Chapter Thirty-Five: Lao Shuren's Achievement

The path of cultivation follows the principle of daily reduction: each day, one sheds more, reducing and reducing, until one achieves effortless action. Such is the way of self-cultivation. Throughout the ages, those who have attained the highest truths have done so through countless lifetimes of deep-rooted cultivation, enduring numerous tribulations to finally achieve ascension in a single era.

Shangguan Chuanyun resolved to proceed slowly from now on, knowing that, in time, he would restore the armillary sphere.

He glanced at the flying sword resting quietly in its case. Its surface shimmered with a silvery sheen tinged with violet, radiating a spiritual glow. Just a single thought, and he sensed he could send it flying a hundred paces to behead an enemy.

Delighted, he picked up the sword and examined it with his spiritual sense.

"Hmm?" Next to the core of spiritual energy within the sword, he noticed a cluster of soul energy pressed tightly against the inner sides, seemingly trying to merge with the sword's core. Yet the core emitted waves of sword aura, preventing the foreign energy from drawing near. It could only linger at the edges, gradually dissipating. In a few more hours, this alien soul would vanish forever. Shangguan Chuanyun was puzzled.

After slaying enemies, the powerful sword aura would usually reduce everything to ashes—why should there be any residue this time?

Though the sword's spirit would grow slowly with the nourishment of violet energy, it had never accumulated so much at once, nor had this situation ever arisen when using the sword to kill. Purity was essential to a flying sword; it would not tolerate foreign energy for even a moment—any contamination would be swiftly eradicated.

"Could it be...?" Shangguan Chuanyun realized the truth: during his cultivation, some malevolent force must have intruded, and the sword, acting to protect its master, slew the threat automatically. Without his conscious control, this phenomenon had occurred.

There could be only one explanation.

"The sword's spirit is gradually strengthening."

"The way of the sword demands the utmost refinement and purity, subtle and exquisite. There can be no shortcuts; what is not gained through my own cultivation, though it may serve me, violates the fundamental principle of the Sword Immortal."

Having understood, Shangguan Chuanyun lifted the sword and, with a flick of his finger, sent out a thread of sword aura that severed the foreign soul energy clinging to the core.

The soul energy dispersed in the air, briefly forming the outline of some animal before it faded into nothingness.

He nodded, and the sword trembled lightly, as if in response. Sensing its growing spirit, Shangguan Chuanyun joyfully turned the sword over in his hands. He thought to himself:

"Fortunately, I follow the Sword Immortal's path. Otherwise, I might have been tempted to use this as a shortcut to gain power, becoming greedy and killing wantonly to seize souls, polluting the core of my sword with chaos, which would in turn muddle my own mind and draw me ever further from the Way."

"But the path of the Sword Immortal is free from such troubles. Traditionally, Sword Immortals choose their disciples; one never hears of a disciple failing to find a master. They seek those with resilient character and resolute action, valuing the forging of one’s heart above all. Thus, with the heart of a Sword Immortal, anything harmful is cut down without hesitation."

He examined the sword carefully several more times, then refined it with his soul energy. Finding no issues, he returned the sword to its case, slung it across his back, picked up his personal sword, and prepared to leave.

Shangguan Chuanyun opened the door. At the sight before him, his back tensed, and he stepped back, right hand flashing to his sword with a snap. Instinctively, he exclaimed,

"Good heavens!"

Shangguan Chuanyun was ready to strike, but the thing before him remained utterly still, showing no reaction at all. At first, he thought it was concealing its presence—so well, in fact, that even he hadn't noticed it, nearly scaring himself into a desperate fight. But after observing for a moment, he realized it had been dead for quite some time, with no trace of life remaining.

He stepped forward to take a closer look. The creature stood four feet tall, its head wrapped in a scholar’s square scarf, wearing a tattered Confucian robe, half of which looked chewed off. Its arms were folded across its chest, hidden beneath its sleeves, save for two long whiskers protruding from its head.

Using his sword, Shangguan Chuanyun lifted the scarf, revealing an enormous rat’s head. He let out a breath of relief.

“So that’s what it was—nearly startled me to death. Just a rat on the verge of gaining true power.”

He stripped the robe from its body; its claws had already taken on the shape of hands, radiating a faint bloody glow.

Yet a persistent odor of blood hung about the creature. Looking at this giant rat, Shangguan Chuanyun mused,

“So it was this thing last night, trying to use a spirit-projection technique to attack me. Had it come in the flesh, it might have had a slim chance, but to face a Sword Immortal with only a spirit projection is certain death—especially for such an evil, murderous creature.”

He inspected the rat further. Its body held many materials that could be used to craft magical artifacts—the whiskers, for example, could make a tool to detect the slightest movement, but as a Sword Immortal, his heart and sword were clear, making him far more sensitive to disturbances in his surroundings; such tools were unnecessary.

Its teeth and claws could be fashioned into implements for tunneling, useful for breaking through hard objects. But with his flying sword, even the toughest matter would be destroyed at its very core. Besides, he had no plans to start digging tunnels. They would be of little use to him.

It was tasteless to eat, yet a pity to discard.

Shangguan Chuanyun searched the courtyard and soon found a hole. Crawling inside, he saw a network of tunnels branching in all directions, their destinations unknown. He thought,

“Truly a rat’s handiwork—an expert at digging. I bet it’s tunneled beneath all of Shengjing, perhaps even beyond the city walls.”

At this thought, Shangguan Chuanyun’s eyes lit up. The Great Liang Dynasty was in chaos, and even Shengjing’s dragon energy was growing unstable—given time, unrest was inevitable. These tunnels, however, could prove useful; if they really connected everywhere, he might make use of them one day…

He decided to return for now, and as he turned to leave the tunnel, his gaze caught on what looked like a storeroom piled with a jumble of items.

He walked over and found books, papers, paintings, inks, gold, and other valuables. Beside them stood a table made of packed earth—if not for the ink and paper upon it, Shangguan Chuanyun would hardly have called it a table; it was really more of a small earthen mound.

Casually flipping through a few pages, he saw that the handwriting was crooked and ugly, even worse than his own. Though his brushwork was laborious, at least it was legible; these characters required considerable guessing and intuition to decipher. From what he could make out, the writer claimed to be a rat who, after gnawing on a spiritually endowed inkstone, gained intelligence. Instinctively cultivating, he discovered after eating humans that not only did they taste delicious, but consuming them enhanced his powers. He wished to leave, but was suppressed by the city’s dragon energy and forced to dig underground; one tunnel was nearly complete and would soon reach outside the city. The rest was incomprehensible—just circles, crosses, and doodles.

But the signature was clear: Lao Shuren.

Shangguan Chuanyun chuckled and sighed.

“Ratman—Lao Shuren. Is he a rat or a man? Quite fitting. It’s a pity he had no guidance and strayed onto the demonic path, or else he might have become a true cultivator.”

Sensing this place might prove useful, he slipped the pages into his robe, intending to ask his brother Shangguan Xingyun to study them and see if anything could be learned.

He glanced over the nearby books and scrolls—these must have been Lao Shuren’s treasures. He leafed through them, bundled up the gold and silver, unrolled a few paintings, but found none as skillful as those painted by his brother.

His elder brother, Shangguan Xingyun, was widely thought to be the son of the Marquis of Wu’an by one of his many concubines. In truth, there were three or four concubines and one son, Shangguan Xingyun. Because the main wife, Madam Liu, oppressed them, everyone deliberately ignored the pair, who lived together in a remote corner of the manor. When Shangguan Xingyun was seven, his mother was beaten to death by the main wife on a fabricated charge.

Only then did Shangguan Chuanyun’s own mother take him in, intending to adopt him as her son, but he never agreed. Later, when Shangguan Chuanyun regained his senses, this brother passed the preliminary imperial examination and moved back to the small, out-of-the-way courtyard where he and his mother had lived. His foster mother, understanding his wishes, did not insist further.

Shangguan Chuanyun vaguely remembered that, during the times he was bullied and beaten for sport by the other children of the marquisate, this brother always shielded him, taking the beatings himself rather than letting anyone touch Shangguan Chuanyun.

Thus, the two brothers remained close. Shangguan Chuanyun examined the paintings—certainly better than he could manage, but lacking the spirit and charm of his brother’s work.

Among them, only one painting of a beauty in a pavilion stood out, exquisitely detailed and lifelike. The pavilion, the maiden, the surrounding flowers and grass were all rendered with great care; it had no signature. Pleased by it, he bundled it up to take along.

Exiting the tunnel, he took the rat’s four claws, whiskers, and teeth, stowing them in his bundle. The remaining corpse he reduced to ash with a burst of alchemical flame. Afterward, he made his way to the nearest pawnshop.

When he left the shop, he had acquired a property deed. He planned to give it to his younger brother, Shangguan Qingyun—the so-called king of odds and ends—so he could manage it. Shangguan Chuanyun always dumped anything he didn’t need on him, and Qingyun treasured every piece as though it were gold, even though to him, it was all just junk.

Shangguan Chuanyun, with the sword case on his back, a long sword at his side, and a heavy bundle slung over his shoulder—so weighed down that a scroll stuck out from the top—was covered in dust.

Ignoring the curious stares he received along the way, he made his way through the city. Those who recognized him as the Marquis of Wu’an’s son were astonished—he, who was usually spotless, now looked as though he’d crawled out of the earth. Even with his steadfast heart, Shangguan Chuanyun felt a little uneasy.

Only when the gates of the marquisate came into view did he finally breathe easier.

Looking ahead, he spotted a scholar with a book case on his back—a tall, upright figure, his eyes resolute with a hint of melancholy. He seemed to walk slowly, yet moved swiftly, approaching from the other side of the marquisate.

Shangguan Chuanyun recognized his studious elder brother, one of only two scholars in the family—the other being his half-brother, Shangguan Lingyun, son of the second wife, whose maternal grandfather was the Minister of Revenue, upholding the family tradition of scholarship over martial arts.

Then there was his own brother, Shangguan Xingyun, who had always been especially considerate, and who loved and protected both Shangguan Chuanyun and the youngest, Shangguan Qingyun. Because of his mother’s tragic fate, Xingyun sought academic honors to win her a posthumous title, and he excelled in his studies.

“Chuanyun, what are you thinking about?”