Chapter 23: Iron Arrow

This was the firefly I released myself!

Wang Yu widened his eyes, staring fixedly at the flame before him, yet his fingertip felt no heat at all, while his internal Qi dropped sharply.

This technique consumed far more Qi than expected; with his Foundation Establishment second-layer cultivation, he estimated he could barely cast it five or six times—but such a tiny flame likely held little power worth expecting.

Thinking this, Wang Yu puffed out his cheeks and blew hard at the flame.

“Huff.”

The flame flickered slightly on his fingertip but was not easily extinguished.

He moved his finger slightly, and the flame followed, swaying a few times, as if linked to his finger by some invisible connection.

Wang Yu nodded, glanced around the room, and finally settled his gaze on a broken wooden chair.

He flicked his finger; the flame shot out, becoming a red dot that landed on the chair.

“Sizzle.”

The chair burst instantly into roaring flames, transforming into a large bonfire; within a few breaths, the fire vanished entirely, leaving only a pile of black ash.

The Qi pattern imprint in his spiritual sea also vanished in a flash.

Wang Yu stood stunned, his mouth gaping open for a long time.

Is this what a “flame” should be capable of?

He couldn’t believe it—he leapt off the bed, walked to the black ash, poked at it with his toe, confirmed it was real, and felt his entire understanding of reality overturned.

Wang Yu hurried outside to the courtyard, scanned the area, and found a new target: a rusty iron rod stuck diagonally into the ground nearby.

He formed the hand seal with one hand, chanted the incantation, and unsurprisingly failed twice in a row, making him grimace for a while—but on the third attempt, he finally succeeded in forming the spell imprint again.

The flame reappeared before him; with a finger tap, it floated gently onto the iron rod.

“Sizzle.”

Again, roaring flames surged; under his gaze, the iron rod visibly turned red, softened, and finally, when the fire vanished, only a pool of molten crimson iron remained.

Wang Yu stepped forward two paces and felt a wave of searing heat strike his face—he was utterly shocked.

This “firefly” wasn’t ordinary fire—it was an extremely high-temperature flame capable of melting metal and turning stone to slag. This didn’t match what the *Introduction to Spells* described.

Or do all illusionary techniques have this kind of power?

Wang Yu felt puzzled.

He wanted to try the firefly spell again, but unfortunately failed once more—his internal Qi was nearly depleted, so he returned to his room to sit and meditate, beginning recovery.

Over the following days, Wang Yu practiced the firefly spell repeatedly.

He discovered that after successfully forming the spell imprint once, his success rate soared—he could now cast it successfully once every two or three attempts. Even when he failed, the backlash was no longer as agonizing as before; instead, it grew lighter and easier, as if his spiritual sense was gradually adapting to the spell’s counterstrike.

During this time, he tested the firefly on various targets and even tried integrating it into combat—only to find that although its power was astonishing, the flame floated too slowly and had limited range; even with all his strength, he could only launch it a few feet away, making it easy for opponents to dodge.

Despite these flaws, as his first learned spell, Wang Yu was quite satisfied.

Next, he needed to master this technique thoroughly and quickly learn the other two spells—once he controlled all three illusionary techniques, he would barely count as a "pseudo-cultivator."

This filled him with anticipation for the other two spells.

But on this day, as he sat meditating on his bed, a low, piercing hum suddenly echoed from behind him in the room.

He froze, spun around, and rushed inside—there, above a bundle on the bedhead, a blue paper crane hovered in midair, emitting a faint white glow.

Before Wang Yu could react, the crane shot out of the room with a “whoosh”—but he snatched it out of the air with lightning speed, gripping it gently, afraid of damaging it.

Boarding time has arrived!

Wang Yu’s heart leapt—he instantly understood what had happened.

He quickly pulled a plain silk thread from the bundle, wrapped the crane tightly, tied the other end around his wrist, then released it—now it could only hover within a zhang of him.

He slung the bundle over his shoulder, pulled a sword and a dagger from beneath the bed, strapped the soft sword around his waist like a belt, sheathed the long blade in a black scabbard on his back, and rushed out the door toward the nearby cart.

…

Twenty miles west of Huangshi City, beside a broad river, a massive tower-ship, seventy to eighty zhang long, rested beside a seemingly crude dock.

On the dock, barefoot crewmen hauled wooden crates and burlap sacks onto the ship, while over twenty different carriages stood nearby, and people in varied attire boarded the vessel.

At that moment, along a dirt path leading to the dock, a donkey-drawn cart trotted toward the pier.

Sitting at the front of the cart was a youth of seventeen or eighteen, dressed in blue, a long blade strapped to his back—it was Wang Yu, hurrying to arrive.

Seeing the dock’s bustling scene, Wang Yu paused, then stopped the cart nearby, grabbed a bundle, and walked over.

A gray-robed old man, about fifty, with messy short hair and a huge brown tobacco pipe in hand, stepped forward to meet him.

“Anyone else boarding with you? Show me your ticket.” The old man drew a puff from his pipe, glanced at Wang Yu’s wrist-bound crane, and exhaled a cloud of yellow smoke.

The smoke rushed toward Wang Yu’s face, thick and acrid.

“Senior, I’m boarding alone.” Wang Yu remained calm, plucked the crane from his wrist, and handed it over.

“Hmm. Genuine Bai Zhen Pavilion ticket. Boarding permitted. Remember: no fighting aboard. Whoever causes trouble gets thrown overboard. Li Laosan, take this young master to Cabin Bing-13. Explain the ship’s rules.” The gray-robed man inspected the crane, slipped it into his robe, then waved to summon a barefoot crewman, gave brief orders, and turned away.

“Young master, follow me,” said the barefoot crewman, a man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight with a dark, reddish face. He bowed respectfully after watching the old man leave, then grinned at Wang Yu.

“Is this Feng Lao a Bai Zhen Pavilion member? Does he hold great authority aboard?” Wang Yu asked, walking beside Li Laosan toward the giant ship.

“Feng Lao is the Iron Arrow’s Guardian Immortal Master—his authority is absolute. Young master, remember: you can offend anyone on this ship, but never offend Feng Lao—he’ll truly throw you into the river to feed the fish.” Li Laosan chuckled as he spoke.

“I see. How long until we reach Wu State?” Wang Yu nodded and asked again, his gaze drawn to the towering ship ahead.

The giant vessel stood five to six zhang tall, with three decks, its entire hull black, faintly gleaming with metallic luster—unknown material, adorned with silver patterns of unknown design along its sides.

“The Iron Arrow is our Bai Zhen Pavilion’s newly built magic ship—much faster than older ones. We’ll reach Tongzhou in Wu State in just one month. This vessel carries Immortal Masters, mounts dozens of new spirit-crossbows, and is escorted by the Spirit-Suppressing Banner—your safety is guaranteed. Once aboard, you’ll have your own cabin; meals will be delivered to your room at mealtime…” Li Laosan led the way, talking nonstop, and brought Wang Yu aboard.

Standing on the deck, Wang Yu finally grasped the ship’s true scale—he had to tilt his head completely upward to see the topmost deck, where Qing-colored giant crossbows were mounted on protruding platforms.

But what caught his attention was a massive yellow banner standing at the very top—five to six meters long, painted with countless winding black spiritual runes. Merely glancing at it filled him with oppressive discomfort.

So this must be the “Spirit-Suppressing Banner”—a true artifact. But why is it so enormous?

Wang Yu stared a few more times before Li Laosan led him into a single cabin on the ship, gave him two instructions, and left.

The room held a single bed, a small table, and a chair—spacious enough.

Wang Yu tossed his bundle under the bed, thought for a moment, locked the door, and stepped back onto the deck.

Now, besides the busy crew, about seventeen or eighteen other passengers were on deck—men and women, young and old—most excitedly pointing and chatting.

Wang Yu glanced at the sky, then walked quietly to the ship’s edge and waited.

Time passed quickly; after more than two hours, the sky darkened, and most aboard had returned to their cabins to rest.

Amid a clear ringing bell, all crew boarded; the massive tower-ship trembled slightly, then left the dock, gliding slowly toward the river’s center.

The ship had no sails, no oars visible on its sides—yet waves churned beneath its hull, and the vessel sailed steadily farther away.

Seeing this, Wang Yu finally exhaled softly, his tension easing.

But then, from the distant dock, urgent hoofbeats rang out—a cavalry unit charged through dust to the pier. Seeing the giant ship already departing, two riders leapt from their mounts and flew straight toward the vessel.

Wang Yu’s heart lurched.

The crew and remaining passengers on deck erupted into commotion.