Chapter 85: The Blade-Soul, Return Home

“Ghost! A ghost!”

The small peddler’s voice trembled, not loud, panicked and helpless, not knowing whom to ask, “What do we do? What should we do?”

The big peddler spun around, snatched up his pole, and stared tensely at the headless corpse.

“Don’t move.”

Chu Tianshu’s voice merged with another’s.

The man leaning against the corner stood up, his eyelids flickering open for an instant before sinking shut again.

But Chu Tianshu had already seen: the man’s eyes held almost no iris.

Just sclera and pupil.

That made his eyes terrifying, as if two holes had been pierced into the white orbs.

Yet his eyes showed no obvious injury; the faint tension in the veins at the corners suggested blindness caused by illness.

“Don’t move.”

The blind man used his knife as a cane, tapping the ground twice, yet his steps were swift and sure—he reached the door.

“This man only wants to go home. Don’t rob him of his final wish.”

The big peddler had picked up his pole, but his eyes betrayed clear fear; his voice came out thin and strained: “Home? To the underworld?”

The blind man didn’t open his eyes, but turned his face slightly toward the big peddler.

“You have a home—he has the same kind of home. Someone must be waiting for him, or he wouldn’t have this kind of attachment.”

Chu Tianshu withdrew a silver needle from his fingertips and asked curiously, “Brother, do you know what’s going on with this headless man?”

The blind man replied coldly, “Didn’t you see it yourself just now?”

“I only told the peddlers not to act rashly.”

Chu Tianshu spoke gently, “I truly don’t understand what’s happening to this headless man.”

In Chu Tianshu’s spirit-sight, the headless man carried little dark, malevolent energy.

But the knife bore a clear surge of yin energy.

To a spirit-seer, it looked like a glowing blue line running from hilt to tip along the blade’s spine.

Yet that blue line was continuously shedding tiny blue sparks, crumbling toward destruction.

If this were a yin spirit bound to the blade, that spirit was already extremely weak.

Instead of sinking into slumber to preserve itself, it was forcibly controlling a freshly dead corpse.

That made no sense.

“He must’ve been a blade master—swordsmen who live by the edge of their blades can’t spend their whole lives like this; they must seek fame.”

“With enough renown, they can quit the blade trade, become a master of a school or a trainer, and live out their days in peace, giving their families a better life.”

“But to gain fame, you must challenge greater dangers—or greater men.”

The blind man’s tone remained cold, yet his desire to let the corpse reach home revealed his heart wasn’t as hard as it seemed.

“This is Nancheng, the capital of the Nanzhao Kingdom. The culture of blade duels, where men fight for fame and profit, may not match that of Chang’an or Luoyang, but it surpasses many cities under the rule of Fanzhen governors.”

“This man outside clearly lost his head in a blade duel. At the moment of death, his last thought was of home—his blade-soul carried him back.”

Blade-soul?!

Chu Tianshu’s expression shifted. Blades and swords gaining sentience could be called blade-souls or sword-souls.

But that was an exceedingly rare phenomenon—why did this blind man speak of it so casually, as if it were commonplace?

“You say blade-soul—do you mean a soul born within the blade?”

Chu Tianshu found it hard to believe, “Or a wandering spirit trapped inside?”

The blind man’s thick eyebrows knitted together. “Wandering spirits are exceedingly rare. Even if someone did encounter one and trapped it in a weapon, that would be dark sorcery—caught by the authorities, they’d have their tendons cut and be thrown into a cesspit.”

“A blade-soul is born from within the blade. Among ten who practice Blood Refining Art, one or two always manage to cultivate a soul in their weapon.”

Wait—did he just reverse it?

Chu Tianshu found this unbelievable.

How could wandering spirits be rarer than blade-souls?

One or two out of ten? That probability was absurdly high.

Is your cultivation method really this miraculous?

Chu Tianshu glanced at the corpse outside.

But it felt so weak.

“Are you even a physician?”

The blind man sounded doubtful. “Since Han and Jin dynasties, Dao and medicine have been intertwined. If you study medicine, you should’ve studied Dao—at least heard fragments. How could you know nothing of blade-souls?”

The headless corpse had passed before the earth shrine.

He showed no reaction to the living inside, walking steadily forward on his own.

Chu Tianshu watched the headless man and said, “Each art has its specialty. My school simply has little knowledge of blade-souls.”

“But I can see the power on his blade is dissolving—if something blocks him halfway, will he still make it home?”

The blind man turned his face toward the headless corpse, fell silent for two breaths, then stepped out the door.

Chu Tianshu smiled, bowed to the three peddlers, and said, “Take care, farewell.”

He turned and stepped out too, picking up his earlier banana leaf.

The three peddlers exchanged glances.

“A headless blade master, carrying his own head to his front door.”

The old peddler sighed. “I’ve heard this tale in several versions—so it’s actually true.”

The young peddler whispered, “That’s even scarier. When his family opens the door, they’ll see his body and head together.”

The old peddler choked, glared at him, and said, “Dead men don’t think that far ahead.”

The big peddler added, “If you care about your family, don’t become a blade duelist. Do something else.”

The old peddler said nothing this time.

Living men don’t get many choices.

Once you enter a trade in youth, it’s not easy to turn back.

The old peddler said, “Enough of this. When the rain stops, let’s go sell goods. These past years have been peaceful; families in town have extra money—they’ll buy plenty.”

“We must work hard now, build up our savings while we can.”

Chu Tianshu had caught up with the blind man, paused, then plucked another banana leaf from the roadside and held it above the blind man’s head.

Before the leaf touched his head, the blind man reached out and caught the stem.

He knew what it was, and muttered, “Thanks.”

“You’re planning to escort him, aren’t you? Strangers meeting, yet your heart is kind.”

Chu Tianshu said, “But you carry a blade, and over there is a man killed by a blade—if he collapses, and you stand nearby, won’t that cause trouble?”

The blind man replied simply, “I’m a registered Zhuodao man. No one will misunderstand me.”

A Zhuodao man earns his living by accepting official bounties to hunt down violent criminals and bandits.

Such men must maintain a certain reputation with the authorities.

The blind man walked in silence, at a slow pace.

Because the headless man ahead—seven feet distant—could not walk fast.

“You spoke with authority. Among Zhaodao men, you must be well-known.”

Chu Tianshu smiled. “I’m Chu Tianshu. What’s your name, brother?”

The blind man said, “Just call me Blind Man.”

Chu Tianshu walked calmly, voice soft: “That’s not a good name.”

The blind man said, “But it’s true.”

Chu Tianshu found the man intriguing. “You must have a surname.”

“Cheng. As in ‘cheng’—hard to achieve greatness.”

The blind man grew impatient. “Aren’t you following him too? Then focus on him, don’t keep talking to me.”

Chu Tianshu said, “I’m just passing through Nancheng, and I’m curious about blade-souls.”

Cheng the Blind Man slowed slightly, turned his head. “You don’t want his blade, do you?”

“The blade-soul and its master are one. If the blade-soul dies, the master suffers grievous harm. If the master dies, the blade-soul won’t last long.”

“Even if the weapon remains intact, it’s just an empty shell.”

(End of chapter)