The Cold and Aloof Palace Master's Daily Demon-Slaying Life

Chapter 129 The Fate of the Chess Pieces

It wasn't that he heard anything.

Or perhaps it sensed something.

Rather, it is a more mysterious and ineffable "intuition," like a tiny pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating ripples that are almost nonexistent.

He slowly raised his eyes, his gaze shifting from the chessboard, past the quietly seated ink puppet, and landing on the other side of the chessboard.

On a low table against the wall.

On the low table, there was nothing else but a lamp placed neatly.

The lamp has an ancient and simple shape, seemingly cast in bronze, with its surface covered with dark green rust and mysterious patterns.

There was no oil or wick in the lamp, only a fist-sized, quietly burning flame with a warm orange hue.

The flames appeared ordinary, yet they remained condensed and did not dissipate.

The flame was steady, with mysterious runes flowing within it.

This is the "Soul Lamp".

It was he, as the senior disciple, who personally went to the Soul Lamp Hall to "invite" the natal soul lamp belonging to his junior brother, Li Baitian.

As long as the light is on, there is a person.

If the light goes out, the person dies.

Lu Zixu's gaze quietly fell upon the warm, stable orange-yellow soul flame that had been burning for hundreds of years.

Then he saw—

Without warning, the wisp of soul fire flickered slightly.

It was like being gently blown by the slightest breath.

Immediately afterward, under his calm gaze, the soul fire that had been burning steadily for over seven hundred years, symbolizing the life force of a Great Perfection Purple Mansion Sword Immortal, began to dim rapidly at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The orange faded to bright yellow, the bright yellow turned to pale gold, and the pale gold turned to deathly white.

Finally, there was a soft "poof".

Like a candle flickering in the wind, it met its final fate.

The soul fire was completely extinguished.

Only a wisp of very faint blue smoke remained in the lamp, rising gently before dissipating into the cool air of the attic.

The bronze lamp instantly became cold and lifeless, devoid of any spiritual energy.

Lu Zixu's hand, holding the chess piece, hovered in mid-air.

The usual gentle and elegant smile on his face seemed to be erased by an invisible eraser, disappearing little by little.

In his deep eyes, the soul lamp, now completely extinguished and lifeless, was reflected. In the depths of his calm pupils, there seemed to be a very subtle ripple, which quickly subsided into an unfathomable silence.

The room was deathly silent.

Only the wind outside the window seemed a little fiercer than before, blowing the silk curtains and making a soft rustling sound.

The ink-wash puppet remained seated, its blank face "gazing" in his direction, showing no reaction.

Lu Zixu slowly placed the cool black jade chess piece from his fingertip back into the chess jar beside him.

The movements were slow and gentle, without making a sound.

He didn't cry out in surprise, nor did he express grief or indignation, nor did he even sigh.

He simply sat quietly, watching the extinguished soul lamp for a long time.

A pale white robe draped down, brushing against the gleaming wooden floor, untouched by dust.

He didn't look at the chessboard or the puppet; he simply walked to the open window, reached out, and gently parted the hanging silk curtain.

A cold wind immediately rushed in, blowing the strands of hair hanging down his forehead and his wide sleeves.

He stood before the railing, gazing into the distance.

Wherever the light reaches, one sees the unique ink-wash landscape of the Hanmo Mountains.

Dark mountains, snow-capped peaks, flowing clouds, white willows —

Everything remained quietly displayed under the winter sunlight, exuding a transcendent and tranquil beauty.

Beneath this tranquility, he seemed to hear a sword cry that abruptly ceased, and a wisp of soul drifting away on the wind, coming from the distant direction of Taihua Gate.

Junior brother, Li Baitian.

That young man, from the moment he entered the sect, possessed the sharp and stubborn spirit of a rough-and-tumble wanderer, yet also had an almost obsessive and pure passion for the way of the sword.

That junior brother who disliked the sect's rules and spent his years outside doing chivalrous deeds was revered by the common people as "Qingping Hero" and was privately discussed by his fellow disciples as "not doing his proper job".

The green-robed swordsman who, every time he returned to the mountain, would bring his senior brother novelties from all over the old land and tell him interesting stories of slaying demons and monsters, his eyes shining with a dazzling light.

Seven hundred years is a long time, even for a cultivator at the Great Perfection of the Purple Mansion realm.

But the image of that boy and his clear voice calling "Senior Brother" still seem like they were just yesterday.

Now, the lights are off.

Lu Zixu gazed at the distant mountains and flowing clouds, his face still expressionless.

But deep within those eyes, which were always warm and smiling, the vicissitudes and loneliness that had accumulated over countless years seemed to have deepened even further.

He wasn't unaware of why his junior brother had left.

I never imagined that this absurd and laughable ending would come so quickly and so decisively.

In the power struggle between the two True Lords, the junior brother ultimately became one of their pawns.

The fate of a chess piece is determined the moment it is placed.

He stood quietly, like a jade sculpture, blending into the ink-wash background.

Until a loud bang.

The unique ink-wash "domain" that had enveloped the Hanmo Mountains for countless years and was deeply intertwined with the Dao principles of Fuguo was beginning to violently tremble and distort.

The ink-wash clouds in the sky churned wildly, and the natural "ink-wash filter" on the mountainside flickered, as if this ancient "painting" was being violently kneaded by an invisible giant hand, on the verge of breaking.

Lu Zixu remained motionless, his robes fluttering wildly amidst the turbulent flow and vibrations of spiritual energy.

He slowly raised his head and looked at the sky, which was becoming unusually heavy and distorted.

Then, he saw it too.

They saw the phantom of a vast continent that blotted out the sun and moon, exuding supreme majesty and an aura of destruction.

The shadows swallowed the light and color, shrouding his gentle, jade-like face in a deep gloom.

He recognized the source of that power.

That transcends ordinary water techniques, containing the "true meaning of ink painting" and the "universe of a painting scroll"—a supreme Daoist charm.

It is Master.

It is Master's "Beautiful Landscape".

Master has made his move.

When the True Lord is angry, heaven and earth are overturned.

He gazed silently at the oppressive "sky," at this landscape of calligraphy and painting, where he was born, raised, and from which all his Taoist magic and supernatural powers originated, trembling under the supreme power of his master.

The slight loneliness that arose in his heart due to his junior brother's death was gradually replaced by a grander and colder premonition.

The rain is coming and the wind is all over the building.

Yichuan Plain.

The inverted continent projection, bearing the weight of an entire world, seemed to be grasped in mid-air by an invisible and intangible yet unimaginably enormous "hand" the instant Zuo Qingqiu made a grasping motion.

The downward pressure suddenly stopped.

At the edge of the vast continental phantom, and a hundred feet above Zuo Qingqiu's head, came a teeth-grinding, ear-piercing sound of friction and cracking, as if glass was about to be crushed by a tremendous force.

Countless crisscrossing, pitch-black spatial rifts, like a spider web, spread outwards from Zuo Qingqiu into the surrounding void.

It exploded.

Two forces, representing the pinnacle of the ancient land, collided violently within a small space.

There was no earth-shattering explosion, only silent annihilation and the lament of the laws of nature.

At the center of the collision, the light was completely distorted and swallowed up, turning into a deep void of darkness, as if even "existence" itself had been erased.