Chapter 131: Sudden Transformation of the Talisman Edict

“Are you Lou Fu?” Chen Heng turned his gaze away, cupping his fist in salute.

The one who had just withdrawn the sword light was a pale-faced youth clad in green robes. His skin was as white as paper, lips faintly colored as if barely there, and his slender frame resembled a solitary bamboo sprouting from a rocky crevice. He bore the lingering aura of chronic illness, as though burdened by years of confinement to a sickbed.

Yet his eyes shone brilliantly, bright as stars, gleaming with sharp intensity. A keen light swirled within them like a sword already drawn—silent when still, but deadly the moment it moved.

“Unshaken in the face of danger, possessing such boldness—no wonder you dared to personally venture into the domain of the Zhao Cultivators to rescue others. Truly, you are a man of noble spirit,” Chen Heng remarked.

Lou Fu stepped forward, returning the salute with a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you. I am Lou Fu.”

Chen Heng smiled faintly. “We are of the same clan; how could we bear to see them reduced to mere livestock feeding the Zhao Cultivators’ bloodlust? It is but a matter of justice. Brother Lou, though your body is of yin spirit, you perform acts of mercy that command respect.”

Lou Fu’s expression grew solemn at the praise, his gaze softening as he bowed respectfully northward before speaking. “My master has tasks for me, and I serve him faithfully. Though I have not formally become a disciple of Lord Qiao, I have been fortunate to receive his teachings and attend his lectures. Lord Qiao enlightened me on righteousness and morality and taught me sword techniques—his grace is as heavy as a mountain.”

“I do these things merely for peace of mind; I do not deserve such high praise.”

Chen Heng knew well that the Qiao Lord Lou Fu mentioned was the senior figure from the Zhongyi Sword Sect, who had once carved a mountain into a pillar and left the path of “Yin-Eroded Red Water” cultivation upon it. A chill ran through Chen Heng’s heart.

In orthodox immortal cultivation, ranks and titles are clearly defined by the Daoist Court’s ancient traditions. From the lowest to the highest: embryonic breath and qi refinement are considered lowly; foundation establishment denotes true cultivators; Purple Mansion and Cave Profundity stages are high adepts and alchemists; Golden Core and Nascent Soul stages are zhenren and magi; returning to the void and pure yang stages bear the title of True Lord. The stage of Dao unification, revered as the highest among cultivators and only a step from becoming a true immortal, is known as Dao Lord.

The Qiao Lord Lou Fu referred to, even if not a Pure Yang of the “Three Calamities” accomplishment, must at least have reached the returning void stage.

Such a figure is a mighty power in the immortal world.

At that moment, the bone ornament shaped like a black turtle hanging at Lou Fu’s waist suddenly sprang up, emitting a sound like a resonant bell.

He raised an eyebrow, formed a hand seal, and chanted softly. With a tap of his hand, a tiny golden light the size of a bean appeared in the hollow skull of the black turtle ornament, then swiftly spread across his body like a thin veil of shimmering flame.

Seeing Chen Heng’s gaze, Lou Fu smiled faintly and explained, “This is a ghostly artifact granted by Lord Qiao, called the Little Six Harmonies Turtle. It possesses the power of an inner landscape. Though it appears only palm-sized now, inside it is vast. Just now, someone inside accidentally triggered a barrier, but I have since sealed it.”

“Before coming to find you, Brother Chen, I already visited that mansion and gathered nearly a thousand living souls inside it. I will handle their arrangements from here.”

Chen Heng’s eyes flickered as he cupped his fist. “A marvelous treasure indeed. I have nothing like this. Traveling with nearly a thousand people through the Abyss is truly inconvenient, and there is no suitable place to settle them. Brother Lou, your help is greatly appreciated.”

“For me, such matters are routine. It is nothing. But forgive my boldness—what are your plans next, Brother Chen?”

Lou Fu sized Chen Heng up from head to foot. Suddenly, a fierce battle spirit surged over his face, as if sensing the thrill of the hunt, eager to fight Chen Heng before anything else.

“If you have no objections, why don’t we travel together? Once I have settled the people, you and I can duel, comparing swordsmanship and verifying our skills. Wouldn’t that be splendid?”

Chen Heng’s eyes showed a trace of surprise but he soon understood. Sword cultivators often improve their skills by seeking out others to duel, honing their divine awareness through combat.

His own sword realm was not yet on par with Lou Fu’s.

Yet in terms of sheer combat power, the outcome was uncertain.

From the moment they met, Lou Fu felt an unusual danger emanate from Chen Heng, as if beneath that almost celestial visage lurked a ravenous beast, sending chills down his spine.

Even standing twenty paces away, Lou Fu felt oppressed as if a great stone pressed on his chest, compelling him to step back.

But the more this was so, the stronger his fighting spirit flared, rising in a fierce blaze!

Had it not been for the ghostly artifact carrying nearly a thousand souls, he would have drawn his sword without hesitation!

“I heard that Lord Qiao once carved the mountain into a pillar and left the path of Yin-Eroded Red Water cultivation within. I intend to visit and see if fortune favors me,” Chen Heng said, shaking his head.

“As for the duel, though I long for it, that matter can wait.”

“Wait—Yin-Eroded Red Water?” Lou Fu frowned, momentarily speechless. After a long pause, he sighed.

“Presumably you heard it from Song Rupo? You should understand the risks involved. I won’t elaborate further. But if you truly master the path of Yin-Eroded Red Water, it may well be that even Lord Qiao will personally break through and come to meet you…”

After Lord Qiao had slain all the Zhao Cultivators’ yin spirits within a hundred-thousand-li radius, he seldom appeared in person, even reducing his teachings.

If one were summoned by the Lord, it would be a great honor.

Lou Fu seemed to lose interest in the conversation, spoke a few more words, then leapt up and vanished into the boundless dark clouds above.

“If you succeed in your cultivation, Brother Chen, do come find me at Longhou Plain. I will clear the path and welcome you!” he called with a laugh, his long sword singing a clear note at his waist.

***

Then, a roaring gust of dark wind swept through.

Lou Fu’s figure vanished from the sky in an instant, no one knowing where he had fled using the wind currents.

After Lou Fu left, Chen Heng remained still, standing where he was.

He drew a golden cicada talisman from his sleeve and immersed his mind into a true法界, then waved his sleeve slightly, summoning Lou Fu’s heart image.

“It really works… It seems his realm of the Netherworld Ghost Dao is nearly on par with my orthodox immortal cultivation realm,” Chen Heng mused.

Before him, shadows intertwined, slowly forming the image of Lou Fu in his green robes. Chen Heng’s heart gained some clarity.

Using the Mahā Supreme Secret Light Meditation, he scrutinized the “Mahā Golden Script” manifested by Lou Fu’s divine technique.

At that moment, even Chen Heng sighed inwardly.

“The third stage of the Sword Dao—Refining the Sword as Firm as Steel… It surpasses the second stage. No wonder Song Rupo said Lou Fu was the most favored disciple of the True Lord. Now the reason is clear.”

Lou Fu had emerged from the murky yin shadow only about fifty years ago.

Such achievements at that age were indeed remarkable.

At that moment, Chen Heng suddenly thought of Xu Zhi.

Though Xu Zhi’s cultivation had later faltered, he was also an undeniable sword prodigy.

These two were the most outstanding talents Chen Heng had ever encountered in his life.

Though stirred by the thrill of the hunt, Chen Heng did not hasten to duel Lou Fu within the true法界.

Instead, he withdrew from the法界, casually choosing a large stone nearby to sit upon, calming his mind and regulating his breath in anticipation.

Sure enough, after about half a tea cup of time, a bruised and battered Song Rupo arrived, riding a gust of dark wind, limping as he approached.

“What happened to you?” Chen Heng asked.

“Brother, you’re unharmed?” Song Rupo’s voice brimmed with surprise. He shouted, “Lou Fu didn’t give you trouble? Has that madman changed his tune?”

“Are these injuries from him?” Song Rupo clenched his teeth, nodding fiercely. Earlier, he had been resting in the mansion when a sword light suddenly sliced through, demolishing half the roof. Had he not reacted swiftly, he might have lost his life.

Before mastering the sword, Lou Fu was already combative, often coming to Song Rupo for instruction.

At that time, relying on his seniority and deeper cultivation, Song Rupo could easily suppress Lou Fu, treating him as a punching bag for fun outside of cultivation.

But once Lou Fu began sword practice under Lord Qiao’s guidance, that amusement vanished overnight.

His killing power advanced rapidly. Soon Song Rupo could not withstand even one sword strike, and he began avoiding Lou Fu altogether, ashamed to face him.

Hearing the anger in Song Rupo’s voice, Chen Heng smiled without comment and asked, “Have the nearly thousand living souls in the mansion been gathered?”

“Yes, they have. Lou Fu’s Little Six Harmonies Turtle is truly a treasure. If only I had the talent to be favored by the True Lord,” Song Rupo said with envy, then suddenly recalled something.

“By the way, Brother, there’s one more thing. Did Lou Fu mention it? He asked me to pass it on to you.”

“Go ahead.”

Song Rupo lowered his voice. “On the way here, Lou Fu encountered several retainers under Mountain Lord Shanhu and Lady Feihua. These two great ghosts have learned of Miss Yue’s death and are coming to capture you in vengeance.”

“Perhaps we should leave. The Abyss is vast; it would be wise to lay low for a time.”

Chen Heng was not surprised by this news and merely nodded.

His stay was only to wait for Lou Fu to gather the living souls.

Now that was done, even if Mountain Lord Shanhu’s retainers were not sent to hunt him, it was time to depart.

The polluted ghost Dao soldiers Miss Yue had raised were all consumed by Chen Heng over recent days. Though he had not advanced the Pure Jade Body to the seventh layer of the Profound Realm, most of the spiritual energy needed was fulfilled.

His plan was to cultivate by feeding on ghosts, and the Abyss was never short of such creatures. All the wealth and private hoards in Miss Yue’s mansion had been thoroughly seized.

Since that was settled…

“Then let us go. I’ll trouble you to lead me to observe the scriptures,” Chen Heng said, waving a white light, enveloping his flesh and flying off first.

Song Rupo rejoiced, having worried that Chen Heng’s youthful pride would cause him to remain and fight against Mountain Lord Shanhu’s retainers until death.

This action suited his desire for survival, and he breathed easier.

He quickly summoned a gust of dark wind, soaring after the white light.

***

Half a month later.

In a red sand valley overgrown with twisted, withered vines, Chen Heng placed his hand on Song Rupo’s shoulder. Using the scattering shadow concealment technique, he masked their aura so that they looked like ordinary stones, utterly inconspicuous.

The two—one man, one ghost—hid in a hollow of the valley, surrounded by dense, grotesque vines resembling human intestines, tightly cloaking the place.

“Finally, they have left…”

How long passed, no one knew.

Only when the dense black clouds covering the valley entrance drifted away, the countless fierce ghosts with blue faces and sharp fangs searching in vain, then departed, did Song Rupo relax.

His face was pale as death, and he looked at the expressionless Chen Heng with admiration.

At first, upon glimpsing a few ghosts, he had wanted to kill them casually, but Chen Heng stopped him and brought him to the valley’s depths.

Initially, Song Rupo did not understand.

But after a few dozen breaths, upon witnessing the dark clouds enclosing the valley mouth and the terrifying howls of the ghosts, he finally realized…

“Brother, your spiritual perception is truly keen. I am far inferior.”

Song Rupo sincerely praised, then said, “The lead among those clouds was Gao Pi, the coach under Mountain Lord Shanhu—a very fierce old ghost. It is said he has devoured several high adepts of Purple Mansion rank in orthodox immortal cultivation. Facing him would be troublesome.”

“How far is this place from the stone pillar?” Chen Heng asked.

“Not far—at most half a day’s journey. The Five Cloud Wild Domain where the pillar stands is the territory of a great ghost deity named Jing Xiu. Like Lou Fu, he was summoned by the senior of the Zhongyi Sword Sect. Gao Pi, despite his boldness, only dares to cause trouble in Five Cloud Wild. Otherwise, Mountain Lord Shanhu would be the first to kill him.”

Song Rupo was puzzled. Miss Yue was clearly neglected, yet after her death, Gao Pi had pursued them nearly to Five Cloud Wild? What sort of rule was this?

Before he could think further, Chen Heng suddenly seemed to sense something. He opened his universe pouch and cast out a red thread.

The moment it shot out, it exploded with fierce dragon-tiger primordial essence, like a burst of starlight, scorching the ground beneath them black as charcoal. Even the withered vines burst into roaring flames.

“What is that?” Song Rupo was startled, scrambling back in shock.

“It’s a talisman from Ai Jian, imbued with a fragment of his dragon-tiger primordial essence. It is said to instill fear even in ordinary Abyss ghosts.”

The dragon-tiger essence within the red thread burned out quickly, consuming the thread itself, leaving only faint ashes.

Chen Heng’s eyes darkened. “I clearly have not unleashed it, yet the red thread activated on its own. Could something have happened to Ai Jian?”

Meanwhile, within the Abyss, Daoists of the Xuan Zhen Sect found their red thread talismans spontaneously igniting, causing a commotion.

“What is going on? Has the sect leader’s dragon-tiger essence lost control?”

An older Xuan Zhen Daoist’s pupils contracted sharply, evidently familiar with the matter. He stepped back, exchanging fearful looks with his companions.

“Has the sect leader been harmed? Who could have done this? Could Yan Feichen have rebelled?!”

Amid the rising panic…

At Little Gan Mountain, within the Xuan Zhen Sect, Ai Jian’s blood surged to his face. He rose from his jade bed in alarm, feeling the world spin and his footing unstable.

“Chen Ying, tell me—who died?” His eyes bloodshot, voice trembling with rage, he glared at someone. “Senior Brother Wang Shu is dead?!”