Chapter Twenty-Six: Enlightenment in the Alchemy Chamber—A Conversation with Strange Tales

Shangguan Chuanyun watched the wild-haired Taoist painstakingly defend his pride, thinking to himself how useless it was—pride couldn’t fill your stomach, after all. Those who lived for pride always met with misfortune. In his previous life, it didn’t matter if you were male or female, rich or poor, young, old, or infirm—everyone seemed to take pride as their standard for survival. Using powder and cosmetics was just the first step; those who could endure having their faces sanded with coarse paper reached the second level. When your face was as tough as a city wall, you’d reached the third; the fourth was mastering the Iron Palm on your own face, making it not only thick and resilient, but even capable of attack.

With such a thin-skinned Taoist, in that former world, starvation would be his likely end—a man with grand ambitions but lacking in real talent, doomed to a lifetime of empty regret. Looking down on him, Shangguan Chuanyun muttered under his breath.

“Dying for pride, living in suffering.”

“What did you say?” The wild-haired Taoist rounded on him, eyes wide with indignation. His face was blackened by the explosion, otherwise he would have been flushed with anger.

“Heh, heh...” Shangguan Chuanyun gave an awkward laugh, then fished out a gold ingot and handed it over, saying, “I must thank you for your help, Master Taoist. Please accept this as a small token of appreciation—enough for some tea.”

The Taoist eyed the gold—it was a hefty piece, worth ten taels—and couldn’t quite hide his reaction, swallowing nervously. Yet, for the sake of his dignity as a cultivator, he turned his head, refusing to look at it.

Shangguan Chuanyun sighed inwardly. This Taoist’s obsession with pride explained his poverty. Clearly, the man was determined to make things difficult for him. He simply refused to believe he couldn’t give away money, so he took out three more gold ingots and smiled.

“As the saying goes, when traveling abroad, one relies on friends. You’ve come here alone to hunt demons, Master, and I admire your courage. Since you’re in my territory, please let me sponsor you—repair your magical instruments and continue your quest for the good of all. For the sake of the common folk, you must accept this.”

Hearing this, the Taoist conceded that Shangguan Chuanyun had a point. He truly was acting for the good of the world, and his own supply of talismans and cinnabar was nearly depleted; his instruments badly needed repair, all of which required silver. Still, he hesitated, as if weighing something deeply.

Seeing this, Shangguan Chuanyun wondered how someone’s cultivation could lead them to ever-deeper poverty. After a moment’s thought, he pressed on, “The demon has already entered the imperial palace. I am willing to do my part, and this gold is but a token of my sincerity.”

“Well then, I... I must accept,” the Taoist finally said, torn between embarrassment and necessity.

Seeing this, Shangguan Chuanyun wondered how long the man would have hesitated otherwise. Was pride truly so important? He had no ill will toward the Taoist, but not much goodwill either—save for the fact that tonight’s battle had seen them on the same side. Even if it had been an ordinary man standing beside him, shouting encouragement, Shangguan Chuanyun would have shown his gratitude; let alone this formidable cultivator, who was clearly not adept at stripping corpses for profit.

These people were all either rich or noble; he could have stripped them for thousands of silver taels, not to mention the valuable magical instruments. Clearly, though, the wild-haired Taoist was no expert in such matters.

Shangguan Chuanyun stepped forward and pressed the gold into the Taoist’s hands.

Relieved, the Taoist finally said, “Then I accept with gratitude.” He awkwardly tucked the gold into his robe and bowed.

“I am Wuchenzi of Qingcheng Mountain. Many thanks, Young Master Shangguan.”

Shangguan Chuanyun quickly turned aside, unwilling to accept the bow. With higher cultivation than himself, he couldn’t bear such a ceremony—it might even disturb his soul. He said, “No need for such courtesy, Master.”

Wuchenzi gazed at the courtyard strewn with corpses and sighed. “I must take my leave, but I must trouble you to bury these men.”

“Very well, safe travels, Master,” Shangguan Chuanyun replied quickly. By now, he realized their minds were on different wavelengths, so there was no need for further words—best to see the guest off.

Wuchenzi gathered his instruments, then with a leap, soared a full ten feet into the air toward the imperial palace. Shangguan Chuanyun’s eyes narrowed—no flying sword, no artifact, yet he could rise from the ground. Such levitation was no simple feat; only one who had merged with nature, filled with vital energy, formed the Golden Core, and connected the two bridges of heaven and earth could accomplish it. Shangguan Chuanyun himself, though fast, still relied on his sword—while the flying swords in his case remained a step away from true mastery.

Surveying the bodies, he felt a headache coming on. Their possessions were mostly silver and magical tools, nothing much of use to him, yet burning them all seemed a waste.

As he wavered, he sensed the barrier he’d set at Shangguan Qingyun’s side stir—his brother was awake. Relieved, he realized he finally had a solution.

With Shangguan Chuanyun’s help, Shangguan Qingyun had absorbed the external elixir and instantly entered a meditative state. The elixir fused with his spirit, guiding his vital energy through his body, transforming him inside and out. His essence was now integrated into the elixir, and his body moved as he willed, though he was still unused to it. In time, even without cultivation, he would be of superior talent, quick to learn anything.

Qingyun rose to find himself alone, his body sticky and uncomfortable. Then he heard a voice from outside.

“If you’re awake, come out—there’s work to do.”

He put aside his thoughts, opened the door, and saw his elder brother amid the mess of corpses, instantly recognizing another of his brother’s masterpieces. Excited, he ran over.

“Brother, what is it?”

Shangguan Chuanyun eyed his disheveled brother, his clothes sticking to him, but pressed on with business.

“How does the elixir feel?”

“Amazing! I feel like I could fly; I’m much stronger.”

“Good. Once you learn the true arts, you’ll be on the path. But power alone is not enough—you’ll need proper instruments for battle,” Chuanyun continued. “Do you see these people?”

Qingyun nodded vigorously, his eyes lighting up at the thought of magical instruments and the elixir he’d received from the diviner.

“These people came to sabotage your cultivation. If not for the help of a master, we might both be lying here now.”

He watched Qingyun’s growing anger and was satisfied. Children were easy to steer. “But now they’re dead, thanks to me and that high master. The master has left, but the things these people left behind are just what you need. I’ve kept them for you.”

Qingyun’s eyes shone; nothing else mattered but the magical tools before him.

Seeing his excitement, Chuanyun said, “Go on, gather what you can, then wash up and come to my room so I can teach you the true arts.”

“Yes, brother!” Qingyun called, pouncing on the bodies, searching them thoroughly, not leaving even their soles unchecked. Satisfied, Chuanyun returned inside.

Sitting on his cushion, Shangguan Chuanyun reflected on the recent days—so many events, hardly a moment for quiet cultivation. The capital was on the brink of chaos. If Cihang Pudu, with power rivaling Wuchenzi’s, managed to absorb the dragon energy at the emperor’s side, Wuchenzi would be no match. Then, when the capital’s dragon energy was seized, turmoil would reign, and peace would be nowhere to be found.

Even within the Marquis of Wu’an’s residence, things were far from tranquil. His father, Shangguan Jin, harbored motives and secrets of his own. Chuanyun had thought this place was safe, planning to venture out and see the world’s monsters and demons, but it seemed the household itself was no less treacherous.

Only with harmony at home could one safely roam the world.

Qingyun’s timely fortune with the elixir had perhaps come just in time; otherwise, if he found himself isolated and overwhelmed, his own character might be swayed, perhaps turning him into a villain.

He recalled a novel from his past life, “Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio,” also called “Foxes and Ghosts.” Its world was much like this one, overrun with demons, and in the end a centipede spirit named Cihang Pudu became a royal preceptor, seizing control of the court. He wondered if any characters from that book existed here, or if similar spirits roamed about.

And what of himself? Even someone as privileged as he lived under constant schemes—how much harder for others?

A faint knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts—gentle, as if not to disturb him. He shook his head, deciding not to dwell on such things.

“When the soldiers come, guard the city; when the water rises, build a dam. Deal with things as they come.” That was his philosophy.

He knew it was his brother at the door. Smiling, he called, “Come in.”

Qingyun entered, cheeks flushed, excitement plain on his face, a large bundle on his back—a good haul, Chuanyun thought with satisfaction.

“Sit,” he said.

Qingyun obeyed, sitting properly on the cushion across from him.

“All done?”

“Yes, brother. Everything’s here. I’ve gathered the bodies together.”

As he moved to hand over the bundle, Chuanyun stopped him. “You keep it. I never liked carrying burdens.” With that, he flicked a ball of flame toward the courtyard.

With a whoosh, the piled corpses outside were reduced to ash.

Turning to Qingyun, Chuanyun said, “The true arts cannot be lightly passed on, nor spoken of to outsiders. Within a hundred paces, all living things must be cleared away; what I teach must not be told to others, or heaven’s punishment will fall. Do you understand?”