Chapter 136: 134. False Gods and Mortal Gods (1/2)

134. False Gods and Mortal Gods (1/2)

The night was as black as ink.

A fine wind slipped through the gaps in the wild grass, brushing past the torches atop the mule cart.

The orange-red flames on the torches swayed and twisted in the wind.

The flames revealed the wind’s shape—long hairs sprouted from the invisible wind, making the formless wind take form.

Black-hair wind rolled across heaven and earth.

Zhou Chang, Yang Rui, Xiao Zhenming, and others clustered around the mule cart; the black-hair wind swept over Zhou Chang, causing the thought-filaments covering his body to tremble in the wind.

“How many of you do you think could hold your own against an ordinary Yuanwu Realm cultivator?” Mo Song’s father stared straight into Mo Song’s eyes.

One must remember that human hearts are unpredictable; though Xiang Ying always treated Zhao Xian’s other two wives with courtesy, it was unrealistic to believe that this imperial-born principal wife harbored no suspicion toward them.

The villagers watched their carts leave the exit of Dayuan Village; having successfully organized these people’s entry, they satisfiedly withdrew from the road, gathering up the scattered eggshells along the way, while the elderly man began cleaning up.

Since the military mutiny, Xie Kang had left the Shu Mansion multiple times and knew Zhao Xian had grown somewhat lazy; without something important, he would never come to the Imperial Palace’s Political Hall for no reason.

The Array Ghost had been delighted, but when he suddenly saw Ao Chuan’s ferocious expression, he was startled, realizing he had grown too complacent.

About ten days ago, Zhao Xian himself forged an imperial edict ordering the Zongwei Office to arrest Jiangning’s defending general, Cao Qin, and bring him back to the capital; for safety, he sent Zhao Kai, a capable official, personally to oversee it—but that squad of blue-robed guards had vanished for ten days without word.

Most of the time, temperate continental climate zones lie deep within continents, far from the sea or isolated by highlands.

Guo Jia narrowed his eyes; Long Huan’s army was just west of Pule, practically bordering Jiangzhou. Governor Lü Congshou of Jiangzhou could easily send troops straight into Pule, yet he had sent only one envoy—either he was cautious, or something was tying up Lü Congshou’s attention.

“I’m wondering what distinguishes you from me—why did you stay inside so long without harm, while I nearly got crushed? If we can find this differing factor causing the effect, we should gain a deeper understanding of the gray mist’s true nature,” said the White Wolf.

At the sight of this, I sucked in a sharp breath—Lifu’s barrel was the hardest, and though I could manage this too, I could never do it so effortlessly.

The spirit-force was ethereal and elusive, inherently without trace or form; the records of the Soul-Devouring Art were extremely simple, yet without guidance, Wu Yi stumbled like one just sensing Yuan Force—his goal was clear, but the path was excruciatingly arduous.

The charging cavalry collided violently with the Huangjin Warriors rushing to meet them.

Three days later, Chen Hao and Tianxu Zi and the other array masters completed the massive array; afterward, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Emperor Zi Sheng had perished in ancient times, leading many to believe he had not truly died—but his death was a fact. Yet now Lin Weiwei claimed he had left her a single thread of survival! Could he possibly be resurrected?

Originally, the ancestors of the Mountain-Moving Daoist were not Han Chinese; they came from a northern grassland tribe.

General Mohe Du, after a brief reconnaissance of the new city, swiftly sent a signal into the sky—a crimson glow hung high, visible even a hundred li away.

“What!” Chen Xiaobin gasped. Had he misjudged? Was Huo Xincheng dressed like this just to play the fool and hide his true identity—as a scion of a great clan?

He knew he shouldn’t ask this question, but curiosity kills cats; if he didn’t ask, his mind would itch—so he asked.

The long whip, carrying a tearing wind, slashed down along Huo Xincheng’s clothing, then slammed hard onto the dueling platform—immediately, a puddle of water appeared.