Jiang Chen said nothing, nor did he turn his head.
Back in the Twenty-Seventh Castle, Grand Preceptor Zhao had been far too perfect — far too magnanimous, far too wise.
Could a man so wise truly fail to see what his own son was doing?
And yet Zhao Che had grown into precisely the person he was today.
That was how Jiang Chen had sensed the killing intent.
He wished it were merely a misperception. He wanted to believe in the warm, hopeful side of the world. Even though nearly every person who had ever shown him that warmth was already dead.
But the instant he saw Yin Guan, he understood. He was nothing more than bait.
Perhaps Yin Guan had hidden himself too well. Perhaps the divination had simply failed.
Either way, the Upper City had not been able to find Yin Guan.
And Grand Preceptor Zhao had deliberately trumpeted Jiang Chen's deeds before the entire crowd, for the sole purpose of drawing Yin Guan's attention. Using Jiang Chen — a stranger who had rendered service to the State of You — to lure Yin Guan into the open.
The invitation to the Upper City, the gift of a Year-Nourishing Pill — all of it was merely to dispel suspicion. Not only Jiang Chen's own wariness, but also the hidden, watchful wariness of Yin Guan.
Even Fang Pengju had tried to kill him. Even Dean Dong had deceived him. Grand Preceptor Zhao, the Grand Preceptor of the State of You, using him as bait — that was nothing extraordinary.
But he was, nonetheless, furious.
Could it be that doing good led only to misfortune?
Could it be that good and evil went unrewarded, and heaven played favorites?
Behind Jiang Chen, Yin Guan and Zheng Chaoyang collided with a thunderous crash.
One was a young cultivator not yet twenty, a candidate for the Upper City's ranks. The other was a veteran warrior of fearsome reputation, the legendary commander of the Stele-Bearing Army.
One was of middling build, his wide sleeves billowing. The other was bare-chested, massive and imposing.
Even their hands could not have been more different. One palm drifted like a wisp of silk. The other fist struck like a mountain.
Yet when they met, they held — frozen for a heartbeat.
Then they separated, both driven back. Yin Guan drifted several yards to the rear. Zheng Chaoyang retreated seven full steps.
Evenly matched.
Zheng Chaoyang was stunned.
He would not claim to be invincible, but within the State of You, he was indisputably among the very strongest. He had cut his teeth on countless battlefields, and in all the State of You, he recognized no peer save Grand Preceptor Zhao.
And now the young lord of some Lower City — a man not yet twenty, who had never once cultivated in the Upper City — had fought him to a standstill?
Was this... what a true prodigy looked like?
Iron-willed as he was, Zheng Chaoyang faltered for a single, fleeting instant.
Then dark clouds blotted out the sun, and black smoke rolled in like a cage.
It was the embodiment of curse, of hatred, of despair, of agony.
Every dark, writhing, desperate thing made manifest.
A violent, profane energy erupted without restraint.
Yin Guan's eyes began to glow green. His dark hair stretched, falling all the way to his feet.
"All filthy arts and crooked paths!" Zheng Chaoyang roared, and his fist thundered forward. Vital blood surged forth in a beacon of crimson smoke that blazed upward to slam into the black clouds.
His fist drove in, his body following close behind. The killing aura cleaved through space itself, manifesting as spears, lances, and blades — a sky-covering onslaught of steel.
The killing arts of the Military Cultivators.
To raze a city to ruin, to forge malice into arms!
The crimson smoke cut through the dark miasma, slicing open the hatred and curses.
"There are no crooked paths," Yin Guan said, refusing to yield a single step. "Only crooked men. I would have liked to learn some righteous techniques, but the Upper City is nothing but mediocrity huddled together for warmth. For a talent like me, would they ever let me rise?"
Zheng Chaoyang had no answer.
Because a prodigy of Yin Guan's caliber, appearing in any generation of Lower City lords, would inevitably be the finest choice — more than sufficient to please the Guardian Sacred Beast.
That was precisely why Su Quan had "accidentally" revealed the young man's talent. A display of such magnitude would win the Upper City's favor, and Su Quan would be rewarded handsomely. Moving his entire household into the Upper City would be a small thing.
Zheng Chaoyang could not answer, but his fists must.
Vital blood shattered evil. Military malice drove back the curse.
The sky above was divided — half black clouds, half crimson smoke.
His blood-energy was almost solid, coiled around fist and foot alike.
With each step came a punch, with each punch a step, drawing ever closer to his opponent.
He had never liked to concern himself with matters beyond the battlefield. Grand Preceptor Zhao had told him there was a chance to catch the traitor Yin Guan here, so he had come.
Grand Preceptor Zhao had to remain within the city — both to guard the Upper City and to guide the Guardian Sacred Beast at need, and to watch for the possibility that Yin Guan was still hiding within or had other contingencies in play.
Given Yin Guan's methods of stirring the Sacred Beast to fury, only he — Zheng Chaoyang — could make this move with certainty.
He had always trusted Grand Preceptor Zhao's judgment. He had not hesitated.
But Yin Guan was stronger than he had assessed.
This surpassed even his concept of genius.
If he went all out now, trading life for life, he might still be able to keep Yin Guan here.
But was that the right thing to do?
For the first time, Zheng Chaoyang doubted his own fist.
And as his resolve wavered, Yin Guan's attacks grew only more savage.
"The mountains and rivers are at peace, and Baxi bears the Stele of Merit! But what about you, Zheng Chaoyang — what stele do you bear?"
Zheng Chaoyang could not answer. He could not.
The colossal turtle beast of Baxi bloodline, at full power, commanded combat strength approaching the True Vision realm.
It was the State of You's greatest military asset.
Throughout history, it had repeatedly rescued the state from the brink of destruction.
That was why it had become the Guardian Sacred Beast.
But he knew what the Sacred Beast required.
As commander of the Stele-Bearing Army, the foremost figure of the State of You's military — the matter of feeding gifted cultivators to the Sacred Beast could not have escaped his knowledge.
He had questioned it. He had wavered.
But if the Guardian Sacred Beast were to leave, could he — Zheng Chaoyang — hold the State of You's territory?
He could not.
He was willing to die for the State of You. But even dying would not save it.
After all, he was only at the peak of the Outer Tower realm, Fourth Grade, and had been stalled before Divine Descent for decades.
Grand Preceptor Zhao, aided by the Upper City's great formation, could project Divine Descent-level combat power. But a single Divine Descent cultivator was not enough to protect a nation in this age of fierce competition.
One person sacrificed every half year, in exchange for the survival of the entire State of You — was that not worth it?
And so he had grown less and less willing to concern himself with worldly matters. He focused only on martial affairs and cultivation. But was that not itself a form of escape?
He could not answer Yin Guan's question.
After all, he excelled only in battle.
So he would fight.
Fist against palm, vital blood against curse.
Hundreds of collisions in a single breath.
Zheng Chaoyang stood silent, his body like a mountain.
The green light in Yin Guan's eyes intensified, nearly transforming them entirely into something bestial. His hair, grown to the ground, whipped around him like a demon or a monster.
Where he had learned these dark arts, no one knew.
What this young man had endured, no one knew either.
Boom!
A violent exchange ended.
The two separated once more.
Just as the green light seemed on the verge of consuming him entirely, Yin Guan suddenly shut his eyes.
When he opened them again, they had returned to normal, and his hair had retracted to its usual length.
He knew he could not kill Zheng Chaoyang — not now.
But it was enough.
He broke off the fight without hesitation and shot away into the distance.
A single voice trailed behind him, laced with dark energy, rolling across the vast distance to detonate above the Twenty-Seventh Castle.
"One day I will return. I will tear down your stele and twist off your head!"
Whether in the Upper City or the Lower City, the Twenty-Seventh Castle — everyone who heard those words was gripped by terror.
They all knew that Zheng Chaoyang himself had given chase. And yet even Zheng Chaoyang had failed to slay the man.
Zheng Chaoyang silently gathered in his blood-energy and watched the direction Yin Guan had vanished.
Yin Guan did not once look back. He did not spare the Twenty-Seventh Castle a single glance.