Thirty li outside Ning'an City, the townsfolk had poured out in full force to welcome a million returning soldiers. It should have been a lively, bustling occasion, yet at this moment, a deathly silence reigned.
Everyone stared in astonishment at Liu Shan, at the Left Prime Minister who had once blotted out the sky with one hand, at Saint Zong's Dao Bearer, at the old man whose hair was steadily turning white.
Liu Shan's subordinates looked at him and suddenly felt that his once towering figure had collapsed like a mountain.
Liu Shan's enemies looked at him and suddenly felt that the insufferably arrogant Prime Minister Liu was nothing more than this.
Countless soldiers let out long breaths, as though releasing all the bitterness pent up in their hearts.
Among the countless soldiers of the Jing Kingdom, the person they hated most was not a Demon Barbarian, but Liu Shan.
Many did not understand the exact reason, but they could more or less guess: backlash from the Army Soul.
It was not only the thoughts of the departed sages that could linger between heaven and earth. Every member of the human race likewise left thoughts behind after death, however insignificant they might be.
No matter how strong Saint Zong's Sacred Way Power was, it could not treat the Army Soul as an enemy. No matter how great its might, it could not extinguish the Jing Kingdom's national fortune.
Many scholars turned their eyes toward Fang Yun.
Only then did they understand. Fang Yun had refrained from acting before not because he feared Liu Shan or Saint Zong, but because he had been laying his plans step by step, using means even Saint Zong could not block to deal with Liu Shan.
The moment Fang Yun composed that poem, he had