Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Divine Presence in the Eyes

Shen Lian still held his hand-carved sandalwood sword, its faint fragrance soothing to the mind. Yet, that trace of agitation within him could not be dispelled, like the relentless heat of summer that not even ice could completely banish.

The young man’s hand roamed shamelessly over Madame Yan, leaving her breathless and flushed with desire. Suddenly, the man’s grip turned rough, making her cry out in a mixture of pain and complaint.

“Who is your master? You wounded me last time—I haven’t settled that score with you,” the young man said. Traces of black seemed to flicker at the corners of his eyes, heightening his aura of wickedness.

“You talk too much,” came the cold reply.

With a flick of the wooden sword, it swept forth like a sudden storm. Shen Lian’s swordsmanship was self-taught; though the blade cast a flurry of shadows, it showed no true killing intent. It seemed little more than a child’s play, lacking any grandeur or force.

Yet, in the eyes of the young man, it was different. The trembling sword tip scattered countless points of light, each one clear and pure.

As Shen Lian’s gaze dulled for a moment, the lights all shone brighter still. No one else could see these points of light—only the young man. This was Shen Lian’s soul force, projected outward in the form of the “Soul-Extinguishing Sword,” mysterious and potent, designed to slay the living soul. It was unlike any martial technique or inner energy; it could not shatter stone, but to the young man, it was far more terrifying.

Every person possesses a soul; their deepest thoughts and obsessions, if nurtured and clung to, can take shape, becoming gods or demons. At his core, the young man was the embodiment of mankind’s greedy desires—thus, while not pure, he retained a sense of self.

Shen Lian’s agitation was reflected as true rage within him.

But Shen Lian’s mind was unclouded, his spirit pure. The young man’s wicked aura was subtly suppressed in his presence. Long ago, he remembered, there had been another such man—a scholar, upright and resolute, who had shattered the temple of the five brothers, broken their golden images, and cast them out. Only by beguiling Xu Hong were they able to gradually recover.

This sword stroke of Shen Lian’s was insubstantial—any master of the martial world would have dismissed it. Yet, it had one merit: impeccable rhythm.

In a contest between experts, victory is not always won by the most elaborate technique. Even a simple move, like the “Welcoming Pine,” might appear as a gentle breeze sweeping the mountain pines, the arc of the sword graceful and smooth.

But if executed too swiftly, an opponent will see through it, exploit the opening, and turn your full commitment into defeat. Too slow, and though you leave yourself room to adapt, you risk being overwhelmed by a thunderous counterattack, turning your invitation into disaster.

Shen Lian’s strike had no name or signature, a casual thrust without subtle changes, but the trembling tip and overlapping shadows made it impossible to distinguish real from false, leaving him space to attack from any direction.

The young man yanked Madame Yan into his arms as a shield, letting the sword’s force envelop her. As an evil god, he cared nothing for propriety or virtue—only himself.

The wooden sword whistled through the air, its tip poised to strike the curves of Madame Yan, but halted in an instant.

The young man grinned wickedly, his hand exuding black mist. With a motion like playing a lute, strands of darkness stretched forth, seeking to ensnare Shen Lian.

But the points of light at the sword’s tip rained down like meteors, a stormy onslaught. Though only wood, the sword emanated a chilling aura that made Madame Yan’s heart pound with terror, and in a moment, she fainted dead away.

Yet those points of light did not strike her. Instead, they veered midair and collided with the dark threads—the embodiment of human greed and obsession, which could plunge mortals into madness with a mere touch.

But the light was holy, purifying all. Where it met the darkness, the black mist melted like snow in spring.

The young man thought: This boy’s spirit is so pure—if I could devour him...

His greed surged. Never before had he encountered such pure soul force, so different from that old scholar’s radiant, righteous energy. Shen Lian’s power was strong yet untainted—if consumed, it would save much effort in refinement.

If he could have this prize to himself, his power would soar.

He coveted it alone, and so did not alert the four other brothers who dwelled in the temple.

The main hall filled with a nearly tangible black fog, and from it emerged the head of a wild boar, massive snout and long fangs gleaming.

Shen Lian saw clearly—a wild boar with bristles like steel needles, its tusks unbroken.

This young man had once been a wild boar of the mountains, but unlike his kin, had ruined many spiritual things and thus gained wisdom. Later, he encountered four other kindred spirits, and together they discovered a cave left by a long-dead practitioner of the divine path. There, they learned to absorb the stray thoughts of men, growing their souls and gaining supernatural powers.

They began by playing spirits and demons among the mountain villages, gaining crude faith from the ignorant, devouring the villagers’ greed and desire for unearned fortune, and learning the ways of mankind.

Thus spread the name of the Five Spirits.

Five pestilence gods, once mere animals, their minds were pure until corrupted by evil thoughts and transformed into evil gods. Some fool erected a temple to them, granting them more power.

Perhaps it was because no true gods had appeared in those lands for ages that these pestilence spirits, having mastered the art of sending dreams, became ever more formidable, learning to beguile human hearts.

Born of wicked thoughts, their actions were lawless. This young man, having taken human form, seduced many women, until his crimes drew the attention of a righteous scholar.

These evil gods were still beasts at heart. Reliant on their supernatural tricks, they forgot their origins. When their heart-bewitching sorcery met the scholar’s upright spirit, it was utterly suppressed—their powers useless, their images smashed, and they fled wounded.

Only the young man recovered quickly enough to return and bring disaster upon the Xu family.

Of the Five Spirits, this wild boar was the most licentious and cunning, which was why he set his sights on Shen Ruoxi, hoping to use the Shen family to gain more followers and further his cultivation.

From the black mist, the boar, limping, charged at Shen Lian.

Shen Lian stood, hand pressed to his sword, motionless as a statue.

Suddenly, two Shen Lians appeared—one holding the sword, unmoving; the other drifting forward, feet never touching the ground.