Hearing this, Chen Ang couldn't help but laugh. Murong Bo's ambition to restore his country had already captivated his heart. For the country's affairs, he would do anything, sacrifice anything, use anything, and put his personal grudges and family's happiness in second place. Just this viciousness alone was enough to make him an ambitious and ruthless person.
Although he was very concerned about Murong Fu right now, facing this enemy who had humiliated his son, as long as he had value, he would do anything to rope him in. It was hard to tell if this was funny or pitiful. From a certain point of view, this kind of indomitable spirit was worthy of admiration.
"Old mister, you look down on this Chen too much!" Chen Ang clasped his hands behind his back and said, "The great undertaking you are pursuing, perhaps in your eyes, it is worth sacrificing everything for, but in this Chen's eyes, what is it?"
"What you said, the title of king, the fame and wealth?" Chen Ang slightly paused, then turned around to look at Murong Bo, "I'm sorry, this Chen still doesn't put it in my eyes."
"The fame and wealth of the human world are like dust, I only wish to be like this bright moon, shining for eternity."
His tone was calm, his eyes were sincere, but the content of his words made Murong Bo unable to suppress the anger in his heart, "If sire is not willing, just directly refuse me, don't talk nonsense, it will make this old man look down on you. I only ask you, are you willing to divide the Great Song's rivers and mountains with me? "
"Not willing!"
A clear voice without a trace of impatience came from Chen Ang.
Murong Bo tightly clenched his fists, a layer of tenacious energy faintly appeared on his iron fists. Duan Yu could even see Murong Bo's body slightly trembling, obviously trying to suppress himself. "Sire, you have to think carefully, if you say it out loud, it will be hard to take back the spilled water."
"I thought I have already said it very clearly, if you still don't understand, then I will say it again." Chen Ang coldly said. The answer Murong Bo heard was still that resolute and decisive word.
"Not willing!"
"Good, good, good ah!" Murong Bo said the word 'good' three times in a row and was already anxious. He calmed his mind and raised his palm. Duan Yu, who was several meters away, could feel the powerful palm. However, after a moment of silence, Murong Bo suddenly put down his palm and his figure flashed, then he took down the brush that Chen Ang had hung on the wall.
This surprised Chen Ang. Even at this point, Murong Fu still did not give up on trying to persuade him. Indeed, Murong Fu was an unyielding and ambitious person of his generation. His will was much more tenacious than Murong Fu's. Unfortunately, Murong Bo had no talent in strategy, which could be seen from Murong Fu. His will was much more tenacious than Murong Fu's.
Wang Yuyan had once said that Murong Fu "wants to be a Hu, not a Chinese. He doesn't even want to know Chinese words or read Chinese books." Murong Chen had such thoughts, and he had, and had Chen Chen, and had to say, "Murong Chen, and Chen, Chen't be the China't.
Murong Bo seemed to want to use the same trick again, to subdue him with his martial arts. " Chen Ang could see that Murong Bo wanted to use the same trick again, to subdue him with his martial arts. Chen Ang didn't know whether he should praise him for his heroism or ridicule him for his naivety.
In this world, there were not many people who were proficient in hundreds of martial arts, and Murong Bo was one of them. Having such an opponent was really hard to come by. Being able to verify the hundreds of martial arts was exactly what Chen Ang wanted.
Chen Ang picked up a brush hanging on the table. The ink on the tip of the brush had not dried yet. Duan Yu felt relieved, thinking, "Chen Dage and Murong Bo are in a hurry, so they are using calligraphy and painting brushes. The tip of the brush is soft and the shaft is loose, so how can it hurt people? Compared to them, they don't really need to put their lives on the line."
Before Duan Yu could come back to his senses, he saw Murong Bo brandishing his brush and jabbing it three times on Chen Ang's left cheek. With his vigorous internal energy, the tip of the brush was much sharper than the edge of a sword. His strength surged, and the brush seemed to be splashing ink in the air, creating an illusion of thick and colorful colors. The strength of the brush was perfect.
Duan Yu was surprised, "This man's brush technique is very powerful. In all my life, Uncle Zhu Danchen is the best judge brush I have ever seen. But compared to Senior Murong, he is still a long way behind. This brush technique is perfect. In the past, when Uncle Zhu taught me to read, he said that the facial muscles are like the bones of a willow. But now that I have seen it, I know what it really is. "
Under Murong Bo's free and easy strokes, every word was soul-stirring. His strokes were like falling stones, and under the tip of the brush, metal and stone could be split open. His painting was like the summer clouds, his strokes were like flowing water. His hook was like a piece of gold, with every turn, it could capture the soul. His spear was like a crossbow, when it was brandished, the wind whistled, and it looked like an elephant moving horizontally and vertically.
Every stroke was aimed at Chen Ang's vital acupoints. His brush was like a silver-edged iron pole, far sharper than a sword.
"What a good 'Zang Huaike Stele'!" Chen Ang exclaimed in admiration.
In mid-air, Chen Ang raised his brush, exerting his strength in a gentle and graceful manner. Duan Yu saw a small brush blocking Murong Bo's vigorous Qi. Every time it lifted and moved, it would hit the weak points of Murong Bo's brush. It was graceful and elegant, round and beautiful. Between the lines, the regular script, the flowing and stopping, the stopping and the flowing. Murong Bo's brush was moving freely, displaying his own satisfaction.
The tips of the two brushes did not meet, they were all feints. However, Murong Bo's strokes were not as smooth as they were in the beginning. He felt that his strokes were stiff and difficult to write. There were several times when he couldn't write with that kind of pleasure. His strength was intermittent, and his heart was extremely sullen. On the other hand, Chen Ang's strokes were free and easy, his strokes were extremely natural and unrestrained.
Murong Bo tried to block his strokes several times, but he was forced by Chen Ang's splashing of ink. He only had enough time to parry. Seeing Chen Ang's' Clear Weather After Fast Snow 'was getting smoother and smoother, while his own strokes were a complete mess, Murong Bo became anxious and decided to use the Way of Weapons to forcibly dismantle his strokes. In Duan Yu's eyes, he knew he had already lost.
"Since it's come to this, I might as well be a bit more straightforward." Murong Bo was determined in his heart. Regardless of the artistic conception of his strokes, he only used the most basic Judge's Brush Technique. When the brush touched the edge of the brush, the edge of the brush fell steeply, the brush spread out, and the momentum was enough to retract the edge, forcing Chen Ang to turn around to defend himself. His strength was incomparably exquisite. The horizontal stroke was like a piece of paper falling in the opposite direction, slowly moving forward but quickly returning back, strangling Chen Ang's throat.
Murong Bo repeatedly used this' Eight Strokes of Yong ', eight kinds of force exertion techniques. Over and over again, over and over again, he was unable to form a complete character. Only his strokes exerted strength, completely without any restraint. Obviously, he had the idea of forcing Chen Ang to a draw.
To his surprise, Chen Ang burst into laughter. His brush changed from 'Clear Weather After Fast Snow' to 'Preface to the Orchid Pavilion'. "In the ninth year of Yonghe, the year is Tenth Chou." The first character, 'Yong', was used to seal the vital acupoints on the side, horizontally restrain the edge of the weapon, vertically exerting strength, hook, flick, short flick, peck, restrain, one by one, forcing Murong Bo to only have the strength to parry.
When he wrote 'Beginning of Late Spring', the character, 'Zhi', was like a dragon or snake rising from the land. Unexpectedly, the strength of the brush materialized in the air, sweeping horizontally and horizontally, unstoppable.
A loud 'pa' sound was heard on Murong Bo's face. The tip of the brush drew a lightning-like crease on his face. Murong Bo was so shocked that he was unable to control himself. Just as he was about to retreat, another character, 'Zhi', came out from Chen Ang's brush. The edge of the brush broke. Murong Bo tried his best to resist, but a red mark appeared on his hand.
These twenty characters, under Chen Ang's pen, were soul-stirring, just like a celestial swordsmanship. Duan Yu's mind swayed, unable to control himself. "Good martial art, good calligraphy. Even if Wang Youjun was still alive, he would only be this good." When had he ever seen such unrestrained brushwork? He only felt that this brushwork, no matter where it was used, had a kind of wonderful effect that could move one's mind.
Murong Bo's forehead was beaded with sweat. He tried to block left and right, but in the end, he decided to act shamelessly. He launched his agility skill, moving back and forth in the small inner chamber, while anxiously saying, "Good martial art! I admit defeat in this match. Governor, there's no harm in watching me brandish my brush."
With a stomp of his foot, Murong Bo soared into the air. His brush was like a giant axe, swinging down. His strength was as vast as the Yangtze River, surging forward. Every stroke of his brush was like a tidal wave, like ten thousand galloping horses, crashing in front of Chen Ang. Under Chen Ang's brush, several zhangs high waves were set off. It was really like turbid waves coming from the sky, overturning the rivers and overturning the seas, with the power to destroy everything.
However, no matter how turbulent Murong Bo's brush was, Chen Ang was as steady as a mountain. Under his brush, the monstrous waves were as docile as a tamed sheep. It carried a sense of tranquility and docility. If one were to say that Murong Bo's brush was like the great river and the great sea, it was full of vigor.
That Chen Ang was like a towering mountain, towering and unmoving. That small brush was as big as a linen cloth, unexpectedly, it had the lofty and unmoving spirit of Mount Tai. Chen Ang stood alone with his left hand clasped behind his back, leisurely facing Murong Bo's all-out attack. The small brush, as if it had a mind of its own, went against the surging waves, like a swallow flying in the sky. Sometimes it rushed to the top of the wave, sometimes it fell to the bottom of the wave, freely traversing the monstrous waves.
Bit by bit, like the rising sun, the hazy mist dispersed, a corner of the green mountain was revealed, blocking the middle of the great river. No matter how the waves surged, the green mountain was happy and unmoving. The small brush slowly lifted the veil of the green mountain, a towering mountain stood motionless in the middle of the great river, blocking its path. No matter how the turbid waves rolled, it was unshakable.
Murong Bo's brush was getting narrower and narrower, as if there was a huge mountain blocking in front of him. No matter how his brush moved, it was still slowly pressing forward. The imposing manner was imposing, the pressure was overwhelming, making him want to vomit blood. He couldn't stop his momentum, he could only let the brush go further and further, gradually entering the extreme.
In the end, it crashed into the mountain, shattering into pieces.
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