Thunderclap.
Thunder shattered the dawn. Misty rain veiled the river like a curtain, turning the mountains on the southern bank into lonely islands among the clouds.
The Confucian institution, rooted in the southern lands for a thousand years, stood amid rain and mist. Within it, students in plain clothes rose early to study hard, pursuing dreams of passing the imperial examinations; blue-robed scholars stood among its pavilions and terraces, their hearts burdened with concern for the land and its people.
In the small town outside the academy, street vendors rose early as they did every day and set up their stalls along the streets. Traveling tradesmen from north and south left inns and ferries to begin another day's journey. Everything in sight was no different from before, as though today were just another insignificant day among the countless years gone by. But Shang Lianbi, who had risen early and opened his window, did not think so.
Ever since his defeat in the Manluo Flower Sea, where the Corpse Ancestor had seized everything he owned, Shang Lianbi had known his life hung by a thread. Concealing his identity and cultivating quietly in hopes of making a comeback was no option-he was already a hundred years old and simply did not have the time.
His only option now was to use the few bargaining chips he still held to turn the tables from this desperate position.
But Shang Lianbi had spent a century treading on thin ice at Dragonbone Shoal. He was no fool, and understood the cruelty of the Cultivation Dao.
When he had plotted against the Corpse Ancestor from a position of strength, the limits of his realm and understanding meant he might not have guessed the Corpse Ancestor's plans.
But now that he faced the Corpse Ancestor from a