Chapter 65: The Roaring Abyss and the Tempest

Chen Ning walked out of the Inkpool Woods, gazing from afar at a distant cliff, deep in thought.

“Song Yesheng…”

“In the previous life, neither Shao nor Song appeared in my sect; by that logic, they ought to be above suspicion…”

But now, the uncertainties before him were simply too many.

He was seriously considering whether it would be more prudent to kill this junior disciple…

“Forget it…”

After pondering for a moment, “Chen Ning” narrowed his eyes.

“In recent days, I’ve killed too many suspicious disciples within the sect. I’d better hold off for now—if the elders take notice, it would bode ill.”

“Now that the Pen of Remorse is in my possession, the remaining spiritual power in this Scroll of Roaming will not last much longer.”

Ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivators could never possess enough spiritual power to sustain the operation of a miniature world; it was only that the Scroll of Roaming was somewhat unusual.

Now that the spiritual pen had changed hands, in a moment, this painted world would dissipate on its own.

Chen Ning sighed inwardly with regret.

After all, it was painstakingly drawn stroke by stroke by a Foundation Establishment predecessor. Now that the Scroll of Roaming had fallen into his hands, this place would vanish into thin air—everything would begin anew.

“Wu Zheng…”

He now mulled over another name.

“If this time, Wei Dao still dies…”

“Then this person, too, must be considered a suspect.”

Now, with the treasured ink in hand, “Chen Ning” felt his mind clear and his thoughts untroubled.

“I have done all I can for Dongyuan Sect. If fate cannot be defied, I will have no choice but to flee far away…”

…

Beneath the Windmoon Cliff, Song Yan and his two companions were locked in battle with a talisman puppet.

Clang!

The Unmoored Boat sword shot through the air, nailing the talisman puppet to the wall, its blade piercing several inches below the puppet’s neck.

“Wind…”

“Thunder…”

The talisman puppet, bereft of intelligence, lost all power when its spiritual nexus was suppressed; its spiritual energy extinguished in an instant.

Along the way, the three had encountered three or four such puppets, and the location of their vital nexus was nearly identical, making them extremely easy to defeat.

Perhaps this was because the puppet’s creator had already been dead for many years.

“Vitality!”

Wooden branches sprouted and spread from the ground, purple flowers blooming along the twigs.

At first glance, it was quite beautiful.

Yet these blossoms grew denser and denser, soon blanketing the puppet’s body.

“Falling Petals.”

The spiritual light in the puppet’s body slowly melted into the petals, which continued to bloom and finally fell from the branches.

All that remained was a flowering tree, with a broken talisman and a mid-grade spirit stone hanging from one of its limbs.

What a beautiful spell…

No matter how many times he watched, Song Yan always found Wu Huaguo’s wood techniques remarkably elegant.

But the most beautiful things were often the most dangerous.

Thinking back to the white jade dew in the Peach Blossom Grotto, Song Yan subconsciously scratched his forehead.

By now, Wu and Rong, the husband and wife, and Song Yan had become familiar with each other’s core attack methods.

According to Wu Huaguo herself, she cultivated a wood-based technique called “The Scripture of Flower Compassion and Eloquence,” focusing on the spells recorded within.

Rong Xiaofeng, on the other hand, was an insect cultivator, commanding spirit bugs in battle.

Such a school had its origins and flourished elsewhere; in the State of Chu, it was rarely seen.

Yet the power of spirit insects was bizarre and hard to fathom; the tiny creatures were like flowing sand, difficult to ward off.

Spirit insects fed on spiritual power, and when they swarmed, even protective spiritual garments could be gnawed through in a heartbeat.

…

Song Yan was already pondering how he might respond if this couple were to suddenly turn on him.

Himself, plus Xiao He.

Beneath the Sword Treasury of Dao Suppression, there was still a latent sword essence waiting to be unleashed.

Even if he couldn’t win, escape should still be possible.

While Song Yan worried, the couple were equally on edge.

How could this mere outer disciple with only fifth-level Qi Refining possess such exquisite swordsmanship?

Earlier, when facing a talisman puppet, he was able to simultaneously control a flying sword and a blade of sword energy, single-handedly suppressing the puppet.

“Is this the standard even for an ordinary outer disciple of a great sect?”

Coming from a small family, the couple couldn’t help but feel a hint of desolation.

On this expedition, the three had collected five mid-grade spirit stones; Song Yan took two, the couple three.

“These black clouds above the cliff blot out the sky—surely some treasure lies above.”

Without further delay, they ascended the steps to the top.

…

From their vantage, the three finally beheld the painted world in its entirety.

Below the abyss swirled mist and clouds, amidst which rose three massive valleys and peaks.

The mountain bases were shrouded in thick fog, making them resemble floating islands.

What none of them expected was that the cliff top actually connected to another valley.

“Has anyone been here?”

“Unlikely,” Rong Xiaofeng said after surveying the area. “Had anyone been here, they’d likely have descended by the route we took.”

Wu Huaguo paid little heed, only disappointed that the place was empty.

There was only a broken stone tablet.

Windmoon Cliff.

“Hm? What’s that?”

Following Wu Huaguo’s pointing finger, Song Yan looked to the cliff’s edge, where a strange shadow could be seen.

Now and then, a gale howled, with faint rumbles of thunder.

As the clouds parted, a bizarre boulder and a withered tree were revealed.

The tree grew atop the stone, and between its branches faint golden lightning flickered.

“A Supreme Spirit?!”

Song Yan was startled.

Yet he was already calculating in his mind.

Previously, he had read numerous texts about how such Supreme Spirits could strengthen sword seeds.

In the cultivation world, aside from the famous and unique Supreme Spirits with proper names, the rest had no fixed form.

For example, though Song Yan couldn’t name the thing before him, he could sense the pure and surging wind and thunder spiritual power within.

He had thought that the predecessor’s legacy would most likely be a fire attribute Supreme Spirit.

Such a thing would be invaluable for returning to alchemy in the future.

But to possess one at all was already a stroke of luck.

Right now, strengthening his sword seed was the true priority.

Rong Xiaofeng clearly saw that this was what Song Yan desired, and immediately said, “Fellow Daoist Song, there’s no need to worry. Go ahead and take it.”

Wu Huaguo nodded. “This place is secluded; no one will disturb us.”

To allay Song Yan’s doubts, the couple even retreated several yards, nearly returning to the path up the cliff.

After so much wary cooperation, Song Yan knew that this couple were likely no murderous villains.

Still, out of caution, he kept one eye on them as he approached the withered tree.

“Xiaofeng, he still seems wary of us,” Wu Huaguo said calmly.

“Disciples of great sects possess formidable strength, do no harm, yet remain ever vigilant,” she continued. “Compared to those spoiled brats from the clans, he’s far superior.”

A faint sorrow rose from the depths of her heart.

“The Wu clan has much rebuilding ahead.”

Rong Xiaofeng shrugged. “The cultivation world devours the unwary—people like him are rare indeed.”

“We should seek to befriend him as much as possible.”

By now, Song Yan stood before the withered tree.

“Truly worthy of being called a ‘Supreme Spirit’…”

Beneath the wind and thunder, the withered tree sprouted new buds.

He was about to store it in his spatial pouch, but found the spiritual energy vanished without a trace.

“It won’t go in?”

Song Yan froze.

A Supreme Spirit, after all, is but a pure, attribute spiritual power made manifest, and should be easy to store in a spatial pouch.

Especially one like this, with a physical vessel, should be even easier.

Yet he could not store it away…

He was baffled.

Frowning, he simply planted the Unmoored Boat by his side and sat in meditation.

He sent a voice transmission to the couple: “Please be patient, there’s something unusual about this Supreme Spirit. I’ll need a bit more time.”

Luckily, refining a Supreme Spirit into a sword seed wouldn’t take long—about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

As long as no one interrupted.

However—

What one fears, one invites.

At the summit of another valley, among the swirling mists, three figures emerged.

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