Pantomiming an act of chilling slaughter, the black-clad youth impressively ended the opening act as the “demon.”
By face and by form, Mu Qing was delicate and elegant like a gentle scholar. And yet he still swung an impossibly heavy three-meter saber as if it were feather-light in his hands, as if it were weightless. Another group of cultivators playing the roles of demon vanquishers leapt onto the stage one by one, and one by one they were instantly defeated and chased off the stage. That saber danced skillfully and made the performance quite exciting to watch, so some in the crowds cheered for him. Except the people didn’t come to watch “Demon Causing Havoc,” so after that act there were more complaints.
“Where’s the God-Pleasing Martial Warrior?!”
“Where’s His Highness the Crown Prince?!”
“We want to see His Highness playing the Heavenly Emperor! Defeat the evil!”
Upon the towering platform, a furious voice shouted, “Where’s my cousin? What the hell?! Who wants to watch this crap? Where the fuck is my cousin the crown prince?!”
No need to confirm who that was—obviously that loud voice belonged to none other than Prince Xiao Jing, Qi Rong. Sure enough, many looked up and saw a young man, finely dressed in light turquoise brocade and a necklace, rush to the edge of that platform shaking his fists angrily. This youth was no older than fifteen or sixteen, his face fair and his brows black, rather attractive. But his face was twisted murderously, as if he was going to jump off the tower at any moment to beat someone. However, the tower was too tall—if he jumped, he’d break his legs if not die. So instead, he grabbed a white jade teapot and hurled it down.
That hurled teapot flew quickly right at the back of the demon’s head, looking like it might knock him out on the spot and spill his blood. Unexpectedly, however, the demon shifted his stance, slanted his saber flat, and caught the teapot on the tip of the blade. The tottering teapot came to a stop, prompting another wave of cheers. Mu Qing then flicked the long saber, and the teapot was hurled into the air to be caught by someone below.
He continued to play the role of the demon languidly, swinging the long saber, slaughtering humans. Qi Rong was outraged and was about to throw something else, but the queen had ordered someone to pull him away, so he was reluctantly dragged off. Yet the faces of the nobles were looking more and more grim, and some were growing restless.
That the God-Pleasing Martial Warrior would disappear right before the Heavenly Procession of the Shangyuan Festival was no laughing matter!
But just then, a roaring cheer like a storm exploded from amongst the people, louder than the cheers from before. A snow-white silhouette had descended from the sky and landed right before the black-clad demon!
Upon his landing, his heavy white robes fluttered and covered the grand stage in the shape of a giant flower, and a golden mask hid his face. He held a sword in one hand, and the other gently flicked that foreboding blade, the resounding ringing pleasing to the ear. This gesture was serene and confident, as if the demon meant nothing to him. The demon slowly raised his long saber and pointed it at him, and the white-clad martial warrior unhurriedly rose to his feet.
Qi Rong’s eyes were shining bright, his face red. He jumped up and down, shouting, “Cousin Crown Prince! COUSIN CROWN PRINCE HAS COME!!!”
Above and below, all were agape.
This entrance was like the descent of a real heavenly being, exceedingly audacious!
The city wall’s tower was at least thirty meters tall, and the eminent crown prince, whose person was worth a thousand gold, had still leapt down from it! In that moment, thousands had thought a god had truly descended. When they recovered from their shock, fervor filled their veins; the crowd went hysterical, applauding with wild intensity. Qi Rong too was shouting, leading the crowd in wild applause, yelling until his voice was hoarse, clapping until both his hands were red. The king and the queen shared a look, smiling, and applauded too. The rest of the nobles eased their furrowed brows and sighed a breath of relief before joining in the cheer. On either side of the Grand Avenue of Divine Might, the crowds went wild like crashing waves, hundreds and thousands of men so excited that they pushed against the royal guards, wanting to approach closer to holler.
Upon the grand stage, two figures—one black, one white—faced each other. Each with their own weapon in hand, god and demon would finally face off.
Seeing that everything had worked out, the State Preceptor finally relaxed his shoulders and mounted the towering platform. After nodding to his fellows in greeting, he found a seat for himself and sat down.