Chapter Fourteen: The Flying Sword Strikes in the Blink of an Eye

“If it’s yours, then that’s fine. I have a few questions for you, Daoist. I hope you’ll answer truthfully.” With these words, Shangguan Chuanyun rose to his feet and took a step forward, placing himself between the Daoist and his younger brother, Shangguan Qingyun. His left hand rested lightly on his sword’s scabbard, thumb pressed against the sword guard, his aura unleashed as he fixed his gaze upon the fortune-telling priest.

In that instant, the Daoist was shaken by the piercing sword intent emanating from Shangguan Chuanyun, his spirit reeling and his body swaying. Yet, a faint, nearly invisible mystical glow shimmered about him, and he quickly regained his composure. He dismissed his earlier sense of unease as nothing more than an illusion—after all, the youth before him was just a boy, armed with a sword at most a few years into his training. How powerful could he possibly be?

He sneered at Shangguan Chuanyun, saying, “So what if you know? I was paid to do a job. Don’t think that just because someone helped you evade my three waves of paper soldier spells last night, you can swagger in here and cause me trouble. I didn’t expect you to walk right into my net.” With a flick of his wrist, a pill appeared in his palm. He flicked it toward Shangguan Chuanyun with a cold shout, “Since you’re here, neither of you will leave!”

Shangguan Chuanyun instantly sensed danger as the pill flew toward him. With a curse under his breath, he summoned his strength, seized Shangguan Qingyun, and hurled them both toward the Daoist. As they closed in, he lashed out with a kick aimed at the Daoist’s chest.

The Daoist, certain he had subdued these fat lambs, was already savoring thoughts of the wealth they must carry. Not only would he please the prince today, but he’d also profit handsomely. His mind was filled with visions of gleaming gold waving him closer. He hummed a tuneless ditty, his spirits high, believing that even fierce beasts like lions and tigers would be rendered helpless by his Bewildering Soul Pill—what threat could two children pose?

Suddenly, pain stabbed through his chest and he was launched through the air like a battered sack. A thunderous blast erupted behind him, and a swirl of black smoke billowed from the small pill, instantly filling the room with choking darkness.

Reacting swiftly, Shangguan Chuanyun clamped his mouth and nose, held his breath, and grabbed Shangguan Qingyun, tossing him out the window. He then snapped his thumb, sending his sword flying at the Daoist.

The Daoist, caught off guard, felt something strike him—the sound of splintering bone filled his ears, and agony exploded in his nose. He realized, with a sinking heart, that his nose was broken.

Before the Daoist could recover, Shangguan Chuanyun seized the sword hilt and, with a swift thrust, stabbed at the crown point atop the Daoist’s head—the vital gate for cultivators. Sealing this point would immobilize the spirit, rendering any spellcasting impossible. With a single stroke, the Daoist froze, and Shangguan Chuanyun prepared to interrogate him at leisure.

He nudged the unmoving Daoist with his foot. Suddenly, the Daoist’s body withered, shrinking into nothing more than a peach pit.

A sense of dread washed over Shangguan Chuanyun. “Peach Pit Substitution Technique,” he muttered grimly.

This technique, a branch of the external alchemy, involved refining objects with spiritual significance—shoes, willow wood, straw, or peach pits were common, easy to carry. A drop of blood and one’s birth details were added, and the item was consecrated with incantations in a sealed chamber for seven days. When triggered by a spell or a surge of true energy, it became a substitute for escape. Used in conjunction with evasion arts, it made capture nearly impossible—though this Daoist clearly lacked any true escaping skills.

Not daring to waste a moment, Shangguan Chuanyun unleashed his spiritual sense and quickly located the Daoist sneaking through the courtyard, heading straight for Shangguan Qingyun, who was still sitting outside, rubbing his leg with a look of aggrieved confusion.

Shangguan Qingyun, after being shielded by his elder brother and hurled from the window, had felt a flash of anger. But seeing the black smoke billow from the room, he realized his brother had clashed with the Daoist. Though indignant, he sat massaging his leg—there was a slight ache, but thanks to his brother’s protective force, he was otherwise unharmed.

When he saw the Daoist limping toward him with a sinister expression, he immediately sensed ill intent, sprang up, and ran. The Daoist gave chase, but Shangguan Qingyun darted nimbly around the courtyard’s debris, keeping just out of reach.

Shangguan Chuanyun, perceiving his brother’s danger through his spiritual sense, grew anxious and shouted, “Stop!” He burst from the house in several swift steps, sword flashing as he lunged at the Daoist.

Sensing deadly peril, the Daoist fumbled for another pill. But before he could act, a silver light flickered past—Shangguan Chuanyun’s sword pierced through the Daoist’s chest and emerged from his back, the two now standing several paces apart.

A chill ran through Shangguan Chuanyun as he tackled Shangguan Qingyun to the ground, covering him. A deafening explosion rang out—the Daoist was blown to pieces.

Shangguan Chuanyun rose, exhaling in relief. This Daoist’s external alchemy was as dangerous as a hand grenade. Bits of shattered wood fell from the sky. Picking up a fragment, he realized with a scowl that the remains were nothing but wood chips.

“Another substitution technique. He’s escaped again,” Shangguan Chuanyun growled, his patience finally at an end. Twice this Daoist had slipped away right under his nose. Did he really think he couldn’t be dealt with?

He unslung the sword case from his back, set it before him, and closed his eyes to focus. Inside lay a delicate, spindle-shaped flying sword, only three inches long. He synchronized his breathing with the sword’s subtle quivering energy. Suddenly, he opened his eyes.

The flying sword vanished in a flash, darting out into a nearby alley. It circled the fleeing Daoist’s neck before returning as a streak of silver light, coming to rest once more in the case as if nothing had happened.

With a click, Shangguan Chuanyun closed the sword case and slung it over his shoulder.

He glanced at his dazed brother, pinched his cheek, and said, “Come on. Let’s clean up the battlefield.”

Shangguan Qingyun stood up, still in shock. His brother’s performance had been overwhelming—if he hadn’t followed, he would never have witnessed such a display, though it had been terrifying and he’d nearly been caught by the Daoist.

Excitement soon overcame him, and he hurried after Shangguan Chuanyun to the alley where the Daoist now lay. They found the man sprawled on the ground, a red line around his neck, his eyes wide open in death.

“Such is the peril of the path of cultivation—a single misstep and both body and soul perish. Every move must be made with utmost caution. Once you set foot on a crooked path, there’s seldom any turning back.”

Shangguan Chuanyun hadn’t intended to kill him at first. But after the Daoist tried to seize his brother even in flight, and then used a substitution technique linked to that deadly explosive pill, there was no other choice. If the Daoist had surrendered, perhaps he would have been spared. But once he fled, Shangguan Chuanyun could do nothing but end him—after all, the man had already tried to kill him once. In the world of killers, one must always be prepared to die for whatever reason compels the blade to strike.

He stepped forward to search the body, carrying with him the frugality instilled in his previous life. He found a money pouch with several dozen taels of silver, a handful of gold beans, and two gold ingots. He also retrieved several pills, each marked with unique patterns—though their purpose was unclear to him. There were three shining copper coins, and a brocade-bound book sewn with silk thread, light and flexible to the touch. Its cover read: “The Secret Record of External Alchemy.”

His interest piqued, Shangguan Chuanyun opened the book and began to read.

It opened with the words: “The Way itself knows no life or death; form does. That which is subject to birth and death is form, not the Way. The secret of longevity lies in following the Way; those who serve the Way become one with it, those who serve virtue become one with virtue, and those who pursue loss are lost…”

He pondered the passage. Indeed, external alchemy was but one of many paths—three thousand roads to the Great Dao, each practitioner holding a single thread. From the general principles, it was clear the author possessed profound insight.

He continued reading: “Even the five grains can sustain life; with them, man lives—without them, he dies. How much greater, then, are the highest elixirs, whose benefit surpasses the grains ten thousandfold? The longer the Golden Elixir is calcined, the more wondrous its transformation. Gold survives two hundred firings and remains unconsumed; buried, it endures forever. Consuming these two drugs refines the body, rendering one ageless and immortal. This is the use of external things to strengthen the self—like oil feeding a flame, so it will not die; apply verdigris to the feet, and they will not rot in water—this borrows the strength of copper to protect the flesh. The Golden Elixir within the body nourishes and protects, far beyond the external use of verdigris alone.”

The entire preface was concise, barely two hundred words, yet every phrase was polished and profound.

Shangguan Chuanyun was struck by the depth of external alchemy, seeing its points of value and how it could correspond with his own sword-immortal path, broadening his horizons. But to the uninitiated, these passages might seem to advocate the literal ingestion of gold and bronze—an absurdity. The initiated, however, would understand these were metaphors: the minerals, processed through special means, served as medicine for condensing the elixir. Comprehending the text with one’s own cultivation made the principles clear.

In short, the classics of alchemy and magic were never intended for the common man—their purpose was to facilitate exchange between those on the path. Only those who attained the requisite level could understand. Otherwise, the uninitiated would find it all nonsense, dismiss it as trickery, and regard cultivators with increasing skepticism, deepening the gulf of misunderstanding.

He flipped further through the book. From the initial steps of refining the external elixir and condensing the dan core, the instructions were lucid, detailing the process from the lowest stage to the perfection of the Golden Elixir itself. There was an appendix of assorted pills—Bewildering Soul Pills to confuse the mind, Thunderblast Pills like the one that nearly killed Shangguan Chuanyun, Bean Soldier Pills capable of conjuring an army from a single bean, as well as Substitution, Illusion, Evil-Breaking, and Protective Pills. The text covered the preparation of countless materials and methods.

Shangguan Chuanyun could not help but marvel that these cultivators were the earliest scientists, having constructed a complete system akin to chemistry.

At the very end, he found a page detailing the method for crafting paper soldiers and horses. It seemed to be adapted from the process for bean soldiers—the principles unchanged, though the method was considerably more cruel. The paper soldier spell required taking orphaned children from the city, refining them alive through sorcery and imprisoning their souls in paper figures. Wooden soldiers were made from slightly older children, while clay soldiers required the soul to be hung and suffocated, then sealed in a straw figure and, finally, placed inside the clay body. The exterior was inscribed with talismans and, each day, the figures were brought to a temple to be consecrated by incense and incantations until the soul and the clay became one, animated by the spellcaster’s will.

There was even mention of the Daoist’s ambition to fuse living people directly in his ritual.

Reading this, Shangguan Chuanyun felt justified in ending the man’s life.