Chapter 910: Chapter 536: Confucian Gentleman and Ink-clad Hero (Part 2)
The tall, thin elder with the jade pendant at his waist stood still, silently turning his head to glance at the figure of Zhu Yourong who rushed forward without hesitation.
He thought for a moment, but said nothing.
First, he raised his head and glanced at the dome of the Great Hall, silently conveying the specific location of this royal tomb hall back to Linlu Academy… Once these things were done, the tall, thin elder held the scholar’s jade disc and quietly surveyed the hall around him.
Similar to his actions was the silent ink knight behind him.
His entire body was gathered with snow-white sword energy, shrouded in a gray aura, at this moment his indistinct snow eyes meticulously scanned the hall once.
One Confucian, one ink knight, two cultivators of Taiyi, their divine senses vast as the sea.
The traces within the hall carried vast amounts of information.
For them, every footprint, every piece of debris, every drop of blood, every speck of dust, was like the replay of a video tape from Zhao Rong’s previous life.
For instance, the position Zhao Rong had sat at a stick of incense earlier, the error could be controlled within a millimeter.
This was a kind of ‘return to one’.
Instantaneously, the primordial spirits of the two Taiyi cultivators cast their gaze here, seeing what they wanted to see…
A breath later, the two almost simultaneously turned their heads, unable to resist looking at the corner where a small ‘bead’ had rolled.
It bore four marks from the heavens, undoubtedly a Golden Core.
Moreover, it seemed to still retain residual warmth, its core flashing a glimmer that illuminated a corner of the hall.
Then, they both turned to look at the one-armed Confucian scholar of the Fu Yao Realm, fallen beside the corpse of an old Confucian scholar by the Dragon Coffin.
Below, the old Confucian scholar’s dantian was pierced, his head scattered across the ground.
The tall, thin elder and the snow-white ink knight remained silent.
Fu Yao… killed the Golden Core.
Immediately, these two cultivators of Taiyi, who could make Mount Wangque tremble with a stomp, turned around and went in separate directions.
The tall, thin elder approached a sealed passageway blocked by rubble, leading to the rear hall of the underground palace.
At this moment, the faint sounds from deep within the passage could not escape his notice.
Inside seemed to be… some unfortunate women accompanying the ritual sacrifice?
The tall, thin elder turned his head, looking at the one-armed scholar fallen before the Dragon Coffin.
The direction his body finally leaned pointed to this rear hall passageway, as did his remaining left arm and blood-stained fingers.
The elder who enjoyed discussing the philosophy of benevolence with the scholars from Linlu and Taiqing School pursed his lips.
On the other side, the snow-white ink knight quietly stepped to an empty sword sheath, bent over to pick it up, lowered his eyes to look at the Tianming Swallow’s dark inscription, now stained dark red by someone’s blood.
The snow-white ink knight turned to scan the mess within the Great Hall, which still retained some traces of intricately planned designs and novel, bold traps.
The snow-white ink knight gently nodded, seemingly with a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
At this moment.
Zhu Yourong found it difficult to describe her own feelings.
She hurried toward the Dragon Coffin, yet upon seeing the pile of wreckage beneath it, yes, a pile, with the body atop it only marginally better than the headless corpse underneath.
But upon seeing this from afar, her steps inevitably slowed somewhat.
Midway, the Confucian woman slowly halted, her expression unclear.
After a moment, her paused footsteps resumed.
He, she just knew it was him.
The Confucian-robed woman quietly walked to the front of the Dragon Coffin, slowly bent her knees to squat, her hands suspended above his remains, moving back and forth through the air.
Nowhere to start.
Just like a doctor newly arrived at the operating table facing a soldier carried from a fierce trench, momentarily unsure where to begin.
Why… why did it turn out this way?
Zhu Yourong’s squatting body fell forward, her knees hit the ground, kneeling beside him.
Her jade hand grasped at where Zhao Rong’s severed right hand had once been, softly opening and closing her mouth.
This hand had written countless masterpieces, and once privately picked up a scroll to lightly tap her forehead, when she always nimbly dodged, blinking as if annoyed at his slowness, leading to another bout of playful teasing amid calligraphy practice.
The woman had also once secretly held this hand, under the desk, even when Jingzi Yu Huaiqin was present, though they standing guard hadn’t noticed.
She had grasped this hand, lightly carving a word into its palm, hoping it would never need to be used, then turned her face slightly flushed, uncertain of whether he misunderstood…
At this moment, Zhu Yourong reached for the severed arm, as if trying to grasp something, yet only caught a handful of empty air.
The woman took a deep breath, as if suddenly awakening, hastily leaning down, cradling Zhao Rong’s burnt beyond recognition upper body, two fingers pressed against his burnt shriveled chest, nervously checking his heartbeat, examining his condition…