The air inside Block Xin was nauseatingly thick. There was no smell of blood here, only a strange odor of damp, moldy paper mixed with aged ink; drawn into the lungs, it was so cloying that it stifled the chest. Calligraphy and painting scrolls hung densely across the surrounding walls, every one bearing the words "benevolence," "righteousness," "propriety," "wisdom," and "trustworthiness." The strokes drove through the paper, yet exuded a sinister Ghost Qi, as though the ink had been ground from the Black Blood of the dead.
Iron Bull had long been seething with anger. He was a crude man who understood nothing of sages' teachings, but his keen animal instincts told him that the "Book Mountain" piled from countless ancient texts before him was filthier than the Mass Grave. That sanctimonious hypocrisy pressed down on him until he could barely breathe. He wanted only to smash this heap of rotten paper, along with the old bastard atop it, to pieces with his great hammer.
At Fang Mo's command, a savage growl rolled from the depths of Iron Bull's throat. His corded muscles, tempered by God King Fire Toxin, instantly swelled, blue-black veins bulging beneath his skin like earthworms. He drove off with his feet, shattering the bluestone paving with a thunderous crash, and became a rampaging rhinoceros, charging straight toward the summit of Book Mountain with his hammer raised and the force of wind and thunder behind him.
"Ignorant barbarian."
Atop Book Mountain, the gaunt old man sitting cross-legged did not even lift his eyelids. Before him stood a large Huanghuali Wood desk, bearing an inkstone, a worn-out brush, and a gleaming black Ruler. Faced with Iron Bull's charge, powerful enough to smash through a city wall, the old man merely raised a hand as withered as a chicken's