Chapter 636 – The Monk by the Stream, the Daoist in the Rain (2/2)

The Tang Second Master's smile finally faded. Looking at Tang Thirty-Six, he said, ”This is forcing me to compete over the clan?”

Tang Thirty-Six laughed. ”Our Tang clan…no, your Tang clan's favorite thing isn't using profit to control a person's heart? I also want to try.”

Hearing this, the Tang Second Master once more noiselessly laughed, his mouth agape. He looked rather horrifying.

”Stop laughing like this, Second Uncle.” Tang Thirty-Six's smile suddenly vanished as he earnestly said, ”It's very foolish, truly like a blockhead.”

……

……

Because it was closer to the night sky, on normal days when the stars came out, the peak of the Mausoleum of Books should have been brighter. However, tonight, the night was filled with clouds and devoid of stars, and thus the darkness here was deeper than in any other place in the capital. The screen formed of clear light on the Divine Path was made even clearer by this contrast, making even the smallest detail visible.

Just now, Chen Changsheng had seen on this screen the Orthodox Academy and the middle-aged man very similar to Tang Thirty-Six. He did not know who this person was, but he could guess. However, he could not imagine what would happen between uncle and nephew, nor did he know what the people of the Wenshui Tang clan were prepared to do in the capital.

The Tianhai Divine Empress probably knew more, but she did not care.

She had known beforehand that the Tang clan absolutely would send someone, that the Tang clan should send someone. How could the old man on the banks of the Wenshui who had been suppressed by her supreme authority for more than two centuries possibly miss out on tonight's opportunity?

Everyone that should have come had come.

”Those who shouldn't have come have also come.”

The Tianhai Divine Empress's gaze left the scenes in the darkness and shot into the distance.

The distance here was a place extremely far away.

Earlier, whether it was the appearance of Zhu Luo and Guan Xingke, Wuqiong Bi and Bie Yanghong, the seventeen rebellious princes, or the Four Great Clans, none of them had been able to cause a single flicker of change upon her face.

Yet when she turned her gaze to that distant place, her expression finally grew a little more solemn.

The capital sat in the center of the continent. The place farthest from here might be the Great Western Continent, or perhaps the islands in the Southern Sea, or the boundless snowy plains to the north of Xuelao City.

Or the Cloud Grave.

In the Cloud Grave was a solitary mountain, and three hundred li out from the solitary mountain was a sparsely inhabited village. This village was called Xining.

Outside this village was an old temple, behind the old temple a small stream. It was said that this stream flowed from the solitary mountain within the Cloud Grave.

At some point, a monk had appeared at the stream.

This monk was dressed in a monk's robes, covered in dust and tears yet giving off a transcendent air.

This monk had a handsome and delicate appearance. It was difficult to put a specific age on him, but he was probably middle-aged. At the corners of his eyes were a few faint wrinkles. His eyes were tranquil and clear, containing a boundless compassion and love. It seemed like they could see incomparably distant places, could see everything.

This monk dipped his feet into the waters of the stream and sighed.

This sigh contained abnormally complex emotions.

His feet had already walked tens of thousands of li and he was too tired.

He and the rest of the members of his clan had been gone from this continent for almost one thousand years, too long.

A faint smile appeared on the monk's face. Rain suddenly began to fall from the sky above the stream.

The Cloud Grave was the final destination of all clouds and also the origin of all waters. This place was very close to the Cloud Grave, so this rain was the freshest rain.

Tens of thousands of li away, it also began to rain over the capital. The misty rain penetrated through the darkness, falling upon the streets and the mausoleum.

In the south of the city, on an ordinary street, a drifting strand of rain slightly deformed, rays of light refracting through it.

A Daoist walked out from the rainy night, out of empty air.

He stood in the dark street under the autumn rain, yet he gave off the feeling that he was not actually there.

He was at some place, any place in the world, his true position constantly changing and impossible to pin down.

The fine rain fell without a sound and on the two sides of this ordinary street, the people were all asleep. Not one person woke up.

Only he was awake.

The Daoist gazed further south towards the mountain mausoleum, his expression calm.

At the peak of the mausoleum, the Tianhai Divine Empress was quietly gazing through the darkness at him.

Chen Changsheng also saw the Daoist.

He silently cried out ”Master”, but he did not actually call out.

Because that Daoist did not look at him, only at the Tianhai Divine Empress.

He recalled that in his ten-odd years of life in Xining Village's old temple, his master would often only gaze at his senior brother, not at him. It was like he had never existed in his master's eyes.

”Empress, just abdicate,” the Daoist said as he gazed at the Mausoleum of Books.