The old things I repaired have become fine

Chapter 811 Passing the Test! The Magic Boat's Repair Progress...

Shen Le gripped the dagger and slowly raised his head.

A heavy, yet light, force settled in his palm, making it both icy and burning hot. He reflexively gasped for breath, then gasped again.
“Hoo, hoo, hoo…”

The flashing of swords and the clash of blades seem to still be vivid in my mind's eye. The fierce battle within the main hall of Xianyang Palace—figures darted about, shouts rang out, and blood splattered…

The guards were in an uproar. They disobeyed the imperial edict but were forbidden from taking a single step onto the steps with their weapons. Countless eyes were fixed on Qin Wuyang below the imperial steps...

Long spears approached from all directions. Those guards, those who had not received the Qin King's edict, could not go up the steps to help block Jing Ke, but they could pursue and kill those below the steps!

Even the deputy envoy, if he claimed not to be one of the assassins, would be met with disbelief. In the eyes of these guards, killing him would earn them some merit—

Or at least, when the King of Qin questioned, "Why was no one protecting me?", there was something to cover up the shame so as not to be killed by the King of Qin's thunderous wrath.
Therefore, given the current situation, perhaps he, or rather Qin Wuyang, will die sooner than Jing Ke in the main hall...

Move!

Get moving!
We can't sit still and wait for death!

Shen Le roared inwardly.

Perhaps because the King of Qin had been assassinated, or perhaps because the fate of the Yan state was also burning fiercely, the black tiger at the top of the palace shifted its attention away.

At the last moment, he was finally able to move, but even if he used all his martial arts skills, he would have to struggle to break through the crowd to survive...

But it's too difficult, far too difficult. Relying solely on human martial arts, without magic, and dressed only in simple clothes, how can one contend with armored warriors advancing in formation, armed with long spears?

Shen Le jumped with all his might. He leaped over the tips of the first row of long spears, stepped on the spears and stomped down, pressing down on the two spears, then rolled forward.

He dodged two long spears that swept across him, punched away one that was thrusting straight at him, and pounced on the warrior wielding the spear.

He grabbed a samurai by the neck with his elbow, twisted him with a "crack", then snatched the long spear and swung it away with all his might!

Improve!

Improve!

There are still thirty-six steps to the main hall and the battleground where the fighting is taking place. Once you climb these steps, you can enter the battle. If you can't kill the King of Qin, at least you can make a name for yourself in history!

Let future generations know that Qin Wuyang was not a useless coward who could only "turn pale with fear" and was utterly incompetent!
The heavy bronze halberd flashed with a cold light. With a hardwood shaft and a bronze tip, its weight was comparable to the Mo Dao (陌刀), but it was longer, requiring even more strength to wield.

He bent down, slightly bent his knees, and used all the strength he had to push off the ground to twist his waist and hips, swinging his long spear in a huge semi-circle.

A sudden gust of wind arose, knocking five or six long spears to the side, the foremost one even slipping from Shen Le's grasp. Unable to give chase, Shen Le leaped upwards with all his might, then swung his spear in the opposite direction, smashing through another group of spears.
A chill ran down my spine; my intuition had already warned me of an attack before my hearing could register it!

Someone came wielding a spear!

Shen Le kicked the long halberd in his hand, sending it flying upwards. Then, he bent down, rolled forward to avoid it, and continued upwards!
Two more long spears thrust at them from the left and right. Thirty-six steps, seventy-two guards, advanced in formation, attacking from all directions.

Shen Le dodged left and right through the crowd, constantly blocking and trying to rush forward.

His strength was rapidly depleting; with each breath, the faint smell of blood filled his mouth and nose; his vision blurred in waves; and every muscle in his body screamed in agony.

This body, the body of a disciple of the Ghost Valley Hidden Lineage, a body trained only for assassination rather than battlefield assault, is simply not suited to this kind of high-intensity physical confrontation:

Moreover, a fifteen-year-old boy's body is far from fully developed and is far too weak...

Ten breaths.

He climbed fifteen steps, almost reaching the halfway point of the long staircase.

The long spear was shot down.

Thirteen breaths.

He climbed three more steps and seized a second long spear, at the cost of a gash in his back.

Eighteen breaths.

He climbed the twenty-second step, his long spear knocked from his hand for the second time, and his right arm was struck heavily, almost severed, blood spurting out in large quantities—

There are still fourteen levels left!
There are still fourteen steps left!
Keep it up!!!

He bent over and fell to the lower right, pressing his body against his injured right arm, enduring the excruciating pain, and rolled over again. His left hand gripped the long spear tightly, and he pushed down with all his might, springing himself into the air!
Twenty-three!
Twenty-four!
Twenty-five—

Eleven levels remaining, I can already see the main hall, and I can see the figures moving inside. Heavy, cold light strikes down, and blood splatters high into the air—

What it elicited wasn't a scream, but a long laugh—a laugh lacking in strength, yet utterly unrestrained, a laugh that revealed no trace of pain. He laughed and cursed simultaneously:
"I could have killed you! If I hadn't wanted to capture you alive and force you to sign a contract to repay the Crown Prince—"

Shen Le felt a sudden darkness engulf her. She didn't know if it was from the pain, blood loss, or the anger caused by Jing Ke's words.

To enter into a contract?

What is the purpose of making a contract?

They can sign an agreement today, but they can break it tomorrow or next year, and the Qin army can still push through!

Was Qin Shi Huang such a rule-abiding person? Do you think he's the Qin king from the story of the He Shi Bi jade? By the way, who was that Qin king again...?

Suddenly everything went black, his body went limp, and a heavy gust of wind swept down behind him. Shen Le barely managed to turn to the side, dodging the fatal blow, but his left leg still took a heavy hit:
A heaviness, a coolness, followed by a lightness on my leg. My body felt weightless, as if I were about to fly upwards, or as if I were about to fall heavily downwards. Wait, where is my left leg...?

Where is the left leg?
His body had already begun to tilt downwards. Behind him, footsteps clashed, more people, more clanging of armor plates, more whooshing sounds of long spears cutting through the air converged. He couldn't go any further, there was no way he could go any further…

With only eleven levels left, and this broken body missing an arm and a leg, there's no longer any possibility of reaching another eleven levels, no possibility of charging into the battlefield where Jing Ke assassinated the King of Qin...

Shen Le was lost in thought. It was as if his whole being had split in two, one half heavy and slumped within his body, cold, painful, exhausted, and all sorts of sensations surging up like a tide;

The other half floated lightly above, coldly observing the struggle below, repeatedly telling itself:
Give up, give up...

Anyway, you can't change history... Anyway, even if you fight to the very end here, you can't kill Qin Shi Huang, and you can't leave a trace in the history books... Anyway, this is just a memory of the dagger...

Another whooshing sound descended from above. At the last moment, Shen Le used all his strength to straighten his body with his left arm and right leg, leaning slightly backward, his left hand gripping the long spear tightly—

Throw!

forward!

A bronze halberd flew into the air. Immediately, Shen Le's vision began to spin, spin, spin rapidly, until he plummeted to the ground…

In his dimmed senses, he heard hurried footsteps passing by, the sound of bronze halberds striking the ground, and shouts rising high:

"Jing Ke has been slain! Jing Ke has been slain—"

ended.

everything is over.

Shen Le gripped the dagger, his vision blurring intermittently, completely obscuring his view with clusters of mosaic pixels.

According to historical records, after Jing Ke's death, the King of Qin was "dizzy for a long time." Shen Le didn't last that long, but he was indeed dizzy for a long time now...

Could I have high blood pressure?
It shouldn't be like that; it's just that the body has been overexerted, and the blood oxygen levels are temporarily insufficient. Even if this body didn't possess powerful cultivation, a young body in its twenties wouldn't suffer a stroke from high blood pressure...

A fragrant breeze gently wafted around him, and soft silk enveloped him, supporting him, wiping his sweat, and feeding him warm tea.

Shen Le took a long breath before the mosaic gradually faded, returning to the scene in the laboratory: a workbench, shelves, and a half-used black silk rope.

He stared down at the dagger in his hand, blankly looking at it, as if he didn't recognize it, or as if the dagger had turned into a monster.

After a long pause, the fingers suddenly loosened, and the dagger fell straight down, followed by a soft cry of pain:

【Ouch!】

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, it's all my fault." Shen Le hurriedly pulled out the dagger, casually placed it on the workbench, quickly grabbed a bottle of nutrient solution, poured it on the floor, and then threw a few growth spells down.

After the repairs were completed, and especially after the memories contained within were conveyed to him, the dagger seemed to awaken a spirit, and an unusual sharpness condensed on its blade:

Even without touching a physical object, the air near the blade is slightly distorted, as if the dagger is about to cut something at any moment.

As for Huang Yutong, who was inexplicably stabbed, it can only be described as an undeserved misfortune. Fortunately, the old house is large enough that being stabbed is only a superficial wound...

After calming Huang Yutong down, Shen Le looked around and then took a piece of jujube wood to make a makeshift scabbard for the dagger.

The scabbard was made from the same piece of jujube wood as the hilt. The dagger seemed a little unhappy, trembling in his hand, but it reluctantly accepted the scabbard and did not cut it into pieces.

Then, Shen Le gripped the hilt of the knife again, savoring its feel:

To his surprise, the repaired dagger no longer felt like it was in two separate, unrelated pieces.

The disjointed feeling of "the blade tip being old, the hilt brand new; the blade tip brimming with murderous intent, the hilt lacking any, was completely gone:

A spiritual quality flowed smoothly throughout the entire dagger. From the tip of the dagger to the hilt he held, to the inside of every single silk cord that had just been wrapped around it and hadn't yet been worn down.

Even the original layer of toxin on the blade—a layer of toxin that, for reasons unknown, had remained firmly bonded to the blade for thousands of years, even after being submerged in water for millennia—now enveloped the entire blade.
A faint, slightly fishy-sweet dark black color evenly covered the narrow blade, slightly diminishing its chilling murderous aura, at least visually...

Shen Le let out a long sigh.

Perhaps it was because he withstood the onslaught of memories, or perhaps it was because his performance in that memory satisfied the dagger; in any case, he could now feel the dagger's spirit more vividly.
That was more than just killing intent, more than just ferocity. It was an extremely refined strength, an unstoppable sharpness, a solitary act done despite knowing it was impossible—

Holding it in my hand is like feeling the cold wind on the banks of the Yi River, and hearing someone reciting a long, rhythmic poem:
"The wind howls, the Yi River is cold, the brave warrior departs—never to return..."

The heavens are about to collapse, the nation is about to crumble, and a powerful neighbor is pressing in with overwhelming force. We can only do everything we can to fight for a sliver of hope...

Perhaps this will cost me my life, but so what? To be treated as a national hero is to repay him in kind, even at the cost of my life!

Shen Le sensed the powerful metallic energy condensed within the dagger, then suddenly bent down, retracted the dagger in front of him, and slashed downwards.

A slash, a thrust, a flick. Light steps, circling the workbench rapidly, weaving between chairs and boxes without encountering any obstacle;

His steps were sometimes fast, sometimes slow, his body rose and fell, constantly spinning. It was somewhat similar to when he had just repaired the bamboo slips and tried out the martial arts techniques given on them, but he was more agile and freer in his movements.

After rehearsing once, Shen Le breathed a sigh of relief, carefully put the dagger away, and then took out a piece of spirit jade:
This piece of jade, at first glance, is the color of solidified fat. It is made of the finest mutton fat white jade. Whether carved into ornaments or jewelry, it would be priceless.
Upon closer inspection, at the center of the spirit jade, a faintly glowing golden dot of light moves and leaps continuously. Layers upon layers of array threads, like a maze, surround the dot, sealing it within.

Shen Le stared at it for a long time before his spiritual energy penetrated it and touched the golden light. This time, a sharp, violent golden light slashed down once more:
Shen Le quickly roused himself, gathering all his strength to accept the golden light, to embrace it, analyze it, guide it, and control it.

The spiritual energy enveloped it, only to be torn apart; it enveloped it again, only to be torn apart again, dismantling the golden light strand by strand, guiding the familiar parts of it...

Part of it was successful. A portion of the power within the golden light was very similar to the spirit carried in Madam Xu's dagger, and Shen Le had already become very adept at wielding this power.

Although the power within the golden light was extremely high and also extremely heavy, guiding it was like a child wielding a sledgehammer, but by grasping its essence, Shen Le could control it:

Separate them, guide them, and move them one by one into their designated positions;
But the other part, the part where they had the advantage, still didn't work. Shen Le tried seventeen or eighteen times, until his head was throbbing and his forehead was covered in cold sweat, before finally having to give up.

"It seems I still haven't mastered it enough... I need to continue, continue to familiarize myself with this power, continue to grasp its different properties..."

Shen Le rubbed his forehead, took a breath, and then turned his gaze to the sleeping lacquer box.

Inside the boxes and earthenware urns, several artifacts lie dormant, awaiting restoration.

Shen Le could sense the golden light emanating from the core of those artifacts, a golden light similar to, yet different from, that of the broken dagger—no, that of Madam Xu's dagger.

Perhaps, if I repair them all and fully grasp their core essence, I will be able to contain this golden light and begin repairing the Dragon Palace's magic boat.
Lord Dragon, is that what you think?

(End of this chapter)