Chapter 773: Chapter 469 Seeing Heart and Understanding Nature and a Beautiful Woman Knocking at the Door
An exquisitely carved agarwood desk lay shattered, its finely crafted pieces reduced to splinters on the floor, the refreshing scent of agarwood diffusing throughout the room.
A man’s silhouette stood amidst these fragments
Half of his body concealed in darkness, the other half draped in a watery cloak of moonlight spilling in from the window.
"Did you see it?"
Gui asked.
"See what."
"The Martial Artist."
Zhao Rong, rubbing his flush-stained cheeks, nodded, "...Yes, I saw it."
The Sword Spirit fell silent for a moment, then suddenly spoke, "What else?"
Zhao Rong furrowed his brows, looking down at the desk he had unintentionally shattered.
This Martial Artist of unknown origin seemed to feed on dragons; his surging blood and strength also appeared connected to the Dragon Descendants, following an entirely different path than the Martial Artists of the Xuanhuang Realm. In terms of vigor and physique, he seemed even more formidable.
But most crucially, accompanying this astonishing physique appeared to be a very strange phenomenon.
Negative emotions accumulated within his blood and flesh.
In a haze, Zhao Rong’s vision once again flashed with the scene he had witnessed through Gui’s drop of Heart Lake Water:
Amidst a sky filled with blood mist, sinister negative desires proliferated.
The lingering souls of dead True Dragons ’raised their heads’ in this carnivalesque bloodbath, reveling. expressing rage, greed, lust... a demonic revelry unbound.
This was definitely not the simple ’whale fall’ he had seen described in books.
Indeed, after the death of creatures like Kunpeng, their corpses, brimming with vitality and blood essence, could indeed nourish millions of demon beasts.
But these were natural phenomena, and the nurtured demon beasts were indiscriminate in species, disregarding the good or bad.
However, the Martial Artist Zhao Rong witnessed harbored some innate malignancy in his blood and physique, and these accumulated negative emotions of the True Dragon remnants... or perhaps desires, were enough to drive a mere mortal mad with a single glance, raving until death...
No wonder Gui had stayed put at the time, to cleanse this Martial Artist’s body with the fires of karma.
Even he, always so sure of his willpower, had almost failed to withstand it.
Bear in mind, this was only because Zhao Rong had used the projection of Gui’s Heart Lake and borrowed its eyes to glimpse an ancient scene from tens of thousands of years ago, in a distant place within the Vermilion Bird Constellation.
He had gained a vague understanding of the stature of this nameless Martial Artist and the power of Gui, who had been capable of slaying him.
At that moment, the young Confucian Scholar rubbed his face, murmuring softly:
"I also saw... some strange sort of Zen?"
"Zen? What is that?"
Gui sounded puzzled, always managing to pop up with something Gui had never heard of before.
Zhao Rong thought for a moment, then shook his head, "Nothing."
And fell silent.
Yet, in his mind, he still couldn’t shake the ghastly scene he had just witnessed:
The dragon-eating Martial Artist, his incinerated remains, the overwhelming blood demons, tearing dragon spirits, and an explosive accumulation of negative emotions...
And encircled by this hellscape of desire, the Martial Artist’s body, reduced to ash, left behind nothing but a set of... pure cyan crystal-like bones.
The skeleton was immaculate, radiating an artistic and exceedingly holy aura.
Zhao Rong felt this eerie scene was akin to that often depicted in certain mythologies, enveloped in an inexplicable sense of Zen.
He suddenly recalled a sect that didn’t exist in the Xuanhuang Realm.
Where exactly was this distant Martial Artist’s "hometown"?
Just then, Zhao Rong shuffled his feet, nudging the wooden splinters that had once been the desk.
The books and stationery that had been on the desk were also scattered on the floor.
He looked down, his brows knitting together, a restless irritation welling up from within.
Zhao Rong turned and rekindled the lamp, fetched the broom, and began to sweep away the broken wood.
Gui, too, was quiet for the moment, having seemingly expended quite a bit of soul power after offering a drop of Heart Lake Water to Zhao Rong. Speaking a few words to him, Gui’s voice even sounded tired.
There was silence between them for a while.
After Zhao Rong had finished sweeping, he tidied up the scattered books and items.
Only now, he was without a desk.
He exhaled and, feeling somewhat annoyed, glanced around the room. The next second, he stepped out and brought over a table normally used for dining with Qian’er and the others.
This table was also squarely built and of the right height, able to serve as a temporary desk.
Gui suddenly said, "Zhao Rong, I’m tired and need to rest for a few days, I’ll talk less. I have something to task you with..."
"How come you always have excuses, always sleeping?"
Zhao Rong interrupted it impatiently upon hearing the beginning of its words.
"Oh, your temper has grown, shouting at me now," the Sword Spirit said with a laugh.
Strangely, it wasn’t angry, its tone unexpectedly cheerful.
Zhao Rong pursed his lips and didn’t respond, realizing he may have been too harsh just now.
Gui’s fatigue was due to its recent assistance.
It’s just that Zhao Rong didn’t feel like apologizing at the moment, feeling for some reason very impatient and troubled with distracting thoughts.
He let out a ’hmph’ and then, out of the corner of his eye, caught sight of a greasy spot on the new desk.
The young Confucian Scholar frowned, taking a cloth to cover the new desk, and rearranged the stationery neatly on top.
The tablecloth was somewhat oversized, hanging down from all sides of the desk and even touching the floor.
He glanced at it, annoyed by the hanging fabric, but too lazy to adjust it further.
Zhao Rong was unaware that at this moment, bizarre slivers of blood began to appear at the edges of his brown irises, where they met the whites of his eyes.