Chapter 1447 — May the Good Prosper

Zaifu was on the battlefield as well, gazing from afar at that dazzling blade-light. In the instant when all the Yuan soldiers were lifted into the air, the great Dao of the blade thundered, and he knew that Dao well. The Dao of the blade: to cry out against injustice, to cut through thorns, to guard a place.

And now Shen Mu had achieved the third step.

When that spirit of guardianship surged skyward, the will of the multitude became a great wall, empowering the common iron in Shen Mu's hand and granting him the strength to break through all things.

Cheers rose across the battlefield. The morale of Jingping's officers and soldiers soared at once, hot blood racing through their veins; that wild, fierce blade-light and blade Dao spurred them on, driving them to fight with desperate courage, fearless of death, charging into the enemy ranks.

The demigods of the Southern Heaven hesitated, some of them panicking. On a battlefield, morale is like a balance scale: let one side weigh but a little more and it presses down the other; rarely is there ever a perfect equilibrium. Facing such a host of tigers and wolves, they were afraid, they turned coward, and they began to fall back. Even when the supervising officers behind them drew their swords and cut down dozens in succession, they could not halt the rout.

Seeing them flee, Jingping's army grew only more fervent, pursuing and slaughtering at their heels, until the battlefield turned bloody and savage. The sun sank in the west; the blue mountains were like a sea, the dying sunlight like blood. This battle was but one corner of the vast battlefield of the Southern Wastes, and by no means the most soul-stirring, the most bitterly fought or magnificent of the Southern Wastes' campaigns.

The wars that had raged there included others far more breathtaking, far more tragic and worthy of tears and song. By the time the fighting was no longer so fierce, night had fallen. The commanders of the various armies began to count their numbers, and General Bashan asked, "Where is the man who split open the Southern Emperor's divine weapon?

" The soldiers sought out the squad Shen Mu had belonged to. In Jingping, ten men made a squad; of those ten, three remained, and Shen Mu was not among them.

A young scholar shook his head.

In the pursuit, they had lost all trace of Shen Mu. The soldiers fell silent. They went back and reported to Bashan, and Bashan too fell silent.

A general dies in a hundred battles; on the battlefield, such things are common. Deep in the night, ghost fires speckled the battlefield. Those with divine arts lit torches and searched the field for the bodies of their comrades.

The three young Jingping scholars searched everywhere, hoping to catch sight of a familiar face. Only now did they understand why that old soldier with the scarred face had told them to memorize their comrades' faces.

To remember, so that when the fighting was done they might send them home, so that their bones would not lie cold in the wind, so that they would not be buried in a foreign land, but return to their native place with the honor due a warrior and be laid in the ancestral graves.

Blood like frost congealed on the surface of body after body.

Ghost fires drifted: envoys of the Netherworld, come to gather the wandering souls of the battlefield.

Old men whose faces none could remember appeared in every corner of the field aboard paper boats, and whether friend or foe, they took the souls of the slain aboard and ferried them down to the Netherworld. Each time these underworld deputies' lanterns fell upon a wandering soul's face, no matter how great a general he had been in life, or how lowly a common soldier, he must board the boat. Just then, aboard one paper boat, Shen Mu and the Netherworld Heavenly Venerate sat together, while Zaifu sat beneath the lantern.

All around was silence, save for the distant sound of soldiers from the northwest, their thick regional accents carrying through the dark as they called out their comrades' names in long drawn-out cries, summoning their souls to return, begging them not to stray into the Netherworld—for the Netherworld has Lord Tu, tiger-faced and ox-bodied, who will drive them on with the whip of the Styx. Shen Mu listened to those long, drawn-out calls, somewhat entranced. "The Netherworld has the Netherworld's rules," said the Netherworld Heavenly Venerate. "To revive so many is to defy the Netherworld's rules. Lord Tu will never permit it.

" "I know the Netherworld's rules well enough.

To revive so many in one breath is to defy the great Dao of the Netherworld," Shen Mu said. "And yet Lord Tu is so tightly bound by the rules that we are all left helpless. Netherworld Heavenly Venerate, Jingping is a mere pellet of ground to the Ten Heavenly Venerates. The Fire Heavenly Venerate has already begun to move troops against Jingping.

When he truly sweeps over us, Jingping will crumble to dust and more will die. If we let the rules shackle us to death, only ruin awaits us.

Lord Tu too wishes to break free of the shackles of the Netherworld's great Dao—so why not turn a blind eye?

" The Netherworld Heavenly Venerate shook his head. "Lord Tu is still Lord Tu, and the great Dao of the Netherworld is still the great Dao of the Netherworld. It must be handled with strict impartiality. " "Wooden skull!

" Shen Mu laughed in sheer exasperation.

"Netherworld Heavenly Venerate, go back and tell Lord Tu that I consulted you only out of courtesy!

I can revive these people directly without asking Lord Tu's opinion at all! Whether Lord Tu agrees or not, I am going to do this!

" The Netherworld Heavenly Venerate's gaze settled on him. "Your wings have grown stiff.

" "Stiff as iron, hard as a board! " Shen Mu's voice was just as hard. "The ancient gods value me because I am the Great Dharma Master of Undying Through Ten Thousand Kalpas. The ancient gods hope I will use my arts to revive them—even if their souls have scattered, I can pull their spirits back. And now that I am to revive the human race, you lecture me on rules? I have the power—why should I not use it? " The Netherworld Heavenly Venerate's face remained expressionless.

"The battlefield dead are without number. To revive them is not only to act against the Netherworld, but to consume your own dharma power.

How many can you save?

These bodies are already destroyed. Even if you have mastered the Dao of Creation and can repair their flesh, how many can you repair? " The corner of Shen Mu's eye twitched. The Netherworld Heavenly Venerate went on.

"This is but one of countless battlefields.

On the others, the dead are beyond counting—can you raise them all?

Every day, every turning instant, in the heavens and the myriad worlds, untold numbers die. Can you save them? Mu Heavenly Venerate, even if you are a Heavenly Venerate, your power has its limit. You cannot save everyone. What is more, if you revive the dead on a grand scale, the great Dao of the Netherworld will bind Lord Tu and set him against you.

Lord Tu was born of the great Dao; he cannot do as he wills. " He rose to his feet. "Anything that disturbs the order of the Netherworld must be punished! The worlds I have destroyed are beyond counting—let Jingping not become one of them. For if Lord Tu is bound by the great Dao of the Netherworld and forced to act, more worlds still will be destroyed!

The reason Lord Tu has not moved against you all these years is that he has been struggling against the rules of the Netherworld's great Dao, resisting the Dao's command.