Chapter 400: The Daoist

This eerie Daoist stood at the edge of the field like a straw figure, motionless for a long time.

In the distance, a few cultivators walked over, cursing about something as they came.

"These spirit farmers have really gone too far…"

"Not easy to deal with."

"If this keeps up, life for our Sun family is going to get rough…"

"I wonder what the family head is actually planning?"

"Look how wary he is of those few outsider cultivators…"

……

Those few outsider cultivators?

Hearing this, the Daoist stiffly turned his head and glanced at them.

The few Sun family cultivators stopped in their tracks. Seeing that the Daoist's aura was faint, his clothes shabby, his appearance bizarre, they demanded:

"Who are you?"

The Daoist did not answer, only letting out a muffled sound from his throat.

Like an old leather drum leaking air, unable to produce a clear note.

"A mute?"

"Wearing a bamboo hat and a straw raincoat—surely he's not a spirit farmer from East Mountain Village?"

"Can't be. He's got a Daoist robe on underneath, looks like a Daoist…"

"An outsider?"

The few Sun family cultivators buzzed with discussion.

And the Daoist kept silently watching them.

Among them, a tall, thin cultivator with a violent temper cursed:

"You stinking poor Daoist, what the hell are you looking at? Keep staring and I'll gouge your eyes out…"

Before his words had faded, the Daoist suddenly lunged at him.

The tall, thin cultivator was startled and threw a hasty punch—but a single blow sent the Daoist crashing to the ground.

Reassured, he sneered:

"Thought you had some skill, and you dare lay a hand on me with this?"

Then he walked up and pummeled and kicked the Daoist, cursing as he beat him:

"What kind of trash? Hitting me?"

The Daoist struggled a few times but could not fight back.

The other Sun family cultivators cheered him on from the side.

They usually threw their weight around on the strength of the Sun family's power; whoever offended them got a beating like this.

It vented their anger and upheld the Sun family's dignity.

When the tall, thin cultivator finished, he gave a cold smile. "Serves you right for not watching where you're looking!"

Saying that, he kicked the Daoist once more and prepared to leave.

But the Daoist reached out with a withered hand and gripped his ankle.

The tall, thin cultivator tried to shake free several times but couldn't, fury rising in him, and he drew his blade outright.

One slash severed the Daoist's hand.

But at the severed stump there was only rotting flesh, not a single drop of fresh blood.

The tall, thin cultivator felt a bit sickened, a bit chilled, and wanted to see what kind of person this Daoist was, how he could be so bizarre.

He examined the Daoist's face closely.

One look, and he got a fright.

The Daoist's features were ordinary, but those eyes—pitch-black and hollow, like a dead man's.

One glance and he felt dizzy and muddled.

Then his sea of consciousness churned, his head splitting with pain, on the verge of vomiting.

At the same time, it was as if some invisible thing, sticky and gooey, crawled onto his head, and little by little worked its way down along the Spirit Court, burrowing in, all the way into his sea of consciousness.

From within the sea of consciousness came a sucking sound.

As if something was feeding…

The tall, thin cultivator's nausea and dizziness grew worse.

But this discomfort lasted only an instant.

In the blink of an eye, he could feel nothing at all.

The lingering ache left a trace of confusion in the tall, thin cultivator's eyes.

Gradually, his pupils darkened a shade, and the confusion vanished from his gaze.

And the Daoist on the ground slowly collapsed, no longer clinging, no longer struggling, his life gone.

The other Sun family cultivators were taken aback:

"Sun Ji, you killed someone?"

"So what if we did? It's not like we haven't killed before."

The tall, thin cultivator named Sun Ji said flatly, a faint, almost imperceptible hoarseness in his voice.

"Then it's the usual drill."

"Fine."

A few of them took up watch by the road, on guard against any other cultivators passing by or having seen what happened.

Sun Ji dragged the Daoist's corpse to a nearby cliff and tossed it straight down.

Only before discarding the body, he stripped off the Daoist's Daoist robe and kept it for himself.

The other few exchanged glances.

"You'll even take a dead man's Daoist robe?"

"I'm used to wearing them."

The other few were Sun Yi Leng, and cursed:

"What kind of bullshit are you spouting?"

"Used to wearing them?"

"You wear a dead man's Daoist robe?"

"Put it on and show your old man, will you?"

Before the words faded, Sun Ji really did put the Daoist robe on his body.

He was tall and thin, and wearing this filthy, tattered Daoist robe, his hands and feet stuck out a good length, looking extremely ill-fitting, with a touch of the eerie.

Like a scarecrow in a field draped in a person's clothes.

The other few cultivators all showed looks of shock.

A Sun family cultivator couldn't help but say:

"You son of a bitch actually dare to wear it? I'm truly fucking in awe of you."

Sun Ji, however, didn't think there was anything to it, merely saying:

"It's getting late, let's head back."

The other few looked at the sky; the sun was still high, and they didn't feel it was that late.

But after all, they had killed a man—though only a passing, nameless Daoist—it was still better to return to the family and lie low for a while.

"Fine."

The group headed back, but as they walked, Sun Ji suddenly said:

"I think we took the wrong road."

"No, we didn't."

Sun Ji pointed to the other side, "That way is the road back."

The other few looked, and all realized:

"Right."

"Drank too much."

"Really did take the wrong road."

Then they headed down the other path.

Walking and walking.

But at the end of this road…

Was a sheer cliff.

Below the cliff was a bottomless abyss.

They walked on as usual, chatting and laughing, walking the road home, walked right to the cliff's edge, and then plunged into the bottomless abyss, their bodies utterly destroyed.

Even as they fell, smiles still lingered on their faces.

Death at their door, and still they did not know.

Only Sun Ji stopped his steps at the cliff's edge.

He glanced indifferently at the bottomless cliff, then turned his head, looked at Qianjia Town, and at the conspicuous manor in the town, and slowly walked toward it.

Sun Ji wore the ill-fitting Daoist robe, hands and feet exposed.

His steps were, at first, quite natural, but as he walked, they grew uneven—one deep, one shallow.

Cultivators on the road, seeing him, all found it strange, but none dared to ask.

Sun Ji walked all the way to the Sun family manor.

And then to Sun Yi's study.

In the study, Sun Yi was still staring at that Thick Earth Formation, racking his brains.

After a moment, he grew restless and irritable.

Still no clue at all.

A first-grade, eleven-pattern formation—how on earth is one supposed to learn it?

How on earth did that little brat manage to learn it?

Why is it that he himself had already reached Foundation Establishment, yet after pondering so long, he still couldn't grasp a thing?

Sun Yi grew anxious inside.

If he couldn't learn this formation, he would no longer be able to use formations to threaten the spirit farmers.

Without the spirit farmers' support, their Sun family would sooner or later eat through its reserves and gradually decline.

"How about striking at the root—destroying the spirit fields outright?"

A cold glint flashed in Sun Yi's eyes.

Destroy the spirit fields, and the Thick Earth Formation is destroyed.

Without the Thick Earth Formation, those spirit farmers know no formations, and can still only rely on the Sun family.

But this formation is the formation of his Sun family's ancestor.

If this formation were destroyed, it would be tantamount to violating the Laozu Sect's ancestral teachings.

It would also count as forgetting one's roots…

Sun Yi Leng hesitated, his heart in turmoil.

Just then, someone knocked on the door.

Sun Yi Leng was deeply irritated and ignored it.

But the person kept knocking.

Thump… thump… thump…

The sound was monotonous and numb.

This was Qianjia Town, in the Sun Clan—who dared knock on his door like this?

Sun Yi Leng suppressed his anger and said, "Come in!"

The door opened slowly, and Sun Ji stepped in, wearing a dirty, worn, and too-short Dao robe.

Sun Yi Leng stared, then couldn't help but say:

"What the hell are you wearing?"

Sun Ji said nothing.

Sun Yi Leng frowned, sensing something was wrong. "What are you doing here?"

Sun Ji remained silent.

Sun Yi Leng was about to speak again when Sun Ji suddenly moved, drew his waist knife, and slashed at him.

But he was only at the Qi Refining realm—how could he possibly match Sun Yi Leng's Foundation Establishment realm?

Sun Yi Leng caught the blade bare-handed, unleashed his spiritual energy, and twisted hard, twisting the blade into a twisted coil like a sheet of iron.

Then Sun Yi Leng reversed his palm; spiritual energy surged and sent Sun Ji flying.

Sun Ji's chest was shattered by the Foundation Establishment spiritual energy; he collapsed to the ground, spitting blood.

Sun Yi Leng sneered, stepped forward, grabbed Sun Ji by the collar, yanked him up, and said coldly:

"You traitorous worm—who told you to come kill me?"

Sun Ji tried to speak but couldn't; only a gush of blood coughed from his throat.

"Who gave you such a reward that you'd dare try to kill me?"

Sun Yi Leng stared into Sun Ji's eyes and said coldly, "Speak!"

Sun Ji couldn't speak, but his eyes darkened.

His pupils expanded; the whites shrank.

Gradually, both eyes turned completely black and hollow.

Sun Yi Leng's spiritual sea was struck by a nauseating, searing pain; his brow tightened, then slowly relaxed.

He dropped Sun Ji to the ground, ignored him, and slowly returned to his chair.

"Sun Yi Leng" sat motionless in the chair, his gaze vacant.

In the flickering candlelight, he began recalling certain things.

Or perhaps searching through his memories.

"Thick Earth Array…"

"Earth Sect's ultimate array, Grade One, Eleven Patterns—a precious thing—how did it end up here?"

"Mr. Zhuang…"

"My… good younger brother…"

"His aura is faint—his injuries won't heal…"

"Hmm, the Puppet Elder is here too…"

"Took a disciple? That's not like you."

"White… White… your sister's child?"

"Still so sentimental."

"What are you doing here?"

"Drawing the Thick Earth Array?"

"Meddling again…"

"Is that all?"

"Sun Yi Leng" murmured softly as he pondered.

Suddenly he froze again, muttering:

"No, no—I forgot something…"

"Not forgotten—someone prevented me from knowing…"

"What did I forget?"

Sun Yi Leng began clawing at his head, his expression pained—then suddenly remembered:

"Another disciple? Another disciple?"

"How could there be another disciple?"

"Who?"

"Why can't I remember?"

(End of Chapter)