Chapter 70

Upon hearing this, Chen Ang couldn't help but laugh. Murong Bo's ambition to restore his country had already clouded his judgment. For the sake of national affairs, he would stop at nothing, sacrificing everything and using everything, placing personal grudges and family happiness in second place. This ruthlessness alone made him a formidable hero.

Although he was now deeply concerned about Murong Fu, Chen Ang found it both laughable and pitiful that Murong Bo, his enemy, would try to win him over as long as he had value. In a certain sense, such unwavering determination was admirable.

"Old sir, you underestimate me!" Chen Ang said, hands behind his back. "The grand cause you pursue may be worth everything to you, but to me, it means nothing."

"The territorial division and the glory of nobility," Chen Ang paused slightly, then turned to look at Murong Bo, "I'm sorry, but I don't care about them."

"Human glory is but dust. I only wish to be like the bright moon, shining eternally."

His tone was calm and sincere, but the content made Murong Bo unable to suppress his anger. "If you refuse, just say so. Don't spout such empty words, or I will look down on you. I only ask you, will you divide the Song Empire with me?"

"No!"

A clear and calm voice, without a hint of agitation, came from Chen Ang.

Murong Bo clenched his fists tightly, a layer of tough energy appearing on his iron fists. Duan Yu could even see Murong Bo trembling slightly, clearly trying to suppress himself. "Think carefully, once said, it cannot be taken back."

"I thought I was clear enough. If you still don't understand, I'll say it again." Chen Ang said coldly, and Murong Bo heard the same resolute answer.

"No."

"Good, good, very good!" Murong Bo said three 'goods' in a row, already furious. He gathered his spirit and raised his palm, the powerful palm force making Duan Yu feel it from several yards away. But after a moment of silence, Murong Bo suddenly put down his palm and, in a flash, took down a large brush hanging on the wall.

This surprised Chen Ang. Even at this point, Murong Bo still hadn't given up on persuading him. Truly a tenacious and flexible hero, his will was much stronger than Murong Fu's. Unfortunately, Murong Bo lacked strategic talent, which was evident from Murong Fu.

Wang Yuyan once said that Murong Fu "wants to be a Hu person, not a Chinese, and doesn't even want to recognize Chinese characters or read Chinese books." With such a ridiculous idea, how could he hope to restore his country? They probably never thought about how many Xianbei people were left in the world, or what foundation their Xianbei country had.

So shallow in politics, he could only rely on his relatively high martial arts to cause trouble in the martial world. Chen Ang could see that Murong Bo seemed to want to use his martial arts to impress him. This bold move made Chen Ang unsure whether to praise his courage or mock his naivety.

There were few people in the world who were proficient in a hundred martial arts, and Murong Bo was one of them. Having such an opponent was rare, and it was perfect for Chen Ang to test his skills.

Chen Ang took down a large brush from the table, the ink on the tip still wet. Duan Yu, relieved, thought: In their haste, they used large brushes for calligraphy and painting. The tips were made of soft hair, and the handles were loose, so they couldn't hurt anyone. They would likely stop at a point and not engage in a life-or-death struggle.

Before he could recover, he saw Murong Bo swing the large brush, pointing three times at Chen Ang's left cheek. With his powerful internal strength, the brush tip was as sharp as a sword, and the air around it was filled with ink, creating a vivid illusion. The brushwork was strong and full of vigor.

Duan Yu was amazed: This man's brushwork is incredible. In my life, Uncle Zhu Danchen was the best in the world with the Judge's Brush, but compared to Old Mr. Murong, he falls short. This brushwork is full of strength and grace. When Uncle Zhu taught me, he often mentioned Yan's strength and Liu's grace. Today, I finally understand what they mean.

Murong Bo's brushwork was breathtaking, each stroke like a falling stone, each line like a summer cloud, each hook like a bent gold, and each slash like a firing arrow, all full of power and grace.

Each move targeted Chen Ang's vital points, and the large brush was as sharp as a sword.

"An excellent copy of the 'Zang Huaike Stele'!" Chen Ang praised.

In the air, Chen Ang raised his brush, his movements gentle and graceful. Duan Yu saw a small brush blocking Murong Bo's powerful strokes, each move hitting the weak points of Murong Bo's brushwork. The brushwork was elegant and graceful, a mix of running and regular script, flowing and stopping as needed, creating a sense of ease and comfort.

Their brush tips never touched, and they used feints, but Murong Bo's brushwork was no longer as smooth as before. He felt his brush becoming sluggish, and several times, he couldn't write as smoothly as he wanted, his strength faltering. In contrast, Chen Ang's brushwork was free and graceful.

Murong Bo tried to block Chen Ang's brushwork but was forced to defend. As Chen Ang wrote the 'Kuai Xue Shi Qing Tie' more smoothly, Murong Bo's writing became a mess. Frustrated, he resorted to the principles of weapons, forcing Chen Ang to defend. Duan Yu could see that Murong Bo was already losing.

"Since it's come to this, let's be straightforward." Murong Bo, determined, used the basic Judge's Brush technique, making sharp and powerful strokes, forcing Chen Ang to defend with great skill. The horizontal stroke was like a勒 (rein), seemingly using reverse force, quickly retreating, and aiming at Chen Ang's throat.

Murong Bo repeatedly used the eight methods of the 'Yong' character, each stroke powerful, but not forming a complete character. Only the strokes were strong, without any rules, clearly aiming to force a draw with Chen Ang.

Unexpectedly, Chen Ang laughed and changed his brushwork from the 'Kuai Xue Shi Qing Tie' to the 'Lanting Xu', starting with "In the ninth year of Yonghe, the year of Gui Chou." The first 'Yong' character, with its dot, horizontal stroke, vertical stroke, hook, and other elements, forced Murong Bo to only defend.

When he wrote "at the beginning of late spring," the 'zhi' character was like a dragon rising, creating a tangible force in the air, sweeping everything in its path.

A loud slap echoed as a brush stroke left a lightning-like mark on Murong Bo's face. Just the aftereffect made him shockingly terrified. As he tried to retreat, another 'zhi' character from Chen Ang's brush struck, leaving a red mark on his hand.

The twenty 'zhi' characters from Chen Ang's brush were breathtaking, like divine swordsmanship. Duan Yu was captivated, unable to tear his eyes away. "What excellent martial arts and calligraphy! Even Wang Xizhi himself couldn't do better." He had never seen such free and graceful brushwork, finding it mesmerizing wherever it was used.

Murong Bo, sweating profusely, tried to block Chen Ang's attacks. Eventually, he resorted to cheating, using his agility to move around the small room, saying hurriedly, "Excellent martial arts, I admit defeat. Why don't you watch me write?"

He stepped forward, leaped into the air, and swung the large brush like a giant axe, the force like a mighty river, surging forward. The strokes were like waves, like a thousand horses charging, colliding with Chen Ang, creating a wave several yards high, like a turbulent river, destroying everything in its path.

However, no matter how powerful Murong Bo's brushwork was, Chen Ang remained as steady as a mountain. The massive waves were tamed like docile sheep under his brush. If Murong Bo's brushwork was like a mighty river, Chen Ang's was like a towering mountain, using a small brush to create a sense of grandeur and stability. Chen Ang stood alone, calmly facing Murong Bo's relentless attacks. The small brush, as if alive, flew through the waves like a swift, rising to the crest and diving into the trough, moving freely through the powerful currents.

Stroke by stroke, like the rising sun dispersing the mist, revealing a peak in the distance, standing firm in the middle of the river, unaffected by the surging waves. The small brush slowly revealed the peak, a towering mountain standing in the middle of the river, blocking its path, unshaken by the turbulent waves.

Murong Bo's brushwork became increasingly narrow, as if a giant peak was blocking his path. No matter how he tried, the peak slowly pressed down, heavy and oppressive, making him want to vomit blood. Unable to stop, he could only let his brush go further off course, gradually reaching an extreme.

Finally, it crashed into the mountain, shattering into pieces.

With a loud "Crack!" the large brush in Murong Bo's hand exploded, scattering into thousands of fine threads. Murong Bo's face turned ashen, looking at his empty hands.