Chapter 60: In the Midst of Wind and Rain

It was already July. For five consecutive days, the Imperial City had been either shrouded in rain or overcast with dark, swirling clouds and howling winds. The strange weather stirred a multitude of restless, chaotic thoughts in the hearts of those within.

Zhao Xiang, dressed in plain clothes, arrived at the clinic once again. He was not here to seek treatment for himself, but to inquire about an illness on behalf of another. Despite the gloom outside, the clinic was bathed in light. On the wall hung a copper lamp that burned with extraordinary brightness; its flame flickered steadily, yet emitted no smoke. Zhao Xiang glanced at it again, noting that the lamp contained no oil, yet the flame remained unceasing.

Shen Lian, wearing robes as blue as the sea, was focused on grinding ink. The ink was a deep, purplish-red, and a distinct cut was visible on his hand. Zhao Xiang did not know what kind of ink required blood for its preparation, but he knew that a man as extraordinary as Shen Lian would naturally perform many deeds beyond the comprehension of ordinary people.

He offered his greetings before stating his purpose.

"Are you saying the Emperor is ill?" Shen Lian asked without looking up.

"Yes. My grandmother has ruled for thirty years and has never been sick, yet this time she has fallen ill quite suddenly, and we are not permitted to see her." Zhao Xiang’s demeanor was solemn, yet the inherent air of nobility between his brows remained unchanged—a reflection of his true nature that he could not conceal.

Shen Lian asked, "Did the Crown Prince send you to ask me?"

"No, I came of my own volition. But my father must be curious as well," Zhao Xiang replied.

"The Emperor is not ill," Shen Lian said after a moment of contemplation.

A flicker of disappointment crossed Zhao Xiang’s face. Shen Lian was the last person the Empress had summoned before her illness. As for what exactly happened at Xiangji Temple that day, no one knew for certain, though some claimed to have seen Buddhas and flying dragons in the sky above the temple. If true, these were auspicious omens, not evil portents, so why would the Empress seal off the news?

Ku Hui certainly knew the truth, and he was currently inside the imperial palace. Many had been probing for information through various channels, but the old monk, having lived long enough to become as shrewd as a fox, had only let slip a small hint to those in the Eastern Palace: that the Empress had met with Shen Lian before falling ill.

Zhao Xiang did not doubt Shen Lian, but if she were not ill, was his grandmother merely feigning sickness to test them? Based on his understanding of her, she was not that kind of person. To the Empress, such petty, deceitful schemes were beneath her; she was far too grand and domineering. This only made the mystery surrounding the situation all the more baffling.

Shen Lian continued, "Go back and tell your father: 'The eight winds cannot move it; sitting upright on the purple-gold lotus.'"

To overcome movement with stillness was indeed the best strategy when the situation remained unclear. Zhao Xiang suddenly understood why his father had not explicitly asked him to consult Shen Lian, nor had he stopped him from coming. His father intended to use Shen Lian’s words to teach him this lesson.

Having grasped what he needed to know, Zhao Xiang took his leave. He could see that what Shen Lian was doing was of great importance, and he did not wish to intrude further.

Upon this meeting, Shen Lian’s own violet aura appeared much more stable, possessing a sense of new life beginning to stir and all things flourishing. Yet, was the Emperor in the palace truly unaware that one cannot defy destiny, or was she simply allowing her own fortune to wane?

That was certainly not the case. In the current situation, while the Crown Prince and Zhao Xiang were endowed with destiny, they were not the truly pivotal figures. The real key lay with Chao Xiaoyu, who sought to wrest the collective will of all living beings gathered in the Imperial City from the Empress.

The peerless grand formation laid out across the city and its surrounding landscape, designed to channel the will of the Great Zhou’s populace, was of vital importance to both Chao Xiaoyu and the Empress. Once Chao Xiaoyu obtained this collective will, she could use it as a catalyst to fuse with her own divinity, pushing her Nine Lotus Dharma manifestation to an exceptionally profound level. She would ascend in a single step, becoming a formidable power, a rare existence beneath the Immortal Practitioners, and a true force to be reckoned with in the cultivation world—no less significant than Chen Jianmei.

The world speculated that Chen Jianmei had already achieved the nine turns of the Golden Elixir and, having embarked on the path of sword cultivation, possessed an intangible sword technique of unparalleled power. This was why he could establish the "Life-Slaying Temple" in the Great Desolation, unrivaled in his ability to slay demons and eliminate evil.

Of course, Chao Xiaoyu and Chen Jianmei were two parallel lines with nothing in common. Shen Lian understood why the Daoist and Buddhist sects were considered the orthodox paths, while the path of the Divine was viewed as heterodox—it relied on borrowing power from others. The path of the Golden Elixir, though fraught with thousands of dangers, meant that once you succeeded, you succeeded; your fate remained in your own hands.

If the Empress and Chao Xiaoyu were indeed relying on others to achieve their ends, then his presence in the Imperial City made him a variable in their power struggle. Shen Lian believed that had he met them without his current strength to protect himself, he would undoubtedly have been eliminated or subjugated by them. There was no doubt about that.

The wound on his hand was healing, and the blood-ink grew darker. He had little left of the high-quality talisman paper he had brought down from the mountain. Shen Lian intended to use it all this time.

Two days remained until the seventh day of the seventh lunar month. On that night, the unprecedented and brilliant clash between the Empress and Chao Xiaoyu would unfold.

The ink was thick and uniform, emitting a faint, metallic scent of blood. Blood was naturally腥, but Shen Lian’s blood was remarkably pure, free from the impurities found in the blood of ordinary mortals. Even Ling Chongxiao’s blood had carried a faint fragrance; Shen Lian’s was even more so.

Ruoxi watched as her brother prepared the blood-ink and began to wield his brush. On the snow-white talisman paper, Shen Lian’s brushwork traced patterns like floating clouds. The blood-ink was viscous, thick and unyielding, with a dark, eerie halo.

The practice of creating talismans with blood had existed since ancient times. Shen Lian’s own spiritual blood, rich in vitality and channeled through the tip of his brush, allowed the resulting talismans to better connect with the energy of heaven and earth, manifesting immense power. Unfortunately, the talismans he had learned to craft rarely possessed great destructive force. It was said that in ancient times, some could create talismans with power rivaling formidable artifacts—a single slip of paper could move mountains, drain rivers, or burn the seas. One could only imagine what such a display of power looked like.

Shen Lian made three blood talismans in total. Any more would deplete his vital essence, and even if he were to make thirty, they would not resolve the current situation.

Afterward, Shen Lian settled down to read and write with Ruoxi. It was fortunate that the weather had been so poor; Ruoxi did not clamor to go out. In truth, if he told her not to go, she would listen, but he never wanted to force her to do things she did not enjoy. Perhaps this had made her a bit wilful and spoiled, more like her mother in her youth. But Ruoxi’s maturity far exceeded his expectations; perhaps from the day she began to cook porridge for him, the little girl had already drawn a line between her past and her present.

Bai Shaoliu had visited twice during this time. He finally stopped obsessing over the questions Shen Lian had posed. His sword techniques now incorporated more natural movements, even possessing an indescribable charm—far more complex than the simple, endless flow of water.

The second time Bai Shaoliu came, it was to say goodbye. The proprietress was moving away, and he wanted to know if he should follow. She had shown him great kindness, and he feared for her safety if she were alone in a strange land. Although the proprietress had a mysterious junior sister and secrets of her own, Bai Shaoliu still wished to protect her.

As Bai Shaoliu took his leave, Shen Lian felt a sudden premonition: he would meet this young man again.