Chapter 1692: Soft Persimmon

The Qingfeng Beidou Supreme departed.

He promised many conditions, countless treasures, even willing to expend great cost to open the Star Road and summon champions from all corners, yet no one responded; all Supremes merely watched with cold indifference.

Wanfa Tianshu returned to stillness.

Some Supremes discussed Dao and mystery, while Candidate Daozi gathered in tense confrontation, especially a group of sword cultivators.

Jiang Ding bustled about, eavesdropping everywhere, like a little bee.

Objectively speaking, these Supremes and Candidate Daozi spoke with extreme caution, at most outlining directions and basic principles—no true spells, Gong Fa, or sword techniques were revealed at all.

Even so, Jiang Ding gained much.

Jiang Ding's behavior of mingling among magic cultivators drew puzzled glances from the Candidate Daozi of magic.

"What are you doing here?"

Princess Fusang Shi Daoling whispered.

This new Sword Candidate Daozi had clung to her side from the start; others didn't know and thought he knew her.

It was so embarrassing.

"I'm discussing Dao and mystery!"

Jiang Ding looked utterly baffled.

There are so many Candidate Daozi here—what's wrong with adding one more?

"You should be over there."

Princess Fusang Shi Daoling couldn't bear to look, pointing at distant stars where sword qi crisscrossed—the killing intent radiating from them even reached here.

These Sword Candidate Daozi had already begun their slaughter!

In Wanfa Tianshu, only a sliver of soul essence can be projected; if you die here, you cannot enter again for ten years, and your Sword Soul will suffer minor injury.

These Sword Candidate Daozi were playing this little game.

The rules were simple: suppress cultivation to a certain realm, use identical soul perception and magic power, and duel on a stage, with a circle of Sword Candidate Daozi watching.

These people said not a word, cold and silent—only the clang of clashing blades rang endlessly.

"Over there,"

"You should go over there."

Princess Fusang Shi Daoling stared blankly at the star before her, thinking he hadn't heard, and pointed again at a nearby group of Sword Candidate Daozi.

Compared to the environment of these Sword Candidate Daozi, the Candidate Daozi's discussions of Dao and mystery seemed full of love and beauty.

"Daolingzi,"

"Actually,"

Jiang Ding said shyly.

"I'm a magic cultivator—I just like discussing Dao and mystery with everyone…"

"You… a magic cultivator?"

Princess Fusang Shi Daoling's lips parted slightly.

She clearly wanted to say something, opened her mouth, then closed it, silently left, and moved to another spot.

Before she could even exhale, a sticky star emerged behind her again.

Come.

"Why are you following me again?"

Shi Daoling said weakly.

"I don't know this place well."

"Daolingzi, can you explain things I don't understand? I've tried others—they ignore me."

Jiang Ding explained.

Soft persimmon.

This Candidate Daozi before her was a soft persimmon—his Sword Soul's intuition was correct; she was terrible at refusing requests, especially harmless, trivial ones like this.

Aside from this soft persimmon, other Candidate Daozi were cold and avoided contact with strangers.

Occasionally, a few Candidate Daozi were overly warm, smiling broadly—but Jiang Ding felt deeply uneasy, instinctively wanting to kill them, for he sensed malice.

Whether these smiling Candidate Daozi gave correct answers was questionable—they might unintentionally offer a trap.

"I…"

Shi Daoling felt like crying.

While the two spoke, a cup of divine nectar circled among the Candidate Daozi, following the rules' random path, arriving before Shi Daoling.

This was their discussion of Dao and mystery, called "Qu Shui Liu Shang."

The Candidate Daozi chosen by the divine nectar must do something—anything: dance, wield a sword, sing a song, forge a treasure on the spot, or even just sleep right there… anything went, utterly casual.

Compared to the Sword Candidate Daozi slashing at each other, it was exceedingly refined.

Shi Daoling had now been chosen by the divine nectar.

The eyes of many Candidate Daozi settled on her, filled with anticipation.

The lineage of the Fusu Sacred Land stretched back through eons; in the distant past, one of its masters even became the Empress of the Human Emperor.

Legend held that the Fusu Sacred Land's supreme foundation—the Fusu Divine Tree—had been planted by the Human Emperor himself.

"Today…"

Shi Daoling lifted the cup, letting it dissolve between her fingers, then thought.

Moments later, she pulled out a golden little turtle from nowhere, tapped its shell gently, and whispered: "Xiao Bai."

The turtle opened its eyes, blinked several times, and exhaled tiny bubbles, forming a row of fifty-four transparent bubbles floating before her, rising and sinking.

"Today, this palace shall play the bianzhong for you, fellow Daoists."

Shi Daoling said softly.

She extended her slender, fair fingers and flicked the first bubble lightly.

Ding-dong~

A mountain-spring sound emerged, like great pearls and small pearls falling on a jade plate, rippling outward, washing away the cultivators' various irritations and inner demons, as if cleansed by water.

This seemed to be a melody she composed herself, very moving

and profound, named "Nine Heavens," prompting many Dao heirs to fall into thought.

Jiang Ding likewise fell into contemplation.

This piece seemed to tell a story—a very classic, clichéd love story: a scholar, on his way to the capital for the imperial examinations, met a beautiful woman, they pledged themselves to each other, and the scene of the woman seeing her beloved off.

This melody depicts the woman's present feelings.

Anxiety, longing, sorrow—every kind of complex emotion flowed into the hearts of the listeners one by one, as if they were there themselves, transformed into the woman bidding farewell to her beloved.

These emotions—Jiang Ding swiftly cast them aside.

He parted layer upon layer of notes, the surface appearances of the story, and saw a very beautiful spell structure—different from the conventional path of illusion arts that tempts human primal desires and then breaks through; instead, it stood on a higher plane, the plane of pure love, to infect the cultivator.

Compared to the human primal-desire path, this kind of spell structure was very troublesome and had a very high threshold.

However, it seemed it could be applied in extremely high-level combat.

For some powerful beings, so-called beauty is hardly worth mentioning, but that stirring rising from the depths of the heart pierces straight through the soul—even if seen through, one might still be reluctant to harm her, because she truly bears you no ill will.

"Is this the Dao of the Fusang Sacred Land…"

Jiang Ding seemed to grasp something.

Such emotions, it seemed, were nothing more than this.

Between heaven and earth, love is beautiful, but before longevity, before the growth of civilization, it is hardly worth mentioning—such love can be discarded, because no one's life is perfect; having flaws is the most normal thing.

For a cultivator to pursue a perfect life is often the path to disaster.

Since ancient times, how many heroes who roamed the world have fallen on this very point.

A sovereign who rules the world, a being of politics, whose horse tramples the realm, who alone faces enemies within and without—how could such a monarch harbor in his heart a person who surpasses everything else?

Something like love is too dangerous; it should not exist.