Chapter Sixty-Four: Seeing Luoyang With New Eyes (Part One)

Long considered a forbidden pleasure reserved for the imperial family, Lake Changping was, on this day, finally open to the bustle of crowds. Several days earlier, the water had begun to recede, and by now it was utterly dried up. Strangely, the lakebed was perfectly smooth, as if a master craftsman had meticulously paved it. Not a trace remained of the fish or aquatic plants. Though the assembly was filled with suspicion and wonder, no one was truly agitated—for this was the entrance to the Everlasting Garden. It would have been far more peculiar if everything had seemed too ordinary.

Zhou Tiantai brought news that today would mark the conclusion of the Everlasting Garden. Naturally, a welcoming ceremony was expected, but the current display was clearly excessive.

Five thousand soldiers each from the Senluo Army and the Myriad Forms Army, both under the command of General Sun Taolue, stood at attention, weapons in hand. Not only Lake Changping, but the entire Imperial Garden was sealed off, crowded on all sides.

Representatives from the Tribunal, the Ministry of Justice, and the Five Pillars Division sat cross-legged nearby, a few dozen strong from each. None spoke a word, but the murderous intent in the air was palpable, rising like a storm. Yet, the most striking person at the front was a commoner: Yang Jingru. Once a mere pacification envoy, he was now robed in purple, a figure of immense authority and status.

Three seats had been set aside, occupied by three figures dressed in pale yellow. They conversed not, each maintaining an air of calm. These were the three imperial consecrators, and by their attire, the finest among them.

The many clans and sects who had come to bid farewell at the outset—those of the Three Gates and Five Clans—now seemed greatly reduced in number. Of the prominent Five Clans, only the Zhou, Zhao, and Yao remained. Among the Three Gates, only the lowest-ranking Blade Valley was present.

A ripple shimmered across the lakebed, like water, and two figures gradually appeared. Both were disheveled yet visibly joyful—finally home at last.

One was Zhao San, third son of the Zhao family; the other, a member of the Liu family, also of the Five Clans. Fortune had seen them paired together, and after days of exploration, they had garnered some modest gains. Considering themselves superior in skill, they decided to travel as a duo, believing that bringing others would only be a burden. With a wordless agreement, they extinguished their compasses and set forth as a team.

Their journey was fraught with peril, death lurking at every turn, but luck had seen them through each calamity. In the end, as they returned and witnessed the cycle of creation and destruction, they gained much in insight, their hearts and minds clear as crystal. The bond between them deepened, and now they were discussing where to go to celebrate with wine and good company.

They were radiant with cheer, not yet having spoken a word—

“Liu Shao, remnant of the Liu clan!”

Zhao San started at the call, and before he could react, a dazzling sword light flashed past. His companion collapsed, lifeless.

The flying sword arced through the air and returned to the hand of the consecrator at the center. None among the onlookers seemed surprised; their faces remained impassive.

Zhao San was just about to act when an elder of unmistakable seniority spoke a few words. Zhao San’s expression changed several times in an instant, but he said no more, instead following the elder aside to await further developments.

Ripples stirred upon the lakebed once more. This time, a youth appeared, no more than sixteen or seventeen, his cultivation barely at the Core Formation stage. Relief and joy at his survival shone on his face.

Zhao San involuntarily closed his eyes. For someone of such meager cultivation to have survived—what a feat.

“He Zhengyu, remnant of the Wind and Snow Mountain Sect!”

The youth had no time to react; joy still lingered on his face when he fell dead where he stood. The brilliant sword light returned, claiming another life—the life of one recently illuminated to the great Dao, destined for fame.

Another ripple followed.

This time, a woman appeared, garbed in white, her beauty enough to topple nations.

“Remnant of Long Snow Mountain.” Zhao San’s heart filled with regret. For such a woman to die thus—what a waste.

Sword light flashed, dazzling. Zhao San sighed along with it. When a consummate cultivator at the peak of Soul Formation made a move, how could any hope to escape?

But this time, the sword light did not return.

A soft, melodious laugh escaped Ren Ruyi’s lips, entirely devoid of anger. Such a woman was never meant for the mortal world, nor for its entanglements. She was like a fairy, like an elf.

“Such a welcome is truly novel,” Ren Ruyi said, her jade hand closing gently. The sword light vanished, the flying sword crashing to the ground.

The consecrator, whose lifeblood was bound to that sword, spat a mouthful of blood. His energy withered, his spirit exhausted.

“Kill this enchantress!” Yang Jingru commanded coldly. Instantly, ten men leaped forward.

“Form the Thunderclap Array!”

Ren Ruyi showed no fear. She exhaled gently toward the ten, though they were several yards away. In an instant, all ten were transformed into ice sculptures, collapsing and shattering upon the ground.

“What on earth is this woman’s cultivation?” Zhao San was startled, his fists clenching. “Why do I have so little impression of her?”

In truth, when Ren Ruyi had first appeared, she was merely strikingly beautiful, and her debut had ended in swift defeat. Before she could make a further mark, Zhao Er had withdrawn due to his injuries, and Zhao San had not watched on. Besides, calling her merely ‘beautiful’ now was wholly inadequate.

Another consecrator made a move, summoning a massive fireball between his hands, then conjuring two water dragons. The twin dragons, symbols of water and fire in opposition, danced and clashed, forming a majestic display.

Ren Ruyi joined her hands, and behind her, several enormous dragons manifested—the secret technique of Long Snow Mountain, the Snow Dragon Seal. These dragons, compared to those she’d summoned at the Jade Bowl Banquet, were far more ferocious and lifelike. Yet Ren Ruyi herself darted southward—toward Yang Jingru.

Yang Jingru rose, his voice cold. “I want to see if you cultivators truly hold us mortals in such contempt. Archers, prepare the Immortal-Slaying Crossbows!”

Sun Taolue remained silent, allowing Yang Jingru to act as he pleased. Of the three consecrators, one was suppressing a grievous spiritual wound. That sword, ordinary at a glance, had been nurtured by its master for seventy years; to lose it was catastrophic. Another, weaker in cultivation, was barely holding his own against the snow dragons. The third had yet to act, remaining with eyes closed, oblivious to all.

As for the rest of the assembly, each watched with their own thoughts. Zhao San, for one, silently prayed that this breathtaking woman might escape unscathed.

At Yang Jingru’s order, sixteen great crossbows were rolled forward. They were no more than three meters long, two meters high and wide, yet designed expressly to penetrate a cultivator’s protective aura. Even mortals could slay immortals with them.

A flicker of unease crossed Ren Ruyi’s face. These legendary weapons, said to kill immortals within half a mile, were indeed fearsome. Though the name was somewhat exaggerated, so too was Ren Ruyi’s apparent might. Yet she had not crossed the final threshold of transcendence. She was but a hair’s breadth away—perhaps months of effort from that step—but for now, it was a gulf as wide as the world.

In brief clashes, with her treasure and magical arts, Ren Ruyi might rival those above her. But in a prolonged battle, her body and spirit would inevitably falter.

Today, her only chance of survival was to capture the leader and force the others to yield.

The sixteen Immortal-Slaying Crossbows fired twice in succession, driving Ren Ruyi back.

She spun with elegant grace, snowflakes swirling around her—delicate and deadly. As one snowflake brushed past a Myriad Forms Army soldier, a swath of men were instantly frozen into statues and shattered. Ren Ruyi danced through the chaos, her every step leaving a lotus of ice, her every leap cloaked in drifting snow.

Suddenly, the silent consecrator opened his eyes. Twin sparks flared and vanished. He watched Ren Ruyi with keen interest.

Yang Jingru, unflinching, slashed his arm downward. The crossbows fired again and again. “Form the Thunderclap Array!” he commanded. This time, thirty men responded, a formidable force.

“Enough!” A young man’s voice rang out from Lake Changping.

“Prince Rong!”

“Move again and I’ll kill him!” Wu Yue shouted, a shocked young woman—Li Suizhu—by his side.

Prince Rong, having survived disaster, had not even tasted the joy of public acclamation before falling into another’s hands.

“Stop,” Wu Yue repeated. A profound aura swept across the field. The thirty men had not even reached Li Suizhu before they collapsed, unconscious.

ps: Thank you to reader 160805132429634 for your reward. I’ll add another chapter for you in the next couple of days. If you spot any typos, please do point them out.