Chapter Seventy-Three: Taking a Master

Three days later, the apprenticeship ceremony took place.

A hundred and one new disciples stood upon the great square. Senior Brother Si Le led the sect’s disciples to the stone steps at the edge of the square, waiting for the ceremony to begin. After a time, the doors of the main hall swung wide. Master Yangliu appeared, adorned in a golden silk Daoist robe, holding a golden staff in hand, his presence solemn as he walked to the center of the platform atop the stairs and gazed out across the square.

Senior disciple Si Le announced in a voice as resonant as a great bell, “The Three Rivers Palace trial lasted two days, with over seven hundred participants. We have recruited one hundred, and made a special exception for one more, for a total of one hundred and one disciples.” At this, he glanced toward Qin Xiaomo.

No sooner had Si Le finished his words than the square erupted in murmurs.

“A special exception? Who could it be?”

“Even for an apprenticeship, there’s—”

Just then, four pairs of eyes met. Her flawless cheeks suddenly flushed, a sight that made Wu Tao’s heart tremble, sending ripples through his soul.

Within the tower, faced with the towering water giant so close at hand, the sorcerers—who ordinarily regarded mortals as livestock—could only scream in terror. Only the proud man glared with a livid expression, gritting his teeth as he looked at his companion who had utterly abandoned all dignity as a sorcerer.

It had been slumbering all along, and by the time the news reached it, the battle had already begun, so it hurried there with all its might. Yet, upon arrival, it was startled to find so many formidable opponents had assembled on the other side. It immediately abandoned any thought of advancing.

Now, Xiao Li was intent on forming a third Black Banner Divine Guard, a tactical unit of forty-nine members. This was destined to be an elite force. Previously, the group from the madhouse had transported a large number of troops to the Execution Platform directly from the Three Kings’ first training ground, a spectacular feat. Now that the Execution Banner was in his hands, he intended to make the most of it.

Lin Feng and Sun Ming nodded in unison. It was their first time at the NJ Military District, and they were eager to look around.

The Confucian Sage Sect held loyalty and filial piety as its highest tenets; to lack either was to bear a crime that would stain one’s name for generations.

They spent half a day surveilling the terrain, always from afar with binoculars. Observing with binoculars was different from looking directly; cultivators could scarcely sense the former, while the latter would often alert them.

Clouds surged and the Glorious Sanctuary descended with an unstoppable majesty, the vision in the sky shaking everyone’s spirit.

Though Chen Song and his companions wished to cause trouble, they could find no suitable opportunity. They secretly incited some locals to create minor disturbances, but Hou Ji and his men swiftly suppressed them.

The nation had sent them abroad with solemn vows to serve their country upon their return, but once overseas, those promises were forgotten. All they thought of was coming home to reap unearned benefits; it was clear that promises were the least trustworthy thing of all.

Saint Lu Copello slammed his hand on the table in fury, the glass top rattling beneath his blows. He was the leader of the trio, the others having followed his lead; his authority was unmatched, and he was also the supreme head of the Argentine Church.

Blue lightning struck once more from the heavens, lashing out at Wang Han, who was still spewing torrents from his mouth. At the same time, two more seastone bullets shot toward him.

It fled for about half a quarter of an hour before suddenly halting in the sea of consciousness, its gaze wary as it searched its surroundings and finally sensed that something was wrong.

Xiao Jinyu felt a sudden chill in his heart. Even the Jin family was wavering; it seemed he would need to find another way. In any case, he would not give up.

He had never imagined that the situation at Tong Pass would be so complicated; at this point, it seemed almost unsolvable.

He never had any great matters of state to handle anyway; what needed doing was done. This was nothing like Emperor Yang of Sui, and as for Old Xu Maogong’s nagging, he could brush it off—such needless worry.

Apart from some inexplicable sense, Qian Qingshi’s eyes could not pierce the golden surface of the sea at all.

Laborers had already entered the political stage, students were moderates, soldiers quietly dabbled in commerce, but the church now influenced every aspect of the nation.

Yet the one who had most eagerly pushed for this, Song Yiqing, felt no joy. She was overtaken by a peculiar mix of emotions—uncertain, bittersweet, tinged with sorrow and sadness, with even a trace of barely perceptible joy.