Chapter 745: The Rainbow In The 12th Year Of The Qing Calendar (3)

Translator:Nyoi-Bo Studio

Editor:Nyoi-Bo Studio

The Qing Emperor's fist was always so steady and powerful, and filled with the air of a ruler. It
easily broke through all obstructions in front of him just as he had often done in his life.

In this land, in its decades of history, there were not many people who could survive an attack by
the Qing Emperor. Sigu Jian, that old creature, had been heavily injured and had only managed
to hang on to life thanks to Fei Jie's miraculous poison. Fan Xian had depended on the magic left
to him by Ku He to fly back dozens of feet in an incredible display of bodily movement,
surprising the Qing Emperor and forcefully dodging the terrifying strength contained in the
punch.

Wu Zhu did not dodge this attack. He stoically endured the boundless zhenqi in the Qing
Emperor's body crashing into him. A piece of his chest collapsed, but he did not fall. If the
highest realm in the world was that of a Great Grandmaster, and if the only flaw of a Great
Grandmaster was that they still had flesh bodies like a mortal, then Wu Zhu clearly did not have
this flaw. His body was definitely the most powerful of the Great Grandmasters.

He just stood again and moved closer toward the Qing Emperor across the wet ground.

Once again, he approached the Qing Emperor. The black cloth on his face had not moved at all.
The metal rod in his hands swung through the air without sound because it was too quick. The
people could not see what was happening on the stone steps or hear any sound.

The Emperor did not retreat. A faint gray light flashed through his eyes. His feet were planted
firmly on the stone steps, filled with the same boundless Tyrannical qi and confidence as he
when he was in Hanging Temple. In his life, no matter what enemy he faced, he had never
retreated even half a step.

He launched another punch that emanated a faint light like a piece of jade. It instantly steamed
away all of the moisture in the air and crashed firmly into Wu Zhu's abdomen.

However, Wu Zhu's metal rod was like a streak of clear light that fell from heaven, completely
unstoppable and incredible, striking ruthlessly onto the Qing Emperor's left shoulder.

For warriors who had reached a realm such as theirs, in the last battle of their lives, they had long
tossed aside all facades and techniques. It came down to the words "true strength." Strength was
within the manner of their bodies while pureness touched on the realm of the true. Just as Master
Ku He's Grandmaster said in the Adages of Old, "Take off your clothes and go!"

A duel between two extraordinary warriors was only the coldest, most indifferent, and simplest
form of art. Stripped away of all external things, one just stood naked like a primal man in the
snow, by a volcano, or in the group of beasts on the grasslands, putting into practice the most
perfect killing technique.

The Emperor's left shoulder chattered with a crack. Blood seeped out between his lips, but his
cold eyes were only focused on Wu Zhu's figure, which was flying further and further away.

Wu Zhu was once again sent flying by the Emperor's punch. At this time, his leg was broken and
body crippled. His supernatural powers of calculation no longer had the support of his body's
powerful ability to carry them out. He could not avoid the Emperor's fist, which broke the
boundaries of time and space.

Wu Zhu's body, bent into a crescent shape, flew back quickly through the light rain that was
about to stop. The cold wind made his clothing flutter loudly. With a slap, his feet landed on the
ground. He slid back across the wet ground for a few feet before barely coming to a stop.
However, his left leg could not stand, so he almost fell to the ground.

After taking this punch head-on, Wu Zhu did not fall to the ground. On the contrary, his
condition seemed better than before. The confidence and powerful light that appeared on the
Emperor's face, as well as Wu Zhu's slightly lowered head, seemed to indicate a different
conclusion.

Wu Zhu, standing quietly in a pool of blood in front of Taiji Palace, lowered his head to look at
his own abdomen. He was silent for a long time.

Before the Emperor's fist landed against his abdomen, Wu Zhu had put his left hand in front.
Thus, the Emperor's fist had actually struck his palm and then his abdomen.

Wu Zhu's hand was like an icy sheet of metal, and his body was like an icy ball of metal.
However, the Qing Emperor's punch had been like a hammer of the gods and melded the metal
sheet into the metal ball. His palm had been deeply engraved into his abdomen like two pieces of
metal had been forcefully stuck together.

The corners of his brows not covered by black cloth furrowed slightly. Wu Zhu coldly pulled at
his left hand. After using an unknown amount of strength, he finally pulled his hand out from his
abdomen. This also brought out a large piece of no-longer bleeding and pale white flesh,
accompanied by the sound of tearing. It appeared particularly terrifying.

The Qing Emperor's first punch landed against Wu Zhu's chest, and he didn't block it. The
second punch landed against his abdomen, and he didn't manage to block it. Two different
choices represented two different levels of injury. It seemed that the weakness of the Temple's
emissaries was not a secret to the powerful ruler. This reality surprised Wu Zhu a little. It also
made the spectators, who were cold all over and still waiting, begin to feel boundless fear.

The metal rod pressed against the ground that was filled with blood and rain. Wu Zhu used his
left hand to twist straight his left leg, which was almost broken into two pieces, and took a step
toward Taiji Palace with great difficulty. His cloth shoes stepped on the hand of a dead body,
which almost made him slip. A crack rang out from Wu Zhu's abdominal area. It was as if a
spider web-like shattering was spreading out through his boy with his abdomen as the center,
pulling him apart.

Wu Zhu's body began to tremble and fall. It was as if it would become countless shattered pieces,
break up, fall to the ground, and collapse in a heap at any moment.

Yet, the metal rod remained tightly gripped in his hand and supported his swaying body
valiantly, allowing him to take another step forward. His first step had already been difficult,
slow, and accompanied by a dry sound. He still continued to walk step by step toward the
Emperor without any hesitation.

The Emperor withdrew his fist. His indifferent and completely emotionless eyes glanced at his
own chest. It was as if he wanted to see how many of his ribs had been shattered by that hard
metal rod. He didn't remember how many punches he had fired out or how many mouthfuls of
blood he had spat out. He only remembered that he had not retreated a single step but had also
not progressed. He just stood like a puppet on the stone steps, in front of his own palatial hall,
robotically and repeatedly punching out.

How many times has Lao Wu fallen? How many times has he climbed up? How many times
have I fallen in my life? And how many times have I climbed back up? Why did Lao Wu
struggle to get back up again, even though he was clearly about to fall? Did he not know that,
even for a strange creature like him, there would be a day he truly died? If Lao Wu is not a dead
thing and is alive, knew life and death, feared life and death, then why did he not show it? Lao
Wu's movements have clearly become much slower, so why was the hard metal rod in his hand
still able to smash against my body? Was it because I am also old and near the end of my life?

No, impossible. It shouldn't be. Unsatisfied and unconvinced, a dark fire lit up in his cold eyes.
In the end, it dissolved into endless exhaustion and irritation.

Was this a shocking battle that was destined to enter the records of history or was it a small
drama that was destined to disappear in the long river of history? No matter which it was, the
Qing Emperor still felt fed up with it. It was just like how he had to endure his heartache and
prepare the matter of the Taiping Courtyard a few years after his father ascended to the throne.
Years later, there was another night when Jingdou ran red with blood. Killing those two old
things in Dong Mountain and An Zhi killing the shameless bastards in Jingdou that dared to
betray him earlier in the year had also made him want to lure out that chest. Now, Lao Wu was
here.

There were boundless and endless tricks and conspiracies. Just like how Lao Wu fell and then
climbed up again in front of him, they repeated endlessly. It was as if the stories of many years
ago stubbornly replayed again and again. This kind of repetition truly made one annoyed and
irritated.
But, the Qing Emperor could not grow tired. He was unsatisfied with growing tired. There are
still many things I have not done. I have not knocked down the most powerful enemy in front of
me, yet I cannot let go.

As the Emperor slowly wiped away the blood that seeped out endlessly from the side of his
mouth, he suddenly felt a chill in his body. A year ago, he had suffered a heavy injury and had
never recovered fully. He was constantly afraid of cold, light, and wind, which was why he
preferred to lie on his soft bed with the silk blanket Wan'er brought from Jiangnan over to him.

He liked that feeling of warmth very much and did not like the coldness he was feeling now.
This sensation made him feel powerless and tired, as if the warmth and confidence in his body
flowed out with his blood.

Looking at the battered Wu Zhu, who was once again climbing up, the dark fire in the Emperor's
eyes suddenly lit up. His old visage appeared unusually thin and sallow following the sudden
paling.

The rain had stopped. The dark clouds in the sky were turning white at a rate visible to the naked
eye. They grew whiter and whiter, more and more beautiful, and brighter and brighter. The air in
the square in front of the Royal Palace was filled with the wonderful breath of a clear day
washed clean by rain. On the horizon over the palace wall to the extreme north, there was
something indescribably beautiful happening.

With wide open and empty eyes, the Emperor's clothes trembled. He finally swept up into the air
from the stone steps of Taiji Palace. In this rainless sky, he brought up a streak of rainwater
parallel to the south and left countless shadows in the air.

The clear sky reflected this rain dragon. The roar of a dragon seemed to ring out from
somewhere in the Royal Palace. Wu Zhu, with his metal rod in hand, was immediately
surrounded by this dragon and the countless dragon roars. The streak grew. Solemn and beautiful
rainwater breaking through the air immediately became a powerful attack against Wu Zhu.

Other than the two extraordinary warriors present, no one could clearly see what was happening
in the curtain of rain. After the roaring stopped and wave of terrifying and absolute silence,
countless sounds rang out one after another. It was like a series of thunder but also as if the wind
in the sky had broken into countless yellow paper lanterns that lovers offered in sacrifice.

Wu Zhu finally fell, falling to the Qing Emperor's Way of the Emperor's fist and finger that were
like a thunderstorm. In this instant, his body endured innumerably heavy attacks and was finally
sitting decrepitly in front of the Qing Emperor's feet. His pale right hand was spread open to the
sky, completely empty.

The silent and noble head hung down powerlessly at this moment. Fallen in front of the Qing
Emperor, he let go of the metal rod grasped in his hand with dissatisfaction and helplessness.
He released the hand holding the metal rod, but the metal rod did not fall to the ground of the
Royal Palace and make the clear ringing sound like a morning bell because the metal rod was
stuck in the Emperor's abdomen trembling slightly.

Fresh blood surged out from the Qing Emperor's abdomen and dripped down the metal rod,
falling down from the side of the metal rod that had been worn flat. It dripped into Wu Zhu's pale
palm and gradually spread out following his clear life line, blossoming into a brilliant peach
flower.

The Emperor's very thin and emotionless lips were slightly parted. His top lip appeared slightly
dry. His face was pale, and his eyes were empty and emotionless as he lowered his head to see
the metal rod in his abdomen. He felt a boundless and endless exhaustion and annoyance as he
prepared to pull out this metal rod that was buried deep within him.

He had the greatest willpower in the world. Even when all his meridians shattered and he
experienced the bitterness of being a useless man, his spirit was not weakened at all, much less
the current pain in his abdomen. He knew that Lao Wu was done for. A faint sense of pride
flashed through him quickly, but all that was left was endless exhaustion because he realized that
he could taste a rustiness in his mouth.

Fan Xian had still not appeared. This reality surprised the Emperor. A self-mocking smile rose to
the corners of his mouth. It looked like his son's state of mind was more powerful than he
expected. Thus, he waited indifferently, coldly, and cold-heartedly until now. He watched as Wu
Zhu was crushed by him, yet he was still unwilling to come out.

Remarkably, feelings of admiration and appreciation once again rose in the Emperor's heart. He
seemed to feel that the son that was most unlike him was actually becoming more and more like
him in cold-bloodedness.

He thought that Fan Xian should have come out a long time ago when Wu Zhu first fell to the
ground or when Wu Zhu's leg was broken in two. This was what he had been secretly prepared
for. However, Fan Xian did not. Thus, he felt a faint disappointment and a glimmer of
inauspiciousness.

The sky was clear after the rain. Is she here to see my last failure? Is she going to use her own
son's eyes to see my failure?

Fresh blood surged out between the lips of the powerful ruler and from his abdomen. He once
again felt a wintery chill and remembered the soft blanket on the bed and the woman in the royal
study. Then, his right hand steadily grasped the metal rod and began to slowly pull it out of his
body with heart-trembling indifference.

An old saying once said that the pain was greatest when the blade was pulled from the wound.
This could be used to represent life. It could also be used to represent the present situation.
When the Emperor slowly pulled out the metal rod, it was as if he revealed injuries that had
always been hidden under the darkness of his mask that he thought had long since fully
recovered, making him think of many people and many things. The pain made his pale face even
paler until he no longer resembled a normal person.

It seemed that even this ruler's arm did not want him to face such pain. Suddenly, a very strange
twist happened in the cold and clean air. It was a twisting and separation of bone and flesh. It
transformed the structure of the human body. Twisting out at a strange angle, it rather resembled
Wu Zhu's leg.

Blood blossomed under the clear sky while flesh and bone separated from the Qing Emperor's
body. His left shoulder was cleanly severed by some mysterious power. The broken arm flew
into the spotless sky illuminated by the clear sunlight at the slowest possible speed, carrying with
it frothing blood at the splintered end, spinning, leaping, dancing, dancing…

Then, the crisp sound of the gun began to echo through the main courtyard of the Royal Palace,
which was completely empty of people. Alone and rising in spirals, the broken arm seemed to
dance, accompanying the sorrowful music.

Other than when the Northern Expedition had been defeated by Zhan Qingfeng and all the
meridians in his body shattered and he sank into darkness, this moment was definitely the
Emperor's most painful and weakest moment.

The report of a rifle that had been silent for decades, then silent for another year, finally rang out
in the Royal Palace. After staying silent for a year and then silent for a morning, Fan Xian's
figure finally appeared beside the Emperor.

What painful urge did Fan Xian have to suppress to stop himself coming out as he watched Wu
Zhu be so heavily injured by the Emperor? However, when he appeared, he chose the most
extraordinary time and appeared in the most extraordinary position, right at the Emperor's side.
Only the time for one touch was needed.

The bitter cultivation of more than 20 years in his new life; incentive of the life-and death-
situation on the meadow; unrelenting willpower at the snowy palace; comprehension beneath the
large tree; thoughts on the snowy plain; creation of yuanqi in the world; clash of life and death,
union and separation, weakness and strength; a cowardly and detestable life; and the pain of
autumnal rain all melded into one sensation and strength that exploded from Fan Xian's body.

He had no sword, arrows, dagger, poisonous smoke, tricks, and or Coffin-Breaker Technique. An
exploring arm did not follow the way of the sword. Martial prowess did not pass the heavens.
Fan Xian abandoned everything. He turned himself in a gust of wind, a streak of gray light, to
force all of the strength in him out of his fingers and hand in the shortest possible time as he
chopped toward the Emperor's heavily injured and weak body.

The vigorous Tyrannical zhenqi did not hesitate to slice through his sufficiently thick meridians
and poured fiercely out of his body with a resolute attitude and speed beyond his capabilities.
Countless streams of smoke and dust chopped through, which were bright in the cold and clear
autumn day.

The zhenqi reached the finger and did not spill out. Rather, it accumulated within. The sword qi
did not exist in the finger. Instead, it formed into metal and stone before plunging ruthlessly into
the hole at the Emperor's shoulder.

The zhenqi circulated to the palm, like the wind of the East Sea, which gushed out violently,
sweeping everything away and not leaving a single stone as it slammed heavily onto the
Emperor's chest.

Chop, finger, palm. Chopped through all of the past, pointed out a road carved broad by life and
death, and a single palm separated the line between ruler and subject, father and son.

Fan Xian had before been so powerful in his life while the Qing Emperor had never been so
weak in his life. The father and son didn't even have time to meet each other's eyes before they
dissolved into two shadows in front of Taiji Palace, each doing the intimacy of life and death. It
seemed that countless more yellow paper lanterns were torn through by the wind as endlessly
spluttering rang out. It made one's heart tremble, and made one irritated.

Fan Xian's speed at this time had reached a shocking level. Leaving behind nothing, only a wisp
of gray shadow, he wrapped around the Emperor's body and attacked dozens and hundreds of
times in an instant.

The water accumulated on the stone ground was suddenly split in two to create a passage. The
water moved toward the two sides and revealed the clean stone bricks beneath. About half a
palm's width above the stone, the Emperor and Fan Xian's shadows flew about. They then
instantly left their position in front of Taiji Palace and flew like lightning toward the northeast.

Along the way, water sprayed to the side as a line of blood fell from the sky. With a boom, the
bright yellow figure crashed decrepitly through a palace door in the walls and shattered the thick
door, sending up a spray of wooden shards.

The wooden shards were like arrowheads filled with great power as they shot in all directions.
With a series of thuds, they shot through the round stone gate behind the palace gate and sent up
a patch of gravel pieces that sank deeply into the cinnabar red palace walls.

It was because of these wooden shards the bright yellow figure sent in all directions that forced
Fan Xian, who seemed to be chasing the wind or a shadow, to slow and show himself in the air.
The bright yellow figure smashed through the palace door. Immediately after, he crashed heavily
into a copper water vat between the walls. There was a muffled thud as he showed himself.

His hands, which were still free of blood, moved through the air and slapped open a slender
wrist. Peeling away icy metal like lightning, he flipped the wrist up and squeezed his hand
around a soft throat. His hands squeezed around the serving girl's throat.

With a huff, the Emperor leaned decrepitly and weakly against the large copper vat and sprayed
out a mouthful of fresh blood. A faint and strange smile rose to his pale face. One of his arms
was broken. There were four or five extra finger holes and three handprints on his body. Fresh
blood stained his dragon robe, making the golden dragon on the bright yellow clothing appear
particularly malevolent but also particularly dismal.

Fan Xian slowly put down the left palm right fist bridge he used to cover his face. The wooden
shards made blood start to seep endlessly out of his clothes. He coughed violently and coughed
out threads of blood. The attack earlier had concentrated all of his life into one attack. Now, it
had been forcefully stopped. If he wanted to achieve such supernatural speed again, it was
impossible. Furthermore, much of his meridians had been injured. It was as if countless little
knives were slicing through his body. The pain was difficult to endure.

The Emperor's injuries were even more serious, incapable of being any worse. They were so
grievous that the Emperor could disappear from this world at any moment. However, there was
not a glimmer of joy on Fan Xian's face. After a wave of urgent coughing, his expression became
calm again as he looked silently at the Emperor leaning against the copper vat and panting.

Only his eyes revealed his true emotions. Those emotions were very complicated. He stared at
the Emperor in a daze, feeling that the scene before his eyes could not be real. Could the
Emperor, who was as unconquerable as a large snowy mountain, icy to the bone, and
incomparably powerful be at the end of his strength? When had the Emperor's face become so
old?

"Your Majesty, you've lost." Fan Xian lowered his head slightly. He used the sleeve of the
eunuch's outfit to wipe at the blood by his lips as he looked at the Emperor with a complicated
gaze.

His words had very little meaning. There were at least a dozen wounds on the Emperor's body. In
particular, blood poured out endlessly from the gaping hole on his left shoulder and the wound in
his abdomen.

Just as the Emperor had said to Wu Zhu earlier, there was no such thing as gods in this world.
Wu Zhu was not one, and neither was he. During this year, he had suffered betrayal,
assassinations, and a lingering injury that had still not gone away. Now, he also had a shocking
battle with Wu Zhu, had his arm severed by an assault rifle, and suffered a secret attack from Fan
Xian that was out of his realm. Even the most powerful ruler in the world would have reached
their final moments.

However, a mocking and cold smile was still hanging on the Emperor's face. His three fingers
were still gently placed around the serving girl's hand. In her hand was a gun.

The Emperor glanced at Fan Xian but did not acknowledge his words. Instead, he gave a raspy
cough and looked Fan Ruoruo beside him with a warm gaze. After he looked at her calmly for a
long time, he said, "I have said that it was not easy to be a good Emperor. One has to abandon
unnecessary emotions and cannot be soft-hearted. Ruoruo, today you were soft-hearted, which
was a fatal mistake."

The young lady of the Fan family in a serving girl's outfit maintained a calm expression.
However, the slight furrow between her brows showed that she was not as calm internally as her
outward exterior.

From the beginning of autumn last year, she had been brought into the Royal Palace by the
Emperor and had been by this lonely ruler's side in the royal study. Day after day, she had too
often seen the thin figure reading through memorials by oil light, heard too many times the sound
of coughing from the sickbed, and saw too many furrows between this thin old man's brows.

On the windy and snowy night of Jan. 8, she had looked at the bright yellow figure through the
glass from Zhaixing Tower and felt that it was not real. Thus, her finger had not trembled at all.
Through the crack of the Palace doors today, she had seen that gradually aging face, the
incomparably familiar face of the ruler. For some reason, she had chosen to aim at the Emperor's
arm rather than in the fatal spot. The Emperor was right. In that moment, Fan Ruoruo's heart
softened a touch.

"Women are extroverted. During this year, the Chen girl endlessly tried to soften my heart, but I
ignored it. You like An Zhi, that rascal, I know that. However, have you girls ever wondered if
you had softened my heart during this year or if your hearts had been softened by me?"

The Emperor spoke calmly and indifferently. He didn't summon the internal court eunuchs that
he had sent to the back palace or stop the bleeding. It was as if he didn't care that the blood
flowing out of his body and a slightly mocking smile rose to the corner of his lips.

Fan Ruoruo's body trembled slightly. Fan Xian narrowed his eyes slightly as he looked at the
familiar but also unknown Emperor, with whom he had an unusually complicated relationship.
No one knew what shock he felt in his mind, but his admiration of the Emperor's willpower and
plotting had reached an extreme. Even during such a dangerous moment as before, when the
Emperor and he were engaged in a fatal battle, it seemed that he had been defeated. In reality, he
had chosen the best path. He broke open the palace doors and found the gun wielder, as well as
took control of her.
Fan Xian pressed his thin lips together tightly and suddenly gritted his teeth. "Your Majesty,
don't try to use her life to threaten me."

"Will you accept my threat?" the Emperor slowly turned his head and asked with a mocking
tone, allowing blood to thoroughly stain his dragon robe.

Fan Xian was silent for a moment. He then shook his head. Looking toward Fan Ruoruo, he said
in a raspy voice, "If you die, I will come to keep you company."

Fan Ruoruo's face was slightly pale. She was silent for a moment before she said, "I am actually
not very afraid of death."

"Is losing the fear of death an incredible achievement?" The Emperor stared into Fan Xian's eyes
and suddenly laughed hoarsely. "Your face is just like your mother's, but your lips are like mine,
thin and emotionless. It is indeed true."

After a moment, the Emperor suddenly said with an indifferent expression, "I have never been
defeated in my life."

For some reason, after Fan Xian's rebirth, he had always been able to have a collectedness and
coldness that others could not have. At such a tense moment, an ache, a sliver of emptiness and a
touch of anger rose, from the depths of his heart as he listened to the Emperor's words. In a cold
and stern voice, he roared at the Emperor, "Enough!"

The Emperor stared calmly into his son's eyes, looking at his handsome face that was slightly
twisted because of anger. Suddenly, he smiled coldly. It was as if he was laughing at his loss of
control, fear, and the strange rage that seemed to come from nowhere.