42: Chapter 42 The Great Martial Emperor

Chu Changsheng stood in the courtyard.

Twilight gathered, bamboo shadows danced.

His figure melted into this tranquil scene, like a painting done in light ink, and like an ancient sword with its edge hidden in the scabbard—motionless, yet daring no one to look directly at him.

When his gaze fell upon Chu Zhanxiao, his eyes were calm as a deep pool on the surface, without a ripple; but inside, there seemed to be dark currents surging, containing silent warmth and heavy, almost scorching expectations.

This was the look of a swordsmith gazing at a newly formed sword embryo.

It was the look of a night watchman gazing at the distant lights.

It was even more... the look of a Master gazing at the seed he had poured his heart and Soul into nurturing.

"Hmm."

He only responded softly.

In this single sound, however, lay the weight of a thousand jun—containing all the trust that needed no words, all the protection that required no declaration, and all the promises as heavy as the earth hidden beneath the silence.

"For the next three days, you will stay here and focus on Cultivating the 'True Dragon Precious Technique' and the 'Ancient Ancestral Dragon Art'."

The voice was calm, yet every word fell like a boulder, carved into this world like an oath.

"You need not have any worries."

The voice paused slightly.

"With your Master here, no one can disturb you in the slightest."

The tone was indifferent, as if speaking of a trivial matter.

Yet beneath this indifference lay an absolute confidence capable of suppressing all demons and monsters, a weight so heavy that even heaven and earth would take notice!

Before the voice had faded, his figure moved.

It was not a heaven-shaking display, but a faint, elusive afterimage—in an instant, he had swept across the four corners of the small courtyard, under the eaves, by the bamboo, and beside the stones.

So fast that it seemed time itself had slowed by half a beat.

Leaving only a wisp of wind and the stirred dust in the air.

Hands formed seals.

The ten fingers flew like phantom flowers, moving so fast only a hazy trajectory remained—yet this trajectory was not chaotic, but secretly aligned with some ancient rhythm; each turn and each intersection seemed to be writing a heavenly book in the Void Realm that no Mortal could decipher.

Mysterious and complex runes condensed silently as his fingertips tapped.

Some gold, some silver, some cyan, some purple—gold like the rising morning sun, silver like the cold moonlight, cyan like the distant mountains, purple like the lingering thunder.

Like stardust falling from the Nine Heavens, or spiritual butterflies dancing lightly, they plunged with absolute precision into specific nodes in the Void Realm.

Where the runes passed, the space rippled in minute waves almost invisible to the naked eye—circle by circle, spreading silently.

Beneath the ripples, it seemed as if a behemoth that had slept for eons was quietly touched, slowly opening its eyes.

An ancient, obscure, and majestic power awakened and flowed in the air.

They were not violent—violent power is easy to obtain, and easy to dissipate.

They were deep as an abyss, eternal through the ages, the most primitive order that had existed since the dawn of heaven and earth.

They connected and intertwined, silently outlining an intangible network in the Void Realm that was complex and precise to the extreme, like the threads of fate, tightly connecting this small courtyard with a certain Law of heaven and earth.

With the final rune—a point of particularly solid dark gold light, like a drop of solidified ancient True Dragon blood—silently merging into the crack of the seemingly ordinary bluestone in the center of the courtyard—

Hum...

A low hum, almost non-existent yet echoing directly in the depths of the Divine Soul, rippled out.

Not in the ears, but in the heart.

Like the bell of an ancient temple, traveling through thousands of years of time, tolling slowly, striking the depths of everyone's Soul.

In an instant, the air in the entire Quiet Bamboo Garden froze for a moment.

The light also produced a subtle refraction—not distortion, but refraction, as if passing through an invisible yet real curtain of water.

The courtyard remained the same, the bamboo shadows remained the same, the pond fish remained the same.

But a sense of isolation had been born.

As if an intangible, yet absolutely tough membrane had completely separated this small courtyard from the outside world.

Forming a world of its own.

All noise, peeping, and even malice from the outside were quietly blocked—like a spring breeze brushing over a hillside, the hillside remained unmoved; like tides hitting a reef, the reef remained silent.

Chu Zhanxiao saw all this.

His chest heaved like a rushing river, his throat choked as if thousands of words were blocked in his throat, but he couldn't say a single word.

He said no more.

Stepping back, he lifted his robes and bowed deeply again in the direction of Chu Changsheng.

His forehead touched the ground.

This bow was heavier than a mountain—condensing all gratitude, all determination, and all the trust of entrusting one's life, into this single bow.

Straightening up, he walked to the simple cushion and sat cross-legged.

Closed his eyes.

Inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly.

Distracting thoughts receded like the tide—not suppressed, but dissolved, like early snow meeting the spring sun, leaving no trace.

Only one thought remained in his heart, like quenched iron, cold and blazing:

Become stronger.

At all costs.

Only by mastering power can he live up to his Master's grace and wash away the deep hatred!

The thought burned brightly in his heart, like the only candle in the dark night—though small, it was enough to illuminate the path ahead.

And outside the small courtyard, in the rustling, deep bamboo forest.

Chu Changsheng had already found a bluestone beside the thickest old bamboo and sat down casually.

The bluestone was mossy and cool.

He sat upon it, his figure relaxed, his eyelids slightly drooping—that posture, as if a tired traveler had found a cool place to rest, or like a recluse listening to the wind and admiring the bamboo.

However, his Aura was rapidly blending with the surrounding bamboo charm, the sound of the wind, and even the dampness of the ground.

As if he were part of this bamboo forest—a thousand-year-old bamboo, a stone that had weathered the wind and rain, a wisp of wind passing through the forest.

Between heaven and earth, there was no longer such a person as Chu Changsheng, only this bamboo forest, this night, this tranquility.

However, his Divine Thought, vast as the sea, had already quietly spread out.

Like the most delicate spider web, extending silently, strand by strand; also like an intangible tide of perception, gently and tightly covering the area within a few miles centered on the Quiet Bamboo Garden.

The trembling of every bamboo leaf—was it the wind, the dew falling, or a bug crawling?

The flow of every wisp of wind—was it southeast, northwest, or swirling through the bamboo forest?

Even the slightest wriggling of insects in the soil—everything, everything was clearly reflected in his heart, down to the smallest detail.

He just sat like this.

Like a stone.

Like an old bamboo.

Like this very world itself.

Watching over that small courtyard, watching over this youth who was transforming, watching over this spark he had ignited with his own hands, enough to start a prairie fire.

However, at this moment, the Imperial Capital was plunged into unprecedented undercurrents and turmoil due to the True Dragon phenomenon that shook heaven and earth during the day.

The terrifying dragon shadow that had stretched across the sky during the day, the pressure that almost tore the firmament apart—like a huge boulder thrown into a deep pool that was already turbulent.

The ripples were expanding circle by circle.

In the deep mansions and secret pavilions of the major forces, the lights did not go out all night.

Those heads of families, Elders, and retainers who usually kept a low profile—all of them now had solemn expressions, gathering in secret rooms or standing on star-gazing platforms, lowering their voices, exchanging suspicious looks and speculations.

True Dragon manifestation.

Rare in history.

Behind this, is it a peerless genius being born?

Or a world-shaking secret treasure appearing? Or perhaps some ominous omen?

No one could draw a conclusion.

But the depression and restlessness permeating the sky over the Imperial Capital made every person in power feel palpitating—the fear of the unknown, the anxiety of losing control, the instinctive vigilance that their own status might be shaken.

Great Wu Imperial Palace.

Tianwu Hall.

The magnificent hall was now filled with suffocating low pressure.

The gilded coiled dragon pillars stood silently, their dragon heads lowered, as if they too were frozen by this heaviness, daring not to move.

Civil and military officials stood on both sides, heads lowered, holding their breath.

Even the rustling of robes seemed harsh—no, there was no sound.

Everyone was frozen in place like stone statues, fearing that any slight movement would break this death-like silence and attract the gaze of the one sitting high on the dragon chair.

Everyone's gaze carefully avoided the figure sitting high on the Nine Dragon gold chair—

Great Wu Emperor, Wu Tianba.

He sat upright.

His face was hidden behind the twelve-string white jade bead crown, making it unclear.

But that substantial Aura, mixed with shock, anger, fear, and deep majesty, was like the most oppressive dark clouds before a storm, covering the entire hall, pressing on everyone's heart.

Pressing so hard that people couldn't breathe.

His hand on the gilded armrest had slightly white knuckles.

A dignified emperor, actually had moments of being unable to control himself.

Dead silence.

It seemed as if even time had frozen.

Finally.

From behind the crown, came a low voice that could not tell joy or anger, but made everyone's heart tighten.

Like muffled thunder rolling over the hall beams, pressing people so they couldn't lift their heads:

"The phenomenon in the sky today, the True Dragon across the sky... all of you, my ministers, must have seen it."

It was not a question.

It was a statement.

Every word was like a cold stone, smashing onto the mirror-like gold brick floor, making a heavy echo.

A veteran official of three dynasties, with white hair and beard, wearing a complex purple robe, stepped out tremblingly.

His steps were very slow, as if every step was on the tip of a knife.

He bowed deeply.

The old voice carried uncontrollable anxiety:

"Responding to Your Majesty, this old minister and all my colleagues have witnessed it. Such a phenomenon has not been seen for a thousand years—its momentum is as brilliant as the midday sun, its might as majestic as Mount Tai pressing down. It originated from the east of the city..."

He paused, as if the following words were too shocking even for him.

"This old minister dares to speak bluntly, this cannot help but remind me of that shocking event that came from the southern Zhenwu Dynasty a month ago..."

He didn't finish.

But the breathing of everyone in the hall stalled.

The incident in the Zhenwu Imperial Capital—the Zhenwu Imperial Palace collapsed halfway, the Zhenwu Emperor was still bedridden—this news had long cast a heavy shadow in the hearts of the high-level officials of the major dynasties.

Another martial general, wearing a scarlet Qilin robe and possessing a fierce Aura, stepped out immediately, cupping his fists and speaking in a deep voice, his tone like clashing gold and iron:

"Your Majesty! This end general believes that what the veteran official said is not false. Regardless of whether this person is the same person as the one in the Zhenwu incident—his strength, I am afraid, is not something we can easily measure."

He raised his head, his eyes burning.

"Those who can retreat unscathed from the Zhenwu Imperial Palace... his strength, I am afraid, has already reached the Transcendent stage. In my humble opinion, our Great Wu should currently act by staying still, secretly investigating is the best policy, and we must not act rashly, to avoid—"

He gritted his teeth and spat out the last four words with difficulty:

"Inviting disaster!"

These four words were like a huge boulder, smashing into everyone's heart.

Wu Tianba was silent.

The jade beads of the crown swayed gently.

Behind the jade beads, complex emotions churned like boiling water—there was the rage of an emperor's dignity being touched, burning like a raging fire; there was the deep dread of an unknown powerhouse, piercing like bone-chilling ice; and there was the anxiety that the foundation of the Imperial Dynasty might be shaken, looming like dark clouds.

The fingers he rested on the armrest tapped gently against the cold metal.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

The faint sound, in the pin-drop silence of the grand hall, was like it was beating on everyone's heart.

A long time passed.

He spoke slowly, his voice still low, but it carried a trace of unquestionable resolve, as well as a deep-seated, almost cautious restraint:

"Transmit my decree."

The officials perked up, listening intently.

"Starting today, the Imperial Capital is under martial Law, and the patrols at the four gates will be tripled. Order the Hidden Dragon Guards to mobilize secretly and focus on investigating the eastern district—search every inch for me, and you must find any trace of the source of today's anomaly!"

He paused, his gaze behind the imperial crown sharp as an eagle's, slowly sweeping over those below.

Wherever his gaze fell, everyone lowered their heads.

"However, I have a warning—all those belonging to Great Wu, when investigating, may only observe from a distance and must not approach! Furthermore, you are not allowed to make any provocative or testing moves! If you encounter someone of unknown identity or unfathomable Aura—"

He took a deep breath, enunciating every word:

"Retreat thirty miles. Do not conflict with them under any circumstances! Those who violate this will be treated as traitors!"

The last eight words were delivered with weight, carrying a biting chill, like a blade cutting through the Void Realm.

"We obey the decree!" the officials answered in unison.

"Very well, that is all for today. Court dismissed." Emperor Wu Tianba waved his sleeves, looking somewhat weary, "General Shenwu, stay behind."

"We take our leave!"

The officials, as if granted amnesty, bowed and hurried out of the grand hall in an orderly fashion, fearing to stay even a moment longer.

Soon, the vast and magnificent Tianwu Palace was left with only Emperor Wu Tianba on the imperial throne and a figure standing upright like a javelin below the hall.

This man was clad in heavy black armor, which was not forged from ordinary metal, but mixed with North Sea Black Iron and Star Sand—under the thin daylight filtering through the high windows, it emitted a cold, dense black light, as if it could absorb the surrounding light.

The helmet plume was dark red, like congealed blood, swaying without wind.

His face was stern, as if chiseled by an axe and carved by a knife, with sharp, defined features.

A pair of eyes calm as an ancient well—yet not dead, but harboring in their depths a heart-stopping sharpness honed through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

He stood there quietly.

He was like a peerless, vicious weapon sheathed, yet harboring internal Evil Qi.

The Great Wu Dynasty's Great General Shenwu, the current head of the Xuanyuan Clan, and the Mahayana Stage powerhouse ostensibly second only to Emperor Wu Tianba—Xuanyuan Zhandao.

"Your Majesty."

Xuanyuan Zhandao cupped his hands.

His voice was not loud, but deep and powerful, faintly echoing in the grand hall like distant thunder.

Emperor Wu Tianba slowly stood up from the dragon throne that symbolized supreme power.

He walked down the steps step by step.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the vast hall—each step seemed to tread on the scars of time.

He came before Xuanyuan Zhandao and stood with his hands behind his back.

His gaze seemed to pierce through the thick palace doors, looking toward the distant south—a direction he dared not think of, yet never forgot.

Deep within his gaze, extremely complex and indescribable emotions churned.

There was pain—a wound covered by time, yet never healed.

There was reminiscence—old dreams revisited alone in countless deep nights.

And there was a melancholy that had settled for decades—the helplessness of an emperor, the incompetence of a father, and a man's deepest hatred for fate.

Silence.

It permeated between the two powerhouses of the current age.

It was even more oppressive than when the officials were present.

After a long while.

Emperor Wu Tianba slowly withdrew his gaze, letting it fall on Xuanyuan Zhandao's stern face, half-hidden by his black iron faceplate.

He spoke.

His voice was pressed extremely low, yet every word carried a thousand jin, bringing with it a sense of unquestionable entrustment, as well as a deep-seated, almost imperceptible tremor:

"Zhandao, I have a matter that I can only entrust to you, and only then will I be at ease."

Xuanyuan Zhandao's body trembled almost imperceptibly.

He and Emperor Wu Tianba were not just monarch and subject—they were close friends and brothers who grew up together, tempered by life and death.

For decades, they had lived and died together, sharing honor and disgrace.

He understood this emperor too well.

Such a tone, such a demeanor—meant that what was to be said next was bound to be a secret that would shake the Soul and was of great importance.

He knelt on one knee.

His armor clashed, emitting a clanging sound—that was a vow of loyalty, a promise tempered by a thousand trials.

He lowered his head and said in a deep voice:

"Please instruct me, Your Majesty. Even if it is a mountain of blades or a sea of fire, I will not refuse even if it means death."

Emperor Wu Tianba reached out his hand, as if wanting to help him up, but stopped in mid-air.

Finally, this hand that controlled billions of miles of territory—gently pressed onto Xuanyuan Zhandao's cold black iron shoulder armor.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, the emperor's depth and majesty in his eyes had faded slightly, revealing a deep guilt and pain that belonged to a person.

This was a fragility that no emperor should have.

Yet it was an instinct that every father could not hide.

He spoke.

His voice was hoarse.

As if he had exhausted all his strength.

He spat out the name buried deep in his heart for many years:

"Go to the Great Xia... Go to the Xuantian Sect."

He paused.

"Bring my son—"

His voice was trembling.

"First Prince Wu Zhanxian, bring him back."

"Boom—!"

Xuanyuan Zhandao was struck by lightning.

He suddenly raised his head.

In his eyes, usually calm as an ancient well, monstrous waves instantly churned—shock! Incredulity! Realization! Pity!

All kinds of emotions intertwined and surged, causing even his iron-hard face to show a crack.

His hand pressed on the ground—the five fingers wrapped in black iron gauntlets—involuntarily tightened suddenly.

The hard golden brick floor was actually squeezed to produce a few fine cracks, emitting a teeth-gritting creaking sound.

Zhanxian.

First Prince Wu Zhanxian.

This name—like a forbidden spell, a scar sealed in blood and tears—how many years had it been since anyone dared to mention it in front of His Majesty?

Even he, only dared to see the blurry figure of that stubborn youth in his deepest dreams...

That child who was once small, yet stubborn enough to refuse to cry out.

That child who, when taken away, looked back one last time—in those eyes, there was confusion, grievance, hatred, but not a single tear.

"Your... Your Majesty..."

Xuanyuan Zhandao's voice was extremely dry, carrying a tremor he himself had not noticed.

"Zhanxian... no, First Prince Wu Zhanxian, is he... still...?"

The rest of the words, he dared not ask.

The muscles on Emperor Wu Tianba's face twitched slightly.

In those eyes that mastered the universe, a layer of deep remorse and powerlessness clearly surfaced—belonging to a father, a man's failure, not an emperor's.

His throat rolled.

His voice was lower, heavier.

As if every word was soaked in blood:

"Back then... it was my incompetence."

He paused.

"I couldn't protect Qing'er, nor could I protect the child she and I had."

He closed his eyes, as if unwilling to look at the cruelty of this world anymore.

"I could only watch helplessly as they forced Qing'er to her death, and crippled Zhanxian..."

The voice was almost squeezed out from between his teeth.

The hand pressed on Xuanyuan Zhandao's shoulder armor had knuckles turning white from the force—blue veins bulging, trembling slightly.

"I, as a father... have failed miserably."

Xuanyuan Zhandao's throat tightened, and his nose felt sour.

The bloody storms of those years—the cruel struggle between imperial power and powerful clans, palace walls stained red with blood, screams in the deep night, silence at dawn.

Consort Qing's unjust death—that was his own sister, the little girl who followed behind him calling him brother since childhood.

The last time he saw her was over twenty years ago.

When they parted reluctantly, the young girl brought her ignorant nephew to see him off.

Times changed, and when he returned to the Imperial Capital again, all that came was news of his sister's death and his nephew's disappearance.

Over the years, he had sent many people to search, but there was always an invisible force blocking him, making him unable to find the child he had personally protected as he grew up.

Scenes from the past, even now, still cut his heart like a knife.

Emperor Wu Tianba looked at Xuanyuan Zhandao and turned around, saying:

"But now, it is different."

When he turned back again, the fragility and pain that had flashed away just now had completely receded—like the tide retreating, revealing the reef.

Replacing it was an absolute majesty capable of looking down on the world, as well as a cold, bone-chilling determination that had settled for decades.

A terrifying Aura, vast as an abyss and tyrannical as a mountain, rose from his body without reservation!

Boom!

The entire Tianwu Palace seemed to shake gently.

A suffocating pressure permeated the air—this was the monstrous Aura of a Middle Stage Mahayana Cultivator, the imperial majesty nurtured by ruling an Imperial Dynasty for decades!

Dust from the palace ceiling fell rustling down.

"Those old things—I no longer need to look at their faces!"

The voice was not loud, but it rang like metal clashing, carrying a sharpness that cut through all hesitation.

"In this world of Great Wu, what I say goes!"

His gaze was like lightning, looking straight at Xuanyuan Zhandao.

In that gaze was absolute trust—decades of living and dying together, countless times fighting side by side, had long forged this heavy trust.

It was an emperor's unquestionable will—this was a decree, an order, the final and most important order he issued as the Emperor of Great Wu.

"General Xuanyuan."

He called his name.

Just like many years ago, when they were still youths.

"Bring him back."

He paused.

"Bring him back safely."

He paused again.

"This is my—only entrustment to you."

Only.

These two words fell in this empty grand hall, between two men whose hair was beginning to gray.

Falling upon these decades of waiting and forbearance.

Heavy.

Like the weight of the entire Imperial Dynasty.

Xuanyuan Zhandao lowered his head deeply.

After a long while.

He spoke.

His voice was low, yet firm as a rock:

"I obey the decree."

In his voice, there was loyalty to the king, a promise to his sister, and a silent protection for a child who had been drifting outside for decades—the child who was still a small figure the last time he saw him.