The Tian clan of Great Ze was also a first-rate noble family of the State of Qi.
But this was the army, and this was the army under Chongxuan Chuliang.
In the army, birth and lineage counted for nothing, and Chongxuan Chuliang was hardly a man who cared about anyone's background.
Tian Antai understood perfectly well: if Chongxuan Chuliang wanted to kill him, he would not even have the chance to resist. No one would stand up for him either.
At this moment he was consumed with regret. He wished he could cut out his own tongue.
It was true that he had always relied on the prestige of the Tian family, that he had grown accustomed to strutting about in ordinary days, believing that a few careless words would never bring trouble. But he had forgotten whose military camp this was, and what kind of man the commander before him was!
This was the Butcher!
Chongxuan Chuliang remained silent, waiting until Tian Antai's whole body began to tremble before he spoke. "What kind of man do you all take Yang Jiande for?"
"After all these years of hiding his light, of yielding in every matter, do you really believe he is a tiger with its teeth pulled?"
"Back in the Slanted Moon Valley, he was a man who nearly planted his battle flag and gambled his life against this commander!"
The generals in the tent exchanged glances. None of them had imagined that Yang Jiande had once been so reckless as to plant his flag against the Butcher.
"And now you want this commander to go to Yangting to accept their surrender. How? Alone, or with the whole army? If I march out with the army and drive deep into the State of Yang, laying siege to Zhaoheng City, then what difference does it make whether they surrender or not? If you do not trust them, what do they have to trust in you? And beyond that — an army plunging deep into Yang territory, never mind the plague poison, are we not afraid of having the bag drawn shut behind us?"
"Or does this commander play the lone hero, striding in with a single blade to show off his valor?" Chongxuan Chuliang sneered. "If this commander were greedy for glory and dared to go alone, Yang Jiande would dare to encircle and kill me on the spot. Valor is valor, but I would be just as dead."
"Tian Antai." Chongxuan Chuliang leaned forward from the commander's seat. "Does the Tian clan wish to kill me?"
"Never! Never! There is no such intent!" Tian Antai was so terrified his words had dissolved into incoherence. He could only kowtow desperately, his head striking the ground with a bang, bang, bang.
The Tian clan had been riding high in recent years. Chongxuan Chuliang had meant to say more, to teach them a further lesson, but he suddenly stopped.
He rose to his feet and stepped out of the commander's tent in a single stride, gazing into the distance, and said coldly: "It has come."
The words were short and sharp, like a murderous blade leaving its sheath. In an instant, killing intent surged.
The personal guards outside the tent followed his gaze and judged its direction — it pointed toward Redtail County of the State of Yang.
……
……
Redtail County.
Above the wasteland where the Snake-Mask had died, ripples suddenly spread through the air.
One white bone after another bored its way out of the void, interlacing and interlocking, swiftly forming the skeletons of two flood dragons. They moved as if alive, and in their empty sockets, soul-flames abruptly kindled.
The two bone dragons bared fangs and claws, each biting the other's tail, forming a circle.
Within the circle, a ghostly light revolved, faintly leading to some mysterious space.
Then, out of that ghostly light, walked a young man dressed in a hemp-woven Daoist robe.
It was hard to say whether this man's face was handsome or ugly.
He simply stood there, and it was as if he had become the center of this entire stretch of heaven and earth. Such an overwhelming presence made one unknowingly overlook his features.
Only his eyes could not be avoided — one was indifferent and merciless, the other calm and unfathomably deep.
After stepping out of the ghostly light, he cast a casual glance at the ground, his face expressionless. That was the spot where the Snake-Mask had perished.
Behind him, Lu Yan, the Dragon-Mask, the Ape-Mask, and the Rabbit-Mask emerged from the ghostly light one after another.
When Zhang Yuan had killed Wei Feng and Shen Nanqi in Maple City, he too had once opened a Gate of White Bones. But that gate and this Gate of White Bones, framed between two interlocking bone dragons, were existences on entirely different levels.
The gate back then had channeled the qi of the netherworld, laying out a battlefield to amplify the power of his Dao arts.
But this Gate of White Bones, opened personally by the Holy Sovereign of the Bone Path, borrowed the road of the netherworld to pierce through tens of thousands of miles, passing straight from the White Bone Underworld Palace into the territory of Yang.
Its principle resembled the Bone Escape Art, yet it was exquisitely more profound beyond measure.
And its beacon, naturally, was the plague bell that had shattered and scattered upon this very ground.
"Go," the Holy Sovereign of the Bone Path said in a wooden, toneless voice. "With all your ability, sow chaos. Buy time for Us to refine the plague avatar."
Everyone made the same gesture in unison — folding down the ring finger and little finger, forming a triangle over the heart with thumb, index, and middle fingers — and softly intoned: "At the bottom of the River of Oblivion, in the abyss of the Netherworld. The exalted god returns to the world, candlelight shining upon mankind!"
When the chant was done, Lu Yan let out a strange, rasping cackle and was the first to leave.
But the Dragon-Mask looked toward the Rabbit-Mask. "Where did the Pig-Mask die?"
Zhang Yuan was not present. The Rabbit-Mask cowered and said, "It seems... it seems it was within the territory of Jia City."
"Seems?"
"It was definitely Jia City." The Rabbit-Mask swallowed, trying to ease his nerves.
As the de facto strongest of the Twelve Bone Masks, the Dragon-Mask rarely showed himself, but not one of the Mask-bearers could escape their dread of him.
Especially since the collective known as the Twelve Bone Masks of the Bone Path had long since been split into factions — the Rabbit-Mask already belonged to Zhang Yuan's faction, and so naturally displayed all the more fear toward the Dragon-Mask.
The Dragon-Mask said flatly: "Lead the way."
Then he turned to the Ape-Mask: "You come too."
The Rabbit-Mask did not dare refuse. The Ape-Mask only shrugged, looking entirely indifferent.
From beginning to end, the Holy Sovereign of the Bone Path did not interfere with their movements, leaving them to decide for themselves where to go and what to do.
Only after these men had gone did he speak to the Gate of White Bones hanging in the air, his voice indifferent: "Messenger, watch over the Underworld Palace. Do not leave your post without leave. Be ready at all times to receive Us."
From the far side of the Gate of White Bones came Zhang Yuan's voice, thoroughly respectful: "We obey the sacred command."
Leaving Zhang Yuan — the one who had planned the plague and chosen its ground — in the White Bone Underworld Palace while bringing out Elder Lu Yan was not because the Holy Sovereign of the Bone Path distrusted his followers. It was simply the instinctive caution of one who rules, a plain and simple check upon power.
Having given his orders, the Holy Sovereign lifted his head and glanced at the sky.
The daylight was brilliant, and it made Him narrow His eyes slightly.
He had anticipated the dangers of this journey. He did not care.
At any time, in any age, to unleash a plague that ravages an entire nation is to make oneself an enemy of the world.
This body was useful. It was exceedingly useful. There was only one small trouble that needed to be resolved — and it would be resolved very soon.
For that, a little risk was well worth taking.
He set his steps in motion, wandering about like a man who has been away from home for far too long, brimming with longing.
Humiliating to say, but though He had long since descended into the body of the Dao Child, He had rarely left the White Bone Underworld Palace.
Emperor Zhuang and Du Ruhui had never once ceased their pursuit of the Bone Path, and He had even been forced to conceal His very existence — truly scraping by, gasping for breath!
But it would soon be resolved. No longer would things need to be this way.
This nation — its national aura had already scattered, the hearts of its people already thrown into turmoil.
He could feel the qi of the plague moving and drifting in every direction, borne along by one carrier after another.
The plague qi would devour the living, and death itself would in turn strengthen the plague.
He walked on, and with every breath He drew, He felt deeply satisfied.
The body was adapting, bit by bit; it was being reforged, bit by bit. The soul that had been wrestling Him for control all this time, the soul that had never once given up, had finally begun to loosen its grip.
It was only a pity... that matters were not entirely perfect.
He thought of the young man He had glimpsed that day through the shard of the plague bell. A pity that at the time His power was still gathering across the void, and the young man had fled far away without so much as a backward glance.
"Wretched boy..." He thought, calm and cold.
But in truth, there was no resentment in His heart, nothing of the kind.
In the long river of life, such a thing was a trifling matter, hardly worth mentioning.