The Heart-Destroying Realm

With these words, another blow fell from the golden mace with surging momentum. Had it landed squarely, it would have immediately cost Zhang Ling his life. However, how could Song Qingtian, who had been watching from afar, allow him to kill his own disciple as he wished?

A torrent descended from the sky, striking dead center upon the golden mace. Wang Qianzhong, consumed by sudden fury, lost his grip, and both the torrent and the mace plunged simultaneously into the ground. Zhang Ling stood breathless before the blade and mace, still shaken, as Song Linjie, who had accompanied his grandfather, stepped forward to support him.

Zhang Ling never expected that a few careless words of his could cause the dignified Imperial Preceptor of a nation to lose his composure entirely and nearly cost him his life. This served as a stark warning to himself that he must never again speak so recklessly.

Looking at himself, who had nearly suffered a cultivation deviation, Wang Qianzhong found it hard to believe that his state of mind had been shaken by a young man's mere words.

Song Qingtian stretched out his hand, and the torrent returned directly to his grasp. Wang Qianzhong pulled his golden mace from the ground, only to see his opponent sheathing his blade immediately after drawing it. Wang Qianzhong asked, "Not fighting?"

Song Qingtian replied softly, "To ruin one's heart for the sake of martial prowess is truly deeply disappointing."

Wang Qianzhong was in the same realm as Song Qingtian, yet upon hearing these words, he offered no retort. Whether in mental state or in combat, he was far inferior to his opponent. Had he been able to spar with such a grandmaster of the martial arts, it surely would have proved immensely beneficial to him. Yet over the span of a dozen years, whenever Wang Qianzhong approached the foot of Kongyao Mountain, his heart would fail him, and he would retreat. It was then that he realized he had begun to fear death. Later, hiding away within the imperial palace until the present day, it was only by sheer good fortune that he had managed to enter the Return-to-Origin Realm. Even so, he still lacked the courage to engage Song Qingtian in battle. Standing before this man and trembling while holding his golden mace, he had constantly pondered the reason—what on earth had caused his state of mind to plummet so drastically? It was not until he saw Xiao Qinhe once more and stood speechless before her accusations, followed by a mere youth like Zhang Ling who dared to show him utter disrespect, that Wang Qianzhong understood in his heart. In pursuit of the so-called grandmaster realm, he had lost everything. In the end, he possessed only an empty realm, accomplished neither in literature nor in martial arts, and could not even be considered a pure wanderer of the lakes and rivers.

To hold a post is to bear its responsibilities. Had he been a man of the rivers and lakes, it would have been one thing, but as the Imperial Preceptor of a nation, Wang Qianzhong had neglected affairs of state for the sake of martial arts. In anyone's eyes, this was utterly shameful. As for his so-called protection of the people of Chenliu, Wang Qianzhong knew it was merely an excuse. Wrong was wrong; he simply had never dared to admit it.

Song Qingtian's momentum was soaring. Following his brief exchange of blows with Du Haifanxin, his mastery of the Dao of the blade had ascended to an even higher level. The man before him was not enough to cause him any fear, and the Dean of the Academy was even confident he could beat him to the ground within ten moves.

By now, the people on the street had either locked their doors or fled far away. They knew this atmosphere was far from a gentleman's duel; the slightest ripple of aftermath would be enough to make them repent with their lives.

Song Qingtian asked Zhang Ling, "How are you?"

Zhang Ling smiled. "I won't die."

He then turned to Wang Qianzhong. "My apologies, Lord Preceptor. I shall visit the imperial palace myself later, but I dare not accompany you any further. Otherwise, my life might be forfeit before I even reach the palace gates."

Wang Qianzhong remained silent. Had Song Qingtian not been present, Zhang Ling would never have dared to be so presumptuous, but the greater part of it stemmed from the dread deep within his own heart.

Song Qingtian tossed the torrent-like weapon to Song Linjie. For his slender-framed grandfather, it was a weapon that required both arms just to embrace.

Song Qingtian said contemptuously, "I know you reached the foot of the academy mountain eleven years ago, and turned back halfway on several subsequent occasions. Since you wish to test your skills against me, let me, Song Qingtian, tell you this: my academy's disciples are not people you can touch."

Wang Qianzhong was gripped by a mixture of excitement and terror as his gaze fell upon Song Linjie. "You aren't using a blade?"

The grandfather and grandson shared the exact same arrogance: "You aren't worthy."

Though advanced in age, Song Qingtian possessed an extraordinary and imposing physique. Merely standing there was enough to strike awe into the hearts of others. A surging aura spilled forth from his body, causing his long robes to flutter without wind, fully embodying the demeanor of a transcendent master.

Song Qingtian walked forward step by step. With each step he took, Wang Qianzhong felt an extra layer of oppression. Before he knew it, Song Qingtian was right before him. Wang Qianzhong awoke with a sudden start as Song Qingtian pushed out with a single palm, offering him not the slightest chance of resistance.

Wang Qianzhong was sent flying backward for thirty feet, the Imperial Preceptor of a generation rendered as pitiful as a joke.

The two young men behind him were struck with utter astonishment. Since when had Dean Song become so terrifying? Wang Qianzhong, for all his flaws, was still in the Return-to-Origin Realm; yet he could not withstand even a single palm strike from him.

Song Qingtian felt a fair bit of surprise as well, and his gaze toward Wang Qianzhong grew even more disdainful.

The Dean cast a glance at his two disciples, and the pair followed closely behind him as he continued forward. Passing by Wang Qianzhong, they discovered that the man had indeed been knocked completely unconscious by a single palm strike from the Dean.

The three of them met with no obstruction as they made their way through the city. Once outside the city walls, Song Qingtian looked at Zhang Ling. "Lend me National Mourning."

Zhang Ling handed him the blade. Taking it, Song Qingtian saw the veins on his hands bulge, yet despite exerting a massive amount of force, he still failed to draw National Mourning from its sheath.

Returning the blade to Zhang Ling, Song Qingtian said softly, "Just as I thought. I tested the subsequent seven blades; apart from Du Haifanxin's Binghua, which required some effort, the others were drawn with ease. But this blade has the fortune of the nation locked within its scabbard. If I were to truly use my utmost strength, the result would likely be the destruction of the blade itself."

Song Qingtian asked, "Did you truly feel nothing unusual?"

Zhang Ling shook his head. "Dean, what did you expect me to feel?"

Song Qingtian explained, "After hundreds of years of precipitation, every imperial jade seal becomes imbued with the dragon aura of successive emperors, using this as a medium to absorb the fortune of the mortal realm. It is no exaggeration to call it a living thing. Now that it has been forged into a blade, the national fortune is sealed within the scabbard. Since you drew the blade, logically, this fortune should have descended upon you, or at the very least, the true qi within your body would have circulated at an accelerated pace for a period of time. Yet you felt not the slightest sensation. That can only mean the blade has not acknowledged you. The strange part is—how on earth were you able to draw it?"

Zhang Ling gave a bitter smile. "Does that mean not only did I fail to get any benefits, but I also have to go clean up the mess with the imperial court?"

Song Qingtian smiled faintly. "You insisted on being meddlesome with your hands; you can blame no one else."

Zhang Ling suddenly asked, "By the way, Dean, did you really knock Wang Qianzhong down with a single palm strike? Is he truly that weak, or have you mastered some peerless martial art?"

Song Qingtian sighed. "I never expected that in his pursuit of a realm, he would cast away everything else. Leave aside myself; even Li Qingqiu might not necessarily lose to him in a fight. Truly, it is the misfortune of the Chen State that its three pillars of state have fallen one after another, leaving even National Mourning to fall into your hands."

Feeling rather displeased, Zhang Ling wondered how he had managed to get dragged into this matter as well.

...

With the matter of the Chancellor coming to a close, the court officials harbored their own hidden agendas. As for those who had previously belonged to the Chancellor's faction, although the people of Chenliu did not explicitly voice anything, certain others wished to seize the opportunity to suppress them. They spread rumors intended to slander them, hoping to make His Majesty believe these remnants were showing signs of a resurgence, thereby prompting him to strip them of their official posts. This would allow those harboring ulterior motives to insert their own people into those positions and expand their own influence. Yet what they truly failed to anticipate was that His Majesty turned a blind eye to all of this, even commanding the long-isolated Censorate to conduct a thorough investigation. Without exception, the officials who had deliberately spread rumors faced consequences—the lighter punishments were demotions, while the heavier ones meant execution. None of them had expected His Majesty to act with such swift and decisive thunder this time, catching many completely off guard. Those who sought help from their deeply influential colleagues found that when it truly mattered between life and death, these so-called intimate friends treated them like absolute strangers. Rather than offering help when someone was dying, they were all terrified of having their hard-earned official caps snatched away—caps they had cultivated blessings for several lifetimes to wear just once. Most people would not lose their minds for the sake of immediate gains; compared to these worldly possessions they no longer lacked, the hats upon their heads were far more precious. As for astute men like Minister Lu, who worked closely by His Majesty's side, he had long since figured out all the stakes, risks, and the traps set by the Emperor. For those fools who stubbornly jumped headfirst into danger, he never felt an ounce of pity. Ever since the incident involving Xiao Qinhe, however, His Majesty seemed like a completely different person, forcing Minister Lu to weigh every single step and tread even more cautiously within the imperial court.