“Do you not value your sect’s teachings and nurturing?”
“You’re too young. You know nothing. When you reach the Illusory Godly Realm, the True Spirit Realm. When you truly roam between Heaven and Earth, you’ll see how petty bonds and sentiments are nothing but emptiness.”
“To become an immortal is the only true path.”
“I speak to you thus only because I regard you as a shizhi.”
Gu Ruhui gazed out over the cloud-tops. The sect disciples watched with bated breath, waiting for his answer.
He was a dutiful shixiong.
He had mastered both sword and Dao.
Few things in this world had ever bewildered him.
In the mud, struggling to live, he had not feared death. After stepping onto the immortal path, he had never once lost his sense of direction.
His shifu had said, Learn the Twelve Heavenly Sword Forms.
So he learnt them, took first place, felt a flicker of satisfaction, and nothing more.
He had always wielded the sword only for himself. Those who harmed him, he struck down. If one day he fell to the hand of a foe, so be it.
Yet a sword-heart, no matter how stone-hard, is made of flesh and blood.
Originally it had no shape. His shifu and shimu taught him that it is the man who wields the sword, not the sword that wields the man. His little shixiong taught him brotherhood, and the warmth of being held in someone’s thoughts.
If he nodded now, he would never again be worthy to drink with his little shixiong.
If he nodded, he would be unworthy. Full stop.
Gu Ruhui lifted his gaze. Up in the heavens there seemed to be a heavy, formless Dao. Vast, invisible, pressing upon all.
There may be three thousand paths, yet cultivate long enough and one finds only a single road.
Refuse to follow it, and it will crush you regardless.
Scheming, craven, swarming like flies and rats.
His shifu had no friends or brothers in Tianyi Sect. Was it because his shifu, too, refused to walk this road?
“People today do not see me; I, today, do not see the moon.”
Was that what it meant?
Gu Ruhui suddenly smiled. The sight made Elder Ma relax at once. He teased, “So, my dear shizhi, you’ve come to your senses?”
Gu Ruhui said, “Yes. I understand.”
Elder Ma tucked his hands into his sleeves, beaming. “You’re a sharp one. A brilliant future ahead of you. Even born a commoner, you’ll ascend without trouble.”
Suddenly, Gu Ruhui drew his sword. The blade was cold as snow, clean as a mirror, catching the light in his flying dark hair and his frost-bright eyes.
He said,
“Shibo, your Dao is weeping. You have cultivated it wrongly.”
Ma-shibo’s smile froze. Gu Ruhui swept his gaze over the disciples standing upon the clouds. “You lot have cultivated incorrectly as well. A pity you cannot hear it.”
With that, he cut through the cloud bank in a single stroke.
That sword was fast… unyielding, fearless, and utterly direct. Its rainbow-bright qi split the torrential rain and tore apart the massing thunderclouds.
Through the deluge, sunlight suddenly spilled down like lengths of golden silk, illuminating the cold, sodden earth.
Those trapped in the floodwaters looked up. An old woman, her eyes blinded by tears, reached out a trembling hand and asked the people beside her, “Has the rain stopped?”
……
Meanwhile, Xue Cuo flew towards Qianyun City.
Outside the walls, floodwaters surged in a yellow, churning expanse. Within the city, water swallowed houses and streets; the market was submerged. A formation sealed the city gates, forbidding any living being from escaping.
Corpses drifted with the waves. Frail livestock, like humans, had no shelter and nowhere to seek aid.
Xue Cuo crouched atop the city wall, gazing out at the muddy vastness. “Master Xuan, the water’s far too high.”
Xuan Zhao, sheltering beneath a lotus leaf, cursed furiously. “These damned half-baked Xianghuo gods! They think they can throw their weight around before the Yellow River Goddess. Bah! Filthy wretches!”
He cursed for a good long while. Only when Xue Cuo remained silent did he turn his head.
The young man who was usually all quick wit and transparent emotion now had a face as cold as winter steel. His blue robe snapped in the wind and rain. He held a lotus-shaped Dao charm, his voice icy. “Master Xuan, they’re preparing a sacrificial ground.”
Xuan Zhao blinked, then slapped his own head. In absolute disbelief, he leapt up and roared, “Those rotten fish and shrimp want to gather yin spirits and establish a divine kingdom on earth? Why doesn’t the Goddess strike them down on the spot!”
The city was full of the dead and dying.
Only the temple remained untouched by the floodwaters, its barrier preventing any mortal from entering. The Xianghuo gods had shed even the pretence of benevolence. Having drained their followers dry, they now came to claim their souls, intent on eternal imprisonment in their so-called kingdom.
Xuan Zhao’s expression turned grave. “Xue Cuo, those mangy gods have grown far stronger. You’re no match for them.”
Even so, he couldn’t resist another curse. “Miserable bastards! Killing and arson make you Golden Immortals, but build a bridge and you turn into wandering ghosts. Her Ladyship only spared you because she pitied the folk of the Great Loch—ah, cough—cough—”
He abruptly fell into a violent fit of coughing, quickly clasped his hands together, muttered skywards, and changed the subject. “Come on, let’s go back and get reinforcements!”
Xue Cuo scratched his head. “Master Xuan, I’ve no shixiongs, no sect elders, and no fellow disciples. Who exactly are we fetching?”
Xuan Zhao glared with all his whiskers. “What about the Goddess you know? The High God? Your shidi? And that Great White Tiger? Don’t tell me you mean to go alone? That’s suicide!”
“When gods fall, their remnants can barely protect themselves. Her Ladyship told me so long ago. They’ve not the strength to intervene. As for my shidi, Yin Feixue, and the others…”
Xue Cuo flicked back his ink-black hair, said with bold nonchalance, “How could I drag friends along to their deaths? I’d rather each and every one of them stay safe.”
He pinched a talisman between his fingers. With a deep hum, his sleeves ballooned, and countless azure talismans burst from him, forming a spiralling water-dragon vortex.
“By my command.”
The talismans coalesced into four or five azure talisman-dragons, plunging into the flood to rescue those drowning below. One dragon flared brightly, devouring a man-eating fish and clashing with the water-spirits that had rushed into the city.
Xue Cuo spotted one talisman-dragon trapped and, without a thought for his own safety, leapt straight from the city wall.
“Xue Cuo!” Xuan Zhao stamped his foot, swore loudly. Then, unable to bear it, he slipped into the flood after him, tortoise shell and all.
……
Within the city, the four gods greedily absorbed yin spirits. Suddenly, their expressions shifted. “Someone has intruded!”
“Catch him!”
“Wait, what’s he doing?”
“He’s saving people. Hiss… that talisman… fascinating. Is he a mortal possessed by a higher god?”
“This boy’s scent is sweet and whole. Capture him, devour him, and our divine kingdom will be within reach.”
The four gods sent out their clones, leaping across rooftops towards Xue Cuo. He felt them approach. “They’re fast.”
He commanded his talisman-dragon to fling survivors onto higher ground, then dashed straight for the temple, releasing a talisman.
“Ignite.”
The explosion shattered the temple’s barrier. Water flooded in, collapsing the structure and extinguishing the incense flames.
Shiliu snarled, “Damn it! If he touches the temple again the sacrificial ground won’t form! Why haven’t you caught him yet!”
Chongming snapped, “He’s too slippery! There’s something off about these talismans. Don’t tell me he really is a reincarnated god!”
“Impossible! If he were, he’d have crushed us in a single palm instead of running about causing trouble!”
With their true bodies anchoring the formation, the gods could not move. Their clones failed to catch the talisman-riding youth, and whenever they approached, he simply targeted the temple again, forcing them to retreat.
Relying on his talismans, Xue Cuo smashed and sabotaged everything in sight while rescuing survivors. He wagered the four gods would not reveal their true bodies while preparing the sacrifice, which meant he still had room to manoeuvre. So he pushed harder.
Chongming, enraged, suddenly realised something. “Those mortals. He’s saving those mortals!”
The four gods’ eyes gleamed with cruelty. They turned upon the rescued civilians. In an instant, the sky filled with blood. Men, women, and children were crushed into pulp, the air thick with crimson mist.
“He’s come back!”
Chongming, seeing the boy fall for the bait, unleashed the Samsara Foetal Fire. The surrounding waters evaporated instantly.
Xue Cuo’s talisman-dragons burned to ash. Scorched, he let out a muffled groan and fell into the water. The remaining dragons attempted to return, but the other three gods intercepted them.
“Today you die!” Chongming exulted.
Drenched to the bone, Xue Cuo readied himself for one last fight when the waters beneath him suddenly sank. A hand dragged him down. He choked out a sound and was shoved deep into a solid tortoise shell.
Xuan Zhao’s face was twisted with exertion as he bolted towards the ruins of the city wall. “Xue Cuo, I must be mad to keep doing this for you!”
Chongming raged, scouring the waters with divine power.
Xuan Zhao, though no warrior, was a master of escape. He still had hidden tricks lef. They were painful to use, but necessary.
…
Xue Cuo tumbled inside the shell. Who knew how long it took before he finally crawled out.
“Master Xuan?”
The place was unfamiliar, though Qianyun City could still be seen in the distance.
Xuan Zhao did not reply. His enlarged tortoise shell was dim, as if grievously wounded.
Xue Cuo spat blood, wiped his mouth, and froze. A scrap of flesh clung to the back of his hand. It was still attached to a sliver of pale bone.
He stared, then quietly wiped it away.
His movements slowed. Something heavy pressed on his mind. After a long breath, he gritted his teeth and began to think.
Xuan Zhao must have been gravely hurt rescuing him. The Xianghuo gods were determined: using an entire city’s spirits to build a divine kingdom on earth.
Once such a kingdom formed, killing its gods would become nearly impossible. They could simply resurrect within it.
Their ambition was monstrous.
Xue Cuo clutched his chest. Covered in yellow mud, he was a wretched sight with none of his usual breezy elegance remained. He touched the burn on his arm and hissed sharply. The pain was enough to rob him of sleep for days.
Holding his arm, he looked towards Qianyun City.
The four gods, colossal as heaven and earth, combed the city for survivors, sparing none.
Xue Cuo’s expression turned frigid. Suddenly, a prickle of sensation made him turn.
White petals drifted down.
He first saw a flower branch… then robes of pristine, frosted white.
Only one person he remembered ever wore such garments.
Xue Cuo’s back went rigid. An overwhelming shock. It was almost absurd. It rose within him as he slowly lifted his gaze.
Not far above, standing in mid-air, was a man.
A flower branch rested in his hand.
He walked in the sky as though on a garden path, his gaze lowered in quiet calm.
Sword Immortal, Jun Wuwei.
