Chapter 83: An Unexpected Encounter with a Strange Man

In the shadowy depths of the earth, chilling mists swirled amid the darkness, obscuring a figure who appeared and vanished like a wraith. Low incantations fell ceaselessly from his lips as his fingers danced through intricate signs. Suddenly, he bent over, balancing on his hands, swaying side to side. The black, baleful aura thickened, and from the crack in the ground came a bubbling, gurgling sound. A jet of black water shot forth, suspended in midair, whereupon strange talismans materialized from nothing, embedding themselves within. The sinister energy was drawn out and transformed at last into a black thread, which stretched and contracted like a malevolent serpent writhing in the air, shifting with uncanny agility.

“Gather!” The figure snapped his fingers together, molding them into the Seal of the Moon. With a swift hiss, the black thread shrank and darted into his mouth. Clearly exhausted, he rested for a long while before resuming his previous actions.

Three days passed in this manner. Suddenly, a shadow burst out from the black fog—it was Zhou Qian. Though he looked haggard, a new mark adorned the back of each of his ten fingers: a black vertical line running straight to the nails. This was the Yin Fiend Sword Finger, one of the thirteen secret arts of the “Sword Manual of Profound Shadow.” Without sleep or rest for three days, Zhou Qian had finally mastered ten of them.

He did not know how powerful this art might be, but the arduous process of forging it gave him confidence in its strength.

He hurried toward the inner tomb, wincing at the dull ache in his shoulder. Though the injury had improved slightly over the past two days, it still could not bear force, let alone wield a sword or spear.

Arriving at the inner tomb, he calculated the time and found he was still within the appointed hour. With a sigh of relief, he began searching in all directions, but among the palace halls and pavilions, not a single soul from the martial world could be seen—

“Are you the Little Sword Immortal, Zhou Qian?” A small, thin voice called from outside the Palace of Extreme Yin. Zhou Qian’s eyes brightened, and he hurried over, only to find a plain-faced youth with small eyes hidden in a secluded spot.

“And you are?” Zhou Qian felt the boy was somewhat familiar.

“I'm Xiao Si. They call me ‘Drum-top Rascal’ in the martial world. I’m no good with weapons, but I do have a knack for picking locks and opening doors. That’s why I was brought along this time. The strategist left me here as a lookout and to deliver you a message.”

Zhou Qian was puzzled. “The strategist? A message?”

“The strategist is General Li Guangzhi. After Old Chief Tu started calling him that, everyone found it catchy and followed suit,” Xiao Si explained quickly. “As for the message…”

It turned out Li Guangzhi had been watching the Hall of Profound Shadow these past days and noticed many unusual phenomena. Fearing Lü Cunwen might break the seal ahead of schedule, he decided to act early, ignoring their previous agreements. He left Xiao Si behind to inform Zhou Qian and to reveal the location of the Hall of Profound Shadow.

Zhou Qian understood, but a wry smile tugged at his lips. It was hard to picture the mighty Li Guangzhi being addressed as “strategist” by a band of fearless martial vagabonds. He imagined Li’s own feelings—a scholar at a loss among soldiers, or rather, a general without troops, forced to consort with thieves.

“So, are you taking me there, or just telling me where it is?” Zhou Qian asked.

“Well—” Xiao Si hesitated before mustering his courage. “Old Chief Tu was very clear: If you, Zhou Qian, hadn’t recovered from your injuries, I wasn’t to say a word. Judging by your condition, I think…”

Zhou Qian’s right hand suddenly unleashed five streaks of black energy, like swords, which he swept across a nearby stone pillar. The pillar snapped in half and crashed to the ground with a resounding boom, leaving Xiao Si gaping in astonishment amid the swirling dust.

The black energy retreated into Zhou Qian’s fingers. He cast a sidelong glance at Xiao Si, who, with no further hesitation, declared, “I’ll take you myself!” His eyes shone with barely concealed admiration.

Zhou Qian’s face remained impassive, but inwardly he wiped cold sweat from his brow. What power! He’d only meant to leave a few scratches but had severed the entire pillar. He’d nearly been crushed—just as his second brother used to say, his heart was pounding like a drum.

All the way, Xiao Si chattered incessantly, gazing at Zhou Qian with open envy and awe, making him rather uncomfortable.

“Master Zhou, is it true your swordsmanship is unrivaled in the world, as the rumors say?”

“That’s an exaggeration. I can’t even beat my own master. And please, don’t call me ‘Master.’ I’m only a few years older than you,” Zhou Qian replied with a wry grin.

“There’s talk you and Miss Wang Wei of the Golden Sword Wang family pledged yourselves to each other, but her father disapproved, so you went and beat him up. Is it true?” Xiao Si asked, starry-eyed.

“Nonsense! Pure fabrication!” Zhou Qian’s face darkened.

“After the Black Pavilion Lord Xiang Tianxiao’s plot failed, how did you discover his escape tunnel in the dining hall?”

“I’d heard the Xiang family’s chef made a superb lotus seed soup. I sneaked into the kitchen hoping to steal the recipe and stumbled upon the tunnel instead,” Zhou Qian clicked his tongue, feigning regret.

“…” Xiao Si was left speechless.

“Enough about me. Tell me about the Hall of Profound Shadow. We’ve circled these buildings for ages—do you even know the way?” Zhou Qian asked, suspicious.

“The strategist said the Hall of Profound Shadow lies within an array inside another array. We must follow the Trinary and Nine Palaces method. We’ll be there soon,” Xiao Si replied, now less talkative, treading carefully with deliberate steps.

“We’re here!” Xiao Si announced at last. After all that circling, they found themselves back at the entrance to the Palace of Extreme Yin. Zhou Qian was perplexed and about to speak when the world suddenly tilted and spun. When he regained his senses, everything had changed.

Jagged rocks crowded the landscape, the terrain perilous and treacherous. Above, storm clouds roiled, lightning flashed, and thunder roared, blotting out the sky. Darkness enveloped everything, the air alive with the wailing of ghosts and monsters. Across a sheer cliff loomed a colossal structure—by the faint light, it was revealed to be a vast palace, constructed entirely from the bones of some unknown beast, reeking of blood and chilling to behold.

Xiao Si swallowed hard, his voice trembling. “Even after two visits, it still scares me.”

“Will you stay here or come with me?” Zhou Qian asked.

“Of course I’m coming!” Xiao Si puffed out his chest, as if trying to prove himself. “I, Drum-top Rascal Xiao Si, roam the martial world to become a man who stands tall! How could I back down now?”

“Then keep up, won’t you?” Zhou Qian’s voice echoed from far ahead—he had already moved on.

“Coming!” Xiao Si hurried after him, thinking to himself that he certainly felt safer with Zhou Qian at his side.

First, they traversed caves honeycombed like a labyrinth, then entered luxurious halls and pavilions. In the end, it was as though they’d descended into the very depths of hell, into the court of Yama itself. Zhou Qian wondered why a celestial’s dwelling could be so fraught with trouble—surely a bed would suffice for sleeping?

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the creaking doors. The hall inside was empty, save for four small seal characters marking the cardinal directions at its center. The walls and rocks bore patches of moss, but nothing else.

“Did the strategist tell you anything else?” Zhou Qian asked cautiously, hands at his sides, faint black light flickering at his fingertips.

“He said the Southern Pole Sect is the most skilled in formations among the demonic factions. For ordinary folk like us to charge in recklessly is suicide. Fortunately, the map contains a riddle: ‘Heaven and earth, three escapes; man escapes five shadows; Mars enters the thief, Taiyi enters the south.’ How about we head south?” Xiao Si whispered.

Zhou Qian considered, then nodded. They felt their way southward for dozens of steps, until the wall barred their path—yet nothing happened, no danger, no change.

“Why is there no change?” Xiao Si muttered.

Zhou Qian frowned in thought. Mars enters the thief? Taiyi enters the south? Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “I think I understand!”

“What is it?” Xiao Si asked eagerly.

“I don’t know much about formations, but I can guess at the meaning of this riddle. Taiyi is the central star. From our perspective, though we’re at the southern corner of the palace, it isn’t the southernmost point of the terrain. The entrance is some ten steps west, so the true south must lie to the east by several paces, right?”

Xiao Si nodded.

Zhou Qian continued, “Historical records say Mars is an ill-star whose movement is from north to south. The southernmost point of the terrain, the southernmost point of the palace, and the central point of Taiyi can all be drawn as two lines. If one of us crosses Taiyi, and the other heads to the southern point, does that satisfy both ‘Mars enters the thief’ and ‘Taiyi enters the south’?”

“That sounds plausible,” Xiao Si murmured. “But what if only one person comes?”

Zhou Qian had no answer, but with a path before them, they followed his reasoning, mirroring each other’s steps to their respective endpoints. In an instant, both vanished.

When Zhou Qian regained consciousness, he found himself lying in a pastoral landscape, with clear streams, willows casting cool shadows, and fields heavy with ripening fruits and vegetables.

Looking around, he saw no sign of Xiao Si. With a sigh, he wished the boy well. His gaze fell on a thatched hut at the edge of the field, and he hurried over. Inside were pots, pans, oil, salt, and sauces, all thick with dust, as if unused for years. Yet there was a straw mat in the corner, surprisingly clean and new.

Zhou Qian narrowed his eyes. This mat was suspiciously well-kept. The tomb of the First Emperor was a celestial abode from three thousand years past—could anyone still be alive here? Not even an immortal, surely.

He searched the area, but the fields were empty and peaceful. After several rounds, he always ended up back at the hut. Hours passed, and Zhou Qian finally sat down, at a loss.

His stomach growled—he realized he hadn’t eaten in days. True, after forming his golden core, one meal could sustain him for ten days, but the sight of the pots and pans made his hands itch. It had been years since he’d touched such things.

He wandered down a little path between the fields and was astonished. The melons were as large as cartwheels, the beans as big as bowls, the celery like saplings, the peppers curved as scimitars, and even the eggplants were heavier than spiked clubs.

“Is this… Could this be a celestial’s vegetable patch? Do immortals grow vegetables too? And are these celestial vegetables?” Zhou Qian wondered.

Mustering all his strength, he dragged an eggplant the size of a club to the hut and eyed the bowl-sized soybeans—should he slice them for stir-fry, too?

Fortunately, Zhou Qian’s culinary skills matched his swordsmanship. In no time, three dishes graced the table: Braised Earth’s Bounty, Vinegar-glazed Cabbage, and Stir-fried Greens. Though the ingredients were simple, the results were crisp, fresh, and fragrant.

“Well done, young man! These dishes are quite something!” came a voice, old and hoarse, though it issued from a childlike figure—forehead wrinkled, brows snowy white, face as innocent as a babe’s.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Zhou Qian started. How had someone appeared without him noticing? Was this an immortal, or a monster?

“Boy, you should know—this is my home,” the childlike elder replied, unable to tear his eyes from the dishes, swallowing hard.