Chapter 68: The Fragmented Tome of No Technique

Within the world inside the painting, there stood a self-transforming stele.

Though the stone stele was broken and battered, one could still make out the faint remnants of four characters: “The Great Way Is Without Method.”

Wu Zheng and Wei Dao gazed at the inscription before them, both feeling a tinge of regret in their hearts.

Wei Dao’s tone brimmed with frustration. “Old Wu, don’t you think our luck has been downright rotten?”

“Along the road here, it was either utterly barren or others had already come before us. After so much trouble, we finally found this place...”

He cast a glance at the spot where Lin Qinglong had achieved his final repose, his voice instinctively lowered, as if wary of something unspeakable.

“And yet, after all that, there’s still nothing here…”

Wei Dao had, truth be told, considered tailing those three wandering cultivators, hoping for an opportunity to ambush them.

But...

The man beside him, Old Wu, had been his companion since boyhood—he knew him all too well.

Wu Zheng was simply too soft-hearted. Not only would he never contemplate robbing those wandering cultivators, he wouldn’t even compete with others for treasures. From his mouth, one would only ever hear such phrases as “Suffering loss is a blessing” or “Harmony brings fortune.”

Perhaps that was why, after all these years training at the Abyssal Gate Sect, he still hadn’t broken through the late stage of Qi Refinement.

On the path to immortality, what use is cultivation if one refuses to fight or strive? It’s not as if he’s some innate Dao body or a reincarnated Immortal Lord...

“No matter, no matter. As the saying goes, a blessing may come in disguise.”

“Old Wei, didn’t we at least slay a talisman puppet and get a mid-grade spirit stone?”

As expected.

Wei Dao waved his hand dismissively, not even bothering to argue. Inwardly, he resolved he’d never again go seeking fortune with this old fellow.

Before the cold, self-transforming stele, the bare skeleton sat cross-legged, its skull bowed low.

With a sigh, Wei Dao bent down and bowed three times.

“Let’s go…”

The two of them, one following the other, retraced their steps with no one else in sight.

Watching his dejected friend, Wu Zheng felt a pang of guilt. Yet, beneath that, an odd sensation was rising in his heart.

Wei Dao walked ahead, muttering to himself, “This trip has been nothing but ill luck.”

“Old Wu, if you want to walk further down the path of cultivation and live a few more years, you really ought to toughen your heart.”

“If you never fight for anything—always yielding here, conceding there—how do you expect to acquire spiritual resources? How can you hope to walk the immortal way if you let everyone else claim it first?”

Wu Zheng followed slowly behind, idly rubbing a black jade ring on his finger. His eyes remained fixed on his old friend’s back, as if hesitating over something.

“Old Wei…”

“Hm?”

“Do you think you’re stronger, or am I?”

“Have you lost your wits? Why ask that?”

Without turning, Wei Dao replied, “If you mean cultivation level, then of course you’re ahead. Even as an outer disciple, the Abyssal Gate Sect gives you a stable place to train. If you tried wandering the world with your temperament, I doubt you’d survive three days.”

As Wu Zheng watched his friend’s back, the strange sensation in his heart only grew stronger.

Wei Dao stroked his chin with a wry smile. “But if it comes to actual fighting, to technique or spell, I’d say I have the edge.”

He turned, about to say more—

But saw, to his utter shock, that a plain dagger had already sunk deep into his heart.

He had not been guarded at all.

...

With a sickening sound, the “old friend” gripped the hilt tightly.

“You…”

The taste of blood rose in Wei Dao’s throat. Eyes wide with disbelief, he stared at Wu Zheng.

This gentle soul, who’d never dared harm a chicken, now gazed at him with utter indifference toward life. In forty years, it was the first time.

“You lied.”

Wu Zheng caught his friend’s collapsing body and looked down into his bulging eyes.

With a swift tug, he drew out the dagger; blood splattered across his right hand.

A streak of crimson seeped into the black jade ring.

When had he become like this? Whenever he found himself alone with weaker sect disciples or spirit beasts, this same, uncontrollable urge to kill would rise within him…

His hands loosened. Wei Dao’s now-cold corpse fell limply to the ground, eyes still wide and unseeing.

He died with his eyes open.

Suddenly, Wu Zheng began to cry.

He wept uncontrollably, pounding his chest and stamping his feet.

Yet it was not regret for killing his old friend…

“Oh, Old Wei…”

“How could you… be so weak…”

Alone, half-mad, he sobbed for a long time.

Then he rose, took Wei Dao’s storage pouch, and, beside the very place where Lin Qinglong had perished, dug a grave and laid his old friend to rest.

...

Wu Zheng had never wondered why he had become like this. Only sometimes, when recalling those fellow disciples and spirit beasts who had died by his hand, would he ask himself:

“Do the weak deserve to die?”

Whether they should or not…

In the end, they were dead.

...

For an instant, the spiritual essence within the painting seemed to flicker and fade.

Everyone within felt as if the colors of this world were dissolving like ink in water, gradually dispersing.

In a haze, they were transported out of the painted world.

Song Yan raised his eyes and saw that only five people remained.

Though he had steeled himself for this, a chill still crept into his heart.

“Oh? Still five fellow cultivators survived?” Che Ning, still masked in bronze, spoke with a hint of mockery in his tone. “How delightful—truly cause for celebration.”

The gathered cultivators eyed “Che Ning” warily, but he paid them no mind. With a flash of spiritual light in his hand, the enormous painting on the wall shrank and curled, finally becoming a scroll that he tucked away.

“Ha! There’s no need for concern, everyone. I only want these two ink treasures. As promised, that’s all I’ll take.”

“With all matters settled…”

“Until we meet again.”

He cast Wu Zheng a meaningful glance, then turned and left first.

Song Yan noticed that the Wei surnamed Daoist who had accompanied Wu Zheng had not returned from the painted world.

He could only wonder what had transpired within.

Perhaps thinking of Dan Zifeng, Song Yan suddenly bowed his head in thought.

For a cultivator to vanish noiselessly from this world…

Perhaps it was not so difficult after all.

The remaining cultivators soon departed as well.

Upon leaving the cave abode, they found that, at some point, the waterfall outside had resumed its flow.

Song Yan returned with the couple Rong and Wu to Lingxi Market, where they found a secluded spot to divide the spoils from the three slain wandering cultivators.

These three had likely also encountered the talisman puppet earlier; in their storage pouches, they found a total of three mid-grade spirit stones.

Such things were hard to come by for cultivators at the mid-stage of Qi Refinement unless they were venturing into secret realms in search of treasure.

Normally, a few mid-grade spirit stones in a mid-stage cultivator’s pouch would be meaningless.

The pouches belonging to the woman in a red dress and the young man held nothing of note.

The woman’s pouch, however, contained a fairly well-made human-skin mask of unknown origin.

Perhaps because the mask was male, she had never used it.

After a moment’s thought, Song Yan informed the couple and slipped it into his own pouch. Such an item might prove useful, though it held little intrinsic value.

Rong and Wu would hardly quibble over something so trivial.

If they began haggling with Song Yan over every little thing, it would hardly be worth the trouble.

What truly made them pause was the discovery, in the scholar’s pouch, of a Daoist text.

“The Fragment of No Method.”

...

“The Fragment of No Method…”

Rong Xiaofeng pondered, as if recalling something.

“When Elder Lin Qinglong gave his name in that tomb passage, wasn’t it…”

Song Yan nodded. “The Daoist Without Method.”

Wu Huaguo’s eyes widened, his breathing growing rapid.

...

The room fell into silence.

Song Yan himself had no use for these things. He had no family to support either; even if he got them, he’d only sell them off.

For now, he simply waited.

Waited for the couple across from him to name their price.

Wrote a lot today—another chapter for you!