Chapter 596: Sword Qi Calms the Great River

Swish! Swish! Swish!

The figures appearing grew ever more numerous.

Black Daoist robes blended almost entirely with the darkness.

Ming Shanzi had now changed his attire: a deep blue crane cloak embroidered with the Seven Stars of the Northern Dipper, a long sword slung on his back, and a specially made leather pouch at his waist filled with bamboo talismans; combined with his slender, crane-like frame, his aura had transformed completely.

Once he had seemed ethereal and transcendent; now he radiated lethal intent.

The few people beside him all appeared extraordinary.

One was an old white-haired Daoist, tall and broad, his face covered in scars; he carried no sword, only an ancient jujube wood talisman seal in his right hand, the knuckles densely marked with vermilion-stained patterns—the lingering imprint of thirty years of Thunder Art cultivation…

Another was a female Daoist, nearing thirty, expression stern and unsmiling, her jet-black hair pinned with bamboo-joint hairpins; faintly visible within her bun were thirty-six golden needles, and beneath her robe, her legs were tightly wrapped in layers of talisman paper…

These experts, a small portion from the Cheng family, mostly from Qingcheng, rarely showed themselves in public, specializing solely in combat and killing.

Li Yan recognized the leader of the Qingcheng side: it was Ling Yunzi, who had previously guided them through Mount Qingcheng; now he had officially risen from guest master to leader of field operations.

Whether Ming Shanzi or Ling Yunzi, though not the top decision-makers, were already top-tier within their respective middle ranks.

Yet both stood respectfully to either side, their demeanor humble.

Standing at the center was a blind old Daoist, his robe tattered, his hair thin and hunched, his face speckled with age spots, appearing on the verge of death.

He was Cheng Jianxin, one of the Ten Great Masters of Shenzhou.

His cultivation had declined, and from prior injuries, his condition was poor—his eyes clouded, his breath faint.

Yet none dared underestimate him.

All secretly gazed at him with reverence.

Simply put, Cheng Jianxin's prestige was immense—he had single-handedly suppressed Sichuan for decades, elevating Qingcheng's fame above Emei.

To both the Cheng family and the Qingcheng Daoists, Cheng Jianxin was unquestionably a divine presence.

A god who descended from the mountain—still a god!

Beside Cheng Jianxin stood a young boy holding a sword—Chang Gousheng, the one who had once challenged Li Yan.

Unlike the others, the boy remained dusty and grimy, his eyes bloodshot and tear-filled, his gaze darting away, frequently glancing sideways.

Cheng Jianxin paid him no heed, facing the distant river surface, carefully sensing the qi.

The river surface now glowed with moonlight like frost, blanketing the Fish Mouth Diversion Dam.

Over thirty canal boats, linked bow to stern, all hung enormous red lanterns, staining the surrounding waters crimson.

Though still within the first lunar month, the night river wind was biting, yet the boatmen all bared their torsos, revealing corded, knotted muscles.

"Hey! The Three Stars illuminate the Water Palace—!"

"Hey! The Five Dings open the Mountain Gate—!"

They chanted ancient Sichuan river work songs, thick hemp ropes turning on dragon-bone pulleys, lowering massive blocks of basalt, each a yard square, into the river's heart.

These basalt blocks were carved with countless grooves, then poured over with black glass, forming enormous talismanic inscriptions.

Faintly visible, they formed the shape of a vertical eye.

These were boatmen sent by the Salt Guild to assist; they were accustomed to hard labor and often dealt in life-or-death trades, yet now none dared speak or ask what this was for.

The last one who asked had ended up in the fish's belly.

The boats carried not only these Salt Guild men, but also many soldiers clad in black armor and black capes—the Black Feather Guard, the Prince of Shu's personal troops; at least a hundred strong, each wielding Divine Fire Guns, alertly scanning all directions.

In addition, there were some strangely dressed monks, Daoists, and laypeople.

They too were southwestern heretical sectarians gathered by the Prince of Shu; though few in number, they were his most trusted.

Their leader was an old man in a blue robe.

He wore Confucian robes, his features square and regular, his hair streaked with white and black, his bearing refined—but standing there, he somehow gave the impression of a divine weapon planted upon the boat.

Boom!

The massive stone hit the water, splashing up a great wave.

Each time this happened, sorcerers would seize powder mixed with vermilion and rooster's blood, hurl it into the river, and chant incantations while forming hand seals.

Dark winds howled around them; faint black shadows drifted beneath the water, all driven away by their spells.

"They're definitely doing something."

Though Cheng Jianxin was blind and his cultivation had declined, his spiritual senses remained intact—he still sensed all of this.

He sighed softly, his face calm as he spoke in a hoarse voice: "Many years ago, I investigated this place and found nothing."

"It seems I was careless… Search!"

At his command, those around him immediately sprang into action.

"Yes, Grandmaster."

The female Daoist earlier spoke solemnly, bowing.

Though a woman, she was clearly the main force among these experts, her demeanor commanding; as she responded, she began forming hand seals with both hands.

Hummm! Hummm! Hummm!

The thirty-six golden needles embedded in her hair bun suddenly trembled, shifting rhythmically in accordance with the incantation.

Simultaneously, her ears twitched slightly.

She closed her eyes; the night wind brushed her hair tips, and distant sounds were amplified infinitely, echoing within her mind.

This was a special technique, specifically designed to enhance auditory spiritual senses—extremely difficult to cultivate, and causing damage; the golden needle artifacts required constant insertion into the scalp, nourished by one's own qi and blood.

Yet once mastered, it became like a "thousand-li ear"—an ear capable of hearing across vast distances.

Unlike Li Yan, who could hear the speech of spirits and gods, this female Daoist's awakened auditory sense could detect the flow of gangsha qi, enabling reconnaissance.

Listening to the sounds in her ears, she finally opened her eyes, withdrew a Luo Pan from her sleeve, formed a hand seal, and reached into the air, pointing at the Luo Pan.

The needle on the Luo Pan instantly leapt, spinning wildly.

"Kan position has changed!"

Her face grew grave as she turned to the side: "Qing Xuan, they've arrayed a formation underwater—the core is at the Kan position. There's something there."

"Yes, Master."

Behind her, a young Daoist stepped forward with a bow.

The young Daoist bore the rare trait of double pupils—clearly one of Qingcheng's most gifted juniors; he too formed the Yang Seal, then swept his sword finger across his brow.

His double pupils shimmered with brilliance; his sclera flushed red, his forehead veins bulging—he too employed a secret probing technique.

This was the depth of the Xuanmen great sects.

They possessed ancient lineages, accumulated generations of genius, and left behind countless extraordinary arts—some esoteric, yet undeniably potent.

Like this master and disciple, they specialized in reconnaissance techniques; in any operation, they were absolute core assets.

The others were accustomed to this, waiting patiently.

But they soon noticed something was wrong.

The double-pupiled disciple seemed to have seen something terrifying—his eyes filled with terror, his body trembling, yet he could not move.

This was yǎn zhèng—the manifestation of being cursed!

Slap!

The female Daoist behind him instantly formed a seal and slapped his occiput, barking: "Close your eyes!"

The blow rang like a great bell.

The double-pupiled disciple immediately regained clarity, shutting his eyes and refusing to look again; it took him a long while to recover. The others were not worried.

In magical combat, mishaps were common.

With their experience, they had handled it instantly—no serious harm done.

Indeed, soon after, the double-pupiled disciple's breathing steadied, and he slowly opened his eyes.

"Qing Xuan, what did you see?"

Ming Shanzi asked urgently.

"A vertical eye…"

The double-pupiled disciple frowned slightly: "Not like a human eye—more like a bronze artifact."

He picked up a stick and began drawing on the ground.

If Li Yan were here, he would recognize this bronze vertical eye as nearly identical to the one he'd seen in the Ghost Qiang ancient village.

!

"What is this thing?"

Others looked at each other in confusion.

Only Cheng Jianxin, thoughtful, said: "I've seen this before. Years ago, a group of explorers from the Pian Bao sect were collectively cursed—their bodies bore this eye scar, and all went mad."

"Their leader wore this thing on his head. I shattered it, and they regained consciousness—but only barely, and as they died, they said it was stolen from a Qin dynasty fangshi tomb, seemingly tied to ancient Shu, called the 'Eye of Ancient Shu.'"

"Eye of Ancient Shu?"

Others exchanged glances.

Though in Shu territory, this object lay buried deep underground; few had ever seen or even heard of it, let alone understood its function.

"Unclear or not—we strike!"

Cheng Jianxin turned to those around him, speaking gravely: "As Li's boy said, that demon is the fangshi Lu Sheng, with deep ties to the Ghost Sect, hidden among mortals for a thousand years, unknown to all."

"Now he's revealed himself, after decades of planning—his ambitions are vast, possibly tied to ascending to godhood. That's why I ordered this kept secret from the old ghosts in the mountains."

"Those who seek godhood desire only their own transcendence; encountering this, they'd inevitably cause chaos. But we are orthodox Xuanmen sects—we enjoy the qi of this land, and must protect its peace."

"Act now. Form the Sword Array. Leave none alive!"

At his command, those around him immediately sprang into action.

Many younger Daoists carried ritual flags on their backs, wrapped in oilcloth, resembling long spears.

They were well-trained, each holding a Luo Pan, scanning as they scattered and quickly took their positions, then sharply tugged the cloth ropes behind them.

Whoosh!

Instantly, one hundred and eight magical banners flared open in the wind.

The placement of the flags seemed chaotic, but in truth formed two concentric rings: thirty-six inner flags aligned with the Heavenly Gang, and seventy-two outer ones corresponding to the Earthly Sha.

Ming Shanzi also withdrew seven bronze ancient lamps from his satchel, their bases engraved with the seal script "Yang Bin Shi Du Gong," arranged on the ground in the shape of the Big Dipper.

Then he formed a hand seal, brushed his finger across the wicks, and the candle flames ignited spontaneously as he chanted: "Heavenly lamp illuminates the netherworld, earthly lamp seals the sha qi, human lamp stabilizes the spirit soul—Three Realms in place!"

The seven Qingcheng disciples, including Ling Yunzi, each had a wooden box at their feet.

Hummm!

As soon as the formation was complete, sword cries echoed from within.

Simultaneously, they formed sword seals with their left hands, exhaled a white breath, and directed it along the seal's path into the boxes—the Emei secret technique, the Heavenly Gang Breath-Pointing Spell.

Li Yan had seen these Qingcheng Daoists use this technique before.

This art enhances the attack of magical swords, delivering considerable power, but its true purpose is to lay the foundation for the Sword Immortal art.

Clearly, these Daoists were using the true method.

The sword cries grew louder, and the wooden boxes trembled in response.

Clang!

Finally, all seven box lids burst open, spewing seven streams of white qi into the air, swirling once before embedding themselves before the seven bronze oil lamps.

In mere moments, the ritual altar was fully established.

Yet this altar differed from ordinary ones—it was a Sword Altar.

Like Li Yan's "Divine Transformation Method," no matter how high a cultivator's attainment, they remain mortal flesh.

Any powerful technique requires manipulation of vast primordial gang and sha qi, which the human body cannot withstand; it must rely on artifacts or altars to contain them.

The Sword Immortal art follows the same principle, divided into Heaven, Earth, and Human Swords.

Outside the Wuhou Shrine, Qingcheng Daoists erected an altar, using a Human Sword to lure the Shu King into the open with flying swords—single practitioners could control it.

What they now set up was the Earth Sword.

During the formation, Cheng Jianxin did not participate; instead, he stood aside with Chang Gousheng, explaining softly: "All techniques rely on heavenly timing, earthly advantage, and human harmony. For example, the Thunder Art of Longhu Mountain is useless without proper heavenly timing, no matter how much effort is spent."

"Our Qingcheng disciples have traversed Shu for generations, venerating its mountains and rivers, so that when our banners are planted, they draw the gang and sha qi of Shu's land and transform it into sword qi to purge demons—but beyond Sichuan, it loses potency, and we can only summon the Human Sword. Hence, the legends of Sword Immortals are known only in Shu…"

"When I was young, I swore to create a secret method to change this, but my life passed in futility, and I never succeeded. Perhaps now it falls to you…"

"Master!"

The sword-clutching boy, Chang Gousheng, was now weeping uncontrollably.

He had learned Cheng Jianxin's identity, and after a string of duels—undefeated except by Li Yan—he had grown somewhat arrogant.

Earlier, when ambushed by the Xue Nuo Master, he thought he could hold them off and ignored orders to retreat, causing his master and himself to fall into peril.

Though they escaped, Cheng Jianxin was now drained, his energy spent.

The boy Chang Gousheng was filled with guilt, unable to even look at Cheng Jianxin, wishing he could stab himself with his own sword.

"You damn fool!"

Seeing his state, Cheng Jianxin, who had been calm moments before, instantly grew furious: "What's there to fear about making mistakes? Youth is meant for errors. I've done far more foolish things in my youth, wronged far more people—what's this to you?"

"Everyone must pass this trial. We who train swords fear no mistakes—only if we lose our edge because of them am I truly the one who failed you!"

Chang Gousheng gritted his teeth and nodded fiercely, tears falling to the ground.

On the other side, under Ming Shanzi's lead, all Qingcheng Daoists drew their swords, stepped the Great Dipper pattern, and pointed toward the heavens, chanting: "Heaven's essence, Earth's marrow, by imperial decree, awaken the spirit—sword Kou the Dragon Gate, mountains and rivers respond—"

This was the "Qingcheng Jade Chamber Spell," the incantation to activate the Sword Altar.

Hoo~

As the Sword Altar opened, wild winds howled around them.

The one hundred and eight magical banners flapped violently, the seven bronze lamps blazed fiercely, and the seven magical swords planted before them roared in unison.

Gradually, they fell into resonance.

Clang!

The sword cries rang like dragon roars, echoing through the night sky.

The sound seemed to awaken the spirits of this Shu land: distant leaves rustled, flocks of birds took flight, beasts stampeded, and visible white mist rose from the ground, converging toward the altar…

This was the true Qingcheng Sword Immortal art.

In Zhuangzi's "Miscellaneous Chapters: On the Sword," it speaks of the Emperor's Sword, the Prince's Sword, and the Commoner's Sword; the Sword Immortal art has another interpretation.

The Human Sword: its edge is sword intent, its spine is spirit soul, its core is sincerity, its hilt is life itself, containing the Seven Emotions within, drawing the Six Qi from without…

The Earth Sword: its edge is mountains and rivers, its spine is the Five Sacred Peaks, its hilt is the Four Great Rivers; when it moves, mountains collapse and seas roar; when still, earth veins flow unseen.

When this sword stirs, grass and trees become soldiers, sand and stones form arrays, the Nine Springs and Yellow Springs all obey its command!

(End of Chapter)