?74: Chapter 58: Grasping the Divine Weapon Again!

    74: Chapter 58: Grasping the Divine Weapon Again!

    Li Guanyi’s appearance brought the entire Literary Meeting to a frosty standstill.

    These scholars had just been extolling the young man as unparalleled under heaven, but such distinctions were only worthwhile when conferred upon the dead.

    If this person were still alive, the boasts they had just made were nothing more than a bridal gown made with their own reputations for him.

    The cackling of an aging voice grated on the ears.

    Li Guanyi, with a knife in his right hand and the identity plaques of the assassins and fugitives in his left, strode forward.

    The many scholars looked on as his clothing was bloodstained, with torn spots at the shoulder, leg, and chest, clearly hit by crossbow arrows, emanating an aura of stern slaughter.

    The varied emotions in the hearts of the Meeting’s attendees, the scholars’ secret delight at Li Guanyi’s presumed death, now mixed with superficial regret and sorrow, created a uniquely hypocritical atmosphere.

    Scholars are weak and indulgent.

    All shattered at once.

    Li Guanyi tossed the wooden plaques in his hand, and as they hit the ground, they clinked and clattered.

    The demeanor of the seventh giant of the Mo School grew rather unsightly.

    He recognized the origins of these assassins.

    As Li Guanyi entered, a scholar spoke to him, his voice somewhat choked, “You, you’ve returned, Mr.

    Li, it is truly, truly wonderful.” His mouth curved into a warm smile, but the hand holding his fan unconsciously tightened.

    Li Guanyi nodded in thanks.

    He raised his eyebrows as an elder sat on the ground in the corner, dressed plainly, holding a ceramic bowl in his hands and laughing loudly, “Hey!

    Li Guanyi, how many have you killed?!”

    Li Guanyi replied, “Seven.”

    Siming laughed again, “At what realm!”

    Li Guanyi walked forward, saying, “Above Entering Realm.”

    Siming roared with laughter once more, “Thirsty?

    Come, I have something here to quench your thirst.”

    Li Guanyi, not seeing anyone familiar, made his way forward.

    The other scholars stepped aside, and he noticed various calligraphy pieces around him, inscribed with poetry, eloquently worded, speaking of bravery, righteousness, lamenting early death, or expressing their own aspirations.

    Claiming they too wished to be like the prematurely departed youth, valiant with sword in hand.

    Even in death, as splendid as twilight clouds.

    These calligraphy pieces and poems hung on both sides, fluttering slightly in the breeze.

    But alas, the literary style of Chen Country was one of ornate flourish.

    Such themes were equally flimsy.

    From a young age, having fled dangerously outside, he had seen many sorts of people, and even the coarse folk in the marketplace were not as they were now, clearly writing in their eyes, you actually came back alive, with a hint of disappointment behind a joyous facade, utterly repulsive.

    Li Guanyi held a cup of liquor and drank it down in a gulp, the drink entering his throat wasn’t the rice wine of this world, but a strong liquor, his body unaccustomed to drinking, took advantage of his mood and downed it like a flame engulfing his throat.

    He glanced at the hanging poems, looked at the scholars, and turned to Wei Xuancheng, saying:

    “I still have one poem unwritten.”

    Wei Xuancheng handed him a brush, saying, “Please.”

    The youth steadied his knife with one hand and took up the brush with the other, glancing over the text and, gripping the brush as though wielding a sword, Wei Xuancheng stood by, watching as Li Guanyi dashed off a poem, murmuring softly:

    “A sword honed over ten years.”

    The surroundings quieted down, the simple text, unlike the intricate grandeur of Jiangnan, seemed to possess its own spirit, or perhaps it was the sharp and keen aura of Li Guanyi, who after slaying seven Martial Artists and marching boldly forward, naturally carried with him.

    “Yet untested is the frost blade.”

    “Now, I will show it to you.”

    Wei Xuancheng straightened up, whispering:

    “Who has grievances to settle!”

    The Mo School master looked up, gazing at the forthright youth, an unusual light flickering in his eyes.

    When Li Guanyi finished the last phrase, he flung the brush onto the table, exhaled the suppressed energy and alcohol from within him, feeling heartily relieved and elated, deeming the scholars around him truly uninteresting, feeling that it would be better to remain a Martial Artist.

    “I’m finished,” he said.

    With a cupped-fist salute, he strode out, going in search of Old Mr.

    Xue.

    Both his poetry and actions were spirited and admirable, making the surrounding, older men of renown sigh in response.

    Yet before anything was said, hurried footsteps were heard, and a figure stood there.

    Xue Shuangtao’s eyes widened as she saw Li Guanyi; the boldness of just moment earlier, of mounting a horse to kill and dismounting to write poetry, disappeared as she opened her mouth, intending to ask, whose hands had groped her bow, if the fifteen hundred coins could be...

    With a fierce determination, Xue Shuangtao suddenly rushed over.

    Unavoidable, unyielding.

    Then, she crashed headlong into Li Guanyi’s chest.

    Li Guanyi suddenly remembered how miss would often kick his shin in embarrassment and rage.

    He recalled Xue Changqing’s comment about the “mother tiger.”

    Before he could react, Xue Shuangtao knocked him down, the fatigue washing over him.

    As the world turned topsy-turvy, he fell heavily to the ground.

    Xue Shuangtao clung to Li Guanyi as they both lay there, the girl’s ornamental hairpins jangling crisply, merging with the sound of the youth’s falling knife to become one cacophony.

    With gritted teeth, Xue Shuangtao spoke lightly yet swiftly:

    “You big idiot.”

    Li Guanyi grinned sheepishly, muttering, “Miss, my bow was touched by a ruffian.

    Could I get reimbursed for another one, I mean, could you arrange for me to get a regular one...”

    Xue Shuangtao couldn’t help but laugh despite herself.

    Tears were still fresh on her fair cheeks,

    Laughing while crying,

    Her reddened eyes more radiant than the finest rouge in the world.

    ......

    The Literary Meeting eventually drew to a close.

    Many scholars and sons of noble families were left pale-faced, whether from fright at Li Guanyi’s killings or something else, Li Guanyi didn’t know which.

    In the end, he was unaware of whom Mr.

    Wang Tong ultimately chose.