Volume One: The Emperor’s Sword Chapter Five: Midnight Visitor

To guide spiritual energy into the body, circulate it through the meridians, absorb and refine it—only then can one achieve the goal of increasing cultivation. This is the most fundamental step in all training. If, at the very beginning, one cannot even guide spiritual energy, how could there be any talk of ascending to higher realms?

Yun Que had believed himself forever barred from the gates of cultivation. He never imagined that he would so quickly draw spiritual energy into his body, catching his first glimpse of the path. The two sword talismans swiftly turned to dust and scattered across the floor.

“Don’t I lack a spiritual root? How am I able to absorb the sword talismans?” he wondered, experiencing the subtle currents coursing through him, caught between amazement and doubt.

In this moment, he almost believed he possessed a spiritual root. Though Hu Tieshan was detestable, the man never lied—his word was his bond, as evidenced by his prompt return of the marquisate’s land deed. Moreover, his father had never taught him any cultivation techniques, which corroborated Hu Tieshan’s claims.

Yet Yun Que’s current state was entirely indistinguishable from that of a cultivator with a spiritual root!

“Let’s try,” he thought.

Following the heart method inscribed in his memory, Yun Que circulated the spiritual energy within him through specific channels, activating the third sword talisman.

The talisman wobbled clumsily into the air, circling the room, growing steadier with each pass.

“It must be spiritual energy, but...”

He gazed at the fine cracks appearing on the surface of the talisman. Only spiritual energy could animate a sword talisman, yet these fissures hinted that the force controlling it was anything but ordinary.

“It feels more like sword energy!”

The talisman showed signs of self-destruction even before being unleashed. Even if Ma Yong had given him a defective one, it shouldn’t have deteriorated so quickly.

“Could it be because of the Nine Tribulations Sword?”

The family’s ancestral sword—the Nine Tribulations Sword—left little impression on Yun Que, save for the fact that his father never parted with it and regarded it as a treasure.

A thought struck him.

Could the vanished Nine Tribulations Sword have formed within his body something akin to a spiritual root—a sword meridian?

Others trained through their meridians; he, perhaps, through a sword meridian!

The more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed. Otherwise, why could he not sense the world’s spiritual energy, but instead perceive only the sword energy within the talismans?

Could it be that henceforth, he needed not spiritual energy to cultivate, but sword energy alone?

If so, Yun Que realized he would become the greatest anomaly the cultivation world had ever known.

At midnight, a shadow silently coalesced in the corner.

Ordinarily, Yun Que would never have noticed its presence. But since reaching the first level of Qi Refinement, his senses had grown far keener, and he immediately detected the unnatural disturbance in his room.

“Heh, congratulations, young master, on your successful sword trial. When you join the Sword Palace, your future will be limitless,” came the eerie greeting of the ghostly servant, as hideous as ever.

“What’s your name, and what was your position in Coldwater City?” Yun Que demanded quietly.

“I served as a centurion under the Marquis, commanding a squad of scouts. You may call me Old He,” the ghostly servant bared his teeth in a ghastly grin, looking even more grotesque.

Yun Que had guessed the spirit might return, so he calmed himself and began to question him in detail.

“What truly happened in Coldwater City? Why did my father seal the gates and refuse to emerge during that great battle?”

“Forgive me, young master. Ever since I became like this, my soul has been incomplete—I can’t recall the truth of those days. I only remember that we were constantly fighting, never resting for a moment.”

“But the city gates never opened. Who were you fighting?”

“Terrifying enemies... It’s all too hazy—I truly cannot remember.”

Yun Que listened, his expression growing grave.

According to records, five years ago, when the barbarians ravaged the northern banks of the Coldwater River, they never assaulted Coldwater City head-on. The Marquis of Yanmen and a hundred thousand troops were simply starved out.

Clearly, the truth was otherwise.

That silent city on the riverbank—what truly transpired within its walls? And who was the enemy?

The ghostly servant’s fragmented soul had lost much memory; he could provide only scant clues. To uncover the truth, Yun Que knew he would have to go there himself.

But not now.

The northern banks were long since occupied by the barbarians, and monstrous beasts roamed the lands around the city. An ordinary man would never reach the gates alive.

“Besides delivering the sword, did my father leave any other instructions?”

“The Marquis did mention something... Let me think...” Old He struggled to recall, his form growing even fainter. After a long silence, he finally managed: “A calamity of life and death—cross it with the sword. The endgame is set, but the outcome undecided.”

Yun Que drew a sharp breath.

The “endgame” surely referred to the battle of Coldwater five years ago, and “the outcome undecided” implied that his father was still scheming.

As for “crossing the calamity with the sword,” Yun Que could not yet fathom its meaning. But he was certain it involved the Nine Tribulations Sword.

He asked whether his father had ever absorbed the sword into his own body.

Old He replied that he had never seen such a thing.

It seemed the Nine Tribulations Sword responded only to him, though Yun Que could not understand what made him special.

Candlelight flickered. The youth sat motionless, lost in thought, as if carved from stone.

Who knew when the night breeze would blow the window open, filling the room with cool moonlight?

Yun Que roused himself from his reverie.

Suddenly, he looked up to find a gray-robed Daoist standing before him.

The man had white hair and a youthful face, radiating vigor—yet his eyes were utterly devoid of light, making him seem both dull and uncanny.

“You arrive uninvited, Daoist. What brings you here?” Yun Que asked, surprised for an instant but quickly regaining his composure.

“Young Marquis, such talent at so young an age, having passed the Sword Trial Tower’s test—I have come to offer my congratulations,” the gray-robed Daoist replied with a gentle laugh.

“If you’ve come to congratulate me, it seems improper to show up empty-handed,” Yun Que said, fingers closing around his final sword talisman within his sleeve, his mind racing.

This visitor meant trouble! No one would come to offer congratulations at this hour, slipping in like a wraith. This Daoist had no good intentions.

“I am not empty-handed,” the Daoist said, sitting calmly across from him, smiling. “I have prepared a great gift for you, young Marquis—eternal life. What do you think?”

“I don’t believe it. Unless you stab yourself a few times to prove it, otherwise you’re deceiving a marquis of the realm. Add breaking into the marquisate, and you’ll be lucky to get off with a decade in prison.”

“You are well-versed in the law, young Marquis, but the laws of Yan do not govern cultivators.”

The Daoist chuckled. “I am the master of the Apothecary’s Temple, known as the Medicine Daoist. My disciple is Chu Xi.”

Though he wore a smile, the way the Medicine Daoist looked at Yun Que was as if he were eyeing a succulent delicacy, making one’s skin crawl.

“Your disciple was incompetent, best find another,” Yun Que retorted—and struck without warning.

Whoosh!

The sword talisman flashed from his sleeve like a streak of light, aimed straight at the Daoist’s throat.

There could be no peaceful resolution—best to strike first.

The Daoist’s smile never wavered. He casually raised his hand and, with just two fingers, clamped the talisman in midair.

“Child’s play.”

With a slight twist, the talisman split in two.

He had not only caught the talisman barehanded, but had destroyed it with effortless ease.

A terrifying master!

Just then, a cloud of gray mist appeared, enveloping the Daoist.

“Run, young master!” cried the ghostly servant, his voice filled with desperation as he struggled to entangle this formidable foe.

Before Yun Que could move, the Daoist’s body flashed with radiant light—the ghostly servant’s misty form was instantly scattered.

“A mere remnant soul dares to show off before me? Know your place.”

The Daoist pointed several times through the air. Instantly, Yun Que, who had just risen, was frozen where he stood, unable to move a muscle.

“Excellent, excellent,” the Daoist murmured, circling Yun Que twice and nodding with satisfaction. “So Yanmen Town still harbors such a fine vessel. Had I known, I would never have bothered with that fool Chu Xi. Very well—this body is mine!”

Muttering an incantation, a shaft of white light shot from the Daoist’s crown and plunged straight into Yun Que’s brow.