Book 8 Chapter 1

Mourning festivals

- Incense carries its soul in smoke and blows on the wind.

On the red altar

The incense burning in the bronze furnace is burning itself.

Reconcile with smoke and ascend into the sky on the wind.

The silent burning of the incense sticks conveys the fervent wishes of many people. May the souls of the dead ascend safely to the resting place of the dead in the smoke of the burning incense!

Incense burned with the prayers of thousands to carry twenty souls. Outside the Hall of Souls, where an altar was set up to comfort the spirits of the fallen, hundreds of martial artists milled about in frenzied formation. They were all dressed in white robes as transparent as the first snowfall, honoring the spirits of their fallen comrades. The scene was solemn and solemn. No one dared to laugh or make small talk; they stood motionless, their fiery eyes fixed on the hall. The eyes of the warriors glowed as they stared at the twenty plaques on the altar, burning anger in their hearts.

As with any wedding, the general atmosphere surrounding the ceremony is usually grim and dreary, but this was a funeral home unlike any other. The air surrounding the chapel was tense, like a tightly wound protest, and the tension had a chilling quality to it. The weight of the air on people's shoulders was unbearably heavy.

This was a very special place, one that could not be described as any other merchant house. Ordinary merchants would not be wearing white mourning robes and white sashes on their foreheads to mourn the deaths of others, nor would they be carrying armory of sharpened swords. But all of them, like you, carried weapons, and their weapons were now cold and lifeless.

"Big… my guys……."

Inside the marriage hall, an elderly man standing behind the back of the presiding priest presiding over the ritual let out a groan of anger as he shook his balled-up fist. It was Elder Zhang Yueyin of the Cloudless Cloud Sect, who usually taught the art of stealth. When he saw the dead bodies of the martial artists he had taught, he felt as if his own child had been stabbed by a villain, and his cold blood boiled over.

The power of his anger boiled over, defying the passage of time.

"Is it the first disaster in thirty years……."

A loud sigh came from the mouth of an old man with a white beard reaching to his chest, who stood beside Zhang Yueyin, who was unable to overcome his frustration. He stroked his beard as he sighed, and for him, it was a way of living and controlling his anger.

"This hasn't happened in thirty years… Who would dare to do such a cowardly thing to our Heavenly Martial Academy? The annihilation of the entire population… It's just too unreal to believe……."

Sheng Chengzhu, a sword master who had spent half his life teaching swords to the younger generation at the Heavenly Martial Arts Academy, was deeply saddened.

The twenty coffins behind the twenty plaques were empty, with no bodies in them, except for one. Except for one, no body could be found. The fact that they were unable to retrieve even the bodies of their disciples had made the samurai even more agitated, and they were now furious at themselves for not being able to do so… if only they had been able to retrieve the bodies intact.

The whole atmosphere of the Ginhon Festival was toxic.

The face of Heavenly Martial Master Iron Fist Majinga, who was presiding over the ceremony, was visibly hardened. It was only by virtue of his infinite patience that he was able to contain the lava-like rage in his chest without letting it out. He could not let it out directly, even though his anger was rising because of his position. His exalted position in the martial realm made him unable to express his feelings of joy or pain.

Don't be afraid to express your feelings just because you're in a higher position. It's a big mistake to think you have the right to do so. The higher the status of someone, the more they should be able to recognize their feelings and be cautious.

This is because he has such an impact on his surroundings that his mood swings can sway the emotions of those around him. The danger is that one small gesture can lead to the co-optation of a powerhouse.

He was not incompetent enough not to know it, and so he was now quietly, and yet more intensely than anyone else, chiseling away at his anger.

Although the relationship between the two sides has been on the rocks lately, since the Heavenly Blood Tax a hundred years ago, the relationship between the two sides has been one of cold, fake smiles, even if they are gnashing their teeth on the inside. For nearly a hundred years, the Cold War system had been in place, allowing them to pass without major incidents, so the annihilation of an entire army was a major event.

For nearly 100 years, peace has been maintained in the region, ostensibly without bloodshed and with forced smiles amidst the tension between the two sides. Of course, this is not to say that there have not been some large and small events in the interim that have caused a flurry of bloodshed, but there has never been a head-on collision of political forces, and if you look at the details, the recent peace can be said to be the peace of the past thirty years.

Inwardly, they gnashed their teeth, wailed, and sharpened their swords, but outwardly, they were bashful… With a bright smile on their faces, they played out a false peace. But even a false peace was a thousand times better than the bloody, murderous reality, so everyone kept their mouths shut.

Everyone has turned a blind eye to the embers within. A molten iron that has been forced to condense over and over again will one day bounce back harder and harder, and right now, Kang Ho may be receiving that bounce back.

In the last thirty years, no other minor defense force had been directly attacked by the Heavenly Academy. A sanctuary that not even the most mentally traumatized radicals on the Black Island dared to touch! That was the Celestial Academy.

That pride has been bruised again after thirty years.

To be honest, Mazinger was at a loss as to what he should do next.

The anger of the people of the Celestial Academy was rising, but they were unable to protest directly against the Black Order. It was not for lack of courage, nor was it for lack of power, for what had happened to the center and fulcrum of the Black Isles was no less symbolic, if not greater.

God of the Black Sword Sect! The eldest grandson of Gal Zhonghyeok of the Heavenly Sword! The death of Gal Huobong of the Blood Stream Sword!

The involvement of the Heavenly Martialists was something that could not be overlooked. Even if they claimed innocence and screamed at the top of their lungs, without evidence, the odds were stacked against them. It was a maddening and frantic endeavor on the part of the accused.

Even if he had tried to end things neatly and without incident, it would have been impossible to do so after the tangled mess that was Eunwon. Any further entanglement would have resulted in another round of bloodshed for the martial arts.

The solemnity of the ceremony echoed through the hall, with only the sound of chanting to drown out the burning in Mazin's heart.

Mazinger looked around with his heart in his throat and his mind racing. As expected, the faces of the chiefs were set in a grave expression that could not be compared to the feverish faces of their disciples on the stage.

While no one was saying it directly, it was clear that everyone was struggling to figure out what to do about this huge, overwhelming situation.

It wasn't a situation where they dared to speak to each other. They didn't want to see blood on their hands because they didn't know when it would explode.

As Yun Hejin, a priest from the Shaman sect, led the ceremony by chanting sutras, the sound of the sutras echoed in the wind and echoed through the performance hall.

Undaunted by the heavy air in the hall, Yun He continued with the ceremony. He had a grave duty to perform the next step.

The air in the hall grew even heavier as the sound of chanting added to the gloomy atmosphere.

"Greetings!"

When the officiating Yun He shouted out the next ceremonial step, dozens of musicians entered, carrying all manner of instruments, including koto, zither, and flute. The courtyard was so large that there was no shortage of room for all the musicians, both male and female, to enter and take their places. As the musicians took their places in a circle, the center space was inevitably circled.

Tsk! Tsk!

A clear ringing bell!

All eyes turned to one place.

A woman stepped forward, wrapped in a simple but brilliant five-colored silk robe and adorned with all manner of gold and silver ornaments. Around her neck hung a necklace of five-colored gems, and her slender milky wrists and ankles were adorned with golden bracelets with silver bangles. Her appearance was so beautiful and mysterious that it seemed as if a heavenly fairy had descended to earth.

For a moment, an eerie silence enveloped the room. Everyone was speechless, mesmerized, staring at her beauty. Her pure radiance, her noble bearing, her dazzling demeanor, her pearly white skin.

So dazzling it could blind a man! Heavenly beauty!

She was none other than Na Yerin.

"Oooooooh!"

People's jaws dropped. Genuine admiration burst from their open mouths.

Even the plainest of armor, which usually prioritized functionality, could not conceal her beauty, for it was impossible. But when she was adorned with the finest silk, the finest workmanship, and the finest ornaments, she was no longer a temporal beauty. No wonder people were enchanted and lost their souls.

The outfits were very much out of place at a wedding, but no one complained. Everyone knew it was part of the ritual. Instead of complaining, they were enthusiastic. Even if they can't show it outwardly because they're at a wedding, they're showing it inwardly.

Everyone in the hall was mesmerized by the beauty of the monk's footsteps and the poverty of his condition.

Soul Sword Dance!

A dance with a sword to comfort the spirits of fallen warriors!

Chirp!

With a clear, crisp sword sound, her beloved Jade Spirit was drawn from its sheath. A milky white sword with a dazzling aura of auspiciousness shattered the sunlight and shone brilliantly.

"Hey!"

Then the musicians began to play.

Eek!

As the musicians played, Na Yerin silently sliced through the air. Only she and her sword seemed to exist in this world.

At first, it was a tediously slow sword. It was a slow movement that seemed to take a year to complete. But as the music intensified, her sword began to grow faster and faster, as if in response to the music. Her dagger flashed with light, scattering clear, clean brilliance into the air. The sword and the tune became one, creating a wonderful harmony.

Her cuffs fluttered down to the floor, spiraling around her body in an illusionary fashion. The cuffs fluttered wildly in the wind, blurring the vision of the onlookers. Na Yerin's body began to spin like a top. Pure white snowflakes began to float around her.

When a celestial maiden descends and dances in the lower world, who can fail to be enchanted by her beauty?

The sword swam gracefully through the air, drawing fluid spirals like a breeze. It was a beautiful dance, like a painting on a blank sheet of white paper. The neat sword qi drew a pure white trajectory in thin air. A cold chill flowed from the sword in her slender hand.

The chill from the jade spirit rose up around her, forming a pure white cloud. Na Yerin's sword dance grew faster and faster, building to a crescendo as the music rose to a crescendo. Those in the audience had already passed the stage of watching and were now deeply engrossed in the sword dance. Those who were mesmerized by her sword dance could feel their hearts pounding and their blood pumping faster and faster with each move. Without realizing it, they were being drawn in and excited by the sword dance. The atmosphere in the hall was getting more and more heated.

A sword dance so beautiful that tears rolled down my cheeks, turning the world white. A chilling woe breathed from the tip of the sword as it swept through the air. The tunes that filled the hall of hearts made those in attendance feel a heart-wrenching sorrow. And Na Yerin's absolute beauty sublimated that sorrow to pure white.

Everyone was mesmerized and speechless as the air was stolen from their lungs. Her body began to spin, spiraling more and more.

Even the musicians who had been playing the notes were drawn into her sword dance, playing furiously with all their might. Beads of sweat dripped into the air as they played with soulful intensity, and her dance was building to a crescendo as if in response. Na Yerin was now spinning so furiously that the eye could hardly keep up. The wind seemed to whip around her body. A beam of black light stretched out horizontally from her spinning body.

Zeeeeeeeee!

It was a halberd that vibrated the air.

Her dance ended with a sword that seemed to cut the sky and earth in half.

"Ding!"

The pitch has stopped.

A hollow silence descended. No one took the initiative to break the sweet silence. People were still recovering from their ecstasy. The silence was longer than expected. And then, after half an hour!

"Woah woah woah!"

The room erupted into a frenzied roar. The room was a cauldron of emotions, filled with fervor and excitement. Even the sadness and anger that had been reigning in the hall were blown away.

"Ooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

With a high-pitched shout, the warrior's intentions are ignited.

Gongsong Yilqui left the matchmaking festival with heavy steps. Leaving the largest matchmaking festival in thirty years, the Sword Lord of the Senate's steps were as heavy as if he were wearing a pair of Tianke's shoes, and his complexion was so somber as to be reminiscent of a corpse.

The Jinhon Hall, which means "place to appease the spirits," is the place where official deaths occurred, not natural deaths. In the event of an official death, this was the place to hold a ceremony to honor the memory of the fallen soldier. For those who simply died naturally, a separate place was set aside called the Jihonjeon (弔魂殿).

The roles of early and late marriage ceremonies are incorrect. If the early marriage hall was merely a place to honor the spirits of the dead, the true marriage hall, in addition to honoring the spirits of the dead and appeasing the grudges of the dead, also served to ignite the fighting spirit of the survivors.

Since time immemorial, the purpose of these large-scale weddings has been to fuel the hearts of allies burning with rage and to boost morale.

But even so, this was not the time to start a war.

Thump, thump, thump!

With each polite step he took, a deep anger grew within him. A bit of rebuke for himself, and an unbridled, unquenchable rage against his enemies! The earth screams and shakes with each step.

He stared wordlessly at the blue, withered sky, his old eyes filled with the deep blue.

"Did I kill them?"

It felt like a limb had been ripped from his body. It had been a long time since a subordinate who had always been by his side, who had been like an appendage, had died so suddenly. My heart ached as I thought of all the people who had died and left no name, or even a body.

Because they are spies. No spy assistant, whether in the Zhengfa or the Four Sects, ever lived to tell the tale, for they always lived in the shadow of the sun and the darkness of the night, and secrecy was their highest calling. But if they died, at least their names were to be left behind, for that was the place of the Zhengfa. On the Black Island, the deaths of spies and spies would be left in the dark, but those who profess to be members of the Order could never do that. Even if they were the ones who erased their names, erased their existence from the world.

"After thirty years…will blood be blown to the mighty."

It was the first crisis since the dreaded Jundong Bisa, also known as the War of the Feathers, thirty years earlier. The atmosphere in both the political and military spheres was tense.

Since the bloody nightmare of the Ten Thousand Blood Tax a hundred years ago, the political parties and factions have managed to keep their own peace, albeit at odds. Seventy years later, however, the tenuous tug-of-war between the two factions is finally broken by an unexpected mace. After 70 years of perfect ambushes, the soldiers are the remnants of the Heavenly Terror Spirit's followers, the Heavenly Terror Wings.

Thirty years ago, there was a great battle against feathers, aka Operation Pluck. There was a major show of force commonly referred to as Operation Pluck.

What does Feather mean? Feather is a cursed name in the Martial Realm, a name that refers to the remnants and hidden followers of the Celestial Spirit. Despite the fact that the true ruler and all-encompassing Heavenly Frightening Blood God, Wei Tianmu, has disappeared and is unaccounted for, the Heavenly Frightening Spirit has not been completely extinguished, but has left behind a persistent remnant. They were called "feathers" because they were separated from the body.

Their resistance was so fierce and so secretive that, despite the disappearance of their spiritual leader and the absence of a headquarters, it was suspected. This secrecy was the greatest enemy of the party. The enemy in the sunlight is not to be feared, but a sword flying silently in the darkness, no matter how few in number, is threatening enough.

Finally, the Zheng and Sapa agreed to unite under a hundred-year-old pact and launched a massive feather search. Gu Hal, the intelligence organization of the Zheng family, was engaged in a major search operation. It is said that the shadow intelligence industry made huge unseen sacrifices. But those sacrifices were not announced. They were born in the dark, lived in the dark, and returned to the dark. Leaving behind a single line of information that they traded for their lives!

After a two-year manhunt, the home base of the Thunder Gods was discovered, and a massive extermination campaign was launched. It was the first time in 70 years that a major war between the two sides had been fought.

It's called Operation Pluck!

But the united front didn't mean it was all over. There were still many mountains to climb. Unexpectedly, the resistance from the Thunder Gods was fierce. Partisans and factions alike suffered heavy losses. But most of the damage was not done in a head-on collision with a feather. It was done by a fellow man who had his back, and that's why it was so futile and tragic.

Before long, the forces of the Thousand Terror had penetrated deep into the heart of the court. It was not uncommon for distrust of one's fellow man to grow among the ranks. At great cost in blood and sacrifice, the Second Order finally succeeded in eradicating the Feathers. But the damage was done, and it left an indelible scar and fear in the land. The unspeakable horror of the fact that they have not yet been completely eradicated from the Great Lake! They have left their mark in the most violent, raucous, and brutal way possible. It was like giving blood armor to a forgotten nightmare.

Bam!

Gong Zongliquan clenched his hand so tightly that it bled. Within it was a trace of the last life left by the Heavenly Disciple Su Dokgo, the last blood he had shed.

"Wait!

With his mind made up, Gong Yi made his way to his quarters.

Boo!

Bi Ryuyeon's cheeks were swollen with wind, not dirt.

"Why… why would you do that?"

Sweat beaded on the Southern Palace's forehead as he watched. The scene before him suddenly became grim.

His cheeks had been swollen for a while now, and it was clear that his frustration was building up inside him. After watching him tirelessly for a year and a half, Nan Gongsheng was able to recognize the condition of his big brother at a glance.

"Big… big deal!

A loud warning bell rang in the back of his mind. At a time like this, it would have been in his best interest to quickly retreat to a hundred zhang outside of the Bi Ryuyeon Yan radius, but he was not in a position to do so now. A sense of urgency gripped him that if he allowed his frustration and irritation to continue to build up and explode, something might happen that could not be repaired. Such an unfortunate outcome had to be prevented at all costs. That was his duty now.

In order to deal with the crisis and resolve the situation, the first step was to trace the cause of the incident. When the ceremony took place in the hall, there was no change in Bi Ryuyeon's state of mind. It was only after Na Yerin Sojae's ecstatic and holy sword dance that her state of mind changed. When Na Yerin appeared, Bi Ryuyeon's emotions didn't change much. In fact, she was even pleased to see the beautifully dressed Na Yerin, but after the dance was over, she remained that way. The Southern Palace Master could not recall the intervening events, for while Qin Lie would be appalled if he knew, he himself was so mesmerized by Na Yerin's swordplay that he could not think of anything else. Of course, it was a top secret that Qin Lie must never know.

When Na Yerin's sword dance ended with a final black sound, Namgung Sang felt as if he had wandered into a dream. There was still a faint remnant of nostalgia in his heart.

It was also at this time that he noticed that fat had appeared on Bi Ryuyeon's face, which suggests that she had expressed her dissatisfaction with Na Yerin's sword dance.

"What on earth is there to complain about in that beautiful, mysterious sword dance?

This was beyond the comprehension of the ordinary human mind, so he let his thoughts flow out without fear.

"Big brother, what's been bothering you for a while now?"

After he spoke, Namgungsang said, "Aha. It was too blunt, but the ship had already left the docks.

"I don't like it!"

In a shrill voice, Bi Ryuyeon said.

"What is it, that beautiful, mysterious sword dance of yours?"

Voila!

Finally, Bi Ryuyeon fed Namgung-sang an egg chestnut.

"No way, you idiot!"

The absurdity is that it's a don't ask, don't tell kind of thing, so there's no direct complaint about the sword dance.

"Then what on earth are you complaining about?"

Namgung Sang frowned, his brow still furrowed. Dealing with the always unpredictable humans was incredibly tiring in many ways.

"I don't like it!"

Her swollen cheeks were still showing no signs of going down.

"So what the heck is the complaint?"

In frustration, Namgung-sang patted his chest.

"It's so pretty!"

Ryu's answer was something else entirely.

"Where in the world is that a reason to be angry? Isn't anger a legitimate expression of feelings about something that's not right?"

The reason she came up with was not a very good one.

"But she's too pretty to look at!"

His voice was still gruff.

"Yes?"

Namgung Sang's face contorted strangely as he listened to Bi Ryuyeon's complaints.

"Isn't that usually when you say you don't want to be alone?"

"No. Why, why should I have to suffer the absurdity of sharing the beauty of what is mine with others?"

In short, she never wanted to share a joy that doubles or triples when shared. It would be unacceptable for Na Yerin's beauty to be enjoyed by others. But first, there was a catch.

"But it's not a metatype yet!"

The idea of the Bing Bai Peak Na Yerin belonging to a single man was something that would enrage not only hundreds of Heavenly Martial Academy students, but thousands of male martial artists.

"It's only undecided(未定), it's already scheduled(豫定)!"

Bi Ryuyeon replied with a pout. Apparently, he wanted to assert his monopoly on Na Yerin's lust.

"There's nothing more elusive than the heart of an original beauty."

Moxa Moxa started dating Qinling and dared to pretend to know about male-female relationships.

"Don't you know that the impossible exists to make the possible, and I'm probably the only one in the world who knows the softness and sweetness of her lips?"

"Yes?"

Namgung Sang's eyes widened.

"What's the big deal?"

"Is that… is that… what you just said true?"

"So do I look lazy enough to be cracking jokes with you right now?"

"But how, how could that have happened, how could that have been possible?"

Gongsang's mouth twitched like a crucian carp.

"Why are you so upset about this, when you also kissed a lion?"

Namgungsang's face instantly turned red.

"That… that's not the same as this!"

He wanted to be different somehow, but his ideas and philosophy didn't seem to be working.

"It's the same! What law in the world is so unreasonable that it's the height of absurdity that you can kiss a spirit and I can't? What's the difference?"

"That… is definitely different though."

But alas, Namgungsang was always going to be no match for Bi Liuyin. He was still her meal.

"He who is always one step ahead of everyone else is always the last man standing."

He spoke with a triumphant smile and the tone of a worn and tattered professional.

'I think we're on the wrong topic…….'

Namgungsang let out an involuntary sigh.

"Wow, I'm not sure what to say about being targeted and hunted for my life, not only by the Bingfeng Movie Guard, but also by the entire male student body of the Heavenly Martial Academy."

The reason why so many men harbored ill-will toward his big brother was still a mystery to him. In fact, he didn't know enough to be friends with an idiot.

"You're the one who gets the spit first!"

Where did he get his ridiculous confidence from? He was still a man who defied common sense.

"I think the issue here is more about the location of the spit, not where it was applied……."

Namgungsang muttered quietly to himself. The last thing he needed was to speak out loud and have his big brother tear him to shreds.

At this time, there was someone watching from afar, observing the childlike behavior of the shadowy figure, and his eyes were filled with deep skepticism. The Bi Ryuyeon he was seeing now was a serious departure from the extraordinary figure he had seen last time.

"Who the heck is the author?

Cheung recalls the unbelievable things he witnessed that day. Just thinking about it makes him break out in a cold sweat.

Which one is his true self, the one he's showing me now or the one he showed me that day? Which one is his true self, the one I saw that day that wasn't a dream?

Ever since they returned from Mt. Wudang, Qingfeng, Bai Muyoung, and the sixteen master craftsmen had kept their mouths shut and practiced total silence in response to the constant stream of questions from all directions, as if they had made a promise. Everyone's hearts were in the same place.

"I don't want to be a lying idiot!

This was their common desire, and so they could not speak, even if they wanted to. They knew all too well that the moment they spoke, they would become charlatans, masters of falsehood.

"How did you manage to send that dreaded Iron Curtain back?

'I really admire you. How did you manage to defeat the Ironclad?

'Have they gone home in peace, for I have heard that they never turn their horses until they have annihilated the enemy?'

A constant stream of questions, and not even the slightest hint of an answer.

"What was the tactic?"

"What's the tactic……!

"What was the main martial art you used?"

"Wukong is what……!

"What kind of martial arts were useful to them?"

'Doghorn……!

And,

"What the heck happened that day?"

"Teach me!" "Teach me!" "Teach me!" "Teach me!"

However, never wanting to be labeled as a liar, he could only keep his mouth firmly shut in the face of the flood of questions from the Heavenly Chamber, like a river overflowing during the rainy season. Even though his ears ached from the din.

"Whoa……."

I let out a deep sigh.

The events of the day, the scenes of the day, the majesty of the day… and the unforgettable recklessness of the day!

I can still see the events of that day like they were imprinted in my mind's eye.

The image was burned into his mind like a flame! He would not forget it for a long time, if ever. The book of memories that had been flipped through in his mind began to open again.