Transmigrating as the Heart Demon of the Ruthless Sword Venerable – Chapter 33
by Little PandaSword Sect Disciple (5)
What Do You Think?
Five years later, at the summit of the Sword Sect’s Taoli Sword Peak.
“Chewing Petals and Blowing Fragrance!” As the crisp call rang out, the ice-blue long sword thrust forward. It was not fierce or biting; instead, fragrant breezes wafted forth, and faintly, one could almost hear the sweet laughter of beauties—as though women were toying with blossoms, teasing and sparring with bosom friends in a boudoir.
The formless sword qi swept out, instantly enveloping the bamboo grove ahead. A rustling clamor arose, then abruptly fell silent, and the grove was annihilated. This annihilation was not a physical, tangible destruction, but something formless and shapeless, as though the very existence of the bamboo grove itself had been dissolved and erased.
“Not bad.” Elder Xuanjiu, watching from the side, clapped her hands, a satisfied smile spreading across her face. “You’ve mastered the third style of the Red Dust Formula. You can now erase non-spiritual matter.”
With a wave of her hand, countless tiny bamboo shoots sprouted from the cleared ground where the grove had been erased, growing rapidly in the wind and regenerating into a dense bamboo forest. She smiled. “As expected of an Innate Sword Bone. Your cultivation speed rivals your shijie’s. My Red Dust Sword Intent has found its successor.”
Tang Wenchun gripped the sword in her hand, curved her lips into a brilliant smile, reversed the hilt downward, and bowed. “Many thanks for Shizun’s guidance!”
After five years of study, Tang Wenchun had grown quite accustomed to the various rules and etiquette of this world. Moreover, Xuanjiu taught with unreserved dedication, and Tang Wenchun was genuinely grateful. Aside from the times when the study pressure was so intense it drove her to the brink of collapse.
Xuanjiu smiled, stepped forward, and pinched Tang Wenchun’s tender cheek. “Why have you learned to be so stiff and formal like your shijie? Your master doesn’t like that.”
Tang Wenchun let out an “Ow!”, her apricot eyes curving into crescents as she immediately dropped all pretense of seriousness, grinning cheekily. “Shizun, spare me! Shizun is the best Shizun in all the world—surely you are magnanimous and generous!”
“Good girl,” Xuanjiu laughed. “I do love a little girl with a sweet mouth. This is your reward.”
With that, a gold-bordered Storage Bag landed in Tang Wenchun’s arms. Tang Wenchun accepted it with a beaming smile. In this place where the average age was several hundred, she was still undeniably a baby. She took it for granted that, as a mature adult, she was entitled to enjoy the long-forgotten privileges of childhood, accepting her elders’ offerings without the slightest psychological burden.
“Your disciple said it long ago—Shizun is the best Shizun,” Tang Wenchun grinned.
“Shijie, the Sect Master requests your presence.” Someone flew in on a sword from afar, interrupting this mutual flattery between master and disciple.
Xuanjiu’s smile vanished. Her entire being took on the pained expression of a corporate slave1 forced to work overtime on a weekend, as though her spirit had been instantly drained, leaving her listless and deflated. “Understood, understood.”
Tang Wenchun hastily took her leave, then called out to the man hovering in the sky, “Hello, Martial Uncle!” before turning and running toward Yu Zhaoming, who had been waiting not far away.
Yu Zhaoming stood as she always did, at a distance neither too close nor too far, her eyes slightly lowered, her hand resting on Cangfeng. Upon seeing Tang Wenchun, she flipped her wrist, dismissed Cangfeng, and let her gaze fall on Tang Wenchun.
Her heart demon was smiling brightly, tilting her head up to look at Yu Zhaoming, her expression carrying a hint of smugness. “How was that move I just practiced?”
Yu Zhaoming glanced at the beads of sweat rolling down Tang Wenchun’s pale, delicate face. A heart demon whose body was formed through Illusion Wood could sweat? she wondered. The woman before her was lively and pleased with herself, standing pertly in front of her, and often made Yu Zhaoming hesitate—a hesitation as though the person before her were truly just an ordinary human female, her shimei.
“What’s wrong? Why won’t you answer me?” Tang Wenchun tilted her head.
“Not bad,” Yu Zhaoming answered, then turned and walked forward.
Tang Wenchun bounced along behind her, her voice laced with dissatisfaction. “What’s been up with you lately? You’ve been getting colder and colder.”
“I haven’t.”
“You have!”
Their figures gradually receded as they spoke, eventually disappearing from the view of the two elders.
“Your two disciples are still as inseparable as ever.” Though Ye Chen didn’t visit his shijie frequently, Yu Zhaoming’s renown was widespread, and little disciple Tang Wenchun was also a genius with an Innate Sword Bone and a nimble mind, having come up with quite a few cost-saving and revenue-generating ideas for the Sect Master. He naturally kept an eye on things and had heard plenty of rumors about the two of them.
“Indeed.” At the mention of this, Xuanjiu beckoned with her right hand, and the slender sword at her waist instantly transformed into a long smoking pipe in her grasp.
“…” Every time he saw his shijie use a sword like this, Ye Chen was rendered speechless. He silently stepped back half a pace, stroking his own precious sword, thinking to himself that he would absolutely never treat his treasure this way.
He shook his head, then said, “Speaking of which, ever since Martial Niece Yu broke through to late Golden Core four years ago, there doesn’t seem to have been any further progress.”
Xuanjiu narrowed her eyes. “Yes.” She took a drag from her pipe and exhaled a long, slow ring of smoke, as though sighing.
“Shijie.” Ye Chen turned to look at Xuanjiu. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and finally said, “The Emotionless Dao repository in the Sword Pavilion is only half a scripture… and setting aside Martial Niece Yu’s current situation… since ancient times, no one has ever achieved great perfection in the Emotionless Dao.”
Xuanjiu rolled her eyes. “I am well aware. But with Yu Zhaoming’s blockhead of a brain, do you think I could talk her out of it? Why don’t you try persuading her instead?”
“No, no, no, I’ll pass on that.” Ye Chen waved his hands repeatedly. He lowered his voice, “But Martial Niece Yu has been stalled at her breakthrough for so long, and now she’s inseparable from Martial Niece Tang… I’m worried she might… slay her wife… her shimei to prove the Dao!”
“…That child wouldn’t go that far.” Xuanjiu spoke, then after a long pause added, “…right? Ahem, it’s fine. I already gave little disciple Wenchun my Sword Talisman—more than enough for her to protect herself.”
Ye Chen was speechless at his shijie’s uncertainty. He fell silent for a moment before saying, “But below Nascent Soul…”
Below Nascent Soul, even genius disciples were merely genius disciples. Countless cultivators had fallen at this great threshold of Nascent Soul. Only by successfully forming a Nascent Soul could one truly set foot on the great Dao and earn the right to become a pillar of a sect.
To put it cruelly, among cultivators, below Nascent Soul, all were ants—and that was no exaggeration.
“…It’s fine. She’s only in her twenties. What’s there to fear? Golden Core cultivators at a hundred years old are commonplace.”
“…Let’s hope so.”
But she had an Innate Sword Bone—how could she be compared to ordinary people? Every Innate Sword Bone in the Sword Sect’s history had reached the Mahayana stage before the age of 100, with virtually no bottlenecks below Soul Emergence. But looking at his shijie’s expression, Ye Chen knew that no matter what he said, these words would never leave his lips.
“Achoo!” Bian Man sneezed. She rubbed the tip of her nose, drawing a concerned look from her companion. “What’s wrong? Did you catch a cold?”
Bian Man was somewhat exasperated. “I’m a Golden Core cultivator. How could I catch a cold…”
As a Golden Core cultivator nearing 100 years of age, she was already considered fast-progressing within the Sword Sect. But she looked at the two beside her with complicated feelings. Only in their twenties, and already at late Golden Core, half a step from Nascent Soul…
“Why are you looking at us like that?” Tang Wenchun smiled. Being the youngest, when she smiled, even Bian Man could sense the freshness of youth, and she was happy to chat with her.
Bian Man shook her head. “I just feel that between people, some gaps can never be bridged. You two are so young, and already at late Golden Core, half a step from Nascent Soul. Meanwhile, I’ve only just formed my Golden Core. The great Dao is long and endless—who knows when I’ll be able to advance even an inch…”
“Below Nascent Soul, all are ants.”
Yu Zhaoming looked toward Bian Man. Her gaze was always so direct and candid, as though it could see into the deepest, ugliest corners of a person’s heart. Bian Man couldn’t help but avert her eyes, refusing to meet Yu Zhaoming’s gaze.
“No one stays smooth-sailing forever.”
“…Eldest Senior Sister, is that true for you as well?” Bian Man finally turned her head back, but the only answer she received was Yu Zhaoming’s retreating figure, walking further and further away.
“Hey! Are—are you alright?” Tang Wenchun turned to look at Bian Man, concern in her eyes.
Bian Man shook her head. She thought quietly for a moment before saying, “Eldest Senior Sister has had no progress at all for four years. Has she hit a bottleneck too?”
“I—I wouldn’t know about that…” Tang Wenchun rubbed the tip of her nose. Ever since she obtained her physical body, she had simply wanted to live happily and freely, like a real person. She hadn’t visited Yu Zhaoming’s Sea of Consciousness in a long time.
What Yu Zhaoming’s Sea of Consciousness looked like now, what bottlenecks she was facing—Tang Wenchun hadn’t the faintest idea.
Bian Man thought for a moment, then said, “Eldest Senior Sister is right. If someone like Eldest Senior Sister can hit a bottleneck, what business do I have feeling sorry for myself?”
Tang Wenchun breathed a sigh of relief at that. “…I’m glad you can see it that way.”
“I plan to go out for external training and seek opportunities,” Bian Man said. She glanced at Yu Zhaoming, who had walked far ahead but stopped, clearly waiting for Tang Wenchun, then stealthily pulled an object from her robes and handed it to Tang Wenchun. “Little Senior Sister, I know you’re a good person. But in this world, cultivators’ obsession with their cultivation is far beyond what you imagine. Eldest Senior Sister used to…” She paused, then continued, “This is a defensive magic treasure from my master. Take it.”
Tang Wenchun looked at Bian Man with confusion. Bian Man waved to her, then flew off on her sword.
Tang Wenchun held the defensive magic treasure Bian Man had given her and strolled leisurely to Yu Zhaoming’s side. She looked up at Yu Zhaoming. Over five years, Yu Zhaoming had grown taller, her features sharper, her edge on full display. The youthful softness had vanished from her face; when she turned her head, her back was ramrod straight, like an unsheathed sword.
Tang Wenchun then remembered that ever since three years ago, Yu Zhaoming had stopped growing taller.
Perhaps she would never grow again. Once a cultivator’s growth period ended, their appearance and physical form would remain fixed at the stage when their vital energy was at its most vigorous.
Perhaps the Yu Zhaoming before her now was what the future held—that Emotionless Dao perfected, the Sword Venerable who would guard the Sword Sect and awe the Demon Race. In that fleeting instant, the distant future seemed not so distant after all.
“Why are you looking at me?” Yu Zhaoming asked.
“Will you kill me?” Tang Wenchun asked, almost in a daze.
It seemed that many people in the Sword Sect had a strange premonition about Yu Zhaoming’s Emotionless Dao, as though Tang Wenchun were the stepping stone for Yu Zhaoming to achieve it. They handed Tang Wenchun various treasures with worried hands, while simultaneously hoping she could make Yu Zhaoming change her path.
It was deeply contradictory.
This time, Yu Zhaoming did not respond as swiftly and definitively as she always had before. She simply turned and fixed her gaze on Tang Wenchun.
Tang Wenchun pressed her lips tightly together. She felt as though her heart were seized by something, the thread held in Yu Zhaoming’s hand—life or death, all decided by a single word from Yu Zhaoming.
“I…” Yu Zhaoming opened her mouth.
But just then, an immortal crane spiraled in from the distance. The crane opened its beak, and Xuanjiu’s voice boomed loud enough to echo across the entire mountain peak: “You two little disciples, come to the Main Hall at once. There’s urgent business.”
Yu Zhaoming closed her mouth. “To the Main Hall first.”
Tang Wenchun: “…You’re not trying to dodge the question, are you?!”
“…What do you think.”
She’d even learned to answer a question with a question!
The author has something to say:
Martial Uncle: Yu Zhaoming wouldn’t really slay her wife to prove the Dao, would she?
Xuanjiu: She wouldn’t… right? (secretly stuffing a Sword Talisman into Tang Wenchun’s hands)
Bian Man: She wouldn’t… right? (secretly stuffing a defensive magic treasure into Tang Wenchun’s hands)
Tang Wenchun: …You guys… Yu Zhaoming, you wouldn’t, right?
Yu Zhaoming: …What do you think?
What does everyone think?
The next chapter kicks off the next major arc. I did the math, and it’s about time Yu Zhaoming reached Nascent Soul. So, um… you know.
0 Comments