novelraw Chapter 13 : Chapter 13
Chapter 13 : Chapter 13
Chapter 13
A rope suddenly tightened out of the ring of fire.
Meng Zhensheng’s neck was caught inside it, and he struggled desperately. The ring of fire still remained. Shao Si, shoved by the old Daoist, lost what little steadiness he had left and toppled headfirst toward the ring.
He let go of his cane and braced both hands against the ring of fire. The searing pain scorched into his skin, yet he did not dare release his grip.
But the old Daoist had already revealed a hideous face, and from behind he drove a brutal shove into Shao Si’s back.
Shao Si could not withstand the old Daoist’s strength. In terror, he thought of the talisman Lang Qingyun had given him—but in the very next instant he remembered that, while bathing, he had already taken the talisman off.
Despair and regret drowned him in an instant. Unable to resist the old Daoist’s overwhelming force any longer, Shao Si pitched forward.
“How dare you!”
A furious roar, like thunder cracking, erupted from behind them.
Sword light streaked in like a strip of snow-white silk, smashing through the window. It hooked and severed the noose from the ring of fire, then rang out with a clear clang as it plunged into the wall.
Shao Si fell forward onto the ground. Yet what lay before his eyes was not the illusory scene within the ring, but solid earth.
He slammed into the floor. Ignoring the pain, he first looked around.
The ring of fire, cut through by the sword, dropped to the ground and turned into another rope. The things inside it clattered down with a series of loud thuds—only a few stones, several flies, and a handful of fleas.
Meng Zhensheng had fallen to the ground as well. The severed hanging rope still lay across his neck. His chest still rose and fell—he was alive, merely strangled unconscious.
A sword was embedded in the wall before them, its blade buried entirely within the plaster, leaving only the hilt exposed. By the wall lay four broken half-length clay dolls. Those two yaksha “immortal attendants” had been cut down in a single linked slash.
Shao Si recognized that hilt.
It was Lang Qingyun’s sword.
Second Brother!
Terror abruptly turned into the overwhelming relief of surviving disaster. He twisted his head to find someone. The first thing he saw, however, was the old Daoist sprawled on the floor.
A bamboo-sheathed sword pressed against the old Daoist’s back. That sword was held by a swordsman in white robes with an ink-black outer garment. Seeing Shao Si look over, the swordsman gave him a faint smile, his gaze sliding toward the doorway.
Only then did Lang Qingyun step into the room.
Earlier, from afar, Lang Qingyun’s divine sense had witnessed what was happening in the room. In anxious fury, he had hurled the short sword he never let leave his hand, severing the rope ring to save them. Now that he had arrived, he first checked Shao Si. Seeing only torn and blistered flesh, he let out a breath. Immediately afterward, fear and rage surged up, and he shouted harshly,
“How old are you? Do you think seeking immortality is that easy? If you want to die, you do not need to go to such trouble—come to me!”
Shao Si had been frightened, grateful, and moved. But after being cursed out like that, he flared up too. “How is seeking immortality easy? You can do it and we cannot? You think I have no talent, no ability—I am a cripple with a lame leg! I just want to become an immortal! You think the younger brothers and sisters are dragging you down? If I become an immortal, I will take care of them. Then you will be free to cultivate your immortality! They will not have to live by watching your expression either!”
After hearing those words, the expression on Lang Qingyun’s face emptied out in an instant. He could not keep raging, and he did not know what to say. He could only stand there, wooden-faced.
Seeing Lang Qingyun like that, Shao Si began to regret it. But when he opened his mouth, the apology stuck in his throat like a bone he could not swallow. It choked him until it hurt.
For a moment, the room was terrifyingly silent.
Shuang Wenlü’s voice broke the silence at just that moment. “Will you confess on your own, or should I search your soul?”
Everyone in the room looked over.
Shuang Wenlü had already lifted the sword sheath that had been pinning the old Daoist down.
The old Daoist struggled up, yet he did not dare flee. Shuang Wenlü’s sword had not been drawn. He merely pressed the tip of the scabbard against the man’s back, and the old Daoist could not rise no matter what he did.
He could not even sense the slightest fluctuation of spiritual power. From that alone, he could be certain that the swordsman before him was an existence he absolutely could not afford to provoke.
“I will confess myself, I will confess!” the old Daoist said repeatedly.
Soul-searching was not something one endured lightly. If things went wrong, his divine soul and cultivation would be crippled.
This Demonic Cultivator, dressed as a Daoist, was named Wei Jia. He possessed a sinister soul-refining method. He would refine souls and anchor them within clay dolls, then trick ignorant people into walking willingly into the trap. The living person’s soul would enter the clay doll, while the evil soul inside the doll would seize the living body, becoming a flesh shell under his control.
He also had a practiced way of choosing bodies. He exploited mortals’ desire to seek immortality and ask about the Dao—if someone truly wished to cultivate, and if there was a cultivator among his close connections, he would never come to an outsider like Wei Jia to ask for cultivation methods. Using this as a filter naturally avoided those with backgrounds, preventing trouble.
Who would have thought he would crash and burn this time…
Wei Jia tried to play word games.
Shuang Wenlü’s gaze swept over him with indifferent calm.
Wei Jia shuddered uncontrollably. He felt as though his very soul was about to be split open by sword aura. The lies at his lips turned, without his consent, into truth.
But if he confessed everything, he would have no remaining leverage to keep himself alive. Wei Jia could only scramble to find reasons and value for himself.
“I also know a secret,” he stressed. “A secret involving the lives of many cultivators from famous orthodox sects. A secret that absolutely cannot be allowed to go wrong!”
Although soul-searching could forcibly extract the information in his mind, it could still produce omissions.
Shuang Wenlü’s lips curved slightly. “Oh? Let us hear it.”
Wei Jia swallowed hard. “Senior, you are from Wan Jian Peak, are you not?”
“How can you tell?” Shuang Wenlü asked.
How could he tell? The Sword Sovereign had left seclusion. No cultivator of Sword Pavilion would not be rushing back. Of the sword cultivators still wandering outside, eight or nine out of ten were from Wan Jian Peak.
Wei Jia thought this to himself, but what he said aloud was, “When one speaks of sword cultivators, who does not know Wan Jian Peak?”
He watched Shuang Wenlü’s face carefully, yet that face remained unchanged, revealing not the slightest hint of pleasure or anger. Left with no choice, he gritted his teeth and gambled.
“Although the world praises Sword Pavilion, it only stands out because the Sword Sovereign alone towers above all others. But within Wan Jian Peak, outstanding sword cultivators emerge in endless succession. Your cultivation is so profound and marvelous—surely you are a prodigy among Wan Jian Peak.”
Wei Jia saw the corner of Shuang Wenlü’s mouth lift higher and felt relief flood him. He immediately laid on the flattery. “Sword Pavilion is only famous in name. If one truly compares them, how could they possibly match Wan Jian Peak?”
Who did not know that these two great sword-cultivation sects had long disliked each other? Sword cultivators were mostly fierce and combative. Since he had guessed this man was from Wan Jian Peak, it would be far too easy to please him—nothing more than stepping on Sword Pavilion while praising Wan Jian Peak.
Only after a stream of wild praise and shameless boasting did Wei Jia steer the topic back again.
“…Cultivators of Wan Jian Peak like you have always been chivalrous and courageous. How could you bear to watch your fellow cultivators meet disaster? Since I know such a secret, there is no reason for me to hide it from you.”
Yet Shuang Wenlü still did not speak. Wei Jia knew he had to reveal something real if he wanted any chance to trade for his life, so he continued.
“This matter concerns the rare treasure that has been stirring up Suizhou recently—the Blood-Rust Blade.
“It is said that the Blood-Rust Blade conceals the secret of an unsurpassed Dao Canon. For this Blood-Rust Blade, many cultivators have come to Suizhou. And Suizhou already has many yao and ghosts hiding within it. Everyone wants to obtain the Blood-Rust Blade. Those orthodox cultivators, besides wanting the Blood-Rust Blade, also want to come and slay yao creatures and eliminate demons. Since Demonic Cultivators do not wish to be eliminated, they can only think of a method…”
Wei Jia stopped there, looking only at Shuang Wenlü.
He intended to use what came next to preserve his life.
Shuang Wenlü smiled. “You are not wrong. You only guessed one thing incorrectly.”
“What?” Wei Jia asked.
“I am not a cultivator of Wan Jian Peak. I am a cultivator of Sword Pavilion,” Shuang Wenlü said.