The Demon Lords

Chapter 507 22 Ask_1

"You can't persuade me," said the Sword Saint.

"I didn't intend to persuade you. All I'm thinking about now is whether my shop can still open tomorrow."

"I'll take a look for you."

The Sword Saint stepped out of the shop and reinstalled the door plank he had removed.

"Aren't you going to drink your soup?" the old man asked from inside.

"I'll have it when I come back."

After speaking, the Sword Saint turned and left, leaving the old man alone in the shop to sigh, What a waste of all these lovely chopped spring onions.

The entire capital city had by now descended into chaos. The very soldiers who had fled in defeat a month ago were now fleeing in defeat once more. Even former imperial guards had become deserters.

In everyone's eyes, Yan people seemed to be everywhere. Damn it all, just how many Yan people had come?!

Without the structure of their units, the majority of soldiers were incapable of mustering any resistance; they instinctively sought places to hide. A few military leaders managed to rally a handful of troops, but before they could gather more forces, they were scattered by a detachment of Yan cavalry. The small group, so difficult to assemble, quickly dispersed.

Ridiculously, the Yan forces were divided into many groups, yet even the smallest among them encountered hardly any actual resistance. Things were progressing far too smoothly.

Just then, the great bell of the Jin State palace began to ring.

Sixty years prior, when the palace was still used for court assemblies, this bell would ring every morning, signifying the start of a new, orderly day in the Three Jin States.

In recent years, aside from occasions of worship or important birthdays, this bell rarely rang.

Now, as the capital city came under attack, the ringing of the bell served as a call to gather soldiers.

Standing atop the palace wall in his cloak, Yu Huacheng heard the bell tolling behind him. It could be said that of all the Jin people in this chaotic situation, he understood the circumstances best.

First, he knew the Yan forces couldn't be numerous.

But knowing this was of little use, as the forces he could currently command would be even fewer.

He had brought his personal guards into the palace. Added to them were the palace guards—whose weapons had initially been confiscated but were now reissued—and the personal soldiers who had rushed over at the sound of the bell. In total, they numbered only around two thousand.

Yu Huacheng knew that few among these two thousand harbored any real will to fight.

During the day, he had personally let Lord Jingnan go. Since the man had come, why not take a step back? What harm was there in sacrificing his own reputation to greatly boost his opponent's prestige? He'd just consider it a sacrifice made for the greater good. Who knew Lord Jingnan would end up teaching him such a stark lesson?

Only now did Yu Huacheng truly understand: war sometimes did depend on the machinations of the royal court, but at other times, it had nothing to do with the court at all. He had too many distracting thoughts, too many reservations. Then look at Lord Jingnan—a man capable of exterminating his own entire clan. Such decisiveness, such ruthlessness... Yu Huacheng knew he could never hope to match it.

Before him lay two choices. One was to lead these men against the tide, stop the Yan soldiers, recall the dispersed troops in the capital city, and stabilize the situation.

The other was to take these soldiers, along with the Empress Dowager, leave this place directly, and seek refuge with the Situ family in the east.

But if he truly chose the latter, how would he be any different from Emperor Jin? All this maneuvering, only to end up destroying the last vestiges of the Yu family's foundation? What meaning would there be in any of it then?

A streak of white light rose from the western night sky.

Yu Huacheng took a deep breath. He recognized that white light; it was his elder brother's Sword Intent.

His elder brother had made his choice.

Yu Huacheng silently descended from the palace wall, mounted his warhorse, and drew his saber. Pointing the blade to the west, he shouted, "For our homeland!"

In the midst of chaos, many coincidences are bound to occur. However, once the dust settles, most of these coincidences can often be traced back to a thread of inevitability.

Just as Yu Huacheng led his two thousand soldiers against the tide, intending to reclaim a foothold in the capital city, he happened to narrowly miss Zheng Fan and his three hundred troops.

Yes, they had just missed each other. By a hair's breadth, by mere moments.

In fact, Yu Huacheng and his Jin soldiers had noticed a small detachment of Yan cavalry "brushing past" not far from them, but they had no time to deal with it. This was because a cavalry unit led by Liang Cheng, reinforced by numerous nearby Yan cavalry units, had begun to follow Lord Jingnan's prior instructions. Like a pack of sharks smelling blood, they rushed directly at this huge whale.

This was why Zheng Fan's advance truly became unimpeded; he simply crushed the few deserters or Jin commoners they encountered on the road, without stopping to determine which they were.

In the end, the Jin State palace, now bereft of most of its defense force, stood right in front of Chief Zheng.

All of this is so serendipitous that it somehow feels unreal.

The palace gates were closed. However, throughout history, whenever foreign enemies reached these gates, even the grandest palace walls had rarely managed to truly stop their blades.

Outside the palace gate, Zheng Fan reined in his horse. The knights behind him slowed their mounts in unison.

Zheng Fan scanned the walls, looking for a suitable place to scale them, as there appeared to be no defenders.

Just then, the palace gate was pushed open from the inside.

A group of eunuchs burst out from the opened palace gate, falling to their knees before Zheng Fan's horse, loudly begging for rewards and proclaiming their 'merits.'

Zheng Fan remembered that in future generations, people often tallied the number of eunuchs in history who showed courage and capability. The underlying reason for this was that most people without balls really didn't have balls.

With a crack of his whip, Zheng Fan sent a few of the kneeling eunuchs sprawling. Then, with a wave of his hand, the Jingnan Army iron cavalry surged past him and charged directly into the palace!

The moment his warhorse's hooves crossed the palace gate, Zheng Fan suddenly felt like a creator of history. He believed that if future generations were to compile the "Jin Dynasty History," the final section would surely contain a record of him. Perhaps a passage: 'Chief Zheng (or Lord Zheng, Duke Zheng, the Demon King—whatever title they'd use) led his army into the Jin State palace, marking the formal end of the Jin State.' A sense of pride, a feeling of masterful command as if standing atop a mountain peak, welled up within him.

At the same time, Zheng Fan was somewhat astonished to feel that, It seemed that, influenced by his surging emotions, the bottleneck at the Eighth Rank realm, which had held him back for so long, was actually showing signs of loosening! This could actually happen?

The Sword Saint, sword in hand, walked through the capital city. He could sense Tian Wujing's position because, every so often, that Pixiu would let out a roar, as if out of sheer boredom.

This was intentional. The Southern Marquis of the Yan people was waiting for him.

The old man at the noodle shop had asked, 'What's the point of all this fuss? So what if the Emperor doesn't act like an emperor, or the Jin State doesn't resemble a proper state? Life was actually tolerable as it was. If you insist on stirring things up, what kind of mess will you make in the end?'

The Sword Saint found it difficult to answer the old man's implicit accusation. It was he who had forced his younger brother to betray Emperor Jin and drive him from the dragon throne. Having done so, he couldn't just wash his hands of the consequences; that would be utterly unprincipled. Moreover, the last piece of self-retained land of the Yu family was also nearly lost to the turmoil.

The Sword Saint disliked this feeling. He hated being compelled to do anything; he cherished freedom. Yet now, the one compelling him was, ironically, himself.

Along the way, he had slain three Yan Army knights and, eluding an attempt by the Yan forces to encircle him, had broken free to reach the western outskirts of the capital city.

There, a man in gilded armor was leaning against a Pixiu, looking as if he had waited so long he had fallen asleep.

The Pixiu, sensing his approach, bared its fangs at him but dared not roar as it had before.

Tian Wujing awoke. He opened his eyes and slowly sat upright.

"My Lord, I recall you saying just today that you look down on the so-called 'street.' I didn't expect that by nightfall, you'd become one of its denizens yourself."

Lord Jingnan slowly stood up, looked at the Sword Saint standing before him, and said, "Do you know why I dislike the 'street'?"

The Sword Saint drew his sword, beginning to gather his power, and said at the same time, "I'm willing to listen."

"Those who always proclaim themselves to be people of the 'street' often love to claim their hands are tied."

"Interesting."

The Sword Saint began to walk towards Lord Jingnan.

Tian Wujing stood his ground, unmoving, and continued, "You've spent your life practicing the sword, and that should be it. Why meddle in these affairs? Do you truly believe that being good with a sword means you understand everything?"

"I too feel I might have erred. I don't seem to be adept at such matters."

The Sword Saint admitted it directly and then continued, "So, I will now try to resolve things in a way I *am* proficient in."

The next instant, his longsword flashed like a rainbow. A streak of white light soared upwards, seemingly splitting even the dark curtain of night with its Sword Energy.

A black barrier materialized around Tian Wujing. A deafening crash resounded as both the barrier and the Sword Energy dissipated.

The Sword Saint surged forward again, his aura flaring even stronger, and said, "Tian Wujing, there's something I've always wanted to ask you."

Each collision was a true battle of power against power. The sharpest of swords, ranked among the best in the world, clashed against the formidable physique of the Martial Cultivator—renowned for its robustness among all cultivation paths. It was a contest of spear against shield.

"Ask."

"Tian Wujing, do you ever feel regret?"

Regret what? Of course, the night at the Tian Residence.

"Yes," Tian Wujing responded.

"Have you ever considered how you will face your kinsmen when you descend into the netherworld?"

Tian Wujing gave a slight nod, his expression still calm, and said, "Then I shall trouble you, Sword Saint of Jin, to go down first and ask them for me!"