Chapter 886: Chapter 524: Live, and Make It Back Alive!
About a hundred miles south of the Bamboo Forest Courtyard.
By the bank of a rushing river, under a tree, a figure that had suddenly appeared here, the black mana enveloping its entire body slowly dissipating.
On the ground appeared the silhouette of an injured man, his snow-white clothes now soaked with blood, covered in dust and bamboo leaves.
One sleeve hanging empty, he lay on the ground, his breath weak.
Beside him lay a scholar sword.
For a moment, there was silence.
“Wake up, Zhao Rong!” Gui assessed the situation and urgently called out…
Not long after.
Zhao Rong, urged awake by the Sword Spirit, rolled over onto his back on the grass, freeing his only remaining left hand, and grabbed a handful of healing spiritual medicine from the Sumeru object in his bosom.
Many of them came from the treasury of the Great Li Kingdom.
The young Confucian Scholar, his face covered in blood, breath as faint as a thread, tremblingly poured bottles of elixir pills onto the ground with his left hand.
Then his left hand groped blindly on the ground, grabbing a handful of pills mixed with sand and dust, swallowing them with blood like jujubes, difficult and awkward…
The Sword Spirit anxiously felt the gradually stabilizing energy within him, slightly letting out a breath of relief.
Initially, Zhao Rong felt a stifling sensation of blood clogging his chest, his breathing labored, on the brink of suffocation, but soon, as the effects of these priceless spirit pills dissolved upon entry, he finally managed to catch that most challenging breath.
“After all, Zhu Yourong understands you.”
Gui suddenly sighed.
At this moment, the young Confucian Scholar was gasping heavily, lying on the grass, his eyes wide open, stupidly staring at the gradually darkening sky.
He instinctively wanted to stretch his right hand, only to find it was gone, causing the corners of his mouth to curl self-mockingly, his left hand struggling to grab the scholar sword on the ground to his right.
Zhao Rong held the scholar sword horizontally before his eyes, blankly staring at the spot where Zhu Yourong had secretly left a ‘stroke’.
Zhu Yourong had played a small trick on him.
She only wrote two characters.
One “eternal”, one “right”.
But it wasn’t ten strokes, it was eleven.
There was nothing to do with the character “right”, but she deliberately wrote the character “eternal” with six strokes.
The horizontal turning “フ” divided into two strokes, he was fooled too, or perhaps subconsciously ignored it, only thinking at the time she was being playful, not writing seriously, now thinking back…
“Did she guess already then…”
Zhao Rong muttered to himself, staring at the scholar sword, his eyes pained by the sunlight reflecting off the blade.
Yet this pain was nothing compared to the searing anguish from the stump of his severed arm.
Zhao Rong’s lips were pale, his phantom limb on the right felt as if it were still there.
The flesh at the severed arm seemed engulfed in hot lava, each drop of blood boiling with searing pain, accumulating into a boiling sea of suffering, crashing over him like tidal waves.
He was numb with pain.
If not for the spirit pills slowly taking effect within him, the mighty flood long physique of Fu Yao Realm gradually absorbing spiritual energy and beginning to repair, Zhao Rong would have long since passed out from blood loss.
As Zhao Rong stared blankly, Gui cautiously surveyed the surroundings, unable to help but sigh with regret:
“Zhao Rong, looking at this environment, it seems we haven’t escaped far, the river beside runs south, we were transported downstream to the south, Zhao Qian’er on the contrary, was sent a thousand miles northward against the flow, and us… only one stroke… no surprise, that’s only a hundred miles.”
Zhao Rong still lay on the grass, holding the sword with one arm, staring at the sword soundlessly.
He was puzzled by one thing.
The Sword Spirit paused after speaking, then its tone became a little more forlorn:
“Too close, too close, your energy is surely still locked onto by that old brute, he’s of Golden Core Cultivation, even if it’s by swallowing foreign elixirs, it’s still Golden Core Realm, a hundred miles is too close, he will catch up soon… and your injuries…”
It fell silent, sighing in melancholy.
The dazed Zhao Rong suddenly asked: “Did she already guess back then that I, Zhao Ziyu would someday… seek death?”
The Sword Spirit was momentarily stunned, then irritably said:
“Does she really need to guess? With your self-righteous, dictatorial nature that never listens to anyone, you might call it having opinions and responsibilities on the nice side, but to speak harshly, it’s male chauvinism, stubborn and self-willed. Zhu Yourong left you ten strokes, but you gave them all to that little girl, not caring if she wanted them…”
It nodded, praising:
“Well done, Young Master Zhao, it was glorious, the young girl was moved to tears, but besides that, is there any other meaning? You just up and left, but Zhao Lingfei and Zhao Qian’er became widows in your glory, not to mention there’s a little Fox Demon too, they will all mourn and blame themselves for a lifetime for you…”
Zhao Rong: “…”
The Sword Spirit coldly sneered again: “All because your women spoiled you, still Zhu Yourong is more mature and reliable, understands your temperament, so left a backup, though now it seems useless, it’s all a dead end, can’t save the ever-seeking-death Young Master Zhao.”
The young Confucian Scholar looked at the bright blade, taking a deep breath and blinked, momentarily forgetting the numbing pain.
Unexpectedly, the Sword Spirit’s ‘fighting power’ was so strong now, its sarcastic criticism made him almost blush in self-reproach.
With the doubt in his mind cleared, Zhao Rong took a deep breath, used the back of his sword-holding hand to wipe off the bloodstains on his face, then smiled and said: