200: Chapter 200 The Cloud Emperor! Nothing special!

"Everyone, do you think this is courage, or stupidity?"

After Chu Wushuang threw out those words, he tapped his folding fan against his palm three times.

Tap, tap, tap.

Every tap had a deliberate pause, leaving time for everyone present to digest.

No one responded; the atmosphere in the hall of Wangyue Tower changed.

The relaxed smile of cultural superiority from before vanished, replaced by a subtle silence.

The prodigies of the Wushuang Immortal Dynasty had smiles all over their faces.

Although what he said was the truth—Emperor Yun indeed slashed the Heavenly Gate, refused to ascend, and stayed in the human world.

But facts are facts, and evaluations are evaluations. As a first-layer Xiantai Realm Cultivator, what right do you have to judge an Emperor's choice?

Chu Wushuang clearly didn't notice this layer of danger.

The excitement from the previous poems was still surging in his veins, and he automatically translated Princess Xia Qingyue's nod as "Her Highness appreciates me," letting his vanity trample over his reason.

He wanted to strike while the iron was hot.

"A boor who only knows how to Cultivate bitterly."

Chu Wushuang snapped open his fan, his white clothes fluttering as he paced slowly in the center of the hall.

"Even if one's cultivation reaches the Emperor level, so what? They are just a commoner with a bit more strength!"

This sentence smashed into the hall, and several prodigies behind Yue Yihao stood up at the same time.

"What did you say!"

Chu Wushuang ignored them; he turned to the guests and pointed his fan far to the east.

"That Emperor of some Yunxiao Holy Land, named Lu Chen! He could have become an immortal but didn't, and actually slashed the Welcoming Heavenly Gate with one sword!"

He closed his fan and slapped it against his palm.

"Instead of being free and easy in the Immortal Realm, he forcibly stayed in this Mortal World."

He shook his head, a very sincere look of "distress and regret" appearing on his face.

"In my view, he is a typical example of being short-sighted and clinging to the Mortal World! Better to be the head of a chicken than the tail of a phoenix; he has no Dao Heart to climb upwards."

He stopped in the center of the hall, snapped open his fan, the surface facing everyone.

"You must know that the pursuit of immortality and the Dao has no end, just like a student's pursuit of knowledge!"

"Such a boor without any heart for the Great Dao will eventually become a handful of yellow soil, a skeleton of a beauty—nothing more than that!"

The air in the entire Wangyue Tower was dead silent.

Yue Yihao froze in place.

He had been furious enough to draw his blade and hack someone just now. But after Chu Wushuang's words, he stopped moving.

Not because he didn't want to, but because he was terrified—insulting the only Emperor currently walking the world.

This wasn't seeking death; this was thinking his whole clan was dying too slowly.

What is an Emperor? The ceiling of the human world, the Dominator of all living beings.

The iron Law of the cultivation world is carved into every Cultivator's bones: you can question a Saint, you can challenge a Quasi-Emperor, but you absolutely cannot insult an Emperor in public.

Because when an Emperor is enraged, millions of corpses fall and blood flows for a thousand miles. If the Emperor doesn't care, then fine, but what if he does?

Yue Yihao's Adam's apple bobbed; he slowly turned his head and glanced at the prodigies behind him.

Everyone's faces were pale, and the Great Xia Delegation's side was even quieter.

The few prodigies who had cheered earlier now wished they could pull their hands back into their sleeves to show they didn't agree.

Princess Xia Qingyue's face turned pale with anger as well.

She sat behind the white jade main table, her back still straight, hands folded on her knees.

But her fingers were intertwined under her skirt, nails digging into the back of her other hand.

She never expected Chu Wushuang to be this stupid.

So what if his poetry is good? So what if his eloquence is unparalleled? So what if there's a high probability he can prove his Dao through literature?

In this world, an Emperor can crush you and the Imperial Dynasty behind you into powder with a flip of a hand—and you haven't even proven your Dao yet!

"Chu Wushuang!"

Princess Xia Qingyue roared, but Chu Wushuang didn't hear her, or rather, he was immersed in his own performance.

Second floor.

Behind the curtain, Yue Qingxuan's hand crushed the railing.

The entire Warm Jade railing snapped in the middle, fragments falling and smashing two pits into the floor.

Killing intent, pure and unadulterated killing intent, poured out of her, making the air within a radius of three zhang tremble.

The two personal female attendants beside her felt their legs go weak and knelt directly on the ground, unable to breathe.

"Your Majesty..."

Yue Qingxuan didn't look at them.

Her phoenix eyes stared at the back of the white-clothed scholar's head, her golden pupils swirling with a rage that wanted to skin him alive.

He insulted Lu Chen—in front of her, he insulted her man.

A skeleton of a beauty?

She wanted to disregard the consequences.

Whether the two dynasties had peace talks or not, whether the elegant gathering continued or not, whether the Great Xia Delegation was present or not.

Nothing was more important than "someone insulted Lu Chen."

"Your Majesty! You must not! The Great Xia Delegation is here; if you strike in public..."

Yue Qingxuan gritted her teeth and pulled back her fist.

It wasn't because she was persuaded, but because in that critical moment, she suddenly felt an aura.

Coming from upstairs.

Third floor.

In the corner by the window, Lu Chen's eyes opened, revealing those pitch-black, deep pupils.

There was no rage, no fury, not even displeasure.

Only a condescending, calm-to-the-point-of-icy scrutiny.

Yue Shiyun in his arms felt the subtle change in Lu Chen's chest—not a racing heart or tensing muscles, but a sense of dark humor.

Yue Shiyun obediently shrank into his arms, her small hands tightly hugging his neck, her face pressed against his chest, not saying a word.

Lu Chen lowered his head, his thumb brushing a stray hair near the little girl's ear and tucking it behind.

The movement was very light and slow.

Then he raised his head and looked at the white-clothed figure gesticulating below.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

"When a fellow townsman meets another, it's always a backstab."

His fingers tapped twice on the tabletop.

"Since you insist on using this Emperor to show off, then don't blame me for a Dimensional Strike."

In the next instant, a wave of pressure poured down from the third floor.

Not violent, not ostentatious, without any light or sound effects.

But the nine-story spiritual wood structure of Wangyue Tower trembled simultaneously; the Spiritual Qi formation patterns in the building extinguished instantly, and fine cracks seeped out from the grain of the ten-thousand-year-old Golden-silk Spiritual Wood.

Emperors Might—this power wasn't aimed at any single person; it only existed for a fleeting moment.

But its mere existence was enough.

In the first-floor hall, all Cultivators below the Xiantai Realm collapsed onto their seats; the Saint Realm guards knelt on one knee, sweat dripping onto the Warm Jade floor in a patter, before they could even wipe it.

Chu Wushuang's hand, still holding the folding fan, froze in mid-air.

His knees buckled.

Not voluntarily, but because his bones instinctively reacted with submission in the face of this pressure.

The ribs of the fan slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor and snapping into two.

Princess Xia Qingyue's back finally bent.

She leaned against the edge of the white jade table, her fingertips turning white, cold sweat beading on her forehead.

A big shot, a truly powerful big shot is angry.

Right inside this building.

Crack, a crisp sound of fracturing.

The table on the third floor shattered; before the fragments could fall, they were crushed into powder by an invisible force.

A figure in a black robe stepped out from the powder.

Lu Chen carried Yue Shiyun, a few strands of long hair escaping the wooden hairpin's restraint, sweeping over the silent guests in the hall.

One step.

Crossing the spatial Laws of three floors, silent and soundless.

His foot landed on the Warm Jade floor in the center of the hall, three steps away from Chu Wushuang.

The hem of the black robe slowly settled, motionless.

Chu Wushuang looked up.

A pair of eyes filled with extreme terror met those condescending, calm, and rippleless eyes.

Lu Chen looked at him as if looking at a Jiahao from his former school.

In his eyes, Chu Wushuang's series of words just now were like:

Chu Wushuang: A Cultivator of the same age, neither good at literature nor martial arts, doesn't dare to question high-Realm Cultivators, but I do, so I'm very...