Chapter Forty-Five: Thunderstorms in Early Summer

Just as the two were speaking, Xia Hao felt a sudden stirring within, a subtle sensation. Though martial cultivators do not study talismans, at Xia Hao’s level, he was already attuned to the faintest shifts—like the cicada sensing the breeze before it stirs—every change in heaven and earth unfolded before his mind’s eye.

“All right. Do whatever you wish, so long as you do not cross the solitary king’s boundaries!”

With those words, Xia Hao strode toward the outer hall of the imperial library, then transformed into a stream of light.

At that moment, the skies above Gunzhou City were shrouded in thick clouds, streaked with flashes of lightning, heralding an imminent thunderstorm that would sweep away the oppressive heat from the people’s bodies.

“Fellow cultivators, is there anyone who wishes to accept the baptism of heavenly thunder as the summer storm approaches?”

Before Master Xuan Chun sat several Nascent Soul experts: Yun Sheng, Ling Xu, Ling Yu, Jian Yu, and others.

“This humble monk feels his own strength insufficient; I leave it to you, fellow cultivators,” Yun Sheng intoned a Buddhist chant and sat cross-legged, closing his eyes to rest.

“I, too, must cultivate a few more days,” Daoist Ling Xu replied, unwilling to accept the thunder’s baptism at this time.

The others said little, their eyes focused inward, clearly reluctant to face the ordeal.

“Hahaha! Is there truly no one in the mighty Han Kingdom willing to accept the baptism of heavenly thunder?”

A wild laugh echoed in their ears.

Xuan Chun and the others turned into streams of light, appearing atop the city wall in an instant.

Amidst layered clouds stood a figure: Xia Hao, clad in imperial robes embroidered with the nine-clawed golden dragon, purple lightning swirling about him, appearing almost as a divine being descended to earth.

“That one!”

Daoist Ling Xu was furious, eager to rush forth and destroy him, but Ling Yu restrained him.

“Absolutely not, brother! He is blessed with the imperial destiny and seeks to shatter fate itself as a martial cultivator! Even the grandmasters on the verge of ascension, who have survived nine thunder tribulations, may not match him now!”

Ling Yu continued urgently.

“The solitary king undergoes tribulation here, while you petty creatures only dare to hide in the shadows! Laughable, utterly laughable! Hahaha!”

Xia Hao’s laughter rang out, suppressing even the thunder above Gunzhou City.

“Do not act rashly,” Xuan Chun whispered, for many cultivators, both immortal and demonic, yearned for a decisive battle. Xuan Chun, skilled in divination, knew such a day would come, but it was not now.

“Lend me your strength, fellow cultivators! I am about to activate the Dragon Trap and Immortal Prison Array!”

As Master Xuan Chun spoke, he waved his whisk, his magic power surging into every corner.

Black streams of light rose from the earth, coalescing in the air into a massive square seal, atop which rested a fierce, unknown beast.

Immortal and demonic cultivators alike focused their power upon Xuan Chun.

Moments later, the beast atop the seal opened its blood-red eyes, ancient power emanating from their depths as though gazing across eternity.

Xia Hao had intended to use the vitality gained from his eighth thunder tribulation to wipe out the Gunzhou cultivators in one fell swoop, treating them as insignificant vermin. But he had not expected that old Daoist to conjure such a thing, leaving him momentarily cautious.

Distracted, he was struck by lightning swirling around him, unable to turn the city below into a wasteland as he had done to Qingzhou.

Xia Hao refocused his mind on the tribulation, sensing that so long as he did not approach the mysterious seal, nothing would happen. The seal was not a spell, but an array.

An array is like a shield guarding a realm; spells manipulate the world’s forces.

“Thank you, fellow cultivators, for helping me forge this Dragon Trap and Immortal Prison Array! If Xia Hao dares enter, I shall ensure he never escapes!”

Master Xuan Chun’s face was pale, as were the faces of all the Nascent Soul cultivators.

“Xuan Chun, are you serious?” came a sudden voice. A fly rose from above Xuan Chun, transforming into human form—it was Liao Yi.

“Disciple, mind your manners!” Ling Yu’s pale face flushed red with anger.

“Hahahaha! I would not speak without cause. But Ling Yu, your disciple has mastered a most peculiar spell!”

Xuan Chun seemed unconcerned, his cultivation profound.

“You said it yourself!” Liao Yi pointed at Xuan Chun.

“Do you have something in mind?” Yun Sheng asked, seeing Liao Yi eager to act.

“Of course, but I can’t tell you! By the way, little monk, doesn’t your sect have the Lion’s Roar technique? Could you lend it to me?”

Liao Yi pondered aloud.

“It has been ages since anyone called me ‘little monk,’ but it matters not. I do possess that technique. If you fail to do anything useful, I’ll kill you.”

Despite his words, Yun Sheng’s face remained gentle as ever—he was, after all, a demon cultivator.

“It should be useful! No time to waste. Heavenly Dao Arts, let me borrow your divine power!” Liao Yi formed a seal, extending his hand toward the little monk, streams of light flickering in his palm.

“Borrow!” The little monk placed his hand on Liao Yi, transferring talismanic power into him.

This was the method of borrowing supernatural powers and spells: though the borrowed technique would only be a fraction as powerful as its original, it might prove useful in a critical moment.

“Thank you for your divine power!” Liao Yi took the opportunity to rub Yun Sheng’s bald head. Ling Yu, ever wanting to throw Liao Yi back to their sect, could only watch, thinking, Is this fool scatterbrained or just plain mad?

Despite his cute appearance, this little monk was the notorious Demon Lord Yun Sheng, a ruthless killer. For Liao Yi to rub his head was like searching for trouble with a lantern in a latrine.

Having obtained the Lion’s Roar, Liao Yi flew beneath the square seal.

A thunderous voice erupted from his mouth: “Damn you, Martial Emperor of Great Xia! Why doesn’t the thunder above strike you dead? I curse you to bear a son with no eyes, and your consorts and empress to be bedded by Wu Wenhou a hundred times, wearing a thousand cuckold’s hats…”

He was cursing up a storm—Xuan Chun, Ling Yu, and the others felt as if a line of crows flew overhead.

“Ling Yu, your disciple is truly... talented,” Xuan Chun’s lips curved, twitching slightly.

And the little monk Yun Sheng—he had never imagined his revered Lion’s Roar would be used like this.

Yet it seemed to work: the Lion’s Roar could drown out all sound, and even Xia Hao high in the sky heard it, his blood surging in reversed flow.

He was the reigning emperor of Great Xia, commanding all lands, with none daring to affront him—ministers who spoke out of turn had been executed.

Those below truly did not know their place!

If it were any other time, he would have crushed such insolence, torn out their souls and ground them to dust—but the array below made him wary.

He tried to focus and resist the thunder, but Liao Yi’s curses were like demonic chants, breaking his concentration.

Whether it was fate or some other force, after only half a stick of incense’s time, the True Martial talismans within Xia Hao spun wildly, stirring his soul.