Chapter 290: Burial at Peace
On the waist of the headless corpse of the red-clothed swordsman, there was a faint trace of indistinct golden light that flashed and vanished.
On the head that had rolled to another spot on the ground, at the center of the forehead, a slowly coalescing drop of blood appeared.
Chen Ping'an turned his head to look at Lu Tai, who stood on a high tree branch. The latter raised an eyebrow, extended a finger, and gently twirled it. A “thread” of tiny golden objects swirled around Lu Tai's finger, slowly revolving. If Chen Ping'an's eyesight hadn't been extremely sharp, he wouldn't have noticed it at all.
The golden robe on Chen Ping'an, named “Shui Luo Shi Chu” (Water Receding, Stones Appearing), whose style name was “Jinli” (Golden Nectar), had already repaired and stitched itself seamlessly at the shoulder where the swordmaster’s sword aura had cut it, leaving no flaw.
A relic of an upper-five-realm immortal, worn for years by an old dragon in the Nascent Soul realm, would certainly not be an ordinary robe. The robe “Mo Zhu Lin” (Ink Bamboo Forest) of that jade pendant sect’s Nascent Soul elder on Osmanthus Island was still considerably inferior to this Jinli.
It was like a beauty that gave a breathtaking glimpse before quickly turning behind a screen, concealing her city-toppling grace. Thus, Chen Ping'an's robe reverted back to the white style.
Two Dry Well Talismans exploded in midair with a loud bang.
The two flying swords, Chuyi and Shiwu, thus broke free, no longer restrained.
Chen Ping'an could clearly feel Chuyi’s anger and divine intent. That was normal, because even Shiwu, with such a gentle nature, communicated through their mind-link emotions that were filled with fiery rage.
Chen Ping'an had to silently recite in his mind: “Don't rush. Maybe the enemy still has a backup plan.”
Flying sword Chuyi darted wantonly through the air, trailing dazzling white rainbow sword lights that were shocking to behold.
The dark green flying sword Shiwu was clearly somewhat disgruntled, slowly circling Chen Ping'an, evidently puzzled and discontent.
They were naturally first-rate life-bound flying swords in the world.
But they were not Chen Ping'an's life-bound treasures.
Their relationship was not that of lord and subject or master and servant, but rather like Chen Ping'an leading two young children whose minds had just begun to develop—one with a violent temper, the other with a docile nature.
However, Chen Ping'an found this arrangement not bad either.
The atmosphere in the mountain forest was heavy and eerie.
The red-clothed swordsman, who had been the anchor, was dead, and died in a manner that was utterly decisive. If not for his body transforming into a rainbow and arriving with fierce momentum, and then the peerless splendor of that heart-piercing sword strike, everyone might have thought that this fellow was a charlatan deceiving the world for fame.
The burly man who had invoked the True Deity had his silver eyes slowly fading, returning to normal.
He had been the most imposing and prominent figure earlier, but now his face was pale, his lips trembling, and he looked pitiful, as if wanting to speak but stopping himself.
He glanced at the two iron whips in the distance but only dared to stand still, too scared to move, let alone pick them up, terrified that the next moment a flying sword would pierce his heart.
The middle-aged swordmaster’s eyes were dark and unreadable; he had already thought of retreating.
His hands hung naturally at his sides, and the sleeves that had been full of clear light earlier now showed no unusual phenomena.
Only that willow-leaf small sword, which used a hollow jade hairpin as its sheath, hovered above his shoulder like a loyal watchdog, protecting its master.
A hunt that had been thought no different from a pleasant autumn outing had ended in a miserable state of heavy casualties and deaths.
Meanwhile, the two young outsiders—one had suffered no loss of combat power, and the one in the tree was completely unharmed.
At this moment, those wilderness rogue cultivators, who were all influential in their own territories, had a fear of the cave paradises of the mountain immortales rise up from within, once again enveloping their hearts.
The old formation master’s heart was like dead ashes. His formation was just short of completion, but then that accursed sword grandmaster had ruined everything.
He had tried to steal a chicken only to lose the rice—his two proud disciples had also died on the spot. Those two unfortunate kids weren’t exceptionally talented, but they were obedient and compliant, easy to command and pleasing to deal with.
The old formation master pulled out the precious beads he had stowed in his sleeves again, setting up formations one after another, each small formation combining into a large protective array.
He was on high alert.
The qi refiner who practiced the Five Elements Wood Method remained silent all along.
This type of cultivator, capable of both offense and defense, could not only move mountains and uproot trees but also raise flower spirits, insect pets, and grass and wood goblins, much like auxiliary troops on a battlefield. Additionally, they were often skilled in healing and detoxification techniques. They might not be able to decide the outcome of a battle in one move, but they were a very popular type of qi refiner.
If one could choose three companions to travel together, the optimal formation was a sword cultivator with the greatest killing power and indestructible offensive, an undying martial cultivator, plus a farmer-alchemist, a disciple of the Daoist Outer Alchemy sect, or a Wood-Method qi refiner—this was arguably the best team for qi refiners to roam the world and gain experience.
No one was willing to speak first.
Each harbored their own secrets.
Chen Ping'an held the sword relic of the red-clothed swordsman inverted, lowering his head to look.
The blade was exactly like a pool of autumn water; under the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the water ripples swayed.
It was definitely a good sword.
He just didn’t know how much it was worth.
That evil-cultivator was the only bold one who made a move, moving stealthily, one hand reaching behind his back, holding up a silver-white porcelain bottle. It was a foot tall, with a narrow mouth and a fat belly. On the surface, ferocious faces drifted and crawled, like a cruel cage imprisoning souls.
This man silently recited a secret formula, intending to use the spirit artifact in his hand to secretly collect the soul of the red-clothed swordsman after his death. This was a once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity. Once successful, his own strength would skyrocket. A six-realm peak martial grandmaster’s soul was thick and heavy. If he could successfully refine it into a yin soldier or yin general, nurture it properly, and then take it to mass graves and ancient battlefields to let it constantly absorb yin and sha aura, it might even be possible to return to the sixth realm, or even hope to create a seventh-realm heroic spirit yin object.
Then he would no longer need to care about others’ faces.
He feared that even some small country monarchs would have to consider his expression.
Lu Tai saw through the evil cultivator’s small trick in an instant and shouted angrily, “How dare you steal under my very eyes?!”
His life-bound flying sword, named “Zhenjian” (Needle Tip) yet immensely huge, fell straight down from above the evil cultivator’s head.
The evil cultivator quickly fled while stowing away that family heirloom silver bottle, forced to abandon the idea of collecting the soul. He used the yin objects collected in the black clay jar to resist the pursuit of that terrifying flying sword. No matter how the evil cultivator dodged and maneuvered, the flying sword Needle Tip stuck to him like a shadow.
If one counted the behind-the-scenes mastermind Ma Wanfa, and if the old formation master’s formation had been completed smoothly, and if the red-clothed swordsman hadn’t died suddenly, with everyone united, they would have had more than enough to deal with a Golden Core realm cultivator. If everyone was not afraid of death, even two Golden Core cultivators might not gain any advantage against them.
But there were not so many “ifs” in the world.
To put it another way, a group of people gathered for profit—when the situation was in their favor, they were fierce as tigers. But as soon as they fell behind, their hearts became scattered and they degenerated into a mob.
The burly man, who was already spent, suddenly had a face full of surprise and said loudly, “My master said he will arrive immediately to personally deal with those two! Everyone, besides Dou Zizhi’s sword ‘Infatuation’ and the dimension object originally promised to Dou Zizhi, plus all of Dou Zizhi’s possessions, they will be given to everyone!”
The burly man almost shouted himself hoarse, impassioned: “Riches are gained in danger! It’s either go back to being rats drilling holes, or have the qualifications to stand shoulder to shoulder with mountain cultivators—it’s all on this moment!”
The middle-aged swordmaster’s face was icy cold, murderous aura surging, and he said in a deep voice, “I agree. Those two brats deserve to die!”
He twisted his wrist, and a green light brewed in his sleeves, ready to be unleashed.
The old formation master smiled and said, “The mountain-moving formation is about to be completed. We can fight. Just delay for me a little while, at most half an incense stick!”
The evil cultivator, who had been chased and disheveled by the flying sword, shouted, “Count me in! Agree upfront, besides re-dividing the spoils, I want that Dou old man’s soul, no one else fight me for it!”
The Wood-Method qi refiner nodded, still unsmiling.
The burly man laughed uproariously, reached out, and with a pull, retrieved the two iron whips from the ground into his hands, striding resolutely toward Chen Ping’an.
His family head had indeed transmitted a secret voice message to him earlier, saying he would come personally to slaughter these two fat sheep here.
Then, almost simultaneously, the middle-aged swordmaster swung his large sleeve, turned around, and darted away, as fast as a startled swan.
The old formation master used an Earth-Distance Talisman, and not just one. Every time his figure appeared a dozen zhang away, within a few blinks, he had disappeared entirely, his form lost in the depths of the forest.
The Wood-Method qi refiner tapped his toe, and his body flew backward. Though he seemed to hit a large tree, he instantly vanished without a trace.
Only the evil cultivator was still rushing toward Chen Ping’an.
The burly man stood stunned, cursed, then no longer dared to go forward and die.
His own strength was no longer enough to contend.
Such a display was merely casting a brick to attract jade.
Chen Ping’an was first stunned, then relieved. This was reasonable.
He had learned something new.
Lu Tai took a deep breath and said to Chen Ping’an, “That mastermind just ran. I’m going after him. You should be able to handle this side. I’ll come find you later.”
Lu Tai first put away that misnamed flying sword Needle Tip.
On his wrists and ankles, there were purple-gold lotus patterns, as if ready to bloom.
Lu Tai said softly, “Bloom.”
The four lifelike purple-gold lotuses instantly burst into bloom.
Lu Tai gritted his teeth, leaped high into the air, and then flew with the wind.
His body leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he looked into the distance, large sleeves billowing, flapping loudly, strands of hair at his temples flying wildly.
He looked around for a moment, then locked onto a direction and vanished in a flash.
The evil cultivator swallowed his saliva, holding a clay jar full of yin souls in one hand, and with the other he made a Buddhist prayer gesture, smiling obsequiously, “This young sword immortal gentleman, I was overstepping this time. My apologies, my apologies. Next time we meet, I will take the initiative to retreat three she. If at that time you are willing to order me to do some small tasks, I will go all out without hesitation.”
Between his words, the evil cultivator kept watching the expression and complexion of the white-robed youth, retreating rapidly.
This man was also decisive in killing and acting. Before fleeing, he immediately crushed the black clay jar that nurtured yin souls on the spot, and black smoke billowed.
A lizard cutting off its tail.
A slender wisp of golden light swam swiftly within the rolling black smoke. The dense, ink-like sinister smoke dissipated at a visible speed.
But it would be a while before the foul black smoke was completely dispelled.
Chen Ping’an frowned, took a few steps forward, and leaped onto the crown of a large tree.
A fleeting figure turned into a faint gray smoke, rapidly fleeing into the forest.
Chuyi had already given chase on its own.
Chen Ping’an moved his mind slightly, and Shiwu followed suit.
Chen Ping’an floated back to the ground. Before landing, he twisted his wrist in midair, adjusting the red-clothed swordsman Dou Zizhi’s immortal ceremonial sword to a normal holding posture.
Although it was much heavier than his locust wood sword, Chen Ping’an still felt it was too light.
The burly man looked up at the direction where Lu Tai had disappeared, then finally lowered his head to look at the iron whip in his hand, giving a wry smile.
He knew he would die today.
Resentment, loss, anger—all appeared, surfaced, and then faded one by one within his chest.
Having lived a spineless and humiliating life, he might as well die like a hero at least once.
The burly man threw the two iron whips heavily to the ground and began his third invocation of the True Deity. He stomped hard, heavily clapped his hands together. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, and he laughed heartily: “Do you dare wait a moment and let me have a good fight?!”
Chen Ping’an casually tossed the sword “Infatuation” in his hand.
It pierced straight through the burly man’s chest.
The sword was driven into the trunk of a large tree.
After successfully penetrating the man’s heart, Chen Ping’an clearly saw a red light flow across the blade, flickering and vanishing, like a starving man having a full meal, a drunkard drinking his fill.
Chen Ping’an resolved to find an immortal ferry or a mountain divine shop to sell this sword.
The resplendent golden light was still tirelessly melting away the black smoke.
No wonder it was a top-grade magic treasure made from the long beard of an old dragon.
If just two strands were already so divine and powerful, he could only imagine how immense the power of the whisk in the hands of that old Daoist from the Inverted Mountain dragon lord would be.
Chen Ping’an dismissed his thoughts, hesitated, then retrieved the sword, picked up a branch as thick as an arm, sharpened it with the sword, and silently dug a few large pits. He buried the red-clothed swordsman, the burly man, and the two disciples of the formation master separately, then covered them with soil, trying to conceal the traces as best he could, so that no passerby would accidentally notice any clues.
Chen Ping’an sat on a high branch, patiently waiting for Chuyi, Shiwu, and Lu Tai to return.
He placed the now-sheathed “Infatuation” horizontally across his knees.
In the distance, the black yin smoke that was entangled with the golden light and steadily retreating—though it had lost its intelligence long ago—still feared death and clung to life, even for dead yin objects.
Suddenly, a large surge of rolling black smoke tried to leave the area, fleeing elsewhere to ravage the landscape.
Chen Ping’an suddenly remembered there was a castle in the distance.
If an ordinary martial artist ignorant of techniques encountered it, they would be caught in the disaster like a fish in a pond.
Chen Ping’an stood up with his sword, first looked around to confirm nothing was amiss, then poured his soul essence into the robe Jinli. In an instant, an ethereal dharma form over ten zhang tall appeared, its face indistinct, but glowing brightly with golden light. The form hung in the void between heaven and earth, standing firm, just in time to block the black smoke. With a sweep of its large sleeve, it scooped all the yin souls inside. The yin souls were like entering a forbidden area—hissing and crackling—and soon all vanished in smoke.
Chen Ping’an sat back in his original spot, his face white as snow, his head splitting with pain.
This unreserved display of the robe Jinli had consumed a full mouthful of his true qi, and there were signs of inability to sustain it.
If he were locked in a one-on-one fight to the death, unless absolutely necessary, it would be wise not to use such a move lightly. If the opponent had an unexpected survival trick, Chen Ping’an would be handing them his head on a platter.
But honestly, the feeling of spirit wandering outside the body, as if the soul had gone on a far journey, was extremely wondrous.
Looking down from above, overlooking mountains and rivers.
Chen Ping’an stretched out his fingers and gently rubbed the hem of the robe. It was smooth and delicate, with a refreshing coolness. After a life-and-death struggle, mainly from being on tenterhooks, he had nearly exhausted his mental energy. Now, somewhat drowsy, Chen Ping’an leaned against the main trunk of a large tree and began to close his eyes and rest.
About half an incense stick later, Chen Ping’an finally calmed his mind and his breathing returned to normal.
On Chen Ping’an’s wrist was tied a golden cord formed from refining a Demon-Suppressing Rope.
Soon, a dazzling white rainbow and a dark green light flew back, moving like lightning. Though the two flying swords were extremely tiny, they dragged streaks of light over ten zhang long, still very conspicuous. They both entered the Sword-Nurturing Gourd.
He felt their thoughts conveyed within the gourd.
The enemy had likely been successfully killed.
Chen Ping’an relaxed.
Chuyi and Shiwu had been away from Chen Ping’an for the first time.
But this also led to a conclusion: these wild cultivators might not necessarily be better than sect disciples at killing enemies, but when it came to fleeing, they were all experts.
Wasn’t he the same?
Since there was nothing else, Chen Ping’an sat and began to practice the Sword Furnace Standing Post.
Carrying a sword was cultivation; wearing clothes was also cultivation.
The robe Jinli, which had accompanied an immortal for a hundred or even a thousand years, was like a small cave paradise for qi refiners, allowing them to gather spiritual energy.
But for a pure martial artist, Jinli was still a rare protective charm, yet it brought some small troubles—namely the need to resist the spiritual energy that continuously gathered toward Jinli. After all, a pure martial artist must resolutely and decisively scatter all spiritual energy from their qi palace from the very beginning in order to be considered pure and to set foot on the path of martial arts.
On Inverted Mountain, because the spiritual energy there was abundant, resisting was rather strenuous. After leaving the Swallowing Treasure Whale and walking through the mountains and forests, it became much easier and more comfortable, as ordinary wilderness areas had thin spiritual energy that could usually be ignored.
Chen Ping’an waited for nearly an hour. Lu Tai walked loudly through the forest, heading quickly toward Chen Ping’an, covered in dust from head to toe, but luckily with no bloodstains.
And from the looks of it, he seemed like someone returning with a full haul.
As he walked toward the tree where Chen Ping’an was, he casually pulled into his sleeves many formation flags that the old formation master had left around the area. Lu Tai asked curiously, “You sure have a bodhisattva’s heart. Why not let the corpses be exposed to the sun, gnawed by wild beasts, pecked by birds—that’s the fate they deserve. Why pity these scoundrels?”
Chen Ping’an shook his head, “I don’t pity them. I just care about the matter of ‘the dead are greatest, burial brings peace.’”
Lu Tai shook his head, not wanting to think too much. Suddenly he turned and ran toward the “graves” with the strongest bloody smell. He asked Chen Ping’an for the approximate locations where the dead were buried, then Lu Tai vowed he would refill the soil later. Before Chen Ping’an could nod in agreement, Lu Tai had already slapped his palm down, sending dirt flying, and hurried over like a busybody to rummage through the bodies. He didn’t even spare the old formation master’s two disciples. It was hard to imagine that such a person, who favored rouge, powder, blush, and painted brows, was so adept at grave-robbing, without any psychological burden.
Lu Tai inevitably got blood and dirt on him, but the five-colored silk rope magic treasure wrapped around his arm quickly cleaned and rinsed his entire body. Immortal treasures and their myriad wondrous uses were truly extraordinary.
Lu Tai muttered to himself over there, “After all, a martial grandmaster, but you’re really a pauper! Take a look, this is Ma Wanfa’s dimension object—mountains of gold and silver inside. And you? You should be ashamed enough to come back to life and die again.”
“Alas, don’t take this the wrong way, but compared to your master, the belongings on you are really shabby. Except for this stack of silver notes—they’re a timely solution for us. Buying things down on the mountain and paying with snowflower money? The shopkeeper would hit someone…”
“You two ill-fated lovers, in your next life, be born as humans and remember to find a better master. Even if his skills are worse, don’t find another one like this.”
Chen Ping’an didn’t disturb Lu Tai’s busywork.
He just watched that figure from behind and felt it was very unfamiliar.
Finally, Lu Tai refilled the soil, clapped his hands, and looked at the flat ground with some satisfaction.
“That mastermind is dead and gone, everything’s fine!”
Lu Tai walked back to the tree where Chen Ping’an was. He absolutely refused to go up into the tree. Tilting his head back, he waved and shouted, “Time to divide the spoils!”