Heaven-Subduing Scripture

Hearing Li Daoxuan’s words, the middle-aged Daoist was shamed to fury; from his bosom he drew a jade sword some three inches long and made as if to crush it.

The young Daoist started. ”Master, this is the Patriarch’s sword-intent?”

The middle-aged Daoist nodded, then lightly cracked it; at once a terrifying sword-intent flooded forth, like the Milky Way pouring from the ninth heaven.

The Fish-Intestine in Li Daoxuan’s hand trembled unceasing, as if expressing fear.

Not only the Fish-Intestine — even Li Daoxuan himself felt a delusion that his flesh might split into four and five pieces.

What dreadful sword-intent!

Beside it, the middle-aged Daoist’s earlier intent was as nothing — a trivial witch before a great one.

”Return the Red Cloud Sword, or I crush this jade sword — within it is a sword-intent the Patriarch of my Wanshou Palace sealed. With your early-Bigu cultivation, even with many magic treasures you could never block it!”

This jade sword was the Patriarch’s life-saving gift, his final card; he had never expected to be forced out by a mere early-Bigu youth.

The Patriarch had charged him: only in utmost desperation work the jade sword — but now the middle-aged Daoist could not care; the Red Cloud Sword was his life-root and must not be lost!

”Heh — threatening me?”

Li Daoxuan slowly took down the oil-paper umbrella slung on his back.

He did not wish to lean too on Sister Yu’s power — that would make a true strong man hard to become — so in the fight just now he had deliberately slung the umbrella on his back.

”You think only you have a master?”

Li Daoxuan opened the oil-paper umbrella; the next moment the surrounding moonlight abruptly dimmed, the bright moon veiled in yin-clouds, and dense yin-qi drifted through heaven and earth.

Yin-wind howled all around, as if in an instant they had come to the underworld.

A magnificent wedding dress fluttered; she held the oil-paper umbrella, stepped in embroidered shoes, black tresses like a waterfall dancing in the wind, and gazed at the middle-aged Daoist with eyes holding not a trace of feeling.

The middle-aged Daoist’s face changed utterly; a single glance from Chen Ziyu set the mana within him surging chaotically, and chills ran through him.

A Red-Robe vengeful ghost!

This moment the middle-aged Daoist cursed inwardly — this is a Red Robe equivalent to the Yin-Spirit realm!

Are the Longhu Daoists mad? To bestow a Red Robe upon an early-Bigu disciple?

Even in a great sect like Maoshan a Red Robe is rare and sought; in some minor sects it might serve as a sect-guarding treasure!

”Who in the world are you?”

This version was copied from the author’s official page without approval; readers support the author by using the published chapter there.

The middle-aged Daoist fixed on Li Daoxuan, gaze wary.

Able to wield thunder-arts and possess a Red Robe — though his cultivation was low, his standing within Longhu was surely no simple thing.

Li Daoxuan, also wary of that jade sword, said calmly, ”Listen well: I am Longhu’s ninth-generation personal disciple, Li Feiyu!”

A personal disciple!

The middle-aged Daoist’s eyes showed understanding — as expected, the other’s identity was no simple matter.

He hesitated a moment, then bit his teeth. ”Li Feiyu, I remember you — I shall come to Longhu another day for justice!”

So saying he took the young Daoist and turned to leave.

Though losing the Red Cloud Sword pained him to the bone, the Red Robe’s appearance forced him to swallow it; he was not certain the Patriarch’s sword-intent could slay a Red Robe.

Watching the two depart, Chen Ziyu’s hair rose and lengthened, meaning to pursue.

A hand pressed upon her wrist.

”Sister Yu, let them go.”

Li Daoxuan shook his head and withdrew the killing intent in his heart.

For the same reason the middle-aged Daoist had left: Li Daoxuan was not certain Sister Yu could block that jade sword — and even if she could, she would likely be hurt.

His master had said that the present Patriarch of Wanshou Palace, Xu Qingxuan, was a being with one foot in the Yang-Spirit realm — profound of cultivation, peerless of sword-intent, of high renown among the world’s sword-cultivators, bearing the title White-Browed Sword Immortal.

A split of his sword-intent was not to be scorned.

Li Daoxuan would not gamble; to him Sister Yu was no magic treasure or tool, but his friend.

Chen Ziyu seemed to sense his thought; she glanced sidelong, said nothing, and turned again to a wisp of green smoke that fled into the umbrella.

…

The middle-aged Daoist fled with his disciple at full speed, wishing to reach Yuzhang City soon.

For no reason he felt a vague urgency, his mind cloudy and shut, as if some terrible thing were about to befall.

A cultivator’s perception is keen; he suspected the youth did not mean to spare him, and so wished to enter Yuzhang City quickly.

The Lady had long set a rule: once within Yuzhang City, no matter what feud or old hatred, none may fight or work arts — else she would invite you into the Blue Netherworld for ”tea.”

Over ten years past, two self-confident Yin-Spirit experts fought within the city; the next day they had vanished, and later someone entered the Blue Netherworld and saw them there ”drinking tea.”

The tea down the throat: three parts turn to boiling oil that cooks the five organs, the remaining seven to blades that pierce the gut…

After who knew how long, the middle-aged Daoist’s mana was nearly spent; he stopped and, with his disciple, sat cross-legged to recover.

To guard against beasts, he gathered branches and built a fire.

Flame is the gathering of supreme-yang qi, and wards the lonely ghosts that wander the night.

A quarter-hour later, the two sunk in breath-regulation noticed nothing — the firelight flickered, and a huge, distorted shadow appeared behind them…

…

Half an hour later.

Li Daoxuan finished regulating his breath and pressed on toward Yuzhang City.

The Fish-Intestine at his waist rang in its scabbard, as if answering some call.

Clang!

In Li Daoxuan’s ear sounded a piercing sword-song; in a trance he saw a heaven-piercing divine sword.

Boom!

A great noise came, startling many sleeping birds and beasts.

Li Daoxuan stared blankly into the distance; that moment had not been illusion, for Cuiwei Mountain… had collapsed!

The Cuiwei Mountain he had walked but moments before was now hewn in two by a single sword, sword-qi piercing the sky.

Li Daoxuan knew — the middle-aged Daoist had crushed the jade sword and unleashed the Patriarch’s sword-intent.

”So this is one with a foot in the Yang-Spirit realm…”

Li Daoxuan was utterly shaken within; half a step into Yang Spirit, and such fearful power?

One sword severs a mountain!

Truly worthy to be called the foremost among the world’s sword-cultivators, the Daoist True Man titled White-Browed Sword Immortal!

At the same time Li Daoxuan knew the middle-aged Daoist had met danger.

Sure enough, the next moment the middle-aged Daoist’s terrified voice rang out, echoing through the forest.

”Li Feiyu… I hate you!”

Full of resentment and unwillingness, the voice cut off abruptly, no further sound.

Li Daoxuan shivered; the fellow was surely dead — but why at the last had he cried ”Li Feiyu”?

But it mattered not; Li Daoxuan only knew that, even after using the Patriarch’s sword-intent, the man had still not survived the crisis!

Flee — flee fast!

This moment Li Daoxuan’s hair stood on end; he poured all into Shrinking-the-Earth Divine Striding and ran madly toward Yuzhang City…