Capítulo 905: Chapter 534: The Brisk Autumn Air Invites Murder (Part 5)
“Damn, we’ve been found out so quickly.”
As Qin Jianfu retrieved a candle from the southeast corner and turned back, Gui couldn’t help but think to himself.
However, what made his mood plummet further was the disfigured old Confucian scholar lowering his head and cautiously sniffing the candle.
It turned out to be a precaution already taken.
The Sword Spirit frowned.
Trying to tamper with the candle, adding some scent or poison to let an experienced Golden Core Realm old monster fall for it, was extremely difficult.
So… Zhao Rong’s possible scheme is not in this white candle?
The candle is just an ordinary candle, not his turning point?
Just like the blood circle drawn on the ground, it’s merely a tactic to confuse Qin Jianfu and distract him?
In the Heart Lake, the Purple-clothed Sword Spirit was both perplexed and anxious.
At this moment, its head turned sharply, looking at the adjacent calm Heart Lake, still largely dominated by that dazzling calmness and composure.
Besides, in the ‘Heart Lake Water,’ there were also colors of fear, terror, sadness, and regret, yet they were severely suppressed by the calm ‘lake water,’ not occupying much.
Suddenly, Gui noticed something amiss.
On the edge of the Heart Lake, some lake water symbolizing wandering consciousness and weary slumberiness was being constantly suppressed by the calm lake water at the lake’s edge…
Was he daydreaming, or trying to close his eyes to sleep? Was the injury getting unbearable?
Gui couldn’t help but look at the calm one-armed Confucian scholar outside, immediately stifling the urge to speak.
He suppressed himself, focusing all his attention on the scene outside the brow chakra, not looking away for a moment…
“Lighting a candle for yourself so early, are you that eager to die?”
Inside the Great Hall, the disfigured old Confucian scholar entered the blood circle, approaching the seated one-armed Confucian scholar with gentle steps, speaking softly.
At this time, the elder was only seven steps away from the latter, with a blood-red Hexagram pattern on the ground in between.
The blood-drenched Hexagram enclosed the one-armed Confucian scholar with the Dragon Coffin.
Meanwhile, as he spoke, Qin Jianfu casually tossed half of the candle he had broken in two over his shoulder.
He held a grey tobacco pipe with one hand, using two fingers to pinch the remaining half of the candle with its flame, taking two more steps forward to the edge of the last Hexagram on the ground.
Zhao Rong struggled to lift his trembling eyelids, raised his hand, and forcefully wiped his blood-stained face.
He continued to calmly watch the elder holding the candle between his fingers, shaking his head.
“It’s for that little bastard of yours.”
The disfigured old Confucian scholar’s expression was indifferent, and though his beloved son and the whole family were insulted, he seemed unfazed.
He continued forward.
The steps did not stop.
Three steps remained to the blood-red Hexagram.
Inside the Hexagram, three steps away, the one-armed Confucian scholar wiped his face again, his eyes drooping slightly, speaking softly.
“Speaking of which, being so close to the Golden Core, was that little bastard burnt beyond recognition, just like you, with no part of his body looking human?”
Qin Jianfu remained calm and silent, his footsteps unchanged.
“Actually, the little bastard never looked human anyway, so… disfigurement might have been a kind of cosmetic surgery, right?” Zhao Rong lifted his eyelids, glanced at Qin Jianfu’s face full of lumps that even burned away his eyebrows.
He nodded again, “Hmm, so from now on, sir, you won’t have to worry about people saying he doesn’t look like his esteemed father, the Prime Minister of Great Wei. Now, you two are practically carved from the same mold, aren’t you?”
The one-armed Confucian scholar on the Dragon Coffin chuckled lightly, adding a small jest.
The disfigured old Confucian scholar stopped moving.
The tip of his foot was only half a step away from the blood-red Hexagram on the ground.
The one-armed Confucian scholar acted as if he hadn’t noticed anything unusual, gesturing modestly to the elder, “No need to thank me.”
Qin Jianfu’s expression remained unchanged, as if nothing had happened.
He lowered his head, observing the last half-step of distance underfoot.
His gaze moved upward.
His eyes caught a dark red line of blood, a peculiar pattern Qin Jianfu had never seen before.
Like two triangles, one upright and one inverted, overlapping in opposite directions, simple yet… increasingly enigmatic the more he looked.
It had six angles. The top and bottom angles seemed to correspond to heaven and earth, yin and yang, while the other four angles…
The elder’s gaze lingered, shifting further upward, where the enormous Dragon Coffin came into view.
Encircled by the blood-red Hexagram, its form seemed to symbolize some sort of protection or sealing…
Qin Jianfu’s gaze shifted from the drafty Dragon Coffin, glancing around the ancient and majestic Great Hall, then returning, moving upward, finally settling on the face of the one-armed Confucian scholar.
He sat quietly on the Dragon Coffin.
His eyes were droopy, his dirty face serene.
Below, his hand gently patted the sword scabbard on his knee.
The old Confucian scholar, holding the candle, halted outside the blood-red Hexagram, leaving the final half-step underfoot.
He did not proceed.
“Why are you… so eager to provoke this old man?”
The disfigured old Confucian scholar stared at the drooping eyes of the one-armed Confucian scholar, asking with a calm expression.
“Oh, I forgot.”
The one-armed Confucian scholar’s hand paused on the sword scabbard, slightly taken aback.
“Sorry, I forgot that he seems to be gone already, and this little bastard doesn’t have the capability like his father has, with a Golden Core to protect him and escape, so I guess not even ashes would be left after being burnt, right?”
Qin Jianfu looked at Zhao Rong, his hunched figure motionless.
The half-candle that was once held lightly between the two fingers of his right hand now only had a small wick and a lone candle flame left. The ground below was littered with wax fragments.
The one-armed Confucian scholar seemed oblivious to all of this.
He rhythmically tapped the sword scabbard with one finger, slightly leaning back, slouching over the Dragon Coffin, watching the disfigured old Confucian scholar from above.
“So, as a father, at that time you just cared about your own swift escape, leaving your son behind?”
The disfigured old Confucian scholar ‘flicked’ the candle between his two fingers, a flicker of the flame silently danced, like a fire snake sticking out its tongue, licking his fingertip.
Qin Jianfu stared ahead, completely ignoring it, the orange glow of the flame baking his fingertip cast a dull yellow mask over his right cheek.
The old man looked at the young man calmly.
“What? Have you finally realized that there will come a day when you can’t protect him?”
Zhao Rong propped up his drooping eyelids, tilted his head, and chuckled lightly as he asked.
After speaking, he turned sideways, spitting a mouthful of bloody water on the ground.
Was it a mouthful of tongue-tip blood? Zhao Rong raised his hand to grasp the sword scabbard, wiping the uncontrollably curling corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.
He was laughing heartily.
Half a step away from the blood-colored hexagram lines, Qin Jianfu trembled his lips, closed his eyes, and slightly raised his head.
“You… really… want to anger me…”
The old man murmured, taking a deep breath.
The one-armed Confucian scholar clutched his stomach, laughed heartily, “Hahaha come on, old beast, even half a step away you become paranoid, and still think you can take my life with such little skill?”
The disfigured old Confucian scholar raised a right foot, yet under someone’s encouraging and expectant gaze, his right foot slowly paused in mid-air.
His foot was suspended above the blood-colored hexagram’s edge line.
Reluctant to step into the hexagram.
The air inside the great hall fell silent for a few breaths.
Then, the one-armed Confucian scholar seemed to have witnessed the biggest joke of the day.
“Hahaha cough cough cough… hahaha…”
He began to laugh uncontrollably, laughing till he coughed violently, continuing to laugh after coughing, seemingly unable to stop until he was out of breath.
The majestic great hall echoed with Zhao Rong’s free and easy laughter.
Qin Jianfu did not look at him, quietly lowered his head, focused on his right foot suspended in mid-air.
The old man inexplicably remembered a scene in the ward of the Qin residence in Liangjing of Great Wei, his newly recovered beloved son curious as he picked up the self-destruction golden core from under the covers.
It was precisely the cunning handiwork of the laughing scholar before him.
Qin Jianfu’s two fingers that held the flame trembled, causing the little candle flame to sway violently.
In a particular heart lake, Gui inhaled once more, concentrating his eyes to scrutinize the stalemate beyond his brow.
A young and an old Confucian scholar were still engaged in a game of wits.
From his perspective, this confrontation was dangerous and unequal.
Zhao Rong had only one chance, and he couldn’t lose. If he revealed even the slightest flaw, allowing the suspicious Qin Jianfu to seize it, or resolved to take a gamble, then this empty city ruse would instantly turn into a desperate strategy.
But Qin Jianfu’s suspicion and hesitation would eventually only be temporary; this old weasel was no fool and would ultimately take other actions to probe Zhao Rong.
So where in the world is there the reason to keep pretending to sing the empty city tune? If you can’t frighten them away on the first try, but are instead hesitatedly surrounded and scrutinized by a wolf waiting for opportunities, then the time would inevitably come, exposing a flaw, fattening its courage for a pounce to tear apart the last fragile veil.
Before the massive disparity in enemy numbers, all strategies were essentially delusional. The initiative lay in the opponent’s hands…
In the eyes of the Sword Spirit, Zhao Rong’s current situation was just as described.
Seeing the low-headed, ever silent old man outside, and hearing the free and easy laughter from someone outside, it could not help but turn its head to glance at the heart lake of the latter.
Despite laughing wantonly, his thoughts remained calm and deep, contemplating something unknown.
Could Zhao Rong be stalling until Zhao Qian’er and the others came with reinforcements? But… to taunt the old man excessively in this manner, is this really okay? A little bluff would suffice, too much is as bad as too little, he wouldn’t have forgotten this principle, would he?
Gui frowned and murmured, a heart once again hanging somewhat, hesitant on whether to advise Zhao Rong.
But it was at this moment that someone seemed to deliberately oppose the Sword Spirit.
Zhao Rong leaned forward, using one end of the sword scabbard to point at the low-headed and silent Qin Jianfu, smiling as he spoke:
“Old vermin with white hair, grey bearded old thief. As a Confucian, clinging to the Wei Dynasty for clothes and food; As an official, indulging a wicked son to harm the people! As a father, when disaster strikes, you selfishly abandon your son; Living ignobly in the world, possessing the cultivation of a Golden Core in vain, and studying the saintly Confucian books to no avail…”
The one-armed Confucian scholar’s tone turned vast, standing straight and facing directly the disfigured old senior before him from Siqi Academy, pointing the sword scabbard’s tip:
“Vile old thief, cowardly rodent, barely surviving, daring to come before me, smug and strutting! A stray old dog, on what grounds do you bark in front of me?”
“……”
The atmosphere in the great hall suddenly became deathly silent.
A storm of scolding directly pointing to the deep wounds of a certain old man’s heart.
Qin Jianfu lowered his head, staring at the swinging candle flame between his right fingers.
His expression indiscernible, only some murmurs floated in the great hall.
“Old vermin with white hair… grey bearded… old thief… as a Confucian… as an official… as a father… studying saintly books to no avail… stray… old dog…”
The air was still for a moment.
Qin Jianfu retracted the foot that was about to step inside the line, stopped half a step away, raised his head, and asked.
“Is there anything else.”
The old man looked at the one-armed scholar.
Zhao Rong glanced at Qin Jianfu’s retracted step.
He laughed.
He raised the back of his hand, once again forcefully wiping the bloodstained face, raising his chin, revealing a rather dazzling set of white teeth.
Grinning brightly, ready to speak.
The old man with two fingers twisted the candle, lowered his head, and gently blew at the flame ahead.
Then.
The one-armed scholar’s face was ‘lit’.
…
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PS: Cough cough, the next chapter will conclude this title…