Chapter 887: Myriad Saints Immortal Sect (3)
Yunzhou’s wandering hero, Li Yiyun, loudly slammed his fist down on the armrest, his voice filled with righteous fury. “The Myriad Saints Immortal Sect? They’re nothing but demonic parasites and bloodsuckers leeching off the people! A cancer within Great Song! If only I had the strength to fight back, I—!”
“You’ve gone mad!” Yang Zhao quickly cut him off and said, “Be careful what you say. Walls have ears. If those words reach them, you’ll find no safe haven anywhere in Great Song.”
Li Yiyun gritted his teeth and growled, “Then I’ll draw my sword and fight to the death. Better to die with honor than live as a coward!”
Kou Zhengyang hurried to calm him. “Brother Li, you are a man of courage and integrity. Who in Yunzhou does not know your name? But we must act with foresight. Only by surviving can we hope to do great things. Recklessness will only throw everything away.”
The three of them exchanged glances, each one filled with helpless resignation. To outsiders, they were influential figures. They were heroes, leaders, and renowned men of their generation. But they were no more than ants before the Myriad Saints Immortal Sect.
As the only immortal sect formally established within the borders of Great Song, the Myriad Saints Immortal Sect stood above mortal authority, transcending imperial power and worldly martial sects alike. Even a mere outer disciple from the sect could swagger before regional governors and military commanders as if they were royalty.
For the Great Song Dynasty, the loss of the sect’s protection would be nothing short of a national catastrophe. Thus, every year, the imperial family and the provinces were required to offer tributes to the Myriad Saints Immortal Sect.
The contents of these tributes varied from year to year. But human sacrifices, living offerings, were always part of the demand. This had long stirred unrest among the people of Great Song. There had been brave souls in the past who had dared to resist. But they had all died. Not just died, they had perished in the most brutal, tragic fashion imaginable. Their families, friends, teachers, students, and anyone associated with them had been wiped out.
The most notorious incident had occurred a bare twenty years prior. Prince Zhao Dechuan, a virtuous noble of Great Song, once uttered a single phrase during court, “The immortal sect is not so virtuous.”
By noon that very day, his entire household consisting of one hundred and forty-six people, had been slaughtered by a single celestial sword. After the massacre, the sword had released a solitary arc of sword qi that split open the eastern gate of the imperial palace.
Zhao Dechuan had been the blood uncle of the current emperor, Emperor Renzong. But the royal court had not shown the slightest anger or disapproval. On the contrary, they had submitted tributes and apology memorials in quick succession, seeking forgiveness from the Myriad Saints Immortal Sect.
It was said the emperor himself had once climbed the mountain barefoot and bore thorns on his back to offer his penitence. If even the imperial family could be reduced to this, how could someone like Kou Zhengyang, a mere minor prefect of a small border city, possibly oppose such a colossal force?