Niao Ni
Chapter 759: The Rainbow of the Twelfth Year of Qing Yu Nian (Part 3)
I'm very satisfied with this chapter and countless others. You all know I'm satisfied, though perhaps you can't agree, as I can't expect all my friends to be satisfied... I simply hope you're satisfied with my satisfaction, because that means you're satisfied with my attitude towards writing. I only present things to you that I myself am satisfied with. So that's how it is, nothing more than that, still how it is... not bad.
With palms together, I thank you all very much for staying with me for so long. The day after tomorrow, I'll write the postscript. Please read it, I repeat, please be sure to read it.)
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Emperor Qing's fist was always so steady and powerful, full of the aura of a king, easily shattering any obstacle in its path, just as he had often done in his life.
In this continent, in these decades of history, few people struck by Emperor Qing could survive. Si Gu Jian, that old monster, had his intestines pierced, and he only managed to eke out an existence with the help of Fei Jie's strange poisons. But Fan Xian, relying on the magic left by Ku He, with a superb movement technique that covered dozens of *zhang* in a single bound, unexpectedly avoided the terrifying power contained within that fist.
Wu Zhu did not evade this punch. He directly endured the impact of the boundless true energy within Emperor Qing's body. His chest caved in from the blow, yet he did not fall. Because if the pinnacle of the mortal realm was the Grandmaster level, and if the Grandmaster's only weakness was their still-mortal flesh, then Wu Zhu clearly did not have this weakness. His body was definitely the most formidable among all Grandmasters.
He merely stood up again, and on the damp ground, moved closer to Emperor Qing once more.
He once again stood before Emperor Qing, the black cloth on his face unmoving, the iron skewer in his hand swinging, silently cutting through the air. Because it was too fast, those who were still clinging to life could not see what was happening on the stone steps, nor could they hear any sound.
His Majesty the Emperor did not retreat. That faint gray light flashed in his pupils. His feet stood firmly on the stone steps, just as he had declared with boundless dominance and confidence in the Hanging Temple. In his life, he had never taken a single step back, no matter what enemy he faced.
He threw another punch. The fist, emitting a faint glow like jade, instantly evaporated the moisture in the air, striking Wu Zhu squarely in the abdomen.
And Wu Zhu's iron skewer, at this moment, was like a beam of clear light cast from the heavens, unstoppable, striking Emperor Qing's left shoulder with exquisite precision.
At their level of strength, in their final battle, they had long discarded all external pretense and technique. The essence of "reality" and "momentum" was already within their bodies and demeanor. They clashed purely with their actual power, just as the words in Grandmaster Ku He's great-grandmaster, Gen Chen's, recorded sayings: Take off your clothes and go!
The duel between these two peerless experts was merely a cold and detached act of simple behavior. They had shed all externals, and were nakedly, like primitive men, in the snow, by the volcano, among herds of beasts on the grassland, practicing the most perfect killing skills.
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His Majesty the Emperor's left shoulder shattered with a *crack* sound, and blood spurted from his lips. But his cold eyes only stared at Wu Zhu's figure, flying further and further away.
Wu Zhu was once again knocked away by that fist. His leg was now broken, his body crippled. His computational abilities, beyond worldly imagination, could no longer be supported by the strong execution capabilities of his muscles. He could not evade Emperor Qing's fist, which seemed to transcend the limitations of time and space.
In the stopping drizzle, Wu Zhu's body arched backward in the air. The cold wind whipped at his clothes, rustling loudly. With a *thud*, his feet landed on the ground, sliding backwards for over ten *zhang* on the slippery surface before barely managing to stop. But his left leg couldn't support him, and he nearly toppled over.
Having taken that punch head-on, Wu Zhu did not fall. He seemed to be in slightly better condition than before. However, the look of absolute confidence and power on His Majesty the Emperor's face, and Wu Zhu's slightly lowered head, seemed to foreshadow an extremely ominous ending.
Wu Zhu, standing quietly in the pool of blood beneath Taiji Hall, looked down at his abdomen, silent for a long, long time.
Before His Majesty the Emperor's fist struck his abdomen, Wu Zhu had blocked his abdomen with his left hand. So the Emperor's fist had actually struck his palm first, before striking his abdomen.
Wu Zhu's hand was like a cold block of iron. His body was also like a cold iron mass. However, Emperor Qing's punch was like the hammer of a god, melting the iron plate into the iron mass. His hand had deeply wedged into his abdomen, as if two pieces of iron had been forcibly fused together!
The corner of his brow, not covered by the black cloth, twitched slightly. Wu Zhu coldly pulled at his left hand. He didn't know how much strength he used, but he pulled his hand out of his abdomen, bringing with it a large piece of pale flesh that no longer bled, accompanied by a tearing sound, appearing exceptionally terrifying.
Emperor Qing's first punch had struck Wu Zhu's chest, which he didn't block. The second punch struck his abdomen, which he failed to block. These two different choices represented two completely different levels of damage—the vital points of the Divine Temple Envoys, it seemed, were no longer a secret in the eyes of that powerful monarch. This fact startled Wu Zhu, and caused those bystanders who were still enduring, their bodies cold, to feel boundless fear!
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The iron skewer braced against the ground, which was covered with blood and rainwater. Wu Zhu straightened his left leg, which was about to break in two, with extreme difficulty, and took a step toward the Taiji Hall. His cloth shoe stepped on the hand of a corpse, nearly slipping. A brittle *crack* echoed from Wu Zhu's abdomen, and it seemed that a web-like shattering was spreading throughout his body, tearing it apart.
Wu Zhu's body began to tremble, began to tilt, as if it might turn into countless pieces at any moment, falling apart, collapsing into a heap on the ground.
Yet the iron skewer remained tightly gripped in his hand, powerfully supporting his tottering body, allowing him to take another step forward.
His first step was so difficult, so slow, accompanied by some extremely dry sounds... but he still walked step by step toward the Emperor, without hesitation.
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The Emperor withdrew his fist, his emotionless eyes glancing at his chest, as if trying to discern which of his ribs had been shattered by that hard iron skewer. He didn't remember how many punches he had thrown, nor did he remember how many mouthfuls of blood he had spat out. He only remembered that he hadn't retreated a single step, but hadn't advanced either. He merely stood on the stone steps like a puppet, in front of his palace, mechanically and repeatedly throwing punches.
How many times had Lao Wu fallen? How many times had he gotten up? How many times had *I* fallen in this life? How many times had *I* gotten up again? Why was it that Lao Wu was clearly about to fall, but he stubbornly struggled to rise? Didn't he know that even a monster like him would one day truly die? If Lao Wu wasn't an inanimate object but a living being, if he knew life and death, if he feared life and death, then why didn't he show it?
Why was it that Lao Wu's movements were clearly so much slower, yet the hard iron skewer in his hand could always strike my body? Could it be because... *I* was also old, close to burning out my lamp?
No, it couldn't be, it shouldn't be. Unwilling, resentful, faint sparks flickered in his cold eyes, but eventually transformed into boundless weariness and boredom.
Was this a world-shaking battle destined to be recorded in history, or a mere insignificant play destined to disappear in the long river of history? But regardless, Emperor Qing was somewhat annoyed, just like when his father had ascended the throne many years ago, and he had been forced to prepare the Taiping Courtyard with great sorrow, and a few years later, there would be a bloody night in Kyoto. On Great Dong Mountain, he had lured and killed those two old things; An Zhi had lured and killed those shameless traitors in Kyoto; and earlier this year, he had tried to lure out that box. And now Lao Wu had come as well.
The endless power struggles and conspiracies, just like Lao Wu falling and getting up, repeated again and again. Like a story from many years ago, stubbornly reenacting itself, this repetition was truly repulsive, truly tiresome.
But Emperor Qing couldn't tire. He was unwilling to tire: *I* still had many things left to do. *I* hadn't defeated this most powerful enemy before him. *I* couldn't let go.
Slowly wiping away the blood that kept welling up at the corner of his lips, His Majesty the Emperor suddenly felt a little cold. He had suffered a serious injury a year ago, which had never fully healed, and he was always a little afraid of the cold, afraid of the light, afraid of the wind. So he preferred to lie on a soft couch, covered with the silk blanket Wan'er had brought from Jiangnan...
He liked that warm feeling. He didn't like this cold feeling, because this feeling made him feel a little weak, a little tired. It seemed that with the loss of blood, the temperature and confidence in his body were also draining away.
Looking at Wu Zhu, who had risen again, the tattered Wu Zhu, the eyes of His Majesty the Emperor, burning with ghostly fire, suddenly lit up. The aging face, with that sudden paleness, looked exceptionally gaunt and haggard.
The rain had stopped. The dark clouds in the sky were visibly turning into white clouds, becoming whiter, more beautiful, and brighter. The air in the palace square was filled with the beautiful atmosphere of a clear sky after rain. Beyond the palace walls, on the far eastern horizon, something beautiful was about to happen.
The Emperor opened his vacant eyes, shook his clothes, and finally soared up from the stone steps of Taiji Hall. In this rainless sky, he created a line parallel to the rainwater to the south, leaving countless afterimages in the air.
The clear sky reflected this dragon of rain. A buzzing dragon's roar seemed to rise from somewhere in the palace. Wu Zhu, holding the iron skewer, was immediately surrounded by this dragon and the countless dragon's roars. That gray, solemn, and beautiful rain of the void instantly launched its most powerful offensive against Wu Zhu.
Apart from these two peerless experts in the field, no one could clearly see what was happening in that rain curtain. Only when the dragon's roar died down, after a terrifying absolute silence, countless sounds exploded one after another, like a series of claps of thunder, like the wind in the high sky instantly tearing through countless paper lanterns released by lovers, *pa pa pa pa*...
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Wu Zhu finally fell, felled by Emperor Qing's storm-like domineering fists and fingers. In that instant, his body had suffered countless heavy blows. He finally collapsed, sitting weakly at Emperor Qing's feet, his pale right hand outstretched toward the sky, empty.
That head, which had always been silent and noble, also drooped weakly at this moment, falling before Emperor Qing, somewhat unwillingly and helplessly releasing the hand that held the iron skewer.
He released the hand that held the iron skewer, but the iron skewer did not fall to the palace ground, emitting that tolling sound, because the iron skewer was stuck in Emperor Qing's abdomen, trembling slightly!
Blood gushed from Emperor Qing's abdomen, flowing down the iron skewer, dripping from the smooth tip, dripping onto Wu Zhu's pale palm, spreading along the clear life line, forming a dazzling peach blossom.
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His Majesty the Emperor's thin, heartless lips were slightly parted, appearing somewhat dry. His face was pale, his eyes vacant, devoid of emotion. He looked down at the iron skewer in his abdomen, feeling boundless fatigue and annoyance, preparing to pull out the iron skewer that was deeply embedded in his abdomen.
He was the most determined person in the world. Back then, even the suffering of a crippled man, with his meridians completely shattered, could not weaken his spirit in the slightest. Let alone the pain in his abdomen at this moment. He knew that Lao Wu was finished. A faint pride flashed by, but was replaced by endless fatigue, because he discovered that he was beginning to taste something metallic in his mouth.
Fan Xian hadn't appeared yet. This fact made His Majesty the Emperor somewhat lost. A self-deprecating smile appeared on his lips—it seemed that this son's mind was even stronger than he had imagined and predicted. Because of his strength, he had coldly and heartlessly endured until now, watching Wu Zhu being beaten into a cripple, yet still refusing to come out.
A strange feeling of appreciation and admiration for this son arose in His Majesty the Emperor's heart once more. He seemed to think that the most unfilial son in his life was becoming more and more like himself—like his own cold-blooded self.
He had thought Fan Xian should have come out long ago, when Wu Zhu first fell to the ground, or when Wu Zhu's leg broke in two, because this was what he had been secretly preparing all along... But Fan Xian hadn't come, so he felt a faint disappointment and a sense of unease.
Was the clear sky after the rain about to witness *my* final failure? Was *she* going to use the eyes of *her* son to watch *my* failure?
Blood gushed from the powerful monarch's lips, gushed from his abdomen. He felt cold again, and he began to remember the soft blanket on his couch, the woman in the Imperial Study. Then his right hand steadily grasped the iron skewer, beginning to slowly pull it out of his body with a chilling detachment.
There was an old saying that the pain was greatest when the blade was pulled out of the wound. This could be used to describe life, and it could also be used to describe the situation at hand.
As His Majesty the Emperor slowly pulled out the iron skewer, it was as if he were tearing open the scars that had been hidden in the darkness behind his mask all these years, those scars that he had thought had long healed. He remembered many people and many events. The pain made his pale face even paler, unnaturally so.
It seemed that even the monarch's arm couldn't bear to let him face this pain. So at this moment, in the cold, clean air, a bizarre distortion suddenly occurred!
It was a distortion and separation of bone and flesh, completely inconsistent with human anatomy, bending out at a strange angle... somewhat like Wu Zhu's leg.
Blood bloomed beneath the clear sky. Flesh and bone separated from Emperor Qing's body. His left arm was severed at the elbow joint by a mysterious force. The severed arm, illuminated by the clear sunlight, flew into the immaculate air, spinning, leaping, dancing, at the slowest speed, carrying blood droplets from the broken end...
Then the crisp sound of gunfire finally began to echo in the empty, deserted main courtyard of the palace, lingering, solitary, like a mournful accompaniment to the dance of that severed arm.
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Apart from his defeat at the hands of Zhan Qingfeng during the Northern Expedition, and the time when his meridians were completely shattered and he was plunged into darkness, this moment was definitely the most painful and weakest moment in His Majesty the Emperor's life.
After decades of silence, and another year of silence, the sound of gunfire finally rang out in the palace. After a year of silence, and another silent morning, Fan Xian's figure finally appeared beside the Emperor.
Having watched Wu Zhu being seriously injured and turned into trash by His Majesty, Fan Xian had not made a move. What painful urge had he been suppressing? However, when he appeared, he had chosen the most opportune moment, appeared in the most opportune position, appearing directly beside the Emperor!
All it took was a flick of a finger!
Over twenty years of hard training in his reborn life, the encouragement between life and death on the grassland, the unwavering will in the desperate situation of the Snow Palace, the enlightenment under the Big Qing Tree, the thoughts in the snowfield, the creation of the world's essence, the ebb and flow of life and death, the collision between the weak and the strong, a life of clinging to life and hating death, the pain of autumn rain after autumn rain, all merged into a feeling, a momentum, which erupted from Fan Xian's body.
Without sword, without arrow, without dagger, without poison smoke, without petty tricks, without grand coffins, his probing arm ignored sword paths, his energy circulation ignored Tianyi. Fan Xian abandoned everything, turning himself into a gust of wind, a ray of gray light, and in the briefest moment, expelled all his power from his fingers and palms, slashing toward the severely injured and weakened body of His Majesty the Emperor!
His majestic and domineering true energy didn't hesitate to cut the already thick meridians in his body, sending it out with a determined attitude, at a speed exceeding his own abilities.
Countless swirls of smoke, shining in the cold autumn.
Delivered to the fingers, the true energy was not expelled outward, but contained inward. The sword energy didn't leave the finger pulp, but was condensed like metal and stone, fiercely piercing into His Majesty the Emperor's shoulder socket.
Delivered to the palm, the true energy was like the wind from the Eastern Sea, raging out, sweeping across the pure jade face, leaving not a trace of debris, heavily striking His Majesty the Emperor's chest.
Slashing, pointing, palming—slashing away the past years, pointing out a path of life and death, dividing the boundary between ruler and minister, father and son!
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Fan Xian had never been so powerful in his life, and Emperor Qing had never been so weak in his life. This pair of father and son didn't even have time to exchange a glance, and transformed into two shadows before Taiji Hall, engaging in a life-and-death closeness, as if countless yellow paper lanterns were being torn apart by the strong wind, *pu pu* sounding incessantly, frighteningly and wearily.
Fan Xian's speed and agility had reached a level that astonished humans at this moment. He left no afterimages, only a wisp of gray shadow, circling His Majesty the Emperor's body, unleashing dozens, hundreds of attacks in an instant!
The rainwater that had accumulated on the bluestone ground suddenly seemed to be split by a water-repelling pearl, spreading to both sides, revealing the clean stone bricks in the middle. About half a hand's breadth above the stone bricks, the figures of the Emperor and Fan Xian flashed and flew, instantly leaving the front of Taiji Hall, flying toward the northeast direction like lightning!
Accumulated water splashed and evaded along the way, and blood rained down from the sky in lines.
With a *bang*, that bright yellow figure crashed through the palace gate in the corridor, directly shattering the thick palace gate, raising a cloud of wood chips.
The wood chips shot out in all directions like arrows containing strong power, piercing through the circular stone door behind the palace gate with a series of *hissing* sounds, stirring up a cloud of stone chips, and deeply embedding themselves into the vermilion palace wall.
It was also these wood chips, shooting out from the sides of the bright yellow figure, that forced Fan Xian, who was like a soul-reaping wind, a soul-reaping shadow, to slow down, revealing his body in the air.
The bright yellow figure crashed through the palace gate, and then heavily crashed into the large bronze water vat in the corridor, emitting a muffled sound, also revealing its form.
That hand, which was still unstained by blood, slashed through the air, slapping away a slender wrist with a *smack*, and quickly pushing aside the cold metal, flipping upward to grip that soft throat.
Grip the throat of that palace maid.
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With a *puff*, His Majesty the Emperor leaned weakly against the large bronze vat, spitting out a mouthful of blood. However, a faint, bizarre smile floated on his pale cheeks. One of his arms had already been broken, and there were four or five finger holes and three palm prints on his body. Blood had stained his dragon robe, making the golden dragon on the bright yellow garment appear particularly ferocious, yet particularly bleak.
Fan Xian slowly lowered the bridge of his left palm and right fist that had been covering his face. The wood chips also caused his body to constantly bleed out from under his clothes. He coughed violently, coughing up blood. The previous strike had already been a strike condensing his life. Now, forced to stop, it was impossible to unleash that ghostly speed again. Moreover, most of his meridians had been cut, and it was as if countless small knives were scraping in his body, making the pain unbearable.
His Majesty the Emperor's injuries were even more severe, so severe that they were beyond words, so severe that he seemed to be able to disappear from this world at any moment. However, there was no trace of joy on Fan Xian's face. After a fit of hurried coughing, his expression returned to calm. He looked at His Majesty the Emperor, who was panting and leaning against the bronze vat, without saying a word.
Only his eyes revealed his true emotions, which were very complex... He stared blankly at the Emperor, always feeling that the scene before him wasn't real. The Emperor, who was as unreachable as Mount Everest, cold and piercing, powerful and indestructible... would actually have a time when he was at the end of his rope?
When did His Majesty's appearance become so old?
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"Your Majesty, you've lost." Fan Xian lowered his head slightly, wiping the blood from the corner of his lips with the sleeve of his eunuch's clothing, and looked at His Majesty the Emperor with complex eyes.
What he said was meaningless. Emperor Qing had at least a dozen wounds on his body, especially the severed wound on his left arm and the wound in his abdomen, which were constantly gushing blood.
Just as His Majesty the Emperor had said to Wu Zhu earlier, there were no immortals in this world. Wu Zhu wasn't one, and neither was he. The betrayals, assassinations, and injuries he had suffered this year had continued until now. Today, he had fought a world-shaking battle with Wu Zhu, and then had his arm severed by a heavy sniper. He was then ambushed by Fan Xian, who seemed to be on the verge of breaking through. Even the most powerful monarch in the world had reached his final moment.
Then a mocking and indifferent smile still hung on His Majesty the Emperor's face. Three of his fingers were still gently placed on the throat of that palace maid, who held a gun in her hand.
His Majesty the Emperor glanced at Fan Xian, but ignored his words. Instead, he looked at Fan Ruoruo beside him with a hoarse voice, coughing blood, and said with a gentle gaze, "I've said it before, it's not easy to be a good emperor... First of all, you have to give up some unnecessary emotions, and you can't be soft-hearted... Ruoruo, you were soft-hearted today. That's a fatal mistake."
The Fan family's daughter, dressed in a palace maid's uniform, still had a calm expression on her face. However, the slight frown between her brows showed that her heart was not as calm as her exterior.
Since last autumn, she had been brought into the palace by His Majesty, and had been accompanying this lonely monarch in the Imperial Study every day, one day after another. She had seen too many times the thin figure reviewing memorials under the oil lamp, heard too many coughs coming from the sickbed, and seen too many times the thin old man's furrowed brows. Gradually...
On the snowy day of the eighth day of the new year, she had looked at the bright yellow figure in the distance from the Star-Picking Tower through the glass, and always felt that it wasn't real. So her fingers hadn't trembled in the slightest. However, today, looking at the increasingly old, familiar face of the monarch through the gap in the palace gate, for some reason, she had chosen to aim at His Majesty the Emperor's arm, rather than the vital parts.
His Majesty the Emperor was right. At that moment, Fan Ruoruo had been soft-hearted for a moment.
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"Girls are always drawn outwards. Chen *yatou* has been trying to soften my will all year long, but I ignored it. I also know you like An Zhi, that good-for-nothing. But have you girls ever thought about whether you softened me this year, or whether you were softened by me?"
The Emperor spoke calmly and indifferently, neither summoning the eunuchs of the inner court who had been banished to the harem by him, nor stopping the bleeding. It seemed that he didn't care at all about the blood flowing out of his body. A faint, mocking smile appeared on the corner of his lips.
Fan Ruoruo's body trembled slightly. Fan Xian narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at His Majesty the Emperor, who was both familiar and incredibly strange, and had an unusually complex relationship with him. He was filled with shock at the Emperor's mind and calculations, admiring them to the extreme. Even at such a critical moment, under his desperate struggle, the Emperor, who seemed to be defeated, had actually chosen the best route, broken through the palace gate, found the wielder of the gun, and controlled her.
Fan Xian pursed his thin lips tightly, and suddenly said through gritted teeth, "Your Majesty, don't try to threaten me with her life."
"You would accept my threat?" The Emperor slowly turned his head, letting the blood stain his dragon robe, and asked in a mocking tone.
Fan Xian was silent for a moment, and then shook his head, looking at Fan Ruoruo and saying in a hoarse voice, "If you die, I'll accompany you."
Fan Ruoruo's face turned slightly pale. After a moment of silence, she said, "This younger sister isn't too afraid of death either."
"Is it a great thing to be free from the fear of life and death?" The Emperor stared into Fan Xian's eyes, and suddenly sneered softly, "This face of yours is like your mother's, but these lips are somewhat like mine, extremely thin and heartless. It's indeed true."
After a moment, His Majesty the Emperor, who had a indifferent look on his face, suddenly said, "In my life, I have never been defeated."
For some reason, Fan Xian had always possessed a calmness and even a coldness that ordinary people couldn't match after being reborn. However, at this extremely tense moment, when he heard His Majesty the Emperor's words, a sourness, an emptiness, and an anger surged from the depths of his heart. He shouted loudly at His Majesty the Emperor in a cold voice, "Enough!"
The Emperor looked quietly into the eyes of this son of his, looking at his handsome face that was slightly twisted by anger, and suddenly laughed coldly, as if he were laughing at the other party's loss of composure, the other party's fear, and that strange anger that came from who knew where.
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In the empty palace, apart from the rainwater that still lingered on the ground and the countless corpses and blood, there were only four people who could still stand. Fan Xian stood beside Uncle Wu Zhu, watching the bright yellow figure not far away with a cold look, not knowing what he was thinking in his heart. He was indeed afraid, but that anger was definitely not born of fear, but of another, more desolate feeling.
The distance from there to here was extremely short. Fan Xian seemed to have the opportunity to strike, but His Majesty was within three *chi* of Fan Ruoruo. No one dared to take such a risk in the presence of a Grandmaster, even though Fan Ruoruo was still holding that heavy sniper rifle, and even though everyone could see that His Majesty the Emperor was already at the end of his rope, on the verge of death.
"In my life, I have never been defeated." His Majesty the Emperor looked at the son before him and Wu Zhu before him, slowly raising his sleeve to wipe the blood from the corner of his lips, and said coldly, "I just feel that it seems I... am about to die."
Defeat and death were two different concepts. Defeat involved victory and defeat, while life and death often belonged to destiny. A monarch's defeat would inevitably lead to his death, but a monarch's death didn't necessarily mean that he had been defeated.
Today's Emperor Qing might have already been surrounded by the aura of death, but he hadn't been defeated, because today's death had actually been determined a long time ago.
There was no true Kingly Way in this world. Over the years, His Majesty the Emperor's body had been constantly disturbed by violent true energy, making it impossible for him to rest in peace. Moreover, the many events of this year had allowed this true energy to find ways to harm his flesh, rapidly destroying his vitality and accelerating his aging process. However, His Majesty the Emperor, with his slightly sunken eyes, looked coldly at Fan Xian, and revealed the truth that was destined to shock the other party without saying it lightly.
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"Even if I die, I will kill you, this rebellious son." His Majesty the Emperor coughed twice, coughing so hard that he slightly bent over, and his coughs contained a hint of unwillingness. "The Li family's empire is destined to unify the universe. As long as you die, no matter which of my two sons ascends the throne, the world in the future will still be the Great Qing's world."
The raging flames beneath Nanjing City were only the spark that forced Fan Xian to show himself. Otherwise, if Fan Xian returned from the Divine Temple and went into hiding, where would Emperor Qing go to find him? However, if Fan Xian didn't die, the great cause of the Southern Qing's eternal glory couldn't be realized. Even knowing that his body was failing, how could Emperor Qing rest easy?
Today's situation was nothing more than the ruler wanting to kill his ministers, the father wanting to kill his son. However, who could have foreseen that the situation in the palace had changed at this moment? In the deserted palace, His Majesty the Emperor was facing all the hostility alone.
At this moment, Emperor Qing felt somewhat tired. He looked quietly at Fan Xian, and suddenly realized that the killing intent in his heart toward this son was not as strong as he had imagined. Why was this? Perhaps the source of the monarch's killing intent was simply the anger caused by Fan Xian's betrayal, and not for the sake of the Great Qing's eternal glory?
A monarch without meridians, a person without feelings, once angered by disappointment, once moved by emotion, was nothing more than a mortal.
His Majesty the Emperor suddenly felt that if he died like this, he would be very lonely. How would his relatives in the underworld—Chengqian, Chengze, the Empress—look at him with cold eyes? Was his mother still well in the underworld? Was that woman's soul still looking at him with that seemingly gentle, but actually extremely distant, gaze?
A sense of lonely loss occupied the aging Emperor Qing's body. He suddenly realized that in his final battle, he was still facing her gun, her servant, her... and his son.
Having struggled for a lifetime, he was still fighting with her in the end. Thinking of this, a sad smile appeared on His Majesty the Emperor's face. Was *I* destined to be defeated by her?
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The bright yellow figure trembled slightly, and the gun in Fan Ruoruo's hand was grabbed by his intact hand in the air. With a slight exertion of his knuckles, the domineering true energy in the monarch's body erupted like rivers and lakes. After a soft sound, the barrel of the gun was actually bent in half!
Emperor Qing's true energy surged, and his injuries became even more severe. However, he only narrowed his eyes and looked coldly at the broken copper and scrap iron that had been thrown at his feet, as if he were examining that woman, and didn't say a word for a long time.
"If Lao Wu never set foot in the human world again, how wonderful that would be." His Majesty the Emperor lowered his head, and suddenly sighed softly, slowly raising his head to look at Wu Zhu, who was sitting on the ground, leaning against Fan Xian's leg, and shook his head with great difficulty.
"Uncle doesn't remember many things anymore."
"However, what happened has happened after all. He will eventually remember something that happened in the past, and thus know something. He... will always come to kill *me*." His Majesty the Emperor, with a pale face, looked blankly at Wu Zhu, who was mentally impaired and speechless, like a child, trying to stand up, but unable to do so, and suddenly said, "Lao Wu, you've forgotten something again. That's truly... happiness."
When a powerful person began to become so talkative, did it mean that he was really old? Or was it a last burst of brilliance? Fan Xian stared blankly at the one-armed Emperor, and suddenly felt a emptiness in his chest, a convulsion. He always felt that everything that was happening today was too strange, completely unlike reality.
The light in the depths of the Emperor's eyes gradually faded, and he looked at Fan Xian and said softly, "It's not you. In the end, it's just that your mother won."
He looked at Fan Xian mockingly, without a trace of despondency. On the contrary, he resembled the incomparably powerful monarch of previous years, mocking and saying, "The species of the Zhan family's little emperor is yours... You also know what kind of person the Third Prince is. No matter what you do in the future, this world will always belong to the Li family."
"You once said that even if I die and the world is flooded, I have to think about it." The Emperor looked at Fan Xian, the smile on the corner of his lips becoming more and more intense, and more and more full of mockery. "Your mother was just trying to change the course of history, but you're trying to stop the course of history. What a arrogant and naive idea."
After a long silence, Fan Xian suddenly said, "Actually, you or I are just very inconspicuous ripples in history."
"No, the history books will definitely have a page about me." A cold and proud light flashed in the Emperor's pupils.
Fan Xian said nothing more. He realized at this moment that he had still underestimated this Emperor. What he had said and done on weekdays, there was no way to hide it from him. Even the red bean rice from Northern Qi, he knew...
At this time, the scene was a pool of blood. Fan Xian didn't move, and didn't dare to move, because his younger sister was under His Majesty's control. He didn't even know how to resolve the situation at hand, nor did he know whether His Majesty's weakness at this moment was an illusion, or whether he had really seen through some things as he was about to die.
Toward this Emperor, Fan Xian had an innate reverence. Even at this moment, he was still like this. He didn't know whether the imperial guards outside the palace would break through the backup plans he had left in advance and forcibly open the palace gates again. He didn't know what was happening on the side of Yingzi and Ye Zhong. He didn't know why Yao *taitou* and his group had never appeared.
What made him feel the most chilling was whether the Emperor's last-ditch counterattack would cause Uncle Wu Zhu, his younger sister, and himself to be buried with him—even at this moment, he still believed that the Emperor had this kind of power.
...
...
His Majesty the Emperor raised his head with difficulty, squinting his eyes slightly, and looking at the blue sky to the east of the palace walls, as if he had discovered that something beautiful might happen there.
He looked at the sky, but the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes trembled slightly, as if he had thought of something. His right hand, resting outside the dragon sleeve, bent slightly, as if trying to grasp something. The light in his eyes gradually condensed from its fading state, as if trying to see something clearly. Countless images flashed through his mind, as if trying to remember something.
No one knew his physical condition better than Emperor Qing himself. Perhaps from the snowy day of the eighth day of the new year, he had foreseen that this day would inevitably come. This wasn't paying back a debt; it was simply fate. However, why was there still such a strong unwillingness in