90: Chapter 90 I really don't want to be the number one in the world

"Perhaps what fate bestows is not power, but that deep love which has often been overlooked in the past."

Jiang Die looked at the broken sword on the ground with a face full of sorrow.

Her eyes were hollow and lifeless, the endless grief seeming to freeze the surrounding air.

It was the only thing Uncle Jiang had left her, and now it had been shattered.

She reached out toward the broken sword; her slender fingers were like willow branches swaying in the wind, seemingly wanting to touch it, trying to grasp that last shred of hope.

Just at this moment, a foot wearing a dragon-embroidered boot stepped heavily onto her hand, the hard sole ruthlessly crushing her delicate skin.

Jiang Die immediately let out a muffled groan, the piercing pain instantly spreading throughout her body, and her face rapidly turned deathly pale.

"Uncle Jiang... I tried my best."

She struggled to spit out these words, her voice so weak it was almost inaudible, and her gaze gradually became unfocused.

Qin Xiaogan slowly raised his right hand, the sharp blade in his hand shimmering with a cold light under the moonlight, as if preparing to sever Jiang Die's head the very next moment.

Just then, Wang Yi's voice, tinged with a trace of panic, suddenly rang out in Qin Xiaogan's mind.

"Emperor Qin, it's bad, the Sky Curtain Plan has been interrupted."

Hearing this, Qin Xiaogan knitted his sword-like brows slightly, his originally calm, water-like expression rippling for an instant.

Then, Wang Yi continued.

"A man who uses the sword like a god has suddenly appeared within Great Zhou, and he is slaughtering our members in droves... His strength is likely at the Emperor level!"

Wang Yi's voice paused, as if swallowing hard.

"And... a group of undead soldiers suddenly rushed down from Mount Tai, proclaiming something about the First Emperor's return."

"Currently, our deployments have basically been thrown into chaos."

Wang Yi's voice sounded as if it were being squeezed through gritted teeth, carrying a trace of helplessness.

After hearing these words, Qin Xiaogan remained silent for a long while.

Then, a smile slowly curled at the corners of his mouth.

"Now this is interesting."

With that said, cold light flashed in Qin Xiaogan's eyes, his gaze like the cold wind of the twelfth lunar month, icy and bone-chilling.

In an instant, the kitchen knife in his hand slashed rapidly toward Jiang Die's neck, its speed so fast that it seemed capable of splitting the air itself.

Yet at this moment, a pale golden light swirled around Jiang Die; the light was like an indestructible shield, and the hell kitchen knife was unable to cut in even a fraction.

Then, a loud and clear voice rang out.

"Benefactor, the sea of suffering is boundless; turn back, and you will reach the shore."

Qin Xiaogan's eyes narrowed, his gaze like sharp sword blades shooting straight toward the direction from which the voice came.

"Noisy."

With that said, a dense, eerie light emerged from his hand; the eerie light seemed to have a life of its own, rapidly crawling onto the hell kitchen knife and instantly enveloping it.

Immediately after, a crisp, decisive crack was heard.

The pale golden glimmer on Jiang Die was shattered by the sound, as fragile as thin ice.

After the light shattered, the kitchen knife followed through, cutting into Jiang Die's fair, swan-like neck.

In that instant, time seemed to freeze.

The sharp blade ruthlessly sliced into her skin, which was as delicate as mutton-fat jade.

Then, a spurt of scarlet blood gushed from Jiang Die's severed neck, like a blooming blood-red flower, desolate yet heartbreaking.

"Clang!"

Jiang Die's head fell heavily to the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

Her face was still filled with confusion—it was bewilderment at fate and unwillingness regarding life and death.

In her dying moment, Jiang Die seemed to see the phantom of Jiang Wuji.

"Uncle Jiang, Xiaodie doesn't want to be the best in the world anymore, really doesn't want to..."

"Being the best in the world cannot save Great Zhou, let alone save you..."

The moonlight, like water, spilled onto the phantom, outlining a surreal and sorrowful scene.

Jiang Wuji seemed to be drinking, the wine flagon in his hand tilting constantly, wine flowing out in gurgles.

Yet as he drank, tears inexplicably appeared on his face, the tears shimmering with a crystalline light under the reflection of the moonlight.

"Fate... how unjust, and Great Zhou... how unfortunate."

These words seemed like a whisper from the depths of Jiang Wuji's soul, or perhaps just the night... the cicadasong that had nowhere to rest.

A wind arose, though no one knew when, blowing across this blood-soaked land and bringing a chilling coldness.

Jiang Wuji's phantom gradually blurred in the wind, as if it were about to dissipate along with Jiang Die's departure.

Meanwhile, Qin Xiaogan stood where he was, watching everything before him, his face cold and indifferent as water.

Just at this moment, a disheveled monk appeared abruptly before Qin Xiaogan.

He looked unkempt and disheveled, and his monk's robe was ragged and stained with filth.

The monk pressed his palms together, looking solemn and dignified, and slowly chanted, "A...mituofo."

The voice carried a distinct sense of composure and gravity.

Seeing this, Qin Xiaogan frowned slightly.

If it weren't for the fact that the monk had a chicken leg in his mouth, dripping with grease, he might have actually pulled off the act.

Qin Xiaogan's expression remained calm as he spoke slowly.

"Since you have appeared yourself, how do you wish to die?"

Hearing this, the monk was not angry.

He swallowed the chicken meat in his mouth and said with a grin, "Benefactor Qin, killing is a great evil."

"The blade in your hand is stained with the blood of the innocent, sowing boundless sin."

"Every life has its own value and meaning; to treat human life so lightly is a desecration of life, and even more so, a disregard for the cycle of karma."

Upon hearing this, the corners of Qin Xiaogan's lips curled into a disdainful arc.

"Is embracing death not a pleasurable thing?"

With that said, Qin Xiaogan gripped the blood-stained kitchen knife in his hand and swung it backhand.

A heaven-shocking blade aura whistled out instantly, like a bolt of lightning tearing the heavens and earth apart, carrying endless killing intent as it slashed straight toward the monk.

Seeing this, the monk's expression turned solemn; he pressed his palms together and silently chanted a Buddhist mantra.

"Amituofo."

Instantly, golden light shone before him, and a massive golden bell appeared.

The golden bell was carved with images of various Buddhas, continuously emitting a solemn and dignified aura.

The blade aura struck the golden bell heavily, but it was like a stone sinking into the ocean, not causing even a ripple.

Seeing this, Qin Xiaogan's expression remained unchanged, still as cold and composed as before.

He put away the kitchen knife, his body slowly levitating into the air, and spread his hands.

"Primordial Smelting Furnace."

In an instant, a colossal furnace descended with a roar, as if from the ancient chaos, hovering in mid-air.

The entire furnace emitted a bewitching red light, with the phantoms of nine dragons flickering upon it; the dragon shadows were baring fangs and brandishing claws, as if wanting to break free from their bonds and soar through the nine heavens.

The massive body of the furnace loomed over the entire Imperial Capital, like a dark cloud blotting out the sky, tightly shrouding the buildings and people below in a dark shadow.

Whether it was the Four Kings Pavilion members who were currently slaughtering, or the civilians fleeing in a frenzy, everyone in the Imperial Capital looked up at the sky in terror.

And with this one glance, they saw a sight that would be impossible to erase for the rest of their lives.

"Furnace Smelts City."

Qin Xiaogan's expression was calm as water as he lightly spat out one word.

"Smelt."

Then, he pressed his hands slightly downward.

Instantly, violent winds began to rise throughout the entire Imperial Capital for no reason.

The wind roared and howled like ten thousand ferocious beasts, sweeping through the streets and alleys, blowing roof tiles everywhere.

At the same time, raging fires suddenly burst forth from the ground, the scorching flames like a demon's tongue, licking every inch of land.

The entire Imperial Capital was plunged into a living hell, with buildings tottering in the raging fire.

The cries and calls for help of the people intertwined, like the arrival of the apocalypse.

Meanwhile, the wild wind blew the monk's tattered robes, making them flutter loudly, the ragged strips of cloth dancing wildly in the wind.

The monk looked calm; he gently raised a finger and slowly pointed it toward the fluttering cloth strips.

Instantly, the previously frantic cloth strips gradually quieted down and ceased their wild flapping.

"In this hell, even a Buddha struggles to deliver."

With that said, the tattered monk pressed his palms together, sighed deeply, and continued to chant.

"But my Buddha is compassionate, and I must deliver them."