Chapter Sixty-One: Li Fugui

A sliver of sky.

Kou Wang’s figure was locked in a vicious struggle with the ghostly woman. Against such a sinister wraith, the elderly man, whose cultivation was only at the Initiation Realm, could barely even touch her form. Kou Wang wielded a set of nine flying knife-shaped magical implements, each one a streak of white light whirling rapidly around the headless specter. The air was thick with the surge of blade energy—though the ghost remained untouched, the spectacle was no less imposing, and he held his own.

Jiang Jianghu, muscles taut with tension, brandished a long saber as he dueled the bobbing ghostly flames to the rear, defending the carriage with all his might. Yet as time wore on, the hundred-year-old specter gradually gained the upper hand. Her desolate wails echoed endlessly through the chasm. She was in no hurry, patiently draining the old man’s spiritual strength bit by bit.

So long as they remained within this narrow pass, shrouded by endless mist, death was all but certain.

Fifteen minutes passed. The ghost found her moment—just as Kou Wang’s spiritual power shifted, she darted forward, her right foot slamming into his chest. He spat a mouthful of blood, stumbling backwards several yards.

But the ghost did not pursue him. She merely stood there, fresh blood gushing from her neck like a spring, chilling and macabre.

Inside the carriage, Caiwei watched the battle anxiously through a crack. Behind her, the “young mistress”—who was in truth only a maid—cowered in the corner, pale and trembling. “Miss?” she whispered.

“Quiet,” Caiwei hissed softly, though her palm was slick with sweat. Clearly, her outward calm belied her inner fear.

Jiang Jianghu lingered by the carriage, his gaze flickering with calculation. If the old man fell, he’d abandon the women and flee—perhaps, with luck, he could escape alive. Compared to a single Focus Pill, his own life weighed far heavier; years of wandering through mountains and rivers had taught him the value of survival.

The ghost’s aura grew denser, colder.

Kou Wang could no longer suppress his injuries; he collapsed to his knees. He knew he’d reached the end of his road. A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes, as though he’d made up his mind. His spiritual energy surged mightily.

At that moment, a thunderous roar erupted from the distant mountains—a wave of demonic energy crashed into the narrow pass.

“Leave.”

The voice was deep, rumbling like thunder. The headless specter was instantly paralyzed. Without hesitation, she turned and drifted into the depths of the forest, the floating ghost flames trailing after her in panic.

They fled in terror.

Kou Wang felt the surge of demonic energy, his heart pounding with awe. He leapt onto the carriage, shouting, “Go!”

Jiang Jianghu followed, whipping the second carriage forward at breakneck speed.

...

Atop a remote hill, a black-clad child shouted, then watched the two carriages flee in confusion. “Sir, aren’t we going with them?”

Shen Yu replied, “Traveling from Central Province to East Ancestral Province, there’s a small town one must pass through. We’ll meet them there.”

He simply didn’t want to appear too abruptly. If not only a mortal emerged unscathed from the pass, but also an unknown child appeared, Kou Wang and his companions would surely become suspicious and wary.

Besides, he wanted time to refine the jade sword he’d acquired—a sword imbued with the aura of a great cultivator from the Immortal Realm, an artifact of immense value.

Yet none of these were the primary reason.

“Fugui,” Shen Yu said suddenly.

The child looked at him nervously. “Sir, is something wrong? If you need me, I can help... but of the treasures in the ring, I’ll only agree to a seventy-thirty split.”

Shen Yu looked at him.

The child hesitated, aggrieved. “Fine... half each, but no more.”

Shen Yu asked, “Have you ever killed anyone?”

The child paused, then shook his head. Over the past thousand years, most who wandered through the mountain died of fright from the ghosts and monsters of the pass; he’d never actually killed anyone himself.

Shen Yu nodded. “There’s a bit of trouble coming. I’ll need you to help me kill someone.”

“Who?”

Shen Yu gazed into the darkness. “Someone who enjoys stirring up trouble.”

“Are they powerful?”

“A cultivator in the late—or even peak—Spiritual Wandering Realm.”

The child coughed. “Sir, perhaps we could negotiate instead? No need for bloodshed...”

“We could,” Shen Yu replied coolly. “But it’s a pity about the treasures he carries. I remember he has a ring as well.”

“Sir, let’s kill him.”

The child puffed up his chest, face solemn. “Anyone who causes trouble for you causes trouble for me, Fugui. There’s nothing to discuss. This matter is settled.”

His tone shifted abruptly; then he lowered his voice. “But could I have the treasures off his body?”

Shen Yu glanced at him. “I think your name, Fugui, is rather rustic. Why not choose another?”

The child grinned. “What should it be?”

Shen Yu considered. “How about Shen Zhaocai? Or Li Fugui would do as well.”

Silence.

After a long pause, the child replied, “Sir, it seems you haven’t read much, have you?”

...

Deep within the deserted pass, the child’s shouts summoned a gathering of monsters and spirits from all around. Standing atop a jutting rock like a king, he looked down upon the assembled wraiths, his bearing imperious.

“Listen up! A powerful enemy is about to invade our domain. I’ve summoned you all so that, together, we can destroy him and seize his treas... ahem.”

“After this is done, I’ll be leaving with the gentleman I just met to travel the world. This will be our last battle together.”

At his words, a chorus of wails and sobs rose from the crowd.

Shen Yu watched from a pine branch, surprised at the little one’s popularity among ghosts and monsters.

“At last, our king is leaving—heaven be praised.”

“The oppression will be over; freedom will return to the pass.”

“Yes, we must fight with all we have, so that he leaves.”

“Together, we’ll destroy the intruder.”

Shen Yu, listening nearby, could only shake his head at how hasty his judgment had been.

He stilled his expression, took the newly acquired jade sword in hand, and ran a finger lightly along its blade.

A drop of blood sank into the sword.

In an instant, the sword glowed with a faint red light, trembling as if unable to contain the surge of sword energy that could cleave through all things. It seemed as if, in the next moment, it might pierce the very firmament.

Shen Yu’s expression was calm as he let the sword energy surge skyward. He gripped the hilt, tracing several sigils in the air.

“Still!” he commanded.

The sword stilled, spinning gently, then hovered three feet before him.

The black-clad child halted his speech and bounded over to Shen Yu. Sensing the terrifying sword energy, he instinctively retreated a few steps, swallowing nervously.

“Sir’s cultivation may not be high, but to withstand such sword energy is no small feat. He’s truly extraordinary.”

He was about to voice this thought when he witnessed something even more shocking.

Shen Yu suddenly opened his mouth and inhaled, swallowing both the jade sword and the raging sword energy in one gulp.

The child’s jaw dropped, forming a perfect circle.

Shen Yu’s face was bloodless as he endured the searing pain of sword energy rending his insides, breathing out gently.

This forceful method of fusing with a spirit artifact dated back to ancient times. By using his own vital essence and spirit, he aimed to reach the state where the weapon moved at his merest thought.

If he added the Jingqing Sword to this, he could wield sword techniques from antiquity—giving him a better chance in the coming deadly battle.

After half an hour, Shen Yu opened his eyes to see the little one hesitating in the distance, clearly wanting to speak.

“Is there a problem?” Shen Yu asked.

The child hesitated, then whispered, “Sir, what was the syllable you spoke the first time we met?”

He recalled Shen Yu’s strange sword-swallowing technique, and remembered that the first time they met, Shen Yu had uttered a rare syllable that felt like a needle stabbing into his skull, causing unbearable agony.

But what puzzled him was that it didn’t seem like any known spell, more as if some taboo deep within his bloodline had been triggered.

Shen Yu squinted, reflecting for a moment before answering, “Three thousand years ago, spiritual energy in this world was at its peak, the richest since the birth of Linghuang. Countless powerful beings rose; demons and monsters ran rampant, threatening humanity.”

The child pricked up his ears, listening intently.

Shen Yu paused, enduring the wild energy within him, and continued, “There was a man who took his sword into the Eastern Sea and slew nine hundred sixty-six flood dragons, nearly eradicating their lineage. In the end, he fought the progenitor of the flood dragons, drawing out the true dragons of the four seas for a battle to the death.”

The child’s eyes widened in awe. “And then?”

Shen Yu gazed at the clouds, his tone somber. “The true dragon was defeated. The demon clans swore an oath: no demon in true form would set foot in the human world. An imprint was etched into the flood dragon progenitor’s bloodline—a supreme Daoist seal, inscribed by a sage of the Three Teachings. Should the oath be broken, any human who knew the syllables of the seal could obliterate them.”

The sages of the Three Teachings represented the will of heaven itself—no one dared defy those laws.

The child shivered from head to toe. “So the syllable you spoke was...”

Shen Yu’s face, pale as ever, nodded. “Just the opening syllable of the seal.”

The child clicked his tongue in admiration. “That man was truly fearsome. To subdue the entire dragon clan alone—if such a monster as he merely glanced at me, I’d probably die on the spot, never mind hearing the syllable.”

As he spoke, he glanced at Shen Yu, taking in his tall, imposing figure, and a wild, impossible thought flitted through his mind.

He quickly slapped himself, rolled his eyes, and shook his head.

In the next instant, his gaze sharpened, fixed on a distant point.

At the entrance to the pass, a middle-aged man in a conical hat and black cloak appeared.