Chapter Seventy-Four: The Reverse Yin-Yang Array

Zhou Qian wore a myriad of expressions—contemplative, enlightened, doubtful, and then suddenly understanding, only to fall into confusion again. Nearly an hour passed before he exhaled deeply, his demeanor somewhat wan, beads of sweat tracing down his cheeks unnoticed.

He had just realized that the "Profound Yin Sword Art" was an extraordinarily arcane and wondrous sword technique. Even with Zhou Qian’s talent, he could only comprehend a fraction of its secrets; yet even that left him deeply shaken. With only a portion of its power unleashed, it could incinerate mountains or boil seas, traversing the highest heavens with ease.

Rooted in this sword art were thirteen supernatural abilities, seven secret methods for crafting magical flying swords, and five mysterious forbidden techniques—each boasting awe-inspiring might. Mastery of them would earn one a place among the legendary sword immortals.

Yet Zhou Qian could not help but frown. The sword art was far too sinister and bloodthirsty, demanding the harm of others as its price. Take, for example, one of the thirteen abilities, the "Abyssal Soul-Refining Miasma": it required the slaughter of a hundred thousand souls, their bodies heaped in a pit, their spirits tormented and dissolved, then refined with ghostly mist. Or consider one of the three signature swords, the "Mother-and-Child Nascent Soul Sword," which demanded the spinal bones of nine hundred and ninety-nine infants born on the Ghost Festival as its core—other atrocities need not be listed in detail.

“If this is what it takes to become immortal, then immortality is not for me,” Zhou Qian resolved internally. He was no paragon of virtue, but the path of slaughter for the sake of enlightenment was one he could not tread.

With his decision made, his heart lightened, the gloom within swept away. With newfound clarity, his mind turned nimbly—“Yet, there are parts of the Profound Yin Sword Art that do not require such measures, for instance…”

When he looked up, the characters that had floated in midair were already gone. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the Extreme Yin Hall, only to find the outside world shrouded in thick mist—nothing was visible beyond ten paces.

Zhou Qian paused in surprise, then relaxed. The First Emperor’s tomb was rife with strange phenomena—he’d prepared for the unexpected. Most likely, some martial wanderer had triggered a mechanism, unleashing this formation. Zhou Qian knew nothing of formations, so he could only retrace his steps from memory.

After forty or fifty cautious paces, the stench of blood caught Zhou Qian’s attention. Looking down, he saw a corpse sprawled by the path, a fresh wound in its chest still oozing blood. Clearly, the death was recent.

“A Beggar Sect disciple?” Zhou Qian recognized the dress and face—it was one who had been following Tu Yong. His heart sank.

The further he ventured, the more mangled corpses he found: martial artists, Red Lotus cultists, the monstrous pursuers from before, and even several secret guards of the Heavenly Strategy—all had fallen, their bodies riddled with wounds, as though they had been beset from all sides.

From ahead, footsteps sounded through the mist. Three figures emerged—one tall, one short, one thin.

“The three Sha brothers?” Zhou Qian was taken aback. Their distinctive builds reminded him of the infamous trio of assassins who had once terrorized the underworld.

These three bullies were notorious for their cowardice and greed, having committed countless misdeeds. Zhou Qian himself had hunted them before, but they were slippery, always eluding capture.

The Sha brothers, recognizing Zhou Qian, blanched and cried out in unison:

“Zhou Qian?” the tall eldest exclaimed.

“The Young Sword Immortal?” the short second brother quavered.

“The Young Sword Immortal Zhou Qian has come to kill us!” the frail third brother shrieked.

All three spun and fled, presenting their backsides to Zhou Qian in a most undignified retreat.

Zhou Qian was exasperated. These three were always somewhat deranged, never behaving properly.

He leapt after them, his Ghostmaster Sword humming. With a flick and a draw, the sword flashed in a graceful arc.

“I’ll block!” cried one.

“I’ll block too!” called the second.

“Let’s all block together!” the third chimed in.

A saber, a spiked brush, and an iron club—all clashed against Zhou Qian’s sword, sparks flying.

Zhou Qian retreated a step; the Sha brothers fell back three.

“Incredible!”

“Very incredible!”

“Utterly incredible!” they chorused.

“We can’t win!” declared the eldest.

“What do we do?” asked the second.

“Run!” screamed the third.

Once again, they presented their backsides to Zhou Qian.

But their madness aside, the trio were formidable fighters, their minds so in sync that they fought as one, seamlessly combining their weapons. Ordinary top-tier martial artists would struggle against them.

Yet, if there was no flaw, Zhou Qian would create one. Since forming his inner elixir, his senses and body had been greatly enhanced. His swordsmanship was approaching a state of clarity—anticipating an opponent’s moves before they made them, countering every strike with another.

Linghu Ye’s Four Forms of the Broken Sword embodied this philosophy: at its peak, it eschewed set forms, attacking the gaps before they appeared, using change to counter change—no move surpasses having a move. In the past, only Linghu Ye and Zhou Xun had reached this level; now, Zhou Qian alone stood at its pinnacle.

As for Zhou Xun—he had taken swordsmanship to a realm beyond humanity, where sword and man became indistinguishable, bordering on madness.

The Sha brothers could not outrun Zhou Qian and had to fight. After a dozen exchanges, they found themselves flustered—three against one, perfectly coordinated, yet forced back repeatedly.

The second brother found an opening, his spiked brush hidden in his sleeve, stabbing at Zhou Qian’s waist. If Zhou Qian blocked, the brush was rigged to shoot poison needles from its tip. Should Zhou Qian dodge again, the other two would attack from behind and above, overwhelming him.

But just as the brush thrust out, Zhou Qian's sword tip darted a foot to the right and back, as though predicting the move. If the brush did not change course, the Ghostmaster Sword would pierce the second brother’s shoulder before he could land his blow. Forced to change tactics, the brothers’ synchronized minds became their greatest weakness, their weapons occasionally clashing in confusion.

Zhou Qian shifted his swordplay again, disrupting them with speed. The trio saw only a whirling storm of swordlight, lost their composure, and struck out blindly, utterly outmatched. After nine consecutive changes in the sword’s rhythm and weight, the brothers’ weapons were knocked from their grasp—a grave humiliation for any martial artist.

“Incredible!”

“Even more incredible!”

“You’re better than ever before!”

“Tell me everything you know!” Zhou Qian demanded impatiently.

“Tell you?” the eldest echoed.

“Can we?” the second hesitated.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” the third mumbled.

Zhou Qian’s mouth twitched. The sword flashed.

“Will you spare our lives?” they cried in unison.

“If you tell me, I’ll spare the three of you,” Zhou Qian promised. Seeing their hesitation, he added, “I am a man of the righteous path, a hero of the martial world. I would never break my word. Surely you’ve heard of my reputation?”

They exchanged glances, still hesitating.

“If you don’t speak, I’ll kill you all right now,” Zhou Qian threatened, murderous intent flashing.

“Ren Xie paid us,” the eldest blurted out. “Lots and lots of money!”

“He paid, we did the job,” the second added.

“We did the job, and came here,” the third finished.

“How did you get inside? Weren’t the mountain entrances sealed by the imperial court?” Zhou Qian frowned.

“We came through the Hidden Dragon Gate.”

“Hidden Dragon Gate—it’s on another mountain.”

“From the mountain, we came here.”

“Another mountain?” Zhou Qian was astonished and shook his head. Such elaborate effort, only to pave the way for others.

“How did you find this place?”

“You mean the inner tomb?”

“Boss Lu had a map.”

“With the map, we entered the inner tomb.”

“Boss Lu? Lu Cunwen?” Zhou Qian mused.

They nodded in unison.

“What caused this thick fog?”

“The Reversed Duality Formation. It creates fog.”

“Fog is good for ambushes.”

“Ambushes make killing easier.”

“One last question! How do you break the formation—?”

“Walk around it, move in reverse.”

“Reverse, circle around.”

“I get confused,” the third said miserably.

“I’ll follow you,” Zhou Qian declared.

The three shuffled ahead, sullenly leading the way. After two loops, the mist dispersed and clarity returned.

“Good. I’m satisfied,” Zhou Qian smiled. “I said I’d spare your lives, and I will.”

“Wonderful! Farewell!” the eldest exclaimed with delight.

“Farewell! No need to see us out!” the second added, skipping away.

“No need! Until we meet again!” the third waved.

“Yes, very well. Now, which two of you should I kill?” Zhou Qian asked, very serious.

“You lied!” the three screamed in panic.

“No, what kind of person am I? Why would I lie?” Zhou Qian retorted firmly.

“But you promised to spare all three of us!” they protested.

“What did I say?”

“You promised to spare all three of us!”

“Yes, I did,” Zhou Qian enunciated. “Spare you three—one life. Right?”

“Yes,” they admitted.

“How many lives is that?”

“One.”

“Exactly. One life,” Zhou Qian drew out the words.

The three exchanged glances, faces ashen, and cried, “Why only one life!”

“Then, which of you wants to live?” Zhou Qian brandished the Ghostmaster Sword with a few casual swings.

“Me!” each pointed to himself.

“Who should die?”

“The other two!” each glared at his brothers.

“I don’t necessarily have to kill anyone,” Zhou Qian sighed. “Give me a reason not to.”

“We have money!”

“Lots of money!”

“A huge fortune!”

“And where did you get it?” Zhou Qian arched an eyebrow.

“We robbed it!” the eldest declared.

“We stole it!” said the second.

“We whored for it!” said the third.

“You whored for it?!” the eldest, the second, and Zhou Qian all exclaimed together.

“Yes! I whored for it!” the third replied proudly. “That day I was burning up, so I went to a brothel. Afterward, the girl asked me for money. Once it’s in my pocket, it’s not coming out, so I killed her and took her jewels and silver.”

“Resourceful! Resourceful indeed!” the other two nodded in admiration.

“Very well! Since you have so much money—” Zhou Qian narrowed his eyes. The Ghostmaster Sword flashed out and back in a lightning stroke.

“Then spend it in the afterlife!”

Blood spurted simultaneously from all three necks.

“A hero of the righteous path, how can you lie?” the eldest gasped in disbelief.

“Only villains lie!” the second said, bewildered.

“We’re the villains!” the third confirmed.

“Who says a so-called righteous hero can’t lie?” Zhou Qian sneered. “Brother Li told me when I was ten that the greatest heroes in the martial world are the best liars—how else could they win the hearts of beauties?”

The three died with their eyes open, unappeased.

Pressing onward, Zhou Qian passed scene after scene of martial artists ambushed and slain—few had managed to kill their attackers in return.

He drew a deep breath and flicked his sword, producing a clear, ringing note.

“Old friend, today I’ll let you drink your fill of blood!”

A hundred and fifty paces on, Zhou Qian killed the Twin Bandits of Liaodong.

After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he beheaded Luo Wang, the murderous Judge—a man who killed without end.

Within the span of an incense stick, he slew thirteen Red Lotus cult “Heavenly Soldiers.”

After seventy-four moves, he killed the Red Lotus cult’s vice-chief, Sacred Guanyin Liu Yinan.

Within an hour, Zhou Qian had killed twenty-two underworld experts, ten fugitives of the previous dynasty, fifty-six evil “Heavenly Soldiers,” and six bandits.

He was soaked in blood, his robe crimson, his upper body bare in battle, sustaining six light wounds and three hidden weapons.

After this battle, the martial world whispered that the Young Sword Immortal’s reputation for slaughter was no less than that of his master.

Zhou Qian halted—there was a struggle ahead, a wounded man—Li Guang; his pursuers… the secret guards of the Heavenly Strategy!