Chen Ping'an smiled and flicked his sword with a bent finger. The sword tip trembled slightly, ringing out with the sonorous cry of a dragon. Rings of sword light rippled outward, illuminating his entire face with radiant vigor and granting him great freedom.
The Cage Sparrow that struck a wall with the slightest flutter of its wings; the frog at the bottom of a well, viewing the sky as if it were a bordered painting; we who had grown sick of the sight of ourselves, each the other's Ku Shou—at last, we could boast a few grand words, speak a few heartfelt words, to this world.
Upon hearing this, Jiang She did not mock him. Instead, he seemed to come to a realization. "Now it finally makes sense."
When climbing mountains in pursuit of immortality, whatever one feared would come knocking? A Dao Cultivator who feared that one possibility would find it becoming ten thousand.
Jiang She was not, in the end, in the Fifteen Realm. He could not transcend this Dao. Tribulations still rose and fell around him, impossible to avoid. Jiang She glanced at Chen Ping'an. "His true Dao age is far too young."
If Chen Ping'an won, people would inevitably suspect that victory had been unfair. If he lost, that would be even more disastrous.
Yet this young sword cultivator, if he lost, would still be honored in defeat. If he won, the future course of the world would become impossible to imagine. How, then, would that heaven-calculating Zou Zi conduct himself?
Jiang She curled his lips. He used a slight bit of divine power to grind all these emotions and thoughts to dust within his heart, turning them into thoughts no more.
The Ascension Battle had been a Tribulation of Weapons. The Great Dao had strayed