Refuse to trample on the pride of heaven

Chapter 237 Still no title

"This is my eldest disciple Lu Wensheng."

He was so cruel that he looked at the corpse of the demon whose body was blurred out without any integrity. Facing Lu Wensheng's expression of "How did I perform?", the other big guys couldn't help but glance at Jun Ning - only to see that Jun Ning had a very satisfied look on his face.

The big guys were a little ashamed: It seems that there will be one more ruthless character in the world of cultivation in the future. First, he ruthlessly suppressed the proud ones, forcing the younger generation to be second only to him, the peerless Liu Jiqian, and now there is Lu Wensheng. Their disciples are really blessed.

"Oh, it's true that a good teacher produces good students."

"This disciple of Shelu Daojun is really good."

"The foundation is very solid, and he has already reached the Golden Elixir stage. Taoist Shelu really has a good way of teaching people."

Jun Ning, who had no disciples before and could not understand the feelings of those masters who showed off their disciples, experienced it today and showed an expression of "proud but still suppressing humility".

"Fortunately, I usually don't pay much attention to him, but this child is self-disciplined."

Lu Wensheng felt embarrassed: What's going on with this familiar tone?

"We've finished solving the problem here!" After the other disciples of Wenxian Sect finished dealing with the monsters on the other side, they rushed over. Their voices stopped abruptly when they saw their predecessors.

However, these big guys just came to take a look at the situation. Seeing that some of their own disciples were not as crazy as Lu Wensheng, they asked about their studies and cultivation.

Lu Wensheng landed next to Qi Zhaoshu, who was full of gratitude: "Thanks to you for coming here, sir, otherwise..."

Lu Wensheng shook his head: "No, it's your own efforts, otherwise we might not have had a chance to make a move."

"Sir, are mortals not so useless?" Although Qi Zhaoshu asked a question, his tone was affirmative - he could not hear the conversations between those monks in high places, but he could still notice the strange things in the fight against demons afterwards.

"There is no such thing as useless things in this world. You also have your own power, which is not given by others, but born from your own self..."

So, what are monks and demons? Lu Wensheng didn't say some "treasonous" words later, but he knew that Qi Zhaoshu must understand what he meant - this was a tacit understanding that belonged to idealists, regardless of their identities.

"Sir, will you come back to visit the Zhitong Club in the future?"

Lu Wensheng blinked and didn't answer the question: "You should come and call me when you establish your country."

Qi Zhaoshu did not deny Jianguo. This handsome and embarrassed young man had a strong ambition and confidence in his eyes: "Of course."

He is an idealist, but also an ambitious man who wants to build an ideal country. Ambitious is not a derogatory term for him - a strategist can understand the general situation of the world and make a decisive move in an instant, which is half a step ahead of heaven.

"The path you are going to follow is different from the entire secular world. I'm afraid they will find it difficult to tolerate you." Even the founding of a country is not as simple as the change of dynasties - Liu Jiqian fell down beside him and said cryptically.

"Then cut off your robe and sever ties with the secular world." Qi Zhaoshu's voice was gentle, but his words were extremely arrogant.

Beneath his gentle and humble appearance, his soul is full of turbulent waves. Even a ten thousand li autumn wind cannot blow his strong bones. His independence in this world is his swan song.

Life is like a dark room, you might as well write a spring poem.

Jun Ning and the others left first. Lu Wensheng and the others planned to help Qi Zhaoshu and the others clean up the mess before leaving.

The Lou family has now formed an alliance with the Zhitong Society. They have also been harassed by demons, but with the help of cultivators, the casualties were not great. After the situation was stabilized, they sent people to express their condolences.

Lou Yuxiao did not run away, but followed Ying Wanmin and others to settle the people outside. He rushed back after receiving the news.

But there were casualties. Ordinary battles would cause casualties, not to mention fighting these monsters. But compared with the consequences of the monsters entering the city, they were insignificant.

However, every household in Su Shui City still hung up white sails. What they were commemorating were not necessarily their own relatives, but the heroes who protected everyone.

On Qingming Festival, we remember the loyal souls, and the grief over the years should last forever.

The flames rolled in the basin, and all the paper money that was contaminated was swept into it. The curling black smoke smelled very pungent, but no one avoided it.

Lu Wensheng stood nearby, watching quietly, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes - it was very strange, whichever way the person stood, the flames would blow in that direction, and the person who was burned would turn his face away to avoid it. Was it because they were separated by life and death, and touching was taboo for them, so it would hurt so much when his face was touched?

When the war breaks out, many elderly people will see off the young. Once the elderly start crying, it feels like all the lives piled on them are crying at the same time.

The old man's life has been so long and gentle so far, like a peaceful river in the mountains. How can you soothe the weeping of a river?

The situations were different, but the sadness that came from the heart was something that could be resonated with. Looking at some young children kneeling beside him, with confused looks on their faces, seemingly unaware of the adults' sadness, Lu Wensheng's thoughts gradually drifted away.

He recalled the first time he attended a funeral as a child. When it came to the crying part, he vaguely remembered that his grandmother asked him and his sister to kneel down with their heads down and cried. However, he was not very familiar with this deceased grandmother. He only knew that she was his grandmother's mother, the grandmother his mother often mentioned and who loved her.

He couldn't cry, so he pretended to sob. He was still young at that time, and it was the first time he heard so many cries, one after another, rising and falling, very sad and miserable, like the strange sound made by the wind blowing through fallen leaves and blowing into the crack of the door in the middle of the night.

That was what he feared the most when he was a child. He couldn't help but think of ghosts. He buried his head under his elbows, but subconsciously rolled his eyes and looked up. He saw a group of people rooted in the soil, some crying alone, and some crying in each other's arms. He naively wondered if the rain in the sky was because of the tears of the people on the ground? Just as he was thinking this, a few drops of rain happened to fall and hit the corners of his eyes...

This was also the first time he saw his mother with such a sad face. After he returned, his mother hid in the room alone. When he and his sister quietly went in, his mother was tired of crying and lying on the bed.

His mother had the habit of writing in a diary when she was in school, and she showed it to him and his sister, but he never saw her write in it. However, this diary was now spread out on the dressing table next to her.

"I don't have my grandmother anymore. She's clearly lying inside, but I feel like the burning ashes, the wind blowing on my face, and the rain dripping on my face are all her."

It seemed like a statement, but it carried an unspeakable sorrow, and there were traces of tears on the ink.

He was filled with fear and didn't dare to look at the words, as if he had violated some taboo.

But the next day his mother was just like usual, as if nothing had happened. He was puzzled at that time.

Thinking about it now, my mother’s grief is like the smoke from a burning fire, slowly drifting away, slowly narrating the text. When I finish reading and look back, the smoke has long dissipated, leaving only the smell of sadness in the air, which has never dissipated.

(霡霂 is a Chinese word, pronounced as mài mu, which means light rain.)