Chapter 93: Ninety-Third Chapter: A Pitiful, Heartless Moon

A deep azure true qi suddenly erupted from the Qi Bag, like a thunderclap splitting the earth, aiming to shatter Chen Hang’s outstretched fingers—but it lacked follow-through, and with just a slight press, it scattered like collapsing clouds and dissolving mist, offering no real resistance.

After lifting the seals on the Qi Bag, Chen Hang peered inside and found only talisman coins and talisman tools, nothing extraordinary; even the several vials of elixirs held dim, dull spiritual light, clearly of low quality.

He shook his head, casually gathered everything up, then picked up another Qi Bag and began breaking its remaining seals.

During this trip to Huaiwu Cave, the Blood Lotus Sect lost four Foundation Establishment cultivators alone, and the number of Qi Condensation cultivators was beyond count.

Especially Qin Xian, a Foundation Establishment Second Layer cultivator, whose wealth was exceptionally lavish—just the talisman coins, roughly counted, numbered six to seven thousand.

Though these had been evenly split between him and Yuan Yang, each receiving half.

Yet this fortune swiftly refilled Chen Hang’s nearly empty Qi Bag, so much so that one bag couldn’t hold it all—he had to retrieve a second one just to manage the surplus.

Thus, back and forth.

By the time Chen Hang finally finished tallying everything, two hours had swiftly passed.

“Thinking carefully, since I began cultivation, the few times my wealth has swelled have all come from battle and slaughter…”

The liquid wealth he’d just inventoried included no less than ten thousand talisman coins, countless high-grade elixirs, talismans, Dao techniques, and array plates, plus assorted miscellaneous items—though low in value, they were still plentiful, enough to serve as pleasant trinkets.

Seeing the sword nod, Bian Bei Old Ancestor excitedly rubbed his hands together, his face brimming with anticipation.

How many, after all, remain today of those who once gazed upon the moon together—whether bound by talismanic oaths or posthumous ties? Are they not all just a handful of dust?

First, he received the Earth Abyss Talisman Decree, gained the Great White Yang Elixir from Ai Jian to prolong his life, then unlocked the Golden Cicada, achieved fetal breathing, and finally ascended to Da Gan Mountain to evade Yan Feichen and the Yan family.

Yet he climbed onto the tea table, smacked his lips, and leaned forward to sip from the teacup—which, given his current towering stature, was large enough to serve as a bathtub.

His later years were occasionally spent enduring punishment and discipline.

“In the past, Old Ancestor always spoke half a sentence, then stubbornly refused to continue, forcing you to guess the rest.”

“...”

That sword, Zhan Zhu, was no ordinary mid-grade talisman weapon.

Since arriving in this world, the fetal breathing method—“Fear not life or death, the gods find peace”—had aided me countless times, not merely once or twice.

The sword said coolly: “Now it’s Old Ancestor’s turn—why don’t you guess?”

This sword scripture derives from the profound insight that “the Dipper is the Emperor’s symbol, the master of all stars’ commands”—it is lofty and enlightened, far from vulgar or superficial.

Wind swirling, river tides, insect chirps, fish leaping, mountains shifting, mist blowing…

The sword exhaled, rising from the meditation cushion.

To this day, though I am but a lowly Qi Condensation cultivator, in this immortal Dao world, I am still as insignificant as a worm or mosquito.

A flicker of thought passed through Bian Bei’s eyes; he nodded slightly.

“This sword is decent enough, suitable for use. I can’t give it to Xu Zhi Senior Brother before returning to Mount Hui— he’s short of a Yan Zhen; I’ll make it a convenient favor.”

“The matter is settled. Now, we only await the afternoon of the next day, when the Master of Tai Fu Palace will lecture the top eight direct disciples…”

At that moment, Chen Hang Old Ancestor suddenly poked his head out, muttering:

The Northern Dipper Talisman I received from the Master of Tai Fu Palace was a sword qi, personally sealed into the talisman by a sword cultivator who had mastered the Northern Dipper Star Comet Sword Scripture.

“So, you’re borrowing my appearance?”

“Youth never returns; a morning never comes again…”

Only a pair of eyes gleamed brightly, like ripples spreading across a lake.

Thinking to this point.

“With Old Ancestor’s abilities, why would you even ask me about such a thing?”

“The Four Sects of the Xuan Gate…”

He opened the round window behind him; the soundproofing spell dissolved, and the heavens and earth rushed into the room.

“Er… that’s not…”

Even the sword fell momentarily silent.

Unfortunately, the Joyful Sect was destroyed millennia ago by the Yu Yuchen Sect, forced to flee to Xi Su Province, now too depleted to recover—even Huzhao Sect suffered a major blow… Had he possessed such looks, temperament, and devotion to the Dao, he would surely have been one of the Joyful Sect’s “Immortal Medicines,” coveted by even the palace lords—not some lowly talismanic scholar.

Named “Zhan Zhu,” it measured eight chi seven cun in length, two fingers wide, its hilt adorned with a colorful pearl and four-colored jade; its entire body glowed like a candle flame held steady, immaculate and flawless, every fiber visible. Its material was only slightly inferior to the sword Qing Lü, extremely sharp and piercing, cutting into flesh and bone!

Then he recalled his later years, bedridden for decades, rarely seeing daylight, waiting day by day to die.

He sighed deeply again.

The sword stood motionless by the window, expressionless, neither joyful nor angry, utterly still.

The sword replied with slight surprise: “All like Old Ancestor, so noble and upright?”

By the time Chen Hang Old Ancestor finally snapped out of his daze, the sword had already lowered his gaze into meditation again.

River sounds shook the pillow; a sliver of moon hung in the sky; flower shadows filled the ground; green mountains stretched before the eyes.

“Young Master, though you’re destined never to enter the Four Great Sects to cultivate, Old Ancestor must tell you the truth. Huaiwu Cave is infamous for stirring trouble; its disciples are numerous, and even this generation has no shadow of discipline—so if you have troubles, know that in other sects, internal strife is far more brutal…”

He laughed again, dispelling the turbulent thoughts in his chest, steadying his spirit.

My current wealth, I suspect, would rank among the poorest even among Foundation Establishment cultivators.

This is a festival common across several regions of the Realm of Rong, originally used to pray for children and purification, passed down through generations until it became a day for praying for romantic unions.

Bian Bei said calmly:

Reborn into this world, I was fortunate to arrive in the immortal Dao realm of the Four States and Seven Seas.

What are you? Do you think you’re worthy to take me as your concubine? Your current aversion to men—I’d guess four-tenths of it is my fault. You’re young, quiet, and aloof, strangely interesting—utterly dull!”

Far off, faint music drifted on the wind, carrying a languid, festive joy, mingled with firecrackers and laughter, the lute’s melody warm as water, seemingly untouched by dust.

The next day, after being scolded, Bian Bei hugged me, weeping, and personally applied medicine—this had become routine.

To this day.

But the sword paid no attention to these details, glanced over them, and left no trace in his mind.

Yet his underlying intent was clearly to borrow the sword’s appearance and go out to mingle with the Joyful Sect still lurking in Xi Su Province—just to have some fun!

The sword tapped his knuckles against the carved window frame, unconsciously syncing with the faint lute music, and suddenly, he remembered: it had been “Feng Si Festival” a few days ago.

“But Senior Brother, you’ve mastered a sword art so potent in the mortal world it borders on divine—‘Ten Steps, One Kill’—yet even now, you’ve never grasped its ultimate limit… and yet you’re still just a Qi Condensation cultivator, unable to afford even a single top-grade Yan Zhen, forced to carry a mere iron sword for protection.”

This Zhan Zhu sword will serve as a token of my modest heart.

What I seek! Only the immortality I could never attain in my past life!

The few apricot trees outside the inn grew tall enough to reach the eaves, their gnarled branches curling toward the window like dark purple dragon scales, exuding a wild, untamed grace—yet the delicate blossoms clinging to them bloomed lush and radiant, brilliantly vivid.

…

The sword sighed inwardly.

“Old Ancestor, guess.”

Yet in battle, Qin Xian was first immobilized by Yuan Yang’s Ten Directions Pure Eye, then instantly reduced to blood mist by Bian Bei’s punch—his techniques never had time to manifest, let alone any sword art.

Two days had passed; it was time to go to the Master of Tai Fu Palace for the lecture.

But if we speak of the most valuable item among that wealth—

With the Joyful Sect’s fall, the entire Dong Mi Province lost half its amusement for Chen Hang Old Ancestor—nothing compares to the fun he’d had before.

“The human body is morning dew; the moon shines eternally; time waits for no one; hair turns to silk in an instant…”

The Qi Bag had become richly stocked…

Immortality!

The sword shook his head, no longer pondering further, sheathed the Zhan Zhu sword resting across his knees, then retrieved the Northern Dipper Talisman gifted to him by the Master of Tai Fu Palace—said to be produced by Qi Guang Sect.

Chen Hang gripped a long sword gleaming with icy, snow-like radiance, raised it to eyebrow height, and held it horizontally before his eyes.

He paced to the window, gazing at the sliver of moon hanging in the sky, its pure light shining brightly.

He stared for a long while, his spirit subtly focusing, thinking inwardly:

“What nonsense!” Chen Hang Old Ancestor glared.

Above, the moon tonight shines as it did last night; its radiance remains eternal as ever—but humans are as ephemeral as mayflies, born in the morning, dead by dusk, never granted to behold such lasting beauty.

Chen Hang Old Ancestor’s eyes widened.

A few breaths later.

It is said Qi Guang Sect possesses a great divine art called the Northern Dipper Star Comet Sword Scripture—a sword cultivation method that, upon full mastery, can project a single sword intent so potent it fills an entire realm, slaying all life that opposes its will.

…

He wiped his beard, then resumed muttering to himself.

Though spoken softly, this was still the Master of Tai Fu Palace’s possession—cannot be taken lightly—

Only immortality, equal to the light of sun and moon, eternal as heaven and earth!

With just a slight push of fetal breathing, the blade trembled, ready to emit a clear, piercing cry like a crane’s call—seeming ready to slice through the air, severing a skull at any moment, its killing intent chilling and fierce!

Chen Hang Old Ancestor was not pleased at all.

Seeing the sword did not answer.

Several months later, when I ascended the mountain under the pretext of escorting my elder brother Chen Ze’s coffin, I was equally destitute—worse off than Xu Zhi.

At that moment, the laughter and music drifted again, harmonizing with the tide like a drumbeat. The sword listened quietly for a while, then closed the round window and sat back down on the cushion.

Only after summoning several mental targets in the True Dharma Realm and testing the talisman several times—seeing the ground drenched in blood, yet feeling no abnormality myself—did I begin to feel uneasy.

The time of the “Feng Si Festival.”

“Who could have foreseen? Even you, struggling for survival outside that water prison, never dared imagine this… Bian Bei, you’ve become this…”

“...”

Chen Hang Old Ancestor glared:

“Huaiwu Cave is a righteous sect! Not a demonic sect! It’s a famed orthodox lineage that has endured since the ancient Dao Court era! Do you know you’re a junior? Orthodox juniors don’t do such things!”

Since the Joyful Sect’s collapse, no one in the entire Dong Mi Province can carry the Great Flag of dual cultivation anymore. Dragon-Phoenix Pavilion, Sparrow Yin Gate—all are fourth-rate trash, grasping only the barest skin-deep techniques, utterly incapable of comprehending the true principles of dual cultivation and yin-yang harmony—deserving to be chased like stray dogs.

Bian Bei smiled: “Old Ancestor cannot borrow my appearance.”

Utterly tyrannical, ferociously sharp!

In his later life, he never bothered to join such quiet gatherings—not once during his time in the Chen clan.

He was still being beaten until his flesh split and blood flowed freely.

In his later memories, on that day, all eligible young men and women would hide a sprig of flower in their sleeves, joining their elders by the water to participate in the Offering to Heaven ritual; on the day of the ‘Fengsi Festival,’ there would be firecrackers, fireworks, and lantern processions through the streets—if, before the evening lantern fair ended, they exchanged the flower sprigs they had hidden all day, it meant mutual affection, and their parents and clan heads would then choose an auspicious day to perform the Eight Proposals and Eight Rites.

It was a flying sword taken from Qin Xian’s Qiankun bag; judging by the jade and gemstone carvings along the hilt, it was clearly a treasured possession of a Foundation Establishment seventh-layer cultivator.

Only when he heard the music did he suddenly remember, and grasp a rough idea.

I rolled my eyes at the flying sword, sighed heavily in resignation, then flipped over and landed beside a wine vat, leaning on its rim, indifferent to everything, and kept drinking like a ox.

And after I was kidnapped by Fu Can and brought before the Xuanyuan Sect.

…

“Impossible.”

“He’s a junior from the Huaigu Cave, from one of the Four Sects and Eight Clans—even if you didn’t ask and just took it, what could you do to him?”

After leaving Bian Bei, along the way I saw every islet, pavilion, and palace—none lacked red silk and colorful banners, all decked out in festive lanterns and decorations; clearly, they were preparing for the ‘Fengsi Festival.’

“His elder brother is like a jade mountain beside you—close enough to illuminate, his bearing noble and refined…”

Yet it wasn’t any magic robe or spiritual treasure or medicinal herb, but the sword lying across his knees—Yan Zhen…

“Given your senior brother’s nature—he prefers stillness over motion—it’s unlikely.”

Xu Zhi, Tu Shan Ge, Yang Shan Daoist, Rong Clan… right up to all the things within that Floating Jade Lake.

Time slipped away swiftly, leaving no trace upon the water.

Two transformations of the body, eleven divine treasure great seals!

Elder Chen Heng hurriedly rose from his tea table, curiously asked: “Your heart is clearly tied to him—what about him? Has he ever felt anything for you? Even for a moment?”

Seeing the flying sword showed no sign of resuming cultivation.

“By the way, what exactly are your feelings toward your good senior sister? I told you to keep your distance, but that child didn’t even listen to old man’s words!”

Every time the Fengsi Festival came, Fu Can would occasionally offer a flower sprig as a gift, but he always received a cold shoulder, often even mocked subtly or openly by the later self—just a few words were enough to repeatedly provoke Bian Bei into furious anger.

Bian Bei set down the sword beside his knees, and inwardly murmured a phrase.

Wondrous tones, myriad forms—like pearls cascading from a jade plate.

All the affairs of the Floating Jade Lake must now reach their conclusion.

For a moment, the flying sword seemed as if lost in a dream.

Once unleashed, even a Purple Mansion realm’s high-level technique would end in a split corpse—no chance of survival.

In the blink of an eye.

Long life.

But after several battles.

Since I was reborn into this world, arriving in that Xudu Heaven.

The struggle among great Daoists is everywhere—when disciples of such minor sects compete, they are even fiercer than those of major houses; though bound by sect rules and unable to overstep, they are by no means harmonious!

“At first I thought your elder brother was a dashing, refined immortal, unmatched across all four states and seven seas—but after seeing him in person these past days, I realized I’d actually underestimated him—he’s truly a dragon’s form and phoenix’s bearing!”

“If word of this ‘unasked taking’ spreads, how can you possibly survive in Xudu Heaven? Does Elder Ancestor have no face to save?”

Yet in the end, the agony brought by Cold Fight True Qi finally faded—he no longer felt the mountain wind as piercingly cold, no longer felt as if his blood might freeze solid.

Elder Chen Heng smiled faintly, scratched his head, then spoke honestly:

Roughly speaking.

When the words reached their end.