Chapter 97

Qian Chen carefully extracted from the spider spirit’s silk sac strands of silk, thick and thin just right, cold as ice; the ice-white silk had barely been drawn out when he purified it with the chill of the Guanghan Bingpo Yuan Dan, solidifying it into icy strings radiating a faint frost.

Since using the Silent Finger Thunder to slay the tiger demon, Qian Chen suddenly felt this technique suited him far better than the Demon Blood Divine Knife.

Although the Demon Blood Divine Knife in his hands had been devastatingly effective—even on its first use, he had grasped the true intent of the blade that the Grand Elder of the Nine You Sect’s grandson had spent a lifetime failing to comprehend—the Jade Dust Pearl protected him and shielded him from the blade’s demonic influence… yet the more he used it, the more strange it felt.

Why was he so compatible with demonic arts?

So compatible that when he used demons to subdue demons, he felt utterly emotionless, returning to the state he had been in as the Jade Dust Pearl’s spiritual awareness—a state bordering on Supreme Forgetting of Emotion—where his killing was so ruthless, he felt as if he could, with the same ease as driving the Demon Knife and Miaokong to fight with their primordial spirits, sever the heads of divine demons and yin spirits with a single slash.

“Is the Supreme Jade Dust Pearl truly a sacred relic passed down from the Dao Ancestor’s true lineage?”

“Why does it feel like this thing would be a devastating, unstoppable weapon in the hands of the demonic sects?”

Qian Chen did not feel proud—he grew quietly wary: “I must not narrow my path! Among the Daoist sects, I am the Patriarch of the Louguan Sect, a minor patriarch who stands equal to the Supreme, whose every word commands respect. But among the demons, I am merely a traitor to the Dao—though I can use the Jade Dust Pearl to carve out some standing, the demonic sects are confined to the Nine You , barely clinging to life, while the Daoist sects’ networks stretch across the four seas, eight wastes, and countless worlds.”

“Which side offers greater freedom and broader prospects goes without saying.”

“Besides…” Qian Chen recalled the memories of demonic cultivators turned into white bone stūpas, his face twisting with revulsion: “The demonic path truly clashes with my values—intrigue, betrayal, ruthless slaughter, heartless selfishness… how could it compare to the harmony, freedom, and boundless friendships of the orthodox path?”

If he had decided to walk the orthodox path, then to unleash a river of blood-red knife light at the first strike, slaughtering enemies and draining their essence—was that even plausible?

The Silent Finger Thunder, by contrast, was perfect for ambushes—soundless, invisible, yet devastatingly powerful.

It carried not a trace of demonic corruption; any orthodox master who saw it would only praise its mysterious artistry and vast power. Such a technique—devoid of any heretical aura, yet carrying out ambushes with such righteous justification—was something only the Buddhist nuns and monks, who feigned compassion while hiding malice in their hearts, could truly master.

This was… perfectly suited to Qian Chen’s taste!

He loved this kind of evil done openly, justified with righteous words…

Qian Chen decided that once he mastered the Taiqing Yi Qi Divine Talisman’s power, he would also cultivate this Silent Finger Thunder—formless, colorless, yet utterly invincible. He had already obtained part of the technique from the White Bone Demon; the missing parts, he could gradually comprehend and complete through the Jade Dust Pearl.

The only thing he disliked was that activating the Silent Finger Thunder required only a wave of the hand—or, as Qian Chen did, a flick of the finger—such a method, identical to other divine thunder techniques, was far too low-class, utterly unfitting the image he wished to project: a white-robed immortal, ethereal and transcendent, whose quiet, effortless gesture would shatter heaven and earth, annihilating countless foes with a mere sigh.

Qian Chen rummaged through the Two-Realm Bronze Tablet, searching among the demonic sect’s spiritual materials acquired from his last mission world; for him now, they held little use, but their variety was complete. He picked out a piece of chi-huo jing tong wood, paired with a century-old zi wood.

He began carving the qin… first hollowing out the fish-belly cavity in both spiritual woods, then measuring the dragon pool and phoenix pond—the thickness at the yue above the upper pool was eight fen, below the upper pool six fen, tapering to four fen at the tail…

Throughout, Qian Chen repeatedly used faint vibrations of the Silent Finger Thunder to test the qin’s tone. Finally, he crafted the yue mountain and long yin from the surface’s chenglu section, and the pair of goose feet beneath.

He fitted seven tuning pegs carved from fine jade.

He strung the icy spider-silk strings…

A complete Fuxi-style ancient qin was finished.

Just as Yan Shu and the others, bloodied and muddy, disheveled and anxious, struggled out of the demonic cave, they heard distant plucking sounds from afar; even through the cavern, the qin music rang clear and resonant, its realm lofty and expansive…

Yan Shu frowned: “There’s qin music above. Bad… could something have happened?”

Ning Qingchen listened carefully, then shook her head firmly: “No! The player radiates leisure and ease—the melody evokes high mountains and flowing water, utterly serene, with not a trace of killing intent. Nothing’s wrong… by the way, Master Qian asked you for a qin before—perhaps he found one up there and is enjoying himself?”

Zhiqu asked curiously: “Miss Ning, can you play the qin?”

Ning Qingchen smiled: “I play the pipa… since pipa is used for tuning, I understand other instruments a bit.”

Yan Shu laughed: “Your Central Plains culture is truly flourishing. In our overseas lands, we’re always fighting—no time for such things—we only know which sword is faster, which treasure is strongest, which spell is most ingenious.”

Ning Qingchen, however, praised: “Legend says the Xie family’s Nine Shao Tuning Sword was derived from a heavenly qin sword art of the Taiqing Sword Sect, famed for ‘sword emitting qin tones, transforming sound into blade.’ To say your sect has no elder who mastered this path is modesty indeed. The Nine Shao Tuning Sword, the most renowned magic treasure -grade sword among Central Plains clans, deserves a sword art of such caliber—clearly, both musical and sword techniques are extraordinary.”

“I’ve heard from my uncles and aunts that Xie Xuan was truly a prodigy…” Yan Shu’s face softened with nostalgia; a look of longing appeared as he whispered: “The elders say that if Xie Xuan hadn’t been dragged into the power struggle between the Jin aristocracy and the imperial house, if his dao had not been sabotaged, he would have had the potential to reach the Nascent Soul realm… what a pity, what a pity.”

“The Sima clan rose through aristocratic power, so they naturally fear the aristocracy, lacking magnanimity. These past years, Jin has suffered under the Sima clan’s rule—its young talents and the foundations of its clans and sects have steadily fallen behind Great Wei!” Ning Qingchen said. “And Great Wei has Buddhist support—four hundred and eighty temples, each hiding countless high monks who have achieved the Golden Body, equivalent to Daoist Yin Soul cultivators.”

“Are you from Great Wei?” Yan Shu asked.

Ning Qingchen smiled bitterly: “I’m merely an outcast, cast out by my family. Master Feng is my only kin…” She hugged the large yellow chicken at her feet.

But the yellow chicken’s heart belonged only to Qian Chen; it marched eagerly, desperate to rush out of the cave.

Yan Shu, Ning Qingchen, and Zhiqu hurried after it; when they finally stumbled out of the demonic cave, they saw a figure in white robes seated calmly on a nearby rock, an ancient qin resting on his knees, slender fingers plucking strings that produced melodies—sometimes deep, sometimes clear and bright…

Yet even as the qin music flowed, demonic aura blazed fiercely in the distance!

Countless thunderclaps rolled, shattering demonic clouds hundreds of li away; lightning swept across the ground, hurling several minor demons into the air, then blasting them to fragments within the qin’s melody—the demonic horde was nearly annihilated, with hundreds dead or wounded.

Lightning and blood mingled with gore and shredded flesh, surging endlessly, like a scene from hell.

Yet Qian Chen remained calmly plucking his qin, the music pure and clear, carrying not a trace of killing intent… yet corpses of demons lay piled around him; the half-dried head of a beautiful crimson-haired woman rolled to Ning Qingchen’s feet. The group stared, stunned. They had thought their own ordeal in the demonic cave—facing cunning, treacherous demons, barely escaping—was already harrowing enough.

Yet Qian Chen’s situation was truly bizarre… playing the qin while using its tones and thunder to slay demons, heads rolling, rivers of blood flowing…

“Cough… cough…” Qian Chen couldn’t help covering his mouth as he coughed, frowning slightly, appearing frail and ill.

Seeing Yan Shu and Ning Qingchen emerge from the cave, Qian Chen swept his hand—seven strings vibrated together, releasing a piercing, shattering sound of slaughter; only now did killing intent manifest… instantly, the thunderclaps vanished, extinguishing all sound; where the demonic clouds had risen, silence fell utterly.

Qian Chen rose gracefully, cradling the qin, smiling: “Waiting outside was boring—I played the qin for amusement.”

The three who entered the cave were speechless—so your idea of amusement is slaughtering demons for fun? And where did you even get a qin?

“Did you get the information?” Seeing Qian Chen ask about the matter, Zhiqu immediately grew solemn: “We got leads! But the demon fox was cunning and caused trouble repeatedly, so we just killed it.”

“Good enough…” Qian Chen didn’t care a whit about the death of a single demon fox.

“That demonic general seems to have lost patience—he’s sent scouts repeatedly, and just now even tried to destroy Lanruo Temple. I stopped him. Let’s return to the temple…” Qian Chen’s methods of stopping things were always simple and direct; Yan Shu and the others had seen the fates of those demons firsthand—they had no doubt any survived.