Chapter 215: [Dragon Mountain] The Burning of the Remains of the Body

For thousands of years, the Xianxia community has been blessed with many great men and women, but only ten of them, Nangong Changying, are on the 'Your Mightiness' list today.

Once upon a time, Mo Ran did not think that he had crushed the seventy-two cities of Confucianism with a single pinky finger, thinking that this immortal city harboured hundreds of useless pussies who began to cry out in pain before the sword was put to their necks and begged for mercy before the sword was struck.

As Ye Wangxi said before his death in a previous life, "In the seventy cities of Confucianism, none of them is a man.

In Mo Ran's eyes, the Confucianism School was a scattering of sand, and the Nangong Changying, who had gathered this scattering of sand, could be something else

Bloodstained, centuries-old foundations were razed in an instant by those who came after them, dead bodies littered everywhere, crows pecking at the guts of the dead. The Fairy Tramper of the day walked up the stairs, his face expressionless as he pushed open the doors of the Hall of the Predecessors

Draped in a floor-length black cloak, he walks through a gallery of portraits of Confucianism's past masters and elders and finally stops at the end of the Pantheon.

Fairy Tramper's face was tilted up, his cloak over his body and his hood making it impossible to see his entire face, only his pale chin, curved in a harsh and arrogant manner, was raised slightly to survey the taller-than-life statue with a critical gesture.

It was a statue of a young Your Mightiness in white jade, with wide robes and wide sleeves, standing with a bow in the wind, the craftsman's workmanship strong and skillful, the eyes inlaid with flint and the crown painted with coarse crystal sand, the morning sun smelling of blood pouring through the openwork skylight behind the statue, making him look like an exiled immortal steeped in the light of the nine heavens.

The half of Fairy Tramper's face beneath the hood suddenly spreads into a smile, revealing a gleam of white teeth and sweet dimples.

He straightened his coat and gave a long bow before lifting his handsome face and saying with a smile, "I've heard a lot about you, Nangong."

Naturally the statue does not speak, only the black crystals flowing with lustre, as if gazing at the visitor.

Fairy Tramper was so bored that he was able to play his part for a long time even though no one was paying attention to him: "I, Mo Weiyu, have the honour of meeting you today.

He cheekily and feverishly spoke for a long time alone, the living going mad at the statue.

"I have met your Xuan Xuan Xuan Xuan," he broke his fingers, then sighed, "lost count, who knows how many generations of your nephews, met your nephews of unknown generations, your disciples of unknown generations under your seat."

Then he smiled brightly, "But now they are all ghosts under my sword, so if you have not yet been reincarnated, you have probably seen them."

"It's a pity I didn't see your Xuan Xuan Xuan Xuan grandson. He fled before the city broke down, and I don't know if he's dead or alive, so I'm a bit sorry."

He chatted with the statue happily and intimately for a while, then said, "By the way, I heard that Nangong was a great man of his generation, and that he was well respected by all.

Mo Ran smiled and said, "Wouldn't that be just as awesome as I am today? So I've come here to talk nonsense and I just have a question about why Nangong did not refuse to take the throne back then."

He paused and took a few more steps forward, when his eyes fell on the warning tablet standing behind the Nangong Changying sculpture, which was so large that he had seen it a long time ago, but had deliberately skipped it.

It was carved with a sword when Nangong Changying was 96 years old, and was originally plain and unadorned, but it was later added by his heirs with gold dust and colour, so that it now shines with a thousand words.

Mo Ran stared at it for a moment and laughed, "Oh, I see. Greed and grievance and deceit and murder and plunder and plunder are my Confucianism The seven untouchables of the gentleman are really good bones for the Immortal Master."

He stood with his hands in the air and continued, "But I wonder if he ever imagined that the Confucianism School would one day become what it is today."

As he said this, he pursed his lips as if thinking of a suitable phrase to describe it, and then it came to him, so he applauded and laughed, "A nest of rats"

When he finished, he laughed heartily, with a smile so painful and unrestrained, so pure and so evil, that it echoed for a long time in the empty and solemn hall of the Pantheon, like a cracking sound, as if he wanted to tear apart the scrolls that swayed slightly in the wind, tearing apart the portraits of the heroes of the School of Confucianism through the ages.

The laughter ends abruptly in front of the cold sculpture of Nangong Changying.

Mo Ran no longer smiled, he curbed his smile, and a layer of ice slowly solidified on his face.

His dark eyes stared across at the former sage of the Wu Belt, at the man who, like him, could also command the world and tread on all the immortals.

It's as if time and space meet here, and two eras of First Your Mightiness confront each other in a torrent of years.

Finally, Mo Ran whispered, " Nangong Changying, your Confucianism School is a pool of dirty water and I don't believe you will be clean."

A sudden gust of wind blew off the hood of his cloak, revealing the near-mad face of the Fairy Tramper.

He was one of the most handsome men in the world, a man of great beauty, but on this face was a fierce, venomous look like a vulture.

The black robes were like thick clouds of tumbling ink as they rolled down the long steps.

He was a stern ghost on earth, a shura on the red earth, and as he looked around, the dead bodies of Confucianism's disciples were everywhere, missing arms and legs.

At that moment, Mo Ran's heart was filled with cruel pleasure as he looked up at the glorious sunset in the sky, the rising sun piercing the clouds, a blinding golden light shining on his blood pale face.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his hands squeezing tightly in his sleeves, shaking slightly from ecstasy and excitement.

As a young boy he had begged for food in the Linyi region and had seen his mother die of starvation, without a straw mat to wrap her body in. At that time he asked a monk of the School of Confucianism if he could get him a coffin, the thinnest and the worst, but the man said to him, with a mocking smile

That monk said, "What man should be matched with what coffin; you can hardly ask for a tenth of a foot when you are destined for three feet."

He had no choice but to bury his mother in the ground, but Linyi is heavily regulated and the nearest mass grave is outside Dai City, over two hills.

And so he dragged his mother's body, suffering disgust, contempt, surprise and pity all the way, but no one helped him, and he walked for fourteen days, a child dragging the body of a woman, for fourteen days.

Fourteen days. Not a single person willing to help him.

At first he would kneel by the side of the road and plead with passing gentlemen, horsemen and farmers to give him and Mother a lift in a plank cart.

But who would want to put the body of a stranger in their car?

Then he stopped pleading and just gritted his teeth, dragging his mother along, step by step.

The corpse stiffened, softened and began to decompose, with a foul stench and corpse fluid oozing out, causing passers-by to retreat from him and cover their noses in a hurry.

On the fourteenth day, he finally made his way to the mass grave.

The smell of the living was gone from him, and the stench of corpses permeated the marrow of his bones.

Without a pickaxe, he ploughed a shallow hole under the mass grave with his hands He really did not have the strength to dig a deeper hole, and he dragged his Mother, rotten to the bone, to the hole, and then he sat frozen beside it.

After a long time he said stiffly, "Mother, it's time I buried you."

He then began to scoop up the earth, and only after he had scooped up a handful and spilled it on his mother's chest, he broke down and he cried out in pain.

It was strange, he thought the tears had all dried up long ago.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." He crawled back into the pit and crouched over the rotting corpse, bawling, tears rolling down his face. When his emotions eased a little, he went back to scooping up the dirt, but it seemed to have some kind of odour that could open one's tear ducts, and he collapsed again.

"Why is it all rotten like this?"

"Why isn't there even a mat?"

" Mother Mother "

He took his face and rubbed it against her, he didn't mind that she was dirty, that she stank, that she was dead, that there was not a good piece of skin on her body, that she was bleeding pus and crawling with maggots.

He crumpled into her arms and wept, choking and tearing his heart out with every sound as if it had been dug out of his throat in blood.

At last the mass grave echoed with his wailing, a distorted, hoarse, muffled sound, sometimes like a human cry, but more often like the wail of a young animal after losing its mother.

" Mother Mother "

"Somebody, somebody, bury me, too."

In the blink of an eye, twenty have passed.

Mo Ran is back in Linyi, standing on the top of the hill of the Confucianism School, in front of a mountain of blood.

The young cub that was covered in the stench of a corpse has become brightly furred and sharp-fanged, and his eyes are open once more, his pupils glowing with a mad and agitated light.

Today he is standing here, who dares to tell him that it is hard for you to ask for a tenth of a foot when your life is three feet away

Ridiculous he wants ten feet, a hundred feet, a thousand feet

He wants them, everyone on this earth, to fall to their knees, to rub their knees against the ground, and to present his thousands of feet and millions of feet on their knees

To tread on all the immortals, to be the champion of the world

Having entered the Hall of Sages, having met Nangong Changying, he became more and more sure of his desire and ambition, yes, to step on all the immortals, to honour the world, to hold everything in the palm of his hand, to grasp everything.

He would never again be the child who wept over a corpse, never again would he let someone he loved die in front of him, rot before him, skin born of white bones, his former face rotting into mud.

Never again.

In a hundred years, he will be a god like Nangong Changying, worshipped and admired on a high mountain, his body made of white jade and his words made of gold.

No, he will be better than Nangong Changying, he will be far better than the Confucianism School at the top of his life, and he, the first king of Xianxia, will be more admired and celebrated than Nangong Changying, the hypocrite who could not afford to let go.

Sins

He did not believe that Nangong Changying was sinless and that a man who could create a monster like the School of Confucianism could be a righteous and virtuous man who gave up his life for righteousness

Before he died, he could have asked someone to write some brilliant and praiseworthy words of wisdom for him, or he could have asked someone to write a history for him, and his dark past would have been erased. The Fairy Tramper was then a wise and wise man who "cared for the people and the people, and was able to achieve great things".

It's so good.

There is no ending that would be better than this.

"To covet, to deceive, to kill, to kill, to steal and to plunder is my Confucianism.

A faint murmur but like a thunderclap exploded in the ears.

Mo Ran suddenly pulled himself out of the mire of memories, but his eyes were still a mess of stars and fire, and he looked up at Nangong Changying, who had been pierced through the chest by Nangong Si's cloud-piercing arrow.

Exactly the same face as the jade sculpture from back then.

Someone exclaimed: " How can Nangong Si pull the bow with such a wound?"

"Was the bow already prepared?"

"Look, the spirit power attached to the bow is not Nangong Si's, is it?"

No one said anything further.

But the crowd knew it by heart.

It is from Nangong Changying.

The only person who can control the Bow of the Cloud Penetrator is Nangong Changying.

On that bow and arrow was the last stream of spirit left by Nangong Changying before he died.

The fire spread rapidly across Nangong Changying's chest, and the arrow pierced his heart, spreading instantly throughout his body.

But the body is painless, the body of Nangong Changying stands tall in the flames, its face appears serene and calm, even unhurried.

Mo Ran heard Xue Zhengyong murmur next to him, "He saw it coming... did he see it coming?"

No

It wouldn't have been expected, it's just a coincidence.

Mo Ran frightened, pupils twisted into two slits

It's just a coincidence

But how could he convince himself that he could break free from the grip of Zhenlong's pawns, his long-lost meridians, even the unburied Shenwu piercing clouds buried in Dragon Mountain, and the bow and arrows filled with spiritual power on them?

How could this have been achieved if it had not been carefully orchestrated?

He staggered back a step.

He had thought they were the same, he had thought that all the legendary heroes of the world were born with hands that could cover the sky, that could wipe away the stains of a lifetime and put on a clean life jacket, leaving behind a white sheet, he had thought that Nangong Changying, like the School of Confucianism he had seen, was nothing more than a facade, nothing more than an evil beast wearing a mask of human skin A beast in a human skin mask

Is he wrong?

He looked at Nangong Changying, wrapped in a brilliant fire, the immortal elder who, hundreds of years ago, had the same amazing spiritual power as he had, the power of Tongtian to penetrate the earth.

Is he wrong?

Nothing can drown out the sins, and even the most eloquent histories can leave flaws that cannot be justified.

Nangong Changying is a man of the highest good, who refuses to dominate or ascend. He once thought it was just a cover-up for those at the pinnacle of power.

Is he wrong?

Nothing can bury the truth, just as the snow that has been deposited all winter will melt away, and when the pale white fades away, the earth is exposed with its furrowed face, and all the dirt hidden in the wrinkles has nowhere to escape, the sun shines down and they all hiss and scream in the daylight.

Is he wrong?

Mo Ran shook his head slowly as he stared at Nangong Changying, who had also lifted his face, still covered in the black silk ribbon embroidered with the Tenglong motif, so that no one could see his eyes, and Mo Ran could not.

But I don't know if it was an illusion or not, but Mo Ran felt that Nangong Changying seemed to be smiling, and that there were lines of laughter spreading out from beneath the black ribbon, which could not be burned away by fire or washed away by water, and nothing could cover the light vein of laughter, and he stood quietly in a sea of fire, in the heat of the light.

If he could, he would like to be selfish for a while, leaving behind this crippled body to always accompany the green hills and cypresses and future generations of heroes and heroines.

The human world is too beautiful for anyone to want to leave.

But he also knew that sometimes it was not possible to leave, so he had already planned to break his scriptures and hide his bow, so that his body would not be used by others and become a helper to the tiger.

People are too beautiful to have flowers, they should not be stained with blood.

"Master Tai" Nangong Si, holding the Cloud Piercing Divine Bow, knelt on the ground, the light of the fire lit up his young face and the tear stains on his face, "I am unworthy of my junior"

The fire of the piercing clouds burned away the black son of Zhenlong inside Nangong Changying's body, and he was about to be burnt to ashes, his whole body growing faint in the light of the fire.

Nangong Changying, who was completely free, asked Nangong Si: "How many years have passed since the Confucianism School was founded?"

He is but a corpse, his soul is no longer there.

Not much memory and consciousness can survive in the flesh, so to ask, one can only ask such simple things.

Nangong Si dared not hesitate to reply, choking back a sob: "It has been four hundred and twenty-one years since the Confucianism School was founded."

Nangong Changying tilted his head, and now he even had a smile on his lips.

He said, "It's been a long time."

The voice was faint, like a cold wind through the mountains, scattered without a trace.

"I thought that two hundred years would be the end of it." Nangong Changying's voice is gentle and broad, flowing over the blades of Dragon Mountain grass, "Everything in this world has a life span, and when it reaches its end, it cannot be renewed by human hands. The old will one day be replaced by the young, the worn out by the new. Everything gets dirty and old after a long time, and it is good that someone discards it and overturns it. Nangong Si has nothing to blame himself for."

Nangong Si raised his head suddenly, his face already as white as paper from the loss of blood, and his voice trembled slightly: "Master Tai"

"In fact, the longevity of the Confucianism School does not depend on how many years the school has been in existence or how many disciples it has retained. Nangong Changying's figure is almost invisible, and his voice is becoming more and more distant, "but that there are still people in the world who remember that greed, deceit, murder, prostitution and plunder are the seven things that I, the gentleman of Confucianism, must not do."

As he said this, he flicked his sleeve, and in a flash Dragon Mountain's grass shook and vines rose in all directions, sinking all those corpses that were about to be freed from their grip deep into the earth.

"Remember and do, and the fire has been carried on."

After saying these words, Nangong Changying's body suddenly broke apart in the flames, turning into bits of glowing powder and golden-red starlight, which drifted away in the vast mountains and forests.

The body is gone, and, the aftermath is yet to be heard.

Inside the boundary, Nangong Si had already sobbed uncontrollably, outside the boundary, Ye Wangxi knelt down, she knelt down, and one after another people knelt down, the First Changying, Nangong Immortal Chief

In life and in death, they were all great men.