On the God-Slaying Platform, the man laughed, drawing sidelong glances from the soldiers beside him, but he did not care in the slightest. "I have lost my driving force. Even my firewood is dry and spent. Even this world no longer permits me to remain in it."
"Only this Shenjing—it thinks itself alive, when in truth, it is already a city of the dead."
He looked toward Shenjing.
Beyond the God-Slaying Platform, he looked at the densely packed commoners and officials who had come to watch his execution.
At the frontier, Gu Yunzhi had witnessed many cruel and vile acts. The Demonic Cult treated some discarded cultivation subjects as materials to be recycled and reused. The savage tribes of the Northern Frontier took pride in cannibalism as proof of their valor. Sacrificing people to Heavenly Demons in exchange for power was an everyday occurrence. Back when Prince Jing had campaigned in all directions alongside him, he had long grown accustomed to such barbaric malice.
Yet only in Shenjing—whether in the past or the present—had he seen living conditions so lavish paired with minds so debased, beyond anything any barbarian tribe could rival.
Faced with the malice unfolding around them at every moment, they were numb and terrified, yet they deceived themselves and smugly congratulated themselves.
Whatever happened, they accepted it. Whatever befell them, they obeyed. Even if someone right beside them suddenly died, they could convince themselves it was an accident. Like chickens in a coop, having their eggs taken away, having their neighbors taken away, they still huddled in their nests without moving, laying eggs in peace, living in peace—as if all was safe, as if everything were an accident, and they alone were the exception.
That was such a stable order.
A mountain storm was about to break;