, the higher his cultivation would rise—this was his way, a cycle of mutual growth and decline. Back in Qinghe, when facing Zhao Changhe, Zhao’s exuberant blood-and-qi cultivation, aided by his sword and blade, had been unshakable. That was because Zhao Changhe had specialized in blood-and-qi and tempered his body to be formidable, so he had withstood it—understandable.

But this time, how to describe it… It was like a drop of ink trying to stain a blank sheet of paper. On the surface, it seemed to succeed, to be effective. Yet when the perspective expanded, that blank paper was like endless mountains and rivers. A single drop of ink on it was less than a pore—you couldn’t even see where it was. Straining with all his might to spread it, he could only feel the despair of futility.

Even a drop in the bucket was not this humiliating; it was like an ant against a mountain range ten thousand miles wide.

A pair of cold eyes appeared before him again.

“Piao Miao!” Huang Yang screamed at the top of his lungs, his whole body bouncing up in the tent with a “bang,” drenched in sweat, as if he had just woken from a nightmare.

Li Boping and the others exchanged bewildered glances, completely clueless about what had happened.

Huang Yang panted heavily, speaking urgently: “This battle cannot be fought unless the Sovereign takes personal action… If it really is her, no one in the world except the Night Emperor and the Sovereign could possibly be a match for this one!”

The Sovereign…

Huang Yang’s Sovereign referred to Jiu You.

Jiu You had subdued these demon gods representing all sorts of chaos into her ranks, and also taken in some like Feng Yin who only sought the Heavenly Book, so this group had all come to help Li Boping.

“Did you see clearly?” Jiu You’s voice came from the void: “Is it definitely Piao Miao?”

Huang Yang panted: “N-no, not entirely certain. If it were really Piao Miao, I should not have returned. It’s more likely the image of the Qinghe Sword… But I cannot break the Qinghe Sword’s protection.”

“Actually… if it really is Piao Miao, that would be a good thing…” Jiu You chuckled softly, lowering her voice: “It had better be.”

With those words, Jiu You gently flicked her finger: “If it’s just the Qinghe Sword, I can make it temporarily ineffective.”

Over there, Cui Yuanyang was attending a military council in the camp. Cui Wenjing suddenly sensed something: “Yuanyang, what happened just now?”

Cui Yuanyang scratched her head: “I felt like a fly was biting me, so I slapped it.”

The generals: “…”

Just as they were speaking, Cui Yuanyang’s expression changed: “Qinghe? Qinghe?”

Cui Wenjing shot to his feet: “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know—it’s like the Qinghe suddenly fell asleep again…” Cui Yuanyang panicked: “This shouldn’t be happening!”

“A brief period of silent slumber—after all, a sword is just a sword.” A phantom of a woman in black suddenly materialized in the tent, sizing up Cui Yuanyang with keen interest: “Tsk, what a resemblance…”

If Zhao Changhe were here, he would know that the Jiu You he saw in Chang’an had only half the presence of this one.

This was Jiu You’s complete form, descending from beyond Kunlun.

Cui Yuanyang’s face turned pale, and she shouted: “Who are you!”

Jiu You said with a smile: “I am your good sister…”

Cui Wenjing suddenly interjected: “This is Miss Li of the Li family, who is said to be chasing after the Prince of Zhao, crying and begging to be taken as a secondary consort.”

Jiu You: “?”

Cui Yuanyang’s terrified pale face instantly changed; she planted her hands on her hips and pointed: “Fox spirit, shameless! The Li family has been nobles for generations—have you no shame!”

Jiu You really couldn’t be bothered to argue with a little girl over this; stirring up trouble in his harem was not how she operated… She waved her hand leisurely: “Yes, yes, the properly married little lady—come back with me, and let’s see how much he values you.”

With those words, Cui Yuanyang suddenly felt as if an invisible hand had lifted her, and she floated up involuntarily.

But the next moment, she was quickly released—the invisible force had been neutralized by someone.

Looking up, the phantom of Jiu You floating in the void had already ascended to the heavens: “You’ve finally made your move, my good sister.”

Cui Yuanyang seemed to see a face very similar to Jiu You’s, flickering in and out of the void, eyes gently closed, silent and still.

Cui Yuanyang’s heart suddenly skipped a beat.

Why... even towards Jiuyou, I haven't felt this... this deep displeasure, this urge to strike her?