My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 84 - 73: Falling Flower Grade Poetry and Furnace Tripods
Chapter 84: Chapter 73: Falling Flower Grade Poetry and Furnace Tripods
The air was as thick as grease at this moment.
Qingjingzi had experienced the greatest insult of his life, deeply etched into his soul.
With every breath, it felt like a drowning man desperately searching for any wisp of air while being choked by the sea.
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His face was expressionless, and his eyes squinted forcibly, merely to conceal the murderous intent flooding them!
However, his hand that was grasping at prayer beads in front of his stomach betrayed his emotions as it clenched tightly, trembling nonstop.
Qingjingzi slightly tilted his head left and right, and noticed that everyone within his field of view, just like the young Confucian scholar he wished to flay alive, was watching him, awaiting his answer.
He even had the illusion that the surrounding onlookers were all mocking him with the same jesting and disdainful gazes as Zhao Ziyu.
Qingjingzi’s blood rushed to his head, flushing his face red, he parted his lips, and was about to respond the next second, but suddenly slammed to a halt!
This was his long-standing pride—alertness and steadiness—which stopped him.
Well past the age of hot-blooded recklessness, even though he had been living a life of privilege and leisurely cultivation for many years, Lin Wenruo’s recent, unexpected provocation awakened his vigilance as a Golden Core Realm cultivator who defied the heavens.
He caught a whiff of something amiss, but in a short span of time, couldn’t pinpoint where this unease originated.
Zhao Rong saw the Daoist, clothed in the purple and yellow State Preceptor robe, who clenched that very Furnace Core he longed for, suddenly pause as he was about to speak, close his mouth, and despite maintaining an unchanged expression, gradually opened his narrowed eyes and continued to rotate his prayer beads.
A heaviness suddenly sank in Zhao Rong’s heart, but he promptly took action.
Zhao Rong’s previously calm expression lifted with a raised eyebrow. He turned his head to the right, glanced at Lin Wenruo and the audience to his right, and suddenly seemed amused by something, chuckling happily, shrugging and shaking his head. He stopped looking at Qingjingzi, said no more, and casually turned to leave.
Qingjingzi had just been carefully speculating on Zhao Ziyu’s motives in his heart, but seeing this, he became angry again. To be repeatedly mocked and scorned in public by a brat not even a tenth of his age was too much, and despite believing his Qi Cultivation Technique to be quite good, he couldn’t help but feel a three-parts clay bodhisattva’s rage.
However, he did not immediately respond. Instead, as Zhao Rong turned to leave, he glanced left and right, and after receiving a nod from a certain purple-clad woman, he pondered for three breaths, then suddenly spoke out.
“Bet, why not bet? Boy, what are you running for?”
Zhao Rong stopped in his tracks, not turning immediately but leisurely looked over his shoulder, glancing at Qingjingzi behind him, “Oh? Given so much time, have you finally figured it out? Decided to stop being a coward? Forget it, if you need half a day to think about such a trivial matter, I’m afraid you can’t bear to lose later.”
Qingjingzi let out a cold snort but didn’t reply. Instead, he said directly, “This National Master robe I wear, called the Heavenly Immortal Cave Clothes, is a thousand-year-old heritage of Zhongnan Country, crafted from many Zhongnan Mountain Spiritual Treasures. The one thousand eight hundred Daoist Magic Arrays on it have been blessed and supplemented by successive Zhongnan State Preceptors, and have many functions, such as concealing the master’s cultivation level…”
“Enough, enough, who cares about the raggedy functions of your worthless trinket? If you lose the debate later, just leave everything you have on you, walk away in your underwear, and don’t let me see you again,” Zhao Rong said impatiently.
No sooner had he spoken than the uproar of over two thousand watchers witnessing this wager grew louder, wave after wave, drowning out Zhao Rong’s voice for a moment.
“Silence!”
Liuyi Jushi frowned and reprimanded.
The previously bubbling air instantly quieted down.
All eyes in the venue were on Zhao Rong and Qingjingzi, wondering if the latter would dare to accept this absurd bet.
After a few moments, they did not disappoint the crowd there for the spectacle.
“Agreed.” The yellow and purple Daoist spat out two words between his teeth, then the corners of his mouth twisted into an almost semicircular exaggerated curve, revealing a chilling row of white teeth, and said word for word, “So, what will you wager with Daoist Father?”
Zhao Rong silently observed Qingjingzi, finally earning the response he was waiting for. Yet, he could feel that the yellow and purple Daoist had been thoroughly infuriated by him, and the look in his eyes held a terrifying pressure.
This Daoist before him was one who had forged their own little world within the body, turning heaven and earth into a Furnace, and had refined an Immortal Golden Pill of the Fifth Realm.
But Zhao Rong felt… that was all there was to it. After all, he had even dared to touch the whiskers of a Nascent Soul Realm Sword Cultivator who could command the wind and clouds on the mountain, and had already embarked on the Cultivation path. Plus, with his extraordinary birth, imposing figure, and excessive courage… well, Zhao Rong admitted that this was only part of the reason, the main one being that nearby was Liuyi Jushi, blocking factors that could affect the fair conduct of the debate. This allowed him to be so relaxed.
Zhao Rong turned around and walked to the table where he had placed the folded piece of Poetry Paper. He gently extended a finger and lifted one corner of the poem-paper, which had been folded twice.
Between the folds, a snippet of starry sky and a corner of the bright moon were revealed.
Gently, a breeze passed by, lifting the right sleeve of the young Confucian scholar’s robe who was picking at the paper.
At this moment, from a distance, the scene unfolded.
A Poem Paper, a table, a scholar.
Breezes filled the sleeves, stars and moon adorned the poem.
“This is…” Liuyi Jushi mumbled drunkenly, squinting his eyes at the sight.
The little fox demon’s eyes widened in shock.
Qingjingzi’s expression became stern.
“Falling Flower Grade, State of No Self,” Lin Wenruo said softly.
Layman Liuyi nodded, then looked around and, after a sigh that subsided the murmuring of the crowd, everyone was silent.
The old man turned his head back, unable to resist giving the Poetry Paper another look.
Back then, when he was a mere mortal prince and a Confucian Scholar filled with admiration for the sages and hope for Confucianism, how old was he when he first wrote a Falling Flower Grade poem? He must have been thirty already, and even then, it was only a Falling Flower Grade within the State of Self. He remembered, she always laughed at his excessive sentiment and craftsmanship, saying that unless there was an accident, he would never be able to write poetry in the State of No Self…
But later, he completed a poem in the State of No Self for her, where was she then? It seemed she remained in the twilight of the old kingdom.
The old kingdom had long since fallen into ruin, and he, now with a haggard face and white hair, looks back in an instant… Why didn’t he stay with that woman, that Confucian attire, those osmanthus flowers of autumn, and the city engulfed in flames?
The drunken old man hastily took a gulp of wine, as if he couldn’t quench the sorrow that spilled through his white beard.
Layman Liuyi came back to his senses and glanced at the two young Confucian scholars in front of him.
One who wished to manage their household and country with Confucian Skill.
One a young scholar full of youthful ambitions.
He then gave Zhao Rong, who casually pressed a finger on the Poetry Paper of a Falling Flower Grade State of No Self, a deeper look, as if reminded of something.
The poem under Zhao Rong’s fingertip was composed during a moon-viewing night at Lake Heart Pavilion, originally intended to be given to someone before leaving. Now, pushed by the situation, it had to be brought out earlier as a stake to deal with the current predicament.
Zhao Rong, seeing no one speaking around him, spoke up softly, “This is my wager.”
Qingjingzi moved his gaze away from the Poetry Paper, looked at Zhao Rong, and suddenly scoffed, “Not enough, is this all you have?”
Zhao Rong frowned slightly and looked towards Layman Liuyi.
Layman Liuyi pondered for a moment and nodded.
The stake was indeed a bit short.
A Falling Flower Grade, State of No Self poem was certainly precious, especially for a mountain Immortal Sect, as it could continuously provide opportunities for disciples to break through the Fu Yao Realm bottleneck and advance to the Vast Realm, as long as the user aligned with its artistic conception.
And entering through poetry was like a rare item, mostly held in Academies and by some Confucian cultivators’ hands, rarely circulated on the mountain—primarily one-time consumables. Not to mention the constantly usable Poetry Paper of a Falling Flower Grade, State of No Self, and who knows whether more than a handful have circulated and traded on the Wangque Continent mountains over the past hundred years.
However, it was ultimately limited to lower realms, only helping beginning cultivators through the first major hurdle of cultivation. For cultivators above the Third Realm, the higher they went, the smaller its use.
What Qingjingzi offered was an Inheritance Robe that held value even for cultivators in the half-step to Nascent Soul Realm, and… dignity.
All things considered, just this poem alone as a stake was indeed somewhat lacking.
Lin Wenruo, who was next to him, had no idea what Zhao Rong was plotting; he still thought Zhao Rong was merely trying to take up his fight and continue to draw hatred, playing the role of a noble steed.
He took off the blue-white jade that symbolized the status of a scholar in Academies and was also his Lifebound Artifact from his waist and stepped forward to place it alongside the Poetry Paper of the Falling Flower Grade as part of Zhao Rong’s wager. However, Zhao Rong stopped him with his hand.
Zhao Rong turned his head and said nonchalantly to Qingjingzi, “Then you tell me what else you want. As long as it’s mine, I can offer it, otherwise, let’s forget it.”
Qingjingzi spoke directly and aggressively, “I also wager your ragged attire. If you lose, you’ll take it off, leave it at Chongxu Temple to be used as a cleaning rag, and go down Taibai Mountain in nothing but your drawers!”
Zhao Rong thought for a moment, then replied softly, “Agreed.”
“And…”
Zhao Rong interrupted him, his voice serious, “In fact, if you don’t want to wager intentionally, you can just say so. There’s no need to act as if it’s not that I don’t wager, but he can’t afford to wager. Are you just unwilling to admit to being a coward? You’ve been the State Preceptor for so long, lacking virtue matching your position, and this little bit of face is what worries you?”
Qingjingzi was inflamed again upon hearing this; he had always had smooth sailing since he started his cultivation journey and was not used to such common brawling. He said in a stiff voice, “There’s one last thing.”
Zhao Rong pursed his lips and after a moment of silence, said, “Let’s hear it.”
The eyes of Daoist Huang Zi looked sinister as they settled on a certain delicate figure beside Zhao Rong.
“I wager that Fox Clan girl in the Core Formation Stage next to you. If you lose, she will become my furnace for refinement!”
The young Confucian narrowed his eyes.
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PS: This chapter is 3k words; it was inconvenient to stop at 2k… otherwise, you’d say I’m padding it out, cough cough, so it’s a bit late. Little Rong is writing close to five thousand words every day now; truly not short~
