Silence.
Deathly silence outside Bailu Academy.
Everyone stood as if their souls had left their bodies, staring blankly upward at Chu Xuan, who stood atop the Golden Light Blade.
Yet Chu Xuan did not spare a glance for those below; his gaze was fixed on the west.
That was the direction of the Xiliang Kingdom.
It was also the burial ground of his parents, his nine elder brothers, and the three hundred thousand soldiers of the Langya Army.
If this poem, "Man Jiang Hong," was used in his past life to describe Yue Fei, then in this world, there was no better way to describe his own father.
It was not only Chu Xuan who felt this; those below sensed the implication as well.
Compared to the poem by Wushuang Muqing, Chu Xuan’s words were far more stirring.
Every warrior felt as if they had returned to a long-forgotten battlefield, clad in armor, blade in hand, ready to sever the heads of their enemies.
Every scholar felt a sudden, impulsive urge to discard the brush for the sword, to emulate the martyrs, to shed their blood in defense of the realm—a death that would be a glory, even if it meant being wrapped in nothing but a horse hide.
"Wrath fells the cap, leaning on the railing, the torrential rain stops. I look up and let out a long cry to the heavens, my heroic spirit burning. Thirty years of fame are but dust and dirt; eight thousand miles of clouds and moon. Do not idle away, lest the white hair of youth brings only empty regrets."
Wushuang Muqing stood paralyzed, whispering…
Chapter 94