Chapter 132

I never imagined that this identity shift would be so steep. In the previous moment, I was the hunter clinging to prey, refusing to let go; in this instant, I had become the prey both sides were fighting over.

The Heart-Piercing Arrow is a very fierce technique of the Red Lotus Sect, and it once circulated among the folk of River West.

The Foundation Suppressing Method is a ruthless technique; unless it is a matter of life-and-death grudge, it will never extinguish the last trace of vitality.

Although the Hundred Solutions Method consists of a hundred solutions spells, its premise requires absolute strength; it is useless and full of risk. These two techniques, when entangled, are a matter of life and death. Victory or defeat does not merely represent winning or losing; the losing side must also stake their own life.

At this moment, I clasped my hands together in the Spirit Mountain Technique, fingertips pressing firmly against my chest. On the surface, it looks like I am repeatedly pressing my palms together, pushing toward my chest, truly a madman convulsing.

However, the danger involved is known only to the two parties engaged in the duel, and my suffering is felt only by me, the person involved.

The Heart-Piercing Arrow is not merely a spell; when cast, a real arrow pierces the caster's heart. However, this arrow is an invisible sword, unseen by ordinary people. Only those who have cultivated can sense its existence.

Performing the Hundred Solutions Method, I pressed my palms together before my chest, slowly pulling out the arrow embedded there. The process cannot be described by pain or hardship alone—alternating between loosening and tightening. At times my chest would ease, then suddenly flare with sharp pain.

If I had to describe my feeling right now, damn it, I feel like a piece of meat being stabbed back and forth by an arrow. As the duel proceeds in and out of my chest, the arrow moves in and out within me—sometimes advancing an inch, sometimes retreating a fraction. One moment I am in heaven, breathing a sigh of relief; the next instant I am plunged into hell, pain so intense I feel like I'm dying and coming back to life.

I know I cannot continue like this; the longer I drag it out, the more fatigued I become, and the efficacy of the True Yang Saliva will fade faster. Once it wears off, I will surely become meat for others to slaughter.

Therefore, I can only take a risky gamble, betting everything on one throw.

I bit through my middle finger, clenched my teeth hard, and instantly exploded with all my strength.

"Break……"

With an earth-shaking roar, I exerted all my strength with both hands in a violent push—either I would use this burst of force to push outward, or after the burst I would be killed by the piercing arrow.

In an instant, a crackling sound came from the joints of my arm—the sound of overstretched tendons and bones suddenly loosening.

Finally, I won; in that instant of my all‑or‑nothing burst, I finally managed to pull out that arrow.

At the same time, I faintly heard a puff sound. In that instant I concluded that the opposing Sword-Control Arts Practitioner had vomited blood; pulling out the Heart‑Piercing Arrow meant the opponent had lost, and naturally they would have to bear the aftereffects of the Foundation Suppressing Method.

As I squatted on the ground, weakly gasping for breath, a heart‑rending painful howl came from my ear.

"Pain, pain kills me…… ah"

The howl lasted only a moment before vanishing instantly.

It came from this intersection to the north; my eyes lit up, I ignored my injuries, struggled to my feet, and ran toward the intersection.

Entering from the intersection at the bend, I likewise turned into a narrow alley.

Since that scream was fleeting, upon entering the alley I could not determine its source from the sound. Thus I could only wander aimlessly, searching the several households in the alley.

Honestly, although I am now just bumping around blindly relying on luck, I actually managed to pick up some clues.

In a relatively dim tile house, I caught a whiff of a familiar scent.

This scent is very familiar—it is the incense used in worship. At this time, it is neither the first nor fifteenth day of the lunar month, nor the birthday of any deity or bodhisattva; ordinary households would never burn incense as an offering.

Since ordinary people would not use it, it must be employed only during altar rituals.

Immediately, I hesitated not at all, climbing through the iron gate into the courtyard. I took out the command flag and carefully prepared to push open the old wooden door.

As soon as I reached the doorway, the scent confirmed my suspicion: this was not ordinary incense, but soul‑summoning incense mixed with mulberry leaf powder. Ordinary people could never possess such incense; only sorcerers or Daoists use it when summoning spirits or laying out formations.

Thinking this, I gave it a push with my hand and opened the door.

Inside the room stood a one‑meter‑wide yellow altar, bearing a command flag, talisman paper, and a straw man inscribed with Chen Zheng's eight characters.

An old man in a Daoist robe, with hair half black and half white, lay collapsed beside the altar; blood had already seeped from the corners of his mouth, ears, and eyes.

Also present was a silver flying sword, lying still beside the old man, though this sword had lost all trace of spirituality, obviously reduced to a piece of rusted iron.

Indeed, the events unfolded exactly as I expected; the master of sword control, because his flying sword was damaged and he suffered backlash from the Foundation Suppressing Method, is now dead beyond death.

The only thing I did not expect was that this old man was actually an ordained Daoist monk.

What is meant by ordination is residing permanently in a temple, cultivating day and night under the green lamp. Daoists divide into secular and ordained; secular Daoists merely hold a title, do not live in the temple, cultivate only in the mundane world, returning to the temple only on special days to stay for a while.

In our Fa Sect there are also such Daoists, and they are not few. Originating from the Fa Sect, after mastering folk arts, they were introduced by peers, registered with Daoism, received a state‑issued ordination certificate, and hung a title under a certain Daoist institution, becoming secular Daoists. They may marry, need not constantly reside in the temple, cultivate at home, and only on special days—such as a deity's birthday or when they miss their teacher—do they return to the temple for a stay.

Our purpose in doing this is twofold: partly to study and learn Daoist scriptures, integrating them into the Fa Sect; partly because the members of our Fa Sect are a folk transmission of Dharma, passed down master‑to‑disciple, constituting a folk religion that the state does not recognize and is little known to the public.

The techniques of our Fa Sect members are generally developed through practice in everyday life, emphasizing actual cultivation; they grow through sparring and exchanging practical experience. Most people, besides cultivating, must also support their families and earn a living. Therefore, aside from elderly members who live in a remote village and dislike going out, the rest of our Fa Sect members usually travel about, taking jobs, earning money from the wealthy, examining geomancy for officials, and handling various matters.

Therefore, to facilitate movement, most of us register with Daoism and assume the title of secular Daoist.

The difference between secular and ordained Daoists is actually visible externally. Secular Daoists have relatively low requirements—they need not keep their hair—while ordained Daoists have higher requirements, generally keeping their hair and cultivating.

The old man before me had his hair tied up high, and in his bosom lay a received ordination certificate; he is unmistakably a bona fide ordained Daoist, and his years of practice are certainly not few. Perhaps he is versed in health‑preserving arts, or some exotic beauty regimen, making his actual age indiscernible from his appearance.

This bears out the old saying: whether it be a renowned great sect or a hidden folk Dharma lineage, there is never a shortage of people with corrupt intentions. Good and evil, kindness and malice, can no longer be judged by appearance.

As I reached out and turned the old man over, several yellowed ancient volumes fell from his bosom; opening one, I saw it was none other than the manual for refining a flying sword.

Upon first seeing this ancient volume, my hands trembled with excitement—flying sword! What a mighty technique: kill a man in ten steps, leave no trace a thousand li away. How awesome it is.

I eagerly flipped open the yellowed manual to study its cultivation method. But when I saw clearly the refining procedure, I could only sigh helplessly, forehead lined with black marks, and set the ancient volume down.

Useless, it's utterly useless.

The method for refining the flying sword is not difficult; once you grasp the key, long‑term blood‑letting enables communion with the sword.

However, the requirements are extremely stringent: first, one must select cold‑iron and forge a fine flying sword; then, each day during the chen hour when purple qi arrives from the east, and the wu hour when yang is at its peak—these two periods, four hours total—one must sit cross‑legged and drip blood to refine the sword, and this must continue uninterrupted for 365 days a year.

What's more, from the day one begins refining the flying sword, the practitioner may eat only vegetarian fare, no meat, and must not let turbid qi contaminate the sword, or else the effort will be abandoned halfway. Moreover, the vegetarian diet must avoid pungent spices—such as chili, leeks, scallions, and garlic—none of which may be eaten.

Especially when I saw that line of fine print in the book, I nearly spat out a mouthful of old blood.

What is this saying? "Half a sixty‑year cycle and the sword can commune; long‑term refinement, after a full sixty‑year cycle one may achieve modest success, enabling the mind to stir and the qi to command the sword."

At the end there is another inconspicuous line of fine print: "This technique was compiled from the cultivation experiences of our sect's predecessors; since the founding of our school, only three people have practiced this art; junior disciples observing this technique should exercise caution!"

I instantly felt suppressed, wanting to tear this manual apart. Thirty years of a half‑sixty‑year cycle are required just to commune with the sword,

Moreover, even after you have cultivated a flying sword, it must not be touched by a woman's menstrual blood (tiankui); otherwise the sword will be instantly scrapped, and the practitioner must start over, refining a new sword from scratch.

So in the end I could only resentfully set down this ancient volume; sixty years—too long a time investment. Moreover, it depends on luck; those who are not constantly fortunate cannot possibly master this art.

I weakly asked myself whether my luck could compare to Pangzi's, or to that heaven‑defying old man; even if my luck were equal, by the time I managed to cultivate a flying sword I would be half‑aged, not yet crippled, spending half a lifetime practicing a sword that would be ruined by a single touch of menstrual blood—surely meaningless.

Thus, I had no choice but to shift my gaze to the other manuals.

From the old man I scavenged a total of four manuals; aside from this sword‑control technique, there are also other Red Lotus and some folk witchcraft manuals.

From the diagram on the altar, one could vaguely see that this old man came from the Fa teaching and only later converted to Daoism; as for where he obtained the scriptures of so many sects, I have no way of knowing—perhaps he seized them, or perhaps he truly took as masters the teachers of so many teachings.

No matter what, the dead are gone……Although I have a thousand doubts in my heart, I also cannot interrogate this corpse; the person is already dead, any grudges or resentments should be let go.

I looked at the old man's corpse on the ground, sighed, picked up these few ancient books, and walked out of the room.