239 Those Things That She Couldn'st Put Down

Chapter 239: Those Things That She Couldn't Put Down

Translator: TransnEditor: Transn

"I rank thirteenth, so you may call me Thirteen."

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"You're also familiar with talismans?"

"A little."

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"Senior Brother Thirteen, are you also familiar with calligraphy?"

"A little."

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"Senior Brother Thirteen, what do you think of this Chicken Soup Calligraphy?"

"The strokes in this piece are unrestrained, appearing leisurely but lacking in soul. This piece seems novel, but in actuality, the calligrapher used some underhanded tricks to mimic the proper method of doing calligraphy. It lacks honesty and elegance, not at all worth a mention."

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Like the Wilderness cold winds that constantly entered the tents, those conversations during their journey kept emerging in Mo Shanshan's mind. Her dazed eyes appeared more and more confused, even somewhat lost.

He ranked thirteenth in the Academy. Who else could it be but him? Besides that man, which Tang person would dare show so much contempt for the Chicken Soup Calligraphy and the Flower Blooms Section? Besides, he had admitted to knowing about Talisman Taoism a little that night. Why didn't she put two and two together? She probably had known about this deep down.

She looked at the sheet of paper seemingly marked with a child's scribbles on the table and reached out to turn it into a paper roll. She was so embarrassed and angry that she didn't want anyone to see her. But she didn't know if this feeling came from the twisted calligraphy or her lost heart. However, whatever it was, her embarrassment was laced with annoyance at the moment.

He accompanied her throughout the long journey and eventually even staying in her carriage. But she didn't know this man was that man. She even admitted liking Senior Brother Thirteen in front of him, though he wasn't aware it was he that she was talking about and she didn't know the man she had a crush on was the same person in front of her. However, now she finally knew they were one and the same.

Calligraphic Addict was known to be a girl of good breeding and manners. For her to do something like that, how could she not be embarrassed? If that man knew the truth, how could she not feel like dying of shame? Zhuo Zhihua even wanted her to explain to him, how could she not feel annoyed?

With trembling fingers, she pulled out that well-preserved copy from the side of the table. When she looked at the words on the paper, her long and thin eyelashes brushed gently across her cheeks as if trying to hide the blush on her fair skin.

News of the surprising Tang calligrapher in Chang'an came to her in spring. She found out there was young calligrapher who had received the deep admiration of the Tang Emperor in a distant foreign country. She habitually commanded her deacon to collect copies of the calligrapher's works. Though she didn't see the legendary Flower Blooms Sect piece, she saw this copy of Chicken Soup Calligraphy.

The legendary young calligrapher was accepted as the successor to the Divine Talisman position simply because Master Yan Se loved his Chicken Soup Calligraphy. As someone who had been learning from the Divine Talisman and Master of Calligrapher, Master Wang, Calligraphic Addict naturally knew how strict the Divine Talisman Master would be when it came to the requirements for the successor. Thus, she had been carefully observing this Chicken Soup Calligraphy for a long time.

She didn't see the potential Master Yan Se saw in the calligrapher, nor did she shed tears like the girls in the House of Red Sleeves did after listening to Master Yan She's take on the meaning of the calligraphy piece. But she wasn't far from becoming a Divine Talisman Master herself so she could tell there were many meanings hidden in this calligraphy piece.

In addition, she had also seen many other copies of this piece. Proud as she was, she had to admit the young calligrapher from Chang'an City wrote very well. Besides the Master of Calligrapher, no one was his rival in this world.

When news of the mountaineering test on the Second Floor of the Academy reached the Great River Kingdom, she was shocked to find that the calligrapher had actually defeated Prince Long Qing and became a disciple of the Headmaster of Academy.

She used to be good friends with Flower Addict and they often exchanged correspondence. So she knew very well that Prince Long Qing was a nearly perfect person, but he actually lost to that man. Now, even the Headmaster of Academy also accepted him as a student. Then… this person surely was decent in terms of morality, temper, and eloquence?

Just then, she saw something different in the Chicken Soup Calligraphy when she gave it another look. On the corner was a simple, scribbled-on memo. Though the language and strokes were unorganized, yet it gave off the subtle amiableness of nature. Such a proper and matter-of-course style, such open and candid style; it was as if the Haotian Divine Light had emitted thunder from the clouds, forcing the world to look like this from now on.

She was curious it was under what kind of circumstances that prompted the man to write such a sentence. Due to some certain reasons, she had always believed it to be foolish to judge people by their words. But since the spring of this year, she couldn't suppress the feeling she began to have for the young man far away in Chang'an City because of these words.

Such a feeling wasn't complicated, but very subtle and crystal clear.

She hadn't met that man, only seen his words. But their minds as fellow calligraphers were in tune. When she looked at his words, she felt like she was seeing him in person. It was as if the man was by her side.

From spring and all the way to summer, she had been quietly looking at the man's calligraphy piece beside the Ink Lake under Mogan Mountain. In the legends, the lake was said to be black but was, in fact, clear and clean. The water reflected the stars in the sky as well as the girl's calm, smiling face.

The man was behind her, looking at the calligraphy piece in her hands and her face reflected on the water. He didn't speak and neither did he have to. He quietly watched her beside the Ink Lake.

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Mo Shanshan looked at that copy of Chicken Soup Calligraphy and she blinked slowly. The flush on her face gradually faded and the embarrassment in her eyes had long turned into confusion and restlessness. She looked at the piece for a long time before asking in a whisper, "So you're him. Who's Sangsang mentioned in the piece?"

"Sangsang, your young master, I, am drunk today..."

Was Sangsang his little handmaiden? Had she been with you for many years? So he would so naturally trust and rely on her. Was it out of habit or was there something else? Why hadn't she heard him mention about Sangsang throughout the journey? Oh right, he was still pretending to be someone else and naturally wouldn't bring this up. But who on earth was this Sangsang?

Master Yan Se could understand Ning Que's purposeful forgetfulness from the piece. From the brushstrokes, the girls from the House of Red Sleeves could smell the fragrance of the bowl of chicken soup from their homes. But she could feel the importance of the person, Sangsang, to the calligrapher.

Just then, Zhuo Zhihua lifted the curtain and came in. She couldn't help a smile when she saw Mo Shanshan holding her chin next to the book table, in a daze. She often saw her Hill Master in this condition by the Ink Lake this year, so she understood well about she felt even if others didn't.

"Look at it again after dinner and think of what to do," she joked.

It was precise because Zhuo Zhihua was close to her that she was able to guess her feelings. That was why Mo Shanshan felt the mixture of annoyance and embarrassment when she faced her.

Mo Shanshan was feeling disturbed and confused by the name at the beginning of the Chicken Soup Calligraphy, but when she heard Zhuo Zhihua's words, she couldn't help feeling even more embarrassed. She had never been ashamed of her life for she had never been fond of anyone. How could she not be embarrassed now that her thoughts were known to her dear Senior Sister?

She used her hand to hold her round and pink cheeks, her sparse eyelashes gently brushing across them. She pressed her red and thin lips into a straight line. Looking at piles of luggage carefully sorted out in a corner of the tent, she suddenly said angrily, "Send these bags to him."

Zhuo Zhihua smiled. "I don't have the time."

Mo Shanshan turned and looked at Cat Girl coming in behind her. She said in a low voice, "Catty, you're familiar with that guy. Send the luggage to the Tang camp for him."

Cat Girl scratched her head in puzzlement. "Why? Brother said he would be back soon."

Mo Shanshan slightly furrowed her brows. "Why do you have so many questions? He's a Tang. He can't always stay in our tent. Send the luggage to him. Then we're even."

That thin copy of Chicken Soup Calligraphy was still on the table. That faint figure was still reflected above the surface of the Ink Lake. The tacit understanding of fighting side by side for thousands of miles was still in her memories. How could she erase everything by returning the luggage?

Her feelings weren't a luggage. Because they had no weight, so it was difficult to mention and even more difficult to put down.

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In that moment, Ning Que wasn't aware the young lady in white was so embarrassed and annoyed in the Black Ink Garden's camp that she was ready to liquidate her shameful emotions and unspeakable memories. If he knew, he would have been too excited and nervous to say a word. Though he was running away from the path of being nobodies, he still lacked the conscience of being an important person. Calligraphic Addict had a crush on him? Holy crap! How did this differ from Butterfly Sister liking him? The same Butterfly Sister who still wore tight pants to dance exotic dances!

It was because he didn't know these that he could be drinking tea and resting in the Tang camp at this time. He looked particularly relaxed, for it was his own place after all. Whether spiritually or physically, he could finally properly rest under protection. Unfortunately, he couldn't relax completely relax. There was still something important that needed his attention.

At night, a military order appeared in the Tang camp. General Shu Cheng convened all departments and announced the result of the proceedings of the Divine Hall that day. They also went over the specifics of the attack on the Desolate Man tribe next spring.

The order of the Middle Military Camp was somewhat peculiar. The main force responsible for attacking the Desolate Man tribe should be the elite cavalry of the Left-Tent Palace. Even if the northeast border army of the Tang Empire would join the battle, battle affairs shouldn't be discussed by General Shu Cheng and the captain officials, who lacked the qualifications to do so.

However, a military order was as heavy as the mountain in the Tang Empire. Though the cavalry stationed in the palace was beneath the Northeast Front Army, no one dared defy it because of the order from the Middle Military Camp. With intensive footsteps, captains of all levels rushed to the Middle Military Camp. The patrolling cavalry had also been deployed, leaving only defensive forces in the periphery of the camp.

Ning Que lifted the curtain and went out, moving eastward in the deserted camp. He came to a stop somewhere forty paces away from a tent and reached out to take the large, black umbrella wrapped tightly with cloth from his back.

That tent belonged to a general in the northern border army of the Tang Empire. There was a faint smell of herbs and blood coming from the tent. If his senses hadn't turned acuter after cultivation, he might not have missed the smell.

That man was still bleeding after so many days. Ning Que really had no idea know how he managed to survive.

With a flick of his wrist, Ning Que opened the umbrella.

He held the umbrella and walked over to the tent.

At twilight, the sky was dyed as red as blood as snow began to fall from the clouds hanging over the camp.

The snow was extremely little and sparse. A few snowflakes fell on the greasy surface of the umbrella, looking rather dainty.

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Small snowflakes fell on the umbrella without a sound. Strong boots stepped on the withered and yellow grasses, also without a sound. Ning Que held the umbrella and walked into the vice general's tent.

He was met with a knife slashing down his face!

Like a machete, the knife had a powerful force and was as bright as snow.

The people in the tent knew he was coming, so he couldn't make a surprise attack.

Ning Que knew someone was in the tent and thus wasn't surprised by this attack either.

His lapels suddenly rising with air, he kicked his right foot as quick as lightning and heavily stomped on the attacker's thigh. With a muffled snap, the attacker curved his body like he was a shrimp. The machete missed its target and fell on the ground.

With a striking sound, Ning Que removed his slender podao from its sheath, emitting a bright light. He gently sliced the attacker's throat, causing a burst of hot blood hitting the top of the tent.

With a burst of rough wind, someone attacked him from his right. Without even turning his head, he lifted the two fingers of the hand holding the umbrella and an intangible Fu character materialized out of thin air. An inexplicable uneasiness appeared in the tent.

Another attacker from the Horse Gang clenched the machete with both hands. Borrowing the momentum from hurling himself forward, he threw himself at Ning Que with an amazing speed. It was as if he wanted to first split the umbrella and then slice Ning Que in half from above. However, when he rushed behind the umbrella, he didn't find the umbrella. Rather, he found himself in a white blazing sea of flames.

The flames in the air alternatively burned and dimmed inside the tent. The fire on the attacker's head was still burning. The machete on his hands didn't cut the umbrella or anyone, only the air.

Ning Que had long twisted his body out of the way and was waiting on the side. He watched as the attacker's face began melting and deforming in the flames. He watched as the attacker's eyes twisted in fear and his big lips opened to utter a cry. He lowered his body, wielding his knife.

He sliced the attacker, sending his burning head flying into the tent.

Blood gushed from the attacker's sliced neck, hitting the top of the tent and mixing with his comrade's blood.

With his umbrella in his left hand and knife in the right, Ning Que continued to silently walk toward the tent.

The headless corpse fell with a thud behind him.

There was not the slightest bit of emotion on his face underneath the umbrella.

Whether in the past, present, or future, he had no mercy for people from the Horse Gang or those masquerading as one.

His attacker's burning head rolled on the ground, reaching the tent. It stopped somewhere near a bed, its flames gradually dying with a scorching smell.

There was a pale middle-aged man lying on a sleeping mat looking thin and weak. His shoulder was tightly fastened with a piece of cloth. Blood was still leaking from his body and there was even a faint smell of decaying flesh.

The middle-aged man stared at Ning Que as he gradually came closer. There was a sudden gleam in his eyes and he began trembling violently all over. He seemed to be in a great deal of pain, yet also appeared to carry a strong sense of determination.

In the tent, Qi of Heaven and Earth had suddenly become disorganized. A sudden cold wind swept the place without rhyme or reason, instantly blowing away the snowflakes on Ning Que's umbrella. However, like the cold wind, his umbrella also blocked the magnificent the middle-aged man's Psyche Power, built on decades of meditation as well as the determination rising from a life-and-death situation.

Not a shred of that power could penetrate Ning Que's sense of perception at all.

"Since you were ordered to kill me, you must know very well who I am."

Ning Que walked to the front of the middle-aged man and stared down at him. "I admit your Psyche Power is really powerful," he calmly said. "But even if you're completely whole and without injuries, where did you find the courage to try and defeat a Second Floor disciple of the Academy when I'm well prepared? Not to mention you're so severely injured now."

"And don't you feel like your broken arm is recovering too slowly? That you can't stop your wound from festering even if you keep cutting off your decayed flesh? That's because there's something on my knife."

Ning Que raised his right arm and pointed his podao at the middle-aged man's face. The podao glowed with a cold light. Besides the complicated Talisman inscriptions, it appeared very ordinary.

"Both you and the one who ordered you to kill me knew I was a Second Floor student of the Academy and Master Yan Se's successor. That was why you managed to stop my killer movements under the meadow that day. But too bad you didn't know two things about me."

"I've been hunting for a living since childhood and hunted many large beasts living. So I would occasionally use poison and wipe my knife with snakeroot juice from Min Mountain. It's not a particularly strong poison, but it can be troublesome."

The middle-aged man lying on the mat looked very pale on the face. He could no longer fight back after forcing out the last Psyche Power in his sense of perception. He listened to Ning Que's calm words and fear unwittingly crept into his eyes. As a strongman in cultivation, he really didn't understand why Ning Que, a core disciple of the Headmaster of Academy, would use so many vicious methods in addition to cultivation means.

"I believe you won't have any more strength to fight now. But you're after all a Psyche Master in the Seethrough superior grade state and an important figure in the northeast border army of the Tang Empire. I need to keep my guard up. So please excuse me."

He waved the podao in his hand, where it gleamed briefly. The middle-aged man didn't die, but a horrible bloody cut appeared on his shoulder. Even his last remaining arm left his body!

The middle-aged man tried very hard to turn and look at his shoulder, confirming his arms were all cut off. He couldn't help his sense of despair. When he felt the burning pain in his shoulder shoot up to his brain, a miserable cry escaped his lips.

Ning Que put his potao back to its sheath and found a few rags in the tent. He stuffed a rag into the middle-aged man's mouth and wrapped his shoulder wound with the rest. The wound soon stopped bleeding thanks to Ning Que's skill in wound dressing and after he dumped half a bottle of medicine on it.

He lowered his head and earnestly treated the middle-aged man. "Earlier I mentioned there were two things you didn't know about me. The other one is that I'm a man with a flawed character."

"Though I've just started my cultivation, I'm still not a supermundane person. There are many things I can't let go. For example, I'll be sure to take revenge now that you've tried to kill me. For example, I'll want to know the reason you want to kill me."

He completed the wound dressing and sat next to the middle-aged man. Removing the rag from his mouth, Ning Que said, "You'll definitely be unable to lift anything in the future. Then you must learn to put things down like stupid things like loyalty and the like."

No one would cut the other person's arms in an interrogation by torture, but Ning Que had done so and forced the middle-aged man into a desperate situation. For him to begin asking questions at this time... It seemed to be a cold-blooded and unreasonable behavior. The truth was it was completely justified. If not for such a cold-blooded and disordered mental impact, how could he break into the mind of a cultivation strongman?

The middle-aged man closed his eyes in pain and tightly closed his withered lips. He seemed very afraid he would involuntarily reveal what Ning Que wanted to know once he opened his lips.

Ning Que looked at him and calmly said, "It's useless to fake despair. You'll still have hope as long as you're still alive. You're still breathing so you still owe me an explanation."

"For example, who are you?"