Chapter 847 – A Zither-Playing Old Man (1/2)
Chapter 847 – A Zither-Playing Old Man
Translated by: Hypersheep325
Edited by: Michyrr
The cosmetic powder that the little girl sprinkled was naturally poison.
Chusu was the successor of the Yellow Springs, the remnants of Corpse-Beheading, so his body was pervaded through and through by a cold, foul, and sinister poison. Logically speaking, he should not have feared any poison.
However, this cosmetic powder was not normal poison, but the Tang clan's poison.
If a true elder like Shang Xingzhou were to see this, they would assuredly recall an even more far-off period of history.
How was the Tang clan of the southwest able to calmly pass so many years under the watch of countless experts of the Divine Domain?
Why was every head of the Tang clan so mysterious and terrifying?
Because the Tang clan's greatest expertise and its most frightening technique was poison.
But with the passage of time, few people remembered this fact.
……
……
Feeling his meridians rapidly withering, feeling his true blood flowing away, Chusu truly was about to go crazy.
In his eyes, these government laborers, peddlers, and fortune-tellers were all mediocre, in both cultivation and strength.
Normally, he would have even been able to deal with these elders that knew the Blazing Sun Style and the poison-spreading girl. But they worked together so harmoniously that there was no gap, no chance for him to counterattack, trapping him in a very dangerous situation.
This sort of feeling truly made him abnormally vexed, angry, and anguished.
A shriek burst from his bloodstained lips.
Countless tiny ripples arose on the surface of the river, cutting the poisoned fish and snakes into tiny chunks.
Countless streams of black blood shot into the surroundings, and then were converted by him, using the most traditional divine arts of the Longevity Sect, into a black fog.
The wind blew the black fog into countless wisps. Each wisp of smoke seemed to be alive, transforming into snakes, and then gradually forming faces.
These faces were at first fuzzy, but gradually turned clear, their facial features growing more distinct, their fangs, bones, and claws taking shape. Whether fierce or unfeeling, they were all sinister ghosts.
Countless sinister ghosts formed from the fog of blood charged towards the people on shore, sharp knives in hand.
Six chains clanged and clashed while countless black sparks emerged on the cudgels.
The streamers of the fortune-tellers fluttered in the wind while the hands of the peddlers had already landed on the model.
The two candy-selling elders were prepared to punch again and the little girl already had a fistful of powder ready.
Just when Chusu was prepared to use his most powerful attack, willing to risk his body and soul shattering to slaughter all the people on the shore…
The sound of a zither suddenly rose from the shore.
The sound of this zither was inferior to the tune played by the Demon Lord in the mountains, but it similarly seized the soul.
If Zhu Ye were still alive to hear this zither tune, his first reaction would still be to think of every method possible to escape.
This zither once played on the shore opposite the Daoist church.
The one playing the zither was a blind musician.
At some point, the blind zither player had arrived on the shore.
The blind zither player raised his head, seemingly glancing at Chusu.
There were no black pupils in his eyes, only white, but when they reflected the black blood and sinister ghosts, they appeared a little gray.
Chusu clearly knew that the zither player could not see, but he still felt like both his body and mind had been completely seen through.
Endless fear surged into his heart, almost bringing it to a stop.
He did not dare continue attacking. With all the speed that he could muster, he struggled free of those six chains and jumped into the Wenshui.
……
……
The notes of the zither rose in an endless stream, traveling through the snowstorm into the distance.
When the strings of the zither moved, the world responded, the soft snowflakes transforming into the sharpest flying daggers.
The sky over the river resounded with mournful and discordant laments, the miserable shrieks of countless sinister ghosts as they were cut into the finest pieces.
The snowflakes were dyed grayish black as they fell into the river, vanishing from sight.
Just like how Chusu had jumped into the river.
The light shone on the Wenshui, but Chusu's figure could no longer be seen, only a blur over the water.