Chapter 172
Chapter 172: Overjoy... Or... Killing?
On the ruins of the Scholar's Dojo.
Confucius knelt on one knee amid the rubble, his virtue-character massive axe planted in the ground beside him.
He raised his head, his rugged face etched with disbelief.
"You… you are truly the Dragon God?"
Jiang Nan glanced down at him without answering.
Silence was the best answer.
【Divine Oracle】had already rewritten Confucius's will, binding him to Jiang Nan's side forever.
Confucius's throat bobbed.
When he looked upon this face…
The darkness buried deep within his heart had screamed at him to kill the man before him!
But swiftly…
That killing intent faded away, dissolving into reverence…
He recalled the 【Imperial Might】from moments ago—that was the Dragon God's signature technique. No second person in all the world could replicate it.
And then there was the Sovereign Lantern at his waist—that was the Ancestral Dragon Emperor's possession.
The only one who could simultaneously possess both of these things, in all the world beneath the heavens, was that one person.
Thud!
The massive axe toppled to the ground. Confucius dropped to both knees and kowtowed deeply.
"Dragon God! This old one… this old one had eyes but failed to see Mount Tai!"
His voice trembled, carrying the relief of a man who had survived catastrophe and an excitement beyond words.
【Rise and speak.】
A slip of paper drifted down…
Jiang Nan walked to a collapsed stone pillar and sat, casually driving the God-Slaying Spear into the ground beside him.
"This old one dares not…"
"Rise."
Only when Jiang Nan spoke aloud did Confucius finally climb to his feet, patting the dust from his knees—yet not daring to stand fully upright.
He stooped slightly at the waist, like an old servant who had done wrong.
"Sit."
Jiang Nan gestured toward a broken stele across from him.
Confucius obeyed and sat, perching only on the very edge.
【Tell me.】
【Everything concerning me.】
【The Sage of Painting in Soul-Return Town. And those two spirit instruments.】
Jiang Nan tossed the slip of paper over and watched him.
Confucius paused, then understood at once—the Dragon God had reincarnated; his memories were surely incomplete.
He cleared his throat, his expression turning grave.
"Since the Dragon God asks, this old one shall start from the very beginning."
His gaze drifted past the ruins into the far distance, as though peering toward an age long since vanished.
"Dragon-Summer Imperial City—do you remember it?"
Jiang Nan shook his head.
"It was the most glorious city in the Blazing Flame Realm. The place where ten thousand clans came to pay tribute."
Confucius's voice grew distant and unhurried.
"The Imperial City had three sovereigns. The world called them: One Sovereign, One Emperor, One God."
He raised three fingers.
"The God—that is you."
"The Dragon God of the Blazing Flame Realm. The divine being who judged all things in the world."
"The Emperor—that is the Ancestral Dragon Emperor."
"Lord of the Imperial City. Sovereign of the Dragon Race."
"The one who carried out the Burning of Books and Burial of Scholars was none other than him."
Confucius's tone grew complicated at this, yet the hatred from before was gone.
"The Sovereign—that is the Phoenix Sovereign."
"The Ancestral Dragon Emperor's elder sister. The First Princess of the Imperial City."
"In her hands she holds two supreme treasures coveted by gods and men alike."
Jiang Nan's gaze sharpened ever so slightly.
"The Painting of Mortal Hearth-Fire, and the River-and-Mountain Brush."
Confucius enunciated each name one syllable at a time.
"The Painting of Mortal Hearth-Fire is a painting."
He gestured to indicate its size.
"Unrolled, it measures no more than three feet square."
"Yet within it exists its own heaven and earth—a small world unto itself."
"Mountains and waters, figures and portraits, birds in flight and beasts on land, pavilions and towers—nothing is absent."
"It is said the world within that painting is indistinguishable from the real world. Sun and moon revolve, seasons turn and shift—all of it contained within."
Jiang Nan raised an eyebrow.
He thought of his own Sovereign Lantern.
Inside the lantern was also a small world—but it was dim and gray, without so much as a blade of grass.
"And the River-and-Mountain Brush?"
Confucius drew a slow breath.
"The River-and-Mountain Brush… that is a true instrument of creation."
His voice dropped lower.
"Wherever the brush tip goes, wherever the ink touches, what is conceived is what is born."
"Paint a mountain and there stands a mountain. Paint water and water flows. Paint a bird and it soars. Paint a fish and it swims."
"Whatever can be painted, can be made."
Jiang Nan's fingers tapped lightly against his knee.
Creation.
Not imitation. Not replication. Something from nothing.
Paired with the Painting of Mortal Hearth-Fire—one could even call it a world-creation-level instrument.
‘These must be obtained!’
He pressed down the tide rising within him, his expression betraying nothing.
Then he tossed out another slip of paper.
【What grade are these two spirit instruments?】
Confucius scratched his head.
"This old one is not certain either."
He weighed his words carefully.
"Above S-Grade is Special-Grade."
"But these two items… are likely beyond even Special-Grade. Not ordinary at all."
He pointed to the 【Sovereign Lantern】at Jiang Nan's waist.
"The Ancestral Dragon Emperor's Sovereign Lantern could reach Special-Grade Cursed Object at its peak."
"He forged it himself after inheriting the previous emperor's artifact-crafting legacy."
"But the Phoenix Sovereign's River-and-Mountain Brush and Painting of Mortal Hearth-Fire…"
"Were forged by the previous emperor—the Ancestral Dragon Emperor's father."
"He exhausted the last of his lifeforce before his death to complete them, and left them as gifts—and as a final keepsake—for the Sage of Painting."
"The grade of those two items has never been determined by anyone."
"Only known to be powerful. Exceptionally powerful."
Jiang Nan's gaze settled in the distance. He did not ask further.
But Confucius seemed to have found the floodgates opened—he could not stop himself from speaking.
"Dragon God, you… do you truly remember nothing?"
"Remember what?"
"You and the Phoenix Sovereign."
Confucius's tone shifted, taking on something indefinable.
"In the Imperial City back then, who did not know that the Phoenix Sovereign had feelings for you…"
"I don't know."
Jiang Nan cut him off.
He truly did not remember. No matter how he tried, no memories of the past came to him.
But Confucius was not to be deterred.
"Then let this old one tell you."
He leaned a little closer to Jiang Nan and lowered his voice.
"When you were still a common soldier in the Imperial City, the Phoenix Sovereign had already noticed you."
"At that time your bloodline had awakened less than ten percent. No one believed in you—only the Phoenix Sovereign said you would one day become great."
"Then you fought your way up, step by step. From Dragon Guard to Dragon General, from Dragon General to Dragon King. The Phoenix Sovereign watched you the whole way."
"How many sought her hand in marriage? She wouldn't spare them a glance."
"But every time you returned victorious from battle, she would personally go to the city gates to receive you."
A note of wistfulness entered Confucius's voice.
"Yet you said women would only slow down your blade. So she did not press you."
"You said you would never take a wife in this lifetime. So she waited."
"The day you became a god, she was happier than anyone."
"The day the news of your fall came back…"
He paused.
"The bells of the Imperial City rang ninety-nine times."
Jiang Nan was silent for a long while, his face holding no expression.
As a story, the Phoenix Sovereign was a fine woman.
She had been very good to him.
But he held no such memories. How could he be moved by them?
"She is currently in Soul-Return Town."
Confucius's voice grew careful.
"Three hundred years ago she agreed to serve under the Evil God…"
"But the Sage of Painting had no choice…"
"She only wanted everyone to live a little longer…"
"To give those who came to Eerie Island a way out…"
"Though this old one does not know the full circumstances…"
"But the most important thing is…"
"This old one believes she is waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Confucius looked at Jiang Nan, words catching in his throat—but in the end he spoke them.
"For you."
Wind moved through the ruins, stirring the ash scattered across the ground.
Jiang Nan stood, pulled the God-Slaying Spear free from the earth, and shouldered it.
"Those two items—I want them."
Confucius started.
Seeing Jiang Nan draw the spear, he had thought he meant to take them by force.
"Dragon God, given your relationship with the Sage of Painting…"
"Is this… is this not a little inappropriate?"
He rubbed his hands together, choosing his words with great care.
"After all, the Sage of Painting, all these years… has never truly let go of you."
"If you were to simply ask her for them, she would offer them up with both hands."
"But…"
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
Jiang Nan spoke suddenly.
Confucius hadn't caught it: "Pardon?"
"Matters of the heart—I don't understand them very well."
"The past… I cannot recall either."
Jiang Nan turned and looked at him.
Important words were not meant for slips of paper.
"So I intend to go see for myself."
"If it is true…"
"What would it matter even if I were to marry her?"
"Besides…"
"Did I not also accept that groom's invitation?"
Confucius froze.
He stared at Jiang Nan, mouth agape.
3 seconds.
5 seconds.
10 seconds.
"Dragon… Dragon God?!"
Confucius's voice cracked.
"You… what did you just say?!"
Jiang Nan did not repeat himself.
But Confucius had heard clearly.
Every single word.
His eyes turned red in an instant.
"You've finally… finally come around!"
This old ghost who had lived for more ages than he could count—this fierce brute who had been swinging a massive axe with everything he had just moments ago—
Now wept like a child, tears streaming freely down his face.
"The people of later generations, the scholars, the historians…"
"How many of them grieved that you left no descendants!"
He wiped his eyes, laughing and crying all at once.
"You declared in your lifetime that you would never take a woman—how many people worried themselves sick over you! And now you've finally…"
He was so overwhelmed he couldn't string a sentence together, waving his arms and babbling incoherently.
"The Sage of Painting will be overjoyed when she learns you've changed your mind!"
"She will surely break free from the Evil God and return to your side!"
"Dragon God, you don't know—all these thousands of years, the Sage of Painting…"
Confucius's words cut off abruptly.
Because he saw it.
Across the ruins in the distance, several figures were running this way.
At the front were 2 women.
One with wine-red long hair, voluptuous in figure, her chest surging dramatically as she ran.
One with silver-white long hair, strides swift and powerful, equally unrestrained in that regard.
Chen Tong.
Yekaterina.
The 2 of them, one left and one right, lunged into Jiang Nan's arms almost simultaneously.
"Jiang Nan!"
Chen Tong buried her face in his chest, voice carrying a sob.
"What was that massive axe just now? Are you hurt?"
Yekaterina said nothing. She simply looked him over from head to toe with those vertical-pupiled eyes of hers.
Once she confirmed he was completely unharmed, she quietly let out a breath of relief.
Jiang Nan wrapped one arm around each of them, pulling them close.
The motion was as natural as something done a thousand times before.
Confucius stood to the side, jaw hanging open.
He looked at Chen Tong, then at Yekaterina, then back at Jiang Nan.
"This… this…"
He blinked hard several times, wondering if his old eyes were deceiving him.
The Dragon God was holding 2 women?
No—the Dragon God could hold women?
And 2 at once, at that?
He scrambled to find an explanation for himself.
‘The Dragon God was a dragon. And dragons by nature…’
‘Well, having a few close female companions wasn't so unusual, was it?’
‘Right. Perfectly normal.’
‘The Sage of Painting would understand.’
Confucius drew a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.
But just then—
"Master!"
A shrill female voice came from the side.
Piano Cassone shot straight toward him, threw her arms around Jiang Nan's leg, and clung there with her entire body.
"Master, are you alright! Piano was terrified!"
She pressed herself against his leg, her face twisted with equal parts fright and relief—every bit like a dog that had just been reunited with its owner.
Confucius's eye twitched.
‘3…’
‘3 of them.’
He swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on his brow.
‘But 3 was 3. Fine.’
‘A figure like the Dragon God—wasn't it only natural for him to have a few more women around him?’
‘The Sage of Painting…’
‘Would surely…’
‘Understand. Probably.’
He was still reassuring himself when more figures came running out from behind the ruins.
Yu Shishi, Liu Yuqing, Hoshino Hikari—one after another, all crowding in.
"Boss!"
"Boss, are you alright!"
"Boss! Boss, you were incredible!"
They chattered all at once, every face flushed with the relief of people who had just cheated death.
The sweat running down Confucius's face grew heavier.
‘1…’
‘2…’
‘3…’
‘4…’
‘5…’
He counted on his fingers, growing more hollow with each number.
Then, from within the crowd, a middle-aged woman with half-white hair stepped forward.
Han Fei.
She did not crowd in like the others—only stood at a distance.
After confirming Jiang Nan was unharmed, she gave a slight nod.
But Confucius did not know any of this.
All he saw was yet another woman approaching, watching Jiang Nan with that look of concern.
And at that moment, his psychological defenses collapsed entirely.
"Dragon God…"
Confucius's face fell into despair.
"I said to branch your family tree—not this many branches!"
He pointed at the crowd of women gathered around Jiang Nan, his very hand shaking.
"And… and before the Sage of Painting, no less!"
"What is to be done about this!"
Jiang Nan paid him no attention.
He only raised his head, gaze turning toward the direction of Soul-Return Town.
The sky there carried a faint deep crimson tinge.
Like the light of wedding candles. Like blood on the verge of boiling.
Wind came from the distance, carrying ash and the scent of smoke, brushing past the hem of his robe.
Confucius was still prattling on behind him, but Jiang Nan heard none of it.
"A day of great joy—or a time of slaughter…"
Bunny-Bunny