Unintended Immortality

The atmosphere in the hall grew tense.

Daoist Master Yongyang’s eyes flickered with calculation as he tried to gauge how much of the tales about this wandering Daoist’s abilities were truth and how much exaggeration, all while pondering just how committed this visitor was to pressing the matter. Uncertain, he hesitated to act.

The other middle-aged Daoists around him were intently watching Song You and the swordsman. The swordsman held his sword in one hand, with the other resting flat on the table. Even when facing Daoists, he felt no fear. Having endured countless battles, he was even calmer than the Daoists, meeting their gaze with quiet composure. Even Lady Calico wore a serious expression.

Only the young Daoist remained utterly at ease.

At that moment, the doorway darkened briefly as a boy and girl attendant entered, each carrying a tray. Unaware of the charged atmosphere, they tiptoed in, clearly used to such cautious behavior in the hall as they set down the dishes at each table.

The young boy presented a plate of pastries, which came in two varieties, each with red and green colors. Their flavors were unknown, but they had beautiful patterns on top and were arranged in an intricate, interwoven presentation.

The young girl, on the other hand, brought out a plate of fire crystal persimmons. There were only three on the plate, accompanied by small bamboo tubes for sipping the juice.

Song You glanced down and couldn't help but say, “Hezhou is in chaos, and the people are suffering, yet you Daoist priests are living quite comfortably in this temple.”

Under rushed circumstances, it was possible to gather fresh persimmons, but these pastries required preparation. Not only must it have been prepared in advance, but judging by its level of intricacy, it was not something an ordinary person could make.

Daoist Master Yongyang’s brows creased as he replied, keeping his tone in check. “We welcome you as an honored guest and have prepared accordingly. Why, then, do you repay our respect with such discourtesy?”

“It’s not that I’m being discourteous,” Song You said, shaking his head, “but despite your efforts to mask it, each of you is steeped in ghostly sinister resentment, which is impossible to hide. The methods you cultivate share the same roots as the vile arts of the demonic cultivator from Leiqing Temple. Given how far you’ve taken this path, I can only wonder how many lives have been lost to your actions.

“No courteous reception can disguise such deeds. I am traveling through Hezhou to slay demons, exorcise evil, and root out treachery. If I hadn’t encountered you all, it would be one thing. But now that I have, how could I leave without clearing my conscience?”

“...” The middle-aged Daoists realized that words would do little now.

One middle-aged Daoist fixed his gaze on Song You and asked, “And Senior Brother Ping Fangzi, what of him?”

“He is dead.”

The two young attendants, who had been trembling in fear, suddenly grasped the weight of the exchange and became even more terrified. Their faces were drained of color, and their hands, clutching the trays, began to shake.

Forcing themselves to place the last plate of pastries and the persimmons on the table of the Daoist master seated at the far end, they then mustered the strength to stand up and walked away.

They felt as though the gazes of both sides had taken on tangible form, turning into deadly threads that would kill upon contact, crisscrossing in the air as they prepared to walk through them.

Neither Song You nor the swordsman rushed. They waited, allowing the attendants to leave safely.

Even Lady Calico stood between Song You and the Daoists, balancing on her hind legs with her front paws resting on the table. Her bright eyes darted back and forth between the middle-aged Daoists, as if contemplating something unknown.

With a resounding slam—

Bang!

It was the middle-aged Daoist who had just asked Song You about the fate of the abbot of Leiqing Temple. Ignoring the fact that the two young attendants had not yet left—or perhaps wanting to act before they did—he raised his hand and slapped the table.

In an instant, the very air in the hall seemed to distort.

A dense cloud of black mist erupted from the table, spreading rapidly through the space.

Whoosh!

The room was filled with the sound of ghastly wails and howls.

From within the black mist emerged over a dozen ghostly figures. Some were gaunt and skeletal, with unnaturally long, clawed fingers; others had wild hair and sharp fangs; some looked like demonic Yakshas. There were spirits both old and young, male and female. Though their appearance seemed slow, they burst forth from the mist in a heartbeat, twisting and screeching as they lunged at Song You.

For an ordinary person, there would have been no time to react.

But Lady Calico, standing before Song You, narrowed her eyes. Her pupils were shrinking as she focused on the ghostly figures. Reflected in her gaze, they appeared to move in slow motion. With a powerful leap onto the table, her movement, if slowed, would reveal an elegant fluidity.

The calico cat took a deep breath, then opened her mouth and exhaled—

And all of this happened in an instant.

Boom!

A searing flame burst forth.

The hall, already dim, was instantly illuminated by the firelight, casting everyone’s faces in a brilliant yellow hue. The heat felt as though it was slapping against their faces, billowing their robes in a gust.

Fire and yang energy were most effective against yin ghosts. Lady Calico practiced both yin and yang cultivation, possessing spiritual energy of both types and specializing in fire magic. With these two combined, how could any ghostly presence stand a chance?

Among the ten or so ghostly figures, the weakest two were reduced to ashes in an instant. Another four or five, barely advancing one chi further, succumbed to the flames, disintegrating into a fine dust. The remaining half managed to survive but were writhing and crying out in pain from the flames. They quickly turned around and retreated even faster than they had approached.

“What?!” The middle-aged Daoist’s face showed sheer astonishment.

Almost simultaneously—

Shing!

The swordsman’s blade was drawn, sheathed in a coating of icy frost. Its shimmering, blindingly bright and chillingly cold gleam filled the dim hall and momentarily dazzled everyone present.

The other middle-aged Daoist slammed the table and stood up, sweeping his sleeve with a flourish.

Whoosh!

A gust of dark wind surged toward the swordsman.

The swordsman swiftly dodged to the side with his sword in hand, moving with incredible agility. The black wind struck the cushion on the table where he had been sitting just moments before.

Ssss...

The sound resembled oil sizzling in a wet pan. With a sidelong glance, he noted that his former seat was now half-melted. The sturdy wooden table, though still recognizable, was covered in a sprawl of tiny white bubbles, corroding quickly.

Bam!

Another middle-aged Daoist seized a plate from his table and slammed it down, shattering it instantly. With a sweep of his hand, the shards shot forward with astonishing speed. That astonishing speed was something that even the most skilled experts in concealed weapons in the jianghu might not be able to achieve.

The swordsman’s blade moved in a graceful arc.

Clang, clang, clang...

The sword gleamed in a sweeping arc, creating a barrier of light through which not even water could pass. Each shard was deflected, shattered into powder, or scattered across the hall, embedding itself deeply into nearby columns, where they stayed firmly in place.

“...”

As the last fragment flew forward, instead of slicing it apart, the swordsman struck it with the flat of his blade.

Wham...

The shard hurtled back toward the middle-aged Daoist who had thrown it, straight and fast.

“...!” The middle-aged Daoist's eyes widened in shock. He wanted to dodge, but he was no jianghu martial expert. Even with some knowledge of Daoist arts, there was no way he could avoid the blow.

A dull thud echoed through the hall as the shard hit him squarely.

Although the Daoist robe he wore concealed the wound, the force made him cry out in agony, his face contorted with pain as he clutched his abdomen. Soon, the robe around his hand was stained a slow-spreading red.

As he struggled to recover, the swordsman was already upon him.

Shing!

The swordsman's blade swept horizontally, its gleaming light as pure as snow, as sharp and fast as lightning.

On the treacherous paths of the jianghu, where the swift and the daring collide, even skilled practitioners of Daoist arts, with their mortal bodies and no other means to save themselves, would be hard-pressed to escape Shuyifan’s blade.

Shhllk!

One single sweep, and two throats were cut.

The Daoist who had summoned the ghosts and the one who had thrown the plate both had blood spurting from their necks.

They had believed themselves invincible, immune to swords and spears. But only because the sword had not been fast or strong enough.

Only one of the middle-aged Daoists remained alert and cautious. Although he had been calculated into the swordsman's sweeping arc, this Daoist quickly pulled a piece of black cloth from his robe and draped it over himself.

When the swordsman's long sword swept past, it encountered no resistance at all—it seemed to slice through both the black cloth and the Daoist beneath it, yet at the same time, it felt as if it had only cut through empty air, striking nothing at all.

When the sword had passed, the black cloth remained intact, and the Daoist underneath it was unharmed as well.

“Heh...” the swordsman let out a cold chuckle, unsurprised.

With his knowledge, he could easily tell that this was no profound technique but a common sleight-of-hand trick often seen in the jianghu. He hadn’t expected such a simple ruse would actually spare this man’s life as well.

Swish! The sword flashed once more.

The middle-aged Daoist took a glance and retreated while raising the black cloth to shield himself once again.

“...” Yet, the sword struck nothing but air.

However, before the middle-aged Daoist could feel relieved at having escaped another close call or launch a counterattack with another spell, a strange sensation spread through his leg. Suddenly, it was as if all support had vanished, and as he fell in terror, the pain in his leg only began to register.

“Aaaah!!” His pained cries echoed through the hall.

And all he saw was the cold indifference on the swordsman's face. It was as if the look conveyed: if you want to play tricks, go perform them in street shows in the jianghu, but don’t use them in life-and-death combat.

All of this happened within mere moments.

Almost simultaneously, one of the panicked middle-aged Daoists nearby pulled out a piece of cloth—this time, a white one. Holding a corner in each hand, he gave it a forceful shake toward the swordsman.

Boom!

No one knew what the white cloth would release, but just as the Daoist shook it, a loud explosion resounded, and a burst of flames flared up before him.

The white cloth in his hands was already engulfed in roaring flames. This fire was far hotter than ordinary flames.

“Ah!” The Daoist, caught off guard, had no choice but to fling the burning cloth aside, his eyes wide in panic and confusion. With fear on his face, he turned and fled toward the hall's exit, yelling out names, calling for his trusted human puppets.

The swordsman caught sight of the blaze and briefly glanced toward Song You with his sword in hand, only to lock eyes with the gleaming, amber gaze of Lady Calico.

“...”

The swordsman withdrew his gaze and was about to give chase, intending to take advantage of the confusion among the Daoists. With them in disarray, unable to prepare spells, and without their most powerful asset—the human puppets—by their side, he planned to finish them off one by one.

However, just as he took his first step forward, he sensed something amiss. Instantly, he shifted his force, pushing off the ground with both legs.

Instead of charging forward, he suddenly propelled himself backward.

Whoosh!

A massive shadow spun past him, slamming heavily into the far wall of the hall.

“Boom!”

A resounding crash echoed through the hall.

The swordsman landed firmly on both feet, stabilizing himself before turning his head. He saw a massive stone whip that had shattered the wall of the hall, embedding itself deeply within it.

The stone whip, handle included, was nearly the height of a person and as thick as a man’s waist—far beyond what any human could wield.

The swordsman glanced outside.

One of the two guardian statues in the courtyard had come to life and stepped off its stone pedestal, now standing with its arm extended, as if it had just thrown the stone whip.

It was clear that this statue was the one who had thrown it.

Beside it, the other guardian statue, holding a long spear, was also slowly coming to life. It twisted its neck, flexed its body, and raised its spear as it stepped down from the stone platform.

“Boom…”

Each step it took struck the ground like a hammer blow.

The statue’s entire body was cracking, sending bits of stone falling to the ground, revealing the bronze figure within. Every rune on its body glowed.

The swordsman turned back to look inside.

Fragments of stone were also falling from the massive stone whip, exposing the metallic core beneath. Meanwhile, the old Daoist who sat in the main seat was already standing with his eyes narrowed, fingers forming a hand seal.

The real confrontation was only just beginning.

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