Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Way of the Talisman Arrow

It was not uncommon for families like the Jiang clan, where Daoists settled down, married, and developed into large lineages. The most renowned example was the Zhang family of the Celestial Master’s Mansion, where the title of Celestial Master was passed down through generations.

Yunqi was treated as an honored guest and arranged to stay in a charming little courtyard.

It was called Wind-Lotus Cottage.

The cottage was nestled beside a vast expanse of lotus. Yunqi could only call it a lotus forest. He dared say that even the largest lotus ponds in the mortal realm could not compare to this; each leaf was as large as a paper umbrella, jade-green and lustrous, and the saying “boundless green of lotus leaves stretching to the sky” was truly brought to life here.

The small courtyard rested at the edge of the lotus forest, where the swaying leaves could be seen; if one found them obstructing the view, a mere turn of the head would reveal a thousand-mile lake, glazed in frost beneath the heavens.

What delighted the heart most was that this was the sixth month, the season when lotuses were in full bloom. Here, the blossoms glowed with a vibrant red, large as Buddhist altars, echoing the line “lotus flowers under the sun blaze with a unique crimson.”

The servants who led Yunqi in thanked him profusely, saying their young master was a man of great virtue, and since Yunqi had saved him, he too was a great benefactor.

They added that this cottage, specially arranged by the master, was perfectly suited for a stay at this time of year; if rented out, it would fetch a handsome sum per day.

Yunqi expressed his gratitude; indeed, he was thoroughly satisfied with the place—boundless views, abundant spiritual energy. Besides, he had never before lived upon the water and found the novelty delightful.

After the servants left, Yunqi placed his bundle in the room but did not rest. Instead, he stepped out to the wooden veranda, sat cross-legged, breathed in the elegant fragrance of lotus, and gazed at the vast expanse of the lake—a sight quite different from the southern shore he had known earlier.

He closed his eyes and emptied his mind. After roughly the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, he slowly opened them again.

At that moment, he drew a certain object from his robe: it was half a foot long, black as ink, resembling an arrow but shorter, with a tip but no fletching—the very talisman arrow he had just seized from the lean Daoist.

He had heard of talisman arrows before and seen them in the mountains, but until today, he had never encountered someone attempting murder with one.

Among cultivators, whether in combat or self-defense, talismans and magical artifacts were both common external aids. Magical artifacts were costly and time-consuming to forge, but once complete, they were extremely convenient to use. Talismans, on the other hand, were quick and cheap to produce but potent and, crucially, expendable. Their main shortcoming lay in the fact that they required mental force to guide and incantations to activate.

For minor cultivators, whose mental power was weak and could not reach far, certain talismans—like those for fire that clung and corroded, those for metal that summoned blades and axes, as well as poison and immobilization spells—could only be used effectively at close range.

If one’s mental power was lacking, the talisman would neither fly far nor swiftly. Should an offensive talisman drift slowly toward its target, it would only attract ridicule.

There was another, somewhat embarrassing, issue: the matter of ambush. Unless at point-blank range, even someone with strong mental force would find it laughable to attempt a sneak attack with talismans, for once the incantation was spoken aloud, everyone would know exactly what was happening.

Of course, these shortcomings only really troubled the minor cultivators. When it came to the great masters of talismanry, such things were not a concern at all. The legendary sects—the Three Mountains of Talismans, Dragon-Tiger Mountain, Gezao Mountain, and Mao Mountain—each boasted masters who could send a thunder talisman into the sky, utter a single command, and call down a deluge of heavenly thunder. They never worried about insufficient mental focus or failed ambushes.

But in the world, minor cultivators far outnumbered the great masters, and after all, even masters began as novices.

Thus, some clever souls devised a workaround: they crafted an outer casing using the techniques of artifact forging, embedding it with restrictions to conceal spiritual energy, ride the wind, mask traces, and muffle sound.

After forging, an offensive talisman would be placed inside, along with a sound-preserving conch that could store the magical essence of the incantation. A simple trigger mechanism would be set on the casing—if it struck something, the conch would play a pre-recorded spell, activating the talisman.

To facilitate throwing, this casing was shaped like an arrow—thus, the talisman arrow was born.

Some went further, not just placing a single talisman inside, but matching the five elements, interlocking them, combining wind and thunder, layering effect upon effect. At a distance, one could unleash such power as to shake the void, yet remain unscathed oneself.

Consequently, the method of deploying talisman arrows evolved from simple throwing to the use of bows and crossbows, increasing their range dramatically. It was said that, taken to the extreme, a talisman arrow became little more than a self-destructing flying sword that required no mental force to guide.

The lean Daoist earlier had pretended to flee, distracting the young hero with conversation while clutching the talisman arrow. Perhaps he had no crossbow or feared detection; he planned to hurl the arrow by hand and ambush the young hero, but was discovered by Yunqi.

Yunqi intended to study the talisman arrow carefully.

First, he considered himself sufficiently gifted. The arts of magic, talisman, and incantation were fundamentally interconnected—one relied on spiritual power, another on patterns, and the third on syllables, all summoning or commanding the spiritual energy of heaven and earth.

He excelled at these.

Alchemy and artifact forging were grand disciplines as well, but both were costly and time-consuming. To refine a good pill or treasure could take years, and Yunqi felt he had neither the time nor the resources at present, for there were too many things he wished to learn.

As a newcomer to cultivation, he believed it best to focus on diligent practice and contemplation of the fundamental principles of the five elements and yin-yang—at least in the early stages. He had heard that breaking through the third and fourth realms was exceptionally difficult but afforded longevity, and that was the time to delve into alchemy and artifact forging, drawing insights between disciplines.

If he did not live so long, there was no point in considering it further.

Such was Yunqi’s view.

Focusing on the present, he found talisman arts ideal: easy to draw, economical with materials and time, excellent for sensing magical resonance, communing with spiritual energy, and refining incantations. If power was lacking, quantity or talisman arrows would make up for it.

The forging of the talisman arrow’s casing was not difficult; one did not even need a cauldron for this step.

A thin sheet of metal could be hammered out, rolled into a tube, fitted with a head, and fused by fire.

For those less averse to trouble, a mold could be made, shaped like an arrow casing, and filled with molten metal. Once set, the shaft could be hollowed out—this, too, would suffice.

Of course, even for something so simple, one could not simply use ordinary scrap metal. The shaft needed to possess some spiritual quality, at least enough for the restrictions engraved upon it to function.

The only slightly troublesome part lay in the restrictions on the shaft.

While talismans, restrictions, and formations were all branches of the same tree, their differences lay in their medium: talismans upon paper, restrictions upon objects, and formations upon the earth.

To inscribe a restriction upon an object required not a brush, but a blade; the force and spiritual intent invested were different, and since an arrow shaft was hollow, engraving upon a thin layer of metal was all the more challenging.

As for the restrictions themselves, there were only a handful; their essence was no different from talismanic arts.

The truly knotty issue was the sound-preserving conch, which needed to capture and retain the magical essence within the incantation—a different matter from the conch Yunqi had once given to the Green Chi.

Moreover, the conch could not be too large, or it would only suit city-breaching crossbows.

There was a variety called the “small coiled-ear conch” that was ideal for this purpose.

This creature was indeed hard to find, dwelling only in the deepest, most humid water veins—places so deep that sunlight never reached, shrouded in utter darkness.

Just capturing them was troublesome; once caught, the flesh had to be removed and the shell refined by secret arts.

Yet, was it truly so rare? According to Yunqi’s knowledge, three of the five great lakes were its native habitat, and Poyang Lake was among them.

It was said that more than one family on this lake dealt in such business, not without their share of underhanded dealings. As for whether the Jiang clan was involved, Yunqi could not yet say.