Chapter Thirty-Three: Flying Sword Severing the Divine Soul

Within the confines of a dilapidated house, a pair of small, cunning eyes darted furtively, observing every detail. From the moment Shangguan Chuanyun vaulted over the wall and settled cross-legged inside, these eyes missed nothing.

Their owner, Lao Shuren, had dwelled here for many years. Awakening to sentience after gnawing on some precious inkstones, Lao Shuren had instinctively absorbed moonlight to cultivate, growing steadily stronger with time. When the original master departed, the estate changed hands several times, but Lao Shuren remained hidden. Initially, he survived by pilfering leftovers; eventually, he began preying on stored grain, and soon, chickens and ducks became his fare. Each successive owner left after continual losses, until three years ago, the Nie family moved in.

At first, Lao Shuren exercised caution, fearing he might frighten them away and starve again. Yet old habits die hard. He brazenly searched the kitchen for food, once startling a cook into slicing her finger; Lao Shuren devoured the blood-stained vegetables and found them exceptionally delicious, far surpassing any meat he had tasted. Upon reflection, he realized it was the human blood that made the flavor so exquisite.

From then on, Lao Shuren was obsessed with human blood. After frightening a maid to death and consuming her entirely, he discovered not only was it delicious, but it greatly accelerated his cultivation. Overhearing plans to invite a sorcerer to deal with him, Lao Shuren recalled previous encounters with such exorcists and knew he had escaped only by hiding well. Instantly, he resolved to kill everyone in the manor, leaving no survivors. Thus, he reduced the family to bones, though he heard a daughter was away but never saw her return.

Having devoured the family, his power grew considerably. He considered leaving, but whenever he tried, the imperial dragon aura suppressed him. So, he returned to his old tricks, digging tunnels underground and making this place his stronghold. Occasionally, new occupants arrived, but he selectively consumed only beggars and those without kin, never touching idle visitors seeking thrills, lest someone come to hunt demons afterward. Thus, he remained undisturbed for years.

Recently, however, the fortunes of Shengjing grew increasingly unstable, weakening the suppression upon him. Lao Shuren sensed his opportunity: when the restraint diminished further, he would leave, and then, like a fish leaping into the sea or a bird soaring into the sky, he would find another place to raise humans for his sustenance.

Had things proceeded as usual, he would soon be free. But tonight, he glimpsed a chance to escape the city. At first, he thought Shangguan Chuanyun was another wealthy youth seeking thrills in a haunted house, and paid little heed. But then the youth’s sword case opened, revealing dazzling silver blades, clearly extraordinary. Moreover, the youth seemed to be meditating, and from experience, Lao Shuren recognized him as a cultivator. He had tasted martial artists before, whose blood was richer and more nourishing than ordinary people’s, making them a rare delicacy.

Seeing Shangguan Chuanyun meditating, Lao Shuren mused that such a meal would surely be exquisite, perhaps even granting him freedom from the courtyard. He watched for a long time as the youth sat unmoving, sensing a fleeting opportunity. His eyes swiveled, and he considered that a rash approach might backfire, alerting his prey and spoiling the chance.

After much deliberation, Lao Shuren resolved to gamble—seize the moment or lose it forever. He squeezed through a large hole in the woodshed, which had grown as his body expanded over the years.

Peering out from the hole, Lao Shuren scanned his surroundings. Nothing seemed amiss. He crept out, tiptoeing to the door of the room where Shangguan Chuanyun sat in meditation. He carefully surveyed the area; apart from the autumn wind and fallen leaves, the familiar grounds and the pale, blood-tinged moonlight reassured him. Ever cautious, he watched for a long while, convinced it was still his domain, full of familiar scents. His eyes rolled, and he shook his head, chiding himself for complacency.

Deciding to act now, Lao Shuren determined to use his soul to injure the occupant first, for the youth carried a sword and was a cultivator—if his corporeal form entered and was caught off guard, it would be disastrous. His plan seemed flawless, leaving no trace, and even if exposed, he could escape through the walls.

He stood upright, growing still, and shot a fierce glance inside. Suddenly, the sword beside Shangguan Chuanyun sensed the malice and flashed, retracting its silvery radiance, appearing now as a mere reflective object in the pitch-dark room, stripped of its earlier brilliance.

Lao Shuren sensed nothing amiss within, feeling certain of success. A cloud of grayish smoke rose from his head, swirling and taking the shape of a short, shifty-eyed middle-aged man with a long mustache and scholar’s robe. His soul, now out of body, glanced at Shangguan Chuanyun, finding everything normal. He muttered fiercely,

“Since you’ve delivered yourself, it is only fitting for this immortal to take you. Heaven’s gifts unclaimed bring misfortune. Lust and appetite are innate; such a delicacy that enhances cultivation must not be wasted. This immortal shall not stand on ceremony.”

He even bowed respectfully toward the room. Instantly, his eyes turned blood-red and he glared inside. He thought, once the youth’s soul was wounded, he would be at Lao Shuren’s mercy, and so his soul soared through the door, rushing straight for Shangguan Chuanyun.

He was moments away from invading Shangguan Chuanyun’s spiritual platform to destroy his soul, delight gleaming in his shifty eyes, his mustache twitching with excitement. Just as he was about to succeed, the sword—previously hidden and unremarkable—burst forth with dazzling silver light, bathing the room. Sensing an external threat, it unleashed its power, encircling Lao Shuren’s soul before returning quietly to its case.

Lao Shuren was seized by panic, unable to comprehend what had happened. All he could see was blinding silver light, his soul gradually dissolving into white motes, his consciousness halting in that instant.

All transpired in a blink. Shangguan Chuanyun remained deep in meditation, trusting his sword implicitly; if it could not protect him, no skill could save him. The sword rested in its open case, its silver glow brighter than before, as if nourished by some potent essence.

The soul is the purest form of spirit, bearing consciousness and embodying the very essence of mind. The sword, wielding powerful intent and metal energy, cleaved Lao Shuren’s soul to its most primal state and absorbed it into its silvery glow, enhancing its spiritual power.

Nothing in the courtyard changed, save for one new detail: a large rat stood upright, eyes closed, motionless. At first, it twitched with life, but soon even breath ceased, its body growing rigid.

...

The next morning in the Prince Xin’s residence, Prince Xin and the new general—also the newly appointed prospective son-in-law, the eldest son of Marquis Wu’an, Shangguan Hongyun—sat facing each other in the Armory Hall, engaged in conversation.

Prince Xin, the emperor’s fourth son, Chen Xuanji, had studied under eccentric masters in his youth and possessed exceptional martial talent. He later sought wisdom from the martial experts of Shengjing, mastering their arts and, at twenty-five, broke through to the realm of the Human Immortal. He was the second in the imperial family to achieve this, earning the emperor’s favor, though the sovereign also feared that granting his fourth son too much power might incite fratricidal conflict over the throne.

After consulting with Marquis Wu’an, Shangguan Jin, the fourth prince was granted the title Prince Xin, and, as was customary, restricted from vying for succession, thus curbing potential fraternal strife.

At this time, the crown prince Chen Qianji had governed for years, with deep-seated authority. Yet, after becoming Prince Xin, the fourth prince considered himself a favored son of heaven, proficient in both civil and martial arts and unwilling to relinquish the throne so easily. To strengthen his position, he courted ministers and suppressed rivals, especially sowing discord within the Marquis Wu’an household to win over General Zhenyuan, whose support was crucial, and had begun to see results.

From dawn, the two had awaited developments in the Armory Hall, which had become Prince Xin’s recruitment center since his investiture. By drawing General Zhenyuan, Liu Xian, together with Shangguan Hongyun—his grandson—Prince Xin had aided Hongyun’s elevation to general.

This time, seeking to foment internal strife in the Marquis Wu’an household, they found the perfect opportunity: if they could join forces to kill Shangguan Chuanyun, the fourth son, it would fracture the household’s unity, and General Zhenyuan would be forced to support Prince Xin.

Yesterday, a spy reported that Shangguan had left the Marquis’s residence. Prince Xin and Hongyun acted swiftly, dispatching elite martial artists from Prince Xin’s own Shenfeng Battalion and Hongyun’s men to ambush Shangguan Chuanyun en route.

They believed the plan foolproof—not only were the martial artists skilled in dark techniques, but two possessed mastery of advanced arts, and they were equipped with divine crossbows. Even if the Marquis himself encountered them, he would struggle, let alone his son.

Prince Xin asked,

“What are your thoughts on the current situation?”

Shangguan Hongyun pondered a moment before replying,

“Sire, my father has gone south to quell unrest. In Shengjing, apart from the Tianji Battalion under the emperor and part of the Shenfeng Battalion under the crown prince, all other forces are in your hands. With my grandfather’s support, the realm will soon be yours.”

Prince Xin, however, was not so confident, and replied pensively,

“Hah, not quite. Though my father appears aged and obsessed with alchemy, he is not muddled. The Tianji Battalion may number only three thousand, but it surpasses ten thousand troops. Even if I were trapped amid them, I might not escape death. One cannot be too cautious.”

“Hah,” laughed Shangguan Hongyun, confidently. “No matter. By your command, I have introduced the eminent Buddhist master, Cihang Pudu, to the emperor as an inside man. When the time comes, he will be our ally within the palace, making things much easier.”

Prince Xin considered for a moment, then said, “Let us wait until Cihang Pudu secures his place at my father’s side. Once we eliminate the Tianji Battalion, the greatest threat, we can proceed with our next move.”

Hongyun, watching his lord’s hesitation, felt his master a bit timid. He saw Prince Xin as a powerful Human Immortal, skilled in both governance and martial arts; though he was titled Prince Xin, with proper management, the throne was not beyond reach.