Chapter Thirty: Suppressed with a Flick of the Finger

Qi Jingchun was, after all, the saint ordained to guard this grotto-heaven. Even though he was in a precarious position himself, he could no longer tolerate Su Ling’s reckless and unbridled behavior.

“Mr. Qi, I understand.” Su Ling bowed and gestured his acknowledgment, signaling that there would not be a second time.

Qi Jingchun gave a soft grunt of affirmation. His expression remained calm and his bearing extraordinary; one could see that his heart was vast and boundless, far surpassing that of any prime minister.

“This?” Chen Pingan’s eyes widened in surprise. He keenly perceived that the relationship between Su Ling and Mr. Qi seemed quite unusual. He felt a flicker of curiosity, but he did not dwell on it, as this was hardly the time for deep investigation.

Just then, however, the surrounding environment underwent a drastic transformation. It felt as if hell itself had descended, filled with a biting, murderous aura. The gloom within Mud Bottle Alley faded, replaced by a vast, dark red—almost pitch-black—tide of slaughter. It surged forth, spreading rapidly and instantly engulfing everything, leaving Chen Pingan overwhelmed and struck with sudden, inner dread.

“Build a monument of skulls, build a monument of skulls…”

Terrifying whispers, chilling enough to shatter the souls of ghosts and demons, emanated from the pitch-black void hanging in the distance. It was shocking and nearly impossible to believe. It was inconceivable that even with his heaven-defying cultivation, Qi Jingchun could not entirely suppress Song Changjing, who had fallen into a demonic obsession born of slaughter.

From this, one could see that the legendary Great Li military god, renowned for his peerless martial talent, was truly as formidable as rumored; Song Changjing was by no means merely imposing on the outside but weak within. One must realize that Qi Jingchun was a saint of this grotto-heaven. While he had not exerted his full divine power, he was not someone a mere ninth-realm martial artist like Song Changjing could typically resist. It was clear to what a terrifying, superhuman degree the strength of Song Changjing—now lost in his own murderous karma—had reached.

The mere fact that he could withstand a strike from Qi Jingchun without being easily crushed, and even show signs of a counterattack, was the kind of earth-shattering intelligence that would stir up a storm in the outside world.

Although Qi Jingchun was a saint of Confucianism—one of the Three Teachings—and a supreme expert who had attained the fourteenth realm, he frowned at the sight of such monstrous killing intent from Song Changjing. His disapproval, while not overtly displayed, was plain for all to see.

A moment later, the scene nearby tore a startling, crimson rift through the frozen time and space that Qi Jingchun had established. Su Ling discovered that deep within that blood-red fracture lay scenes of hellish, unspeakable carnage. Beyond the torn sky, the disheveled figure of Song Changjing appeared. He stood upon a blood-soaked battlefield, seemingly soaked through with the blood of countless young prodigies. The entire battlefield was a deep crimson, and his entire state of mind was stained a terrifying shade of scarlet. Song Changjing was teetering, yet he remained standing, a testament to his indomitable will.

“Build a monument of skulls!!!”

Song Changjing roared in a fit of unconscious rage. A terrifying aura, brimming with monstrous killing intent, suddenly erupted. Like the most fearsome storm the world had ever seen, it swept across the land, surging toward Qi Jingchun.

Seeing this, Qi Jingchun’s expression did not change, yet the observant Chen Pingan still noticed the slight furrow of the sage’s brow. Just as Chen Pingan felt a flicker of worry that Mr. Qi might be caught off guard and injured by the god of slaughter, Qi Jingchun extended his slender arm, his straight finger pointing directly at the rampaging, mindless Song Changjing.

“Suppress.”

Qi Jingchun parted his thin lips, and in the next instant, a gilded character, heavy with the truth of the Sages, emerged from his mouth. This character, imbued with immense power, vanished into the air. When it reappeared, it had transformed into a magnificent seal, massive as a mountain. It seemed to possess the power to suppress the very heavens and earth, its momentum surging and unstoppable.

The solid gold character was carved into the base of the seal, radiating a regal and grand atmosphere as it descended like a meteor toward Song Changjing below. The mountain-sized seal, carved of jade and wreathed in substantial, gilded immortal energy, carried heaven-defying power. Within moments, it cleanly and decisively pinned the demonic-aura-shrouded Song Changjing to the ground before he could fully unleash his might.

As soon as the character of “Suppression” appeared, the environment around Mud Bottle Alley, which had been corrupted by Song Changjing’s murderous state of mind, melted away like thin snow under the sun. Moments later, after a gentle spring breeze blew past, the terrifying scene had vanished entirely, replaced by the mundane appearance of a regular alley.

However, this narrow alley had been imbued with the divine will of a supreme master. As a result, the wild grass along the roadside seemed to herald the arrival of spring; it grew lush and green, and wildflowers bloomed everywhere, filling the air with fragrance. The sweet scent attracted butterflies that had not yet flown far, dancing about in a way that was truly refreshing to the soul.

Just as Chen Pingan watched this scene, feeling both shocked and filled with a sense of longing, Qi Jingchun’s voice—gentle enough to soften the heart of even the wicked—reached his ears: “Chen Pingan, take good care of Song Jixin.”

On the other side, Su Ling was slightly surprised, but as he followed Qi Jingchun’s gaze, his surprise grew. He discovered that Song Jixin, who had been missing for some time, had appeared behind Qi Jingchun without a sound. His previous disheveled state was gone, leaving only a hint of lingering, imperceptible timidity; the pride he once shared with Song Changjing was nowhere to be found.

Su Ling even noticed that Song Jixin, now clear-headed, looked toward him with panic in his eyes. He dodged his gaze, acting like a spineless coward, trembling with unease in a way that seemed almost comical. Had it not been for the intervention of the saint Qi Jingchun, Song Jixin would likely never have escaped the prison of his own inner demons—the demon named Su Ling.

A faint warmth spread through Song Jixin’s body; it was a trace of literary energy left behind by Qi Jingchun to safeguard him while rescuing him, preventing his inner demons from resurfacing. After all, although Qi Jingchun was now a pariah whom everyone wanted to cast out—a situation closely tied to the heaven-defying act he would soon perform—he was still a Confucian saint. As for the secret dealings between the Confucian School and the Great Li Dynasty, Qi Jingchun, a scholar trapped within the Li Bead Grotto-heaven, was naturally well aware of them.

Though a gentleman does not strive for fame or profit, he still feels the duty to repay the kindness of the Confucian teachings he received. Thus, while Qi Jingchun harbored some dislike for the true nature of Song Jixin, a prince hiding his identity, he would not stand by and watch him die.

“Yes.” Despite the deep-seated conflict between Chen Pingan and Song Changjing, Chen Pingan did not refuse the request at Qi Jingchun’s behest. He walked quickly to the side of Song Changjing, who had been so terrified by a single glance from Su Ling that his legs had nearly given way.