My Wife Is A Sword Immortal-Chapter 82 - 71: What are the Stakes?

Chapter 82: Chapter 71: What are the Stakes?

Lan Yuqing, taking advantage of Lin Wenruo’s absence, looked toward Lin Qingxuan who stood among the crowd opposite her.

After a brief wait, the man, unnoticed by those around him, turned his head to look at her, their eyes met for a second, he nodded slightly, then shifted his gaze away.

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Lan Yuqing’s lips curled into a smile as she looked up at the Purple Sandalwood Incense Burner placed on the table at the center of the stage, which was currently unattended but from which a few wisps of twisting, ethereal blue smoke were slowly emanating.

The incense was meant to calm the minds of those who would speak on stage, yet within the incense, which was equivalent in value to a Middle Grade Spirit Stone, she had mixed something else.

To others, this incense still had a calming effect, but for those who had consumed another type of medicine, it had the opposite effect. The scent would gradually unsettle their minds, leading to restlessness and anxiety, followed by a terrifying palpitation and mental disarray.

The lady in purple glanced at the man dressed in a simple Confucian robe a hundred feet away.

She always felt that this man named Zhao Ziyu looked somewhat familiar, suspecting she had seen him somewhere before, but she soon dismissed the thought.

For such an instrumental killer that Lin Wenruo had painstakingly brought in, how could it be possible for her to have seen him? It must be that she had developed a sense of familiarity from descriptions of his appearance provided by Li Shiqian and Chen Hongyuan.

Ha, dare to call me an unwanted foul nun? You better pray that you can escape after losing today; otherwise, even if you are a disciple of the Academy’s Mountain Master, it doesn’t matter. If I can’t kill you, I’ll make you half-disabled.

Finally, the chime of a bell came from not far away, marking the fourth quarter of the hour of Si.

After the bell stopped, the venue fell silent, and everyone’s gaze converged on the sovereign and the two individuals beside him.

Yet, the sovereign, Lin Wenruo, and Qingjingzi all stood in their places without moving, as they waited for something.

Suddenly, an old man holding a wine gourd, his eyes bleary, stood up from the crowd. Leaning on a walking stick, he slowly approached the sovereign.

“Thank you for your efforts, Scholar Six One.”

The three individuals near the sovereign respectfully bowed to the old man.

The drunken elder waved his hand dismissively and then shook his gourd, taking a sip of wine.

Lan Yuqing watched the scene calmly.

He was the judge for this debate between Confucianism and Taoism.

Known as one of the most famous hermits of Zhongnan Mountain, he was a Great Cultivator at the brink of the Nascent Soul stage, though his real name was unknown; he styled himself as Scholar Six One.

Legend had it that he was a prince from a mortal dynasty. After the downfall of his kingdom, he retreated to the mountains to pursue mysticism and now lived in seclusion on Zhongnan Mountain.

The origin of his self-appointed name was as he described: “I have over a million volumes of books, I compiled ten thousand volumes of texts from the Golden Stone, own one sword and one game board, and always keep a pot of wine. I, as a lone old man, grow old among these five things—is that not Six One?”

Previously, he was recognized as the foremost master of clear argumentation in Zhongnan Country. After the debate between Confucianism and Taoism was scheduled, both she and Lin Wenruo had brought significant gifts to his door, asking him to leave seclusion, but he gently refused each time.

Later, the sovereign personally visited to invite him as the judge for the debate, hearing that he owed a favor to the Imperial Family, he thus readily agreed.

“Is everyone present?”

Scholar Six One asked.

“Scholar, everyone is present, we can begin now,”

Lin Wenruo and Qingjingzi respectfully said.

Upon hearing this, Scholar Six One glanced at the two in front of him, seeing their resolute expressions, he did not persuade them otherwise.

He took a swig of wine and muttered a few words, then turned his head and spoke loudly:

“The rules of today’s Confucian-Taoist debate have already been publicized, and I will not go into them further. I only ask you two, what are the respective stakes of the wager? You should know, once this is settled here in the presence of all present and the witnesses of all the people of Zhongnan’s one hundred thousand countries, it absolutely must not be violated.”

The elder’s voice resonated throughout the venue and, along with the scene, was transmitted to the city’s populace through the white glass bowl of Mirror Flowers Water Moon.

Following his words, the venue was solemn and silent.

Qingjingzi and Lin Wenruo exchanged glances, stepped forward, and declared loudly, “Chongxu Temple stakes the teaching position of Zhongnan Country. If we lose, from today onwards, the Daoists of this temple will never set foot in the Zhongnan Country court, will cease involvement in the affairs of Zhongnan Country, and furthermore, all the lands under Taibai Mountain belonging to the Daoist temples, we are willing to transfer completely to the Lin family of Lanxi.”

After these words, the hall fell into deep silence.

Some, in secret awe, marveled that Lin Wenruo had managed to push the Chongxu Temple to this extent—this was Chongxu Temple that had rooted in Zhongnan Mountain for thousands of years, existing before even Zhongnan Country was established.

Lin Wenruo stepped forward, facing all the spectators, and bowed, declaring loudly, “The Lin family of Lanxi is willing to stake all its property and land in Zhongnan Country, including all the family’s foundations built over 700 generations. If we lose, my Lin family of Lanxi will remove the ‘Lanxi’ from our name, relocate from Zhongnan Country, and no offspring of the Lin family will ever set foot in Zhongnan Country again! And…”

At that moment, the tall Confucian scholar, under the scrutiny of the entire audience, remained calm.

“And Qingchi hanged himself at the foot of Taibai Mountain.”

His voice echoed at the Scripture Platform, making the entire audience even more solemn.

A Daoist nun in purple raised her chin, her lips tightly pursed, staring intently at the calm scholar, whose literary name was Wenruo and given name Qingchi.

Qingjingzi’s mouth twitched. Just like your overambitious father?

Not far away, Zhao Rong furrowed his brows, his gaze swiftly moved away from something on Qingjingzi, and forcefully turned to Lin Wenruo.

Having kept his attention on his good friend from the start, and as he glanced curiously at Qingjingzi’s little Fox Demon, he looked up to see the man whose clothes she was holding looking locked in thought, his beautiful brows also gradually knitting together.

Liushiyi Cultivator fell silent for a moment, carefully observed the scholar who had once stood quietly in front of his hut for three days begging him to come out of retirement, which he had declined, and nodded his head, speaking in a voice audible to the whole assembly, “Do both parties confirm without mistake that these are the wagers everyone just heard? This is the last chance, there’s still time to negotiate changes.”

Qingjingzi directly spoke, “Cultivator, this Daoist has confirmed it.”

After speaking, he glanced towards the Confucian scholar by his side.

Lin Wenruo nodded and spoke, “Cultivator, Qingchi also…”

“Hold on!”

Someone spoke up loudly.

Their words interrupted Lin Wenruo.

At that moment, it was as if a huge stone had been thrown into a tranquil lake, the previously silent venue suddenly buzzed with noise.

Who was the one who spoke?

The two thousand people present could only roughly search the direction from where the voice came, but there were too many targets in that direction to pinpoint immediately.

Lin Wenruo, stunned, recognized the owner of the interrupting voice and turned his head to the left.

“Silence!”

Liushiyi Cultivator’s clear voice instantly reached everyone’s ears.

The Scripture Platform fell silent, so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

Seeing this, Liushiyi Cultivator looked up and took a drink, his eyes hazy as he looked towards the ordinary Confucian scholar who had suddenly spoken out.

“Who are you?”

Zhao Rong spoke, “I am Zhao Ziyu, a good friend of Lin Wenruo, please wait a moment, sir.”

As he spoke, Zhao Ziyu walked towards Lin Wenruo, but Su Xiaoxiao, who had been holding his clothes from the moment he spoke up, seemed anxious as she saw him appearing to venture forth and held him tightly.

However, unlike Su Xiaoxiao, who feared even slightly crowded places, Zhao Rong inherently possessed a fierce streak, was bold, and had never been intimidated, as could be seen when he once ‘heroically saved a damsel’ in public on a ferry.

Seeing that his friend had arranged an escape route for everyone but had prepared none for himself, determined to either succeed or perish, Zhao Rong was extremely anxious, beyond the hold of a little Fox Demon.

Thus, a strange scene unfolded on the field.

A handsome man dressed in pink clothes, looking almost ethereal, was tightly holding the clothes of an ordinary scholar determined to move forward as they pulled back and forth, engaged in a tug of war, two people, four hands, at their waists.

It mirrored a scene that had once taken place in Zhi Shui Country’s forest.

The atmosphere on the field became somewhat awkward for a moment.

The diverse gazes of the audience watched on.

Liushiyi Cultivator watched with interest.

Qingjingzi, coldly observing from the side, suddenly stopped twirling his Flowing Bead with his thumb and snorted coldly.

Seeing this scene, Lin Wenruo’s lips slightly curved, unable to conceal his amusement.

It’s just like you, Brother Ziyu.