Chapter Seven: Condensing the Essence of Spirit, Wielding the Sword to Slay Demons

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Xuan Yang, impatient by nature, hurried straight down the mountain. Upon confirming the flood disaster, all the Daoists united, and the entire Qiu Zhen Temple sprang into action. Amidst the rush, there was no mistake—everything proceeded in an orderly fashion.

Within the Sutra Pavilion, the aroma of tea curled gently in the air. Xuan Ming held a scroll of Daoist scripture, deeply engrossed in its study. Since there was nothing else pressing, rather than watching the others busy themselves, he preferred to contemplate the teachings and cultivate his Dao.

To be honest, when junior brother Xuan Xu urged him to stay on the mountain, Xuan Ming’s feelings were mixed—there was the disappointment of not being able to descend to aid the people, but also relief at avoiding the peril below. The world beyond the mountain was treacherous, especially given the abundant waters. Without sufficient strength, he was unwilling to venture down lightly. Seeking the Dao and pursuing longevity meant, first and foremost, surviving.

Of course, Xuan Ming was not idle. His father had left him some savings from a previous life, and his elder sister often sent money and supplies through acquaintances. He contributed five hundred taels as a modest token of goodwill. To save lives was akin to extinguishing a fire.

The Qiu Zhen Temple acted swiftly. Within a single hour, the Daoists led their disciples down the mountain, while Xuan Ming remained in the Sutra Pavilion, concentrating intently. After calming his inner turmoil, he resumed his reading of the scriptures.

Time passed swiftly—three months in an instant. The group had yet to return. The flood below was far worse than expected. Occasional news filtered through: for example, junior brother Xuan Yang had slain several man-eating minor demons and engaged in dozens of fierce battles with a fourth-level serpent demon, severing one of its arms. Another report mentioned that in the wake of the disaster, a great plague had broken out, with junior sister Xuan Su urgently treating the sick.

Xuan Ming stayed at the Qiu Zhen Temple, occasionally contributing more funds to support the rescue efforts, but mostly going about his own affairs. It was not that he was cold-hearted; rather, he saw through the situation clearly. No matter how anxious he felt, it would only increase worry in vain. In managing mundane tasks, he was far less capable than his junior brothers.

Thus, it was better to study more scriptures. When his cultivation advanced and he traveled further along the path of the Great Dao, he could prevent such disasters from happening. He could eliminate the root causes before danger arrived, striking down the true culprits at their source.

Reading scriptures and understanding principles, cultivating the Dao, practicing martial arts to strengthen the body, refining magic and academic pursuits—Xuan Ming’s cultivation advanced steadily. In just three months, his progress was remarkable.

———

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The sun rose in the east as the waning moon set in the west. At the Inquiry Dao Institute, atop a treetop, an elderly Daoist with white hair sat cross-legged. The mountain breeze stirred his robe as he closed his eyes and focused, drawing upon the harmonious power of sun and moon to balance the yin and yang energies within his body.

As the primordial energy transformed into magical power, flowing through the Ren and Du meridians into the lower dantian, the once calm force stirred, drawn upward to form a vast vortex. The sea of magic churned, the vortex generating suction.

Within the vast dantian remained only the swirling vortex, silently spinning—faster and smaller until, at last, it vanished. In the silent darkness, a single point of light, like the sun, shone brilliantly, illuminating the dantian.

This was a pill, perfectly round and jade-like in color, known among Daoist cultivators as a “refined essence flower.”

After half an hour, Xuan Ming opened his eyes, his weathered gaze reflecting the ebb and flow of Daoist insight before settling once more. Nine months later, he made another breakthrough, advancing from the third to the fourth realm. He was not surprised.

One day equated to a year; he had honed his skills for over a hundred years during the Hundred Days Barrier. With deep roots, ample nourishment, and fertile soil, his cultivation naturally flourished and bore fruit.

Nine months into this breakthrough, he naturally condensed the refined essence flower. As for how many blossoms would bloom when three flowers gathered atop the head, that depended on his foundation and fortune.

Breaking through cultivation brought joy to the heart. Rarely did Xuan Ming neglect scripture study and Dao comprehension. Now, wandering amidst the Floating Cloud Mountains, he enjoyed the scenery—ascending peaks to gaze upon ancient glaciers, immersing himself in secluded valleys to listen to the bamboo sea’s gentle waves.

His mood was serene, embodying the highest virtue like water.

Since elder Daoists like Xuan Xu were absent and other disciples lacked sufficient cultivation, no one but the neighboring Chang Anzi knew of Xuan Ming’s breakthrough. He liked it that way.

Hiding more skills now meant that if disaster struck, he could strike unexpectedly and gain more chances of victory.

———

That night, under a moonless sky with a strong wind, several shadowy figures infiltrated the Floating Cloud Mountains. A faint aura of demon energy lingered among the woods, accompanied by whispered conversations.

“Brother, the Floating Cloud Mountains are the old stronghold of Qiu Zhen Temple, surely heavily guarded and fraught with danger.”

“Is it too reckless for us to come so boldly? Perhaps we should plan carefully, first seek spirit herbs to regenerate lost limbs. Once restored, we can return to exact revenge and kill those arrogant Daoist disciples.”

A toad demon, its forehead covered in wart-like bumps, proposed this. He was immediately interrupted by a pale-skinned, sullen man beside him, who snapped angrily.

“Nonsense!”

He flicked his forked tongue and hissed sharply:

“I never let revenge wait overnight.”

“Tonight is already overdue.”

“We must repay the debt of the severed arm.”

Thinking ahead to infiltrating the Qiu Zhen Temple with assistance from his subordinate demons, he softened his tone:

“Rest assured, I am not acting on impulse.”

“Before coming, I already scouted carefully. Most disciples have descended the mountain; only a few young novices and one third-level elder Daoist remain—no threat.”

“With our strength, sneaking in will be effortless. Surely, the temple hides spirit pills.”

“Once I restore my arm and slay a few Daoists in vengeance, we will leave immediately—no lingering, to avoid complications.”

“When I become a great demon, I will return and wipe out the entire Qiu Zhen Mountain clan to soothe my grudge.”

Hearing this, the demons relaxed considerably. As long as their brother was not blinded by rage and leading them to their deaths, they felt reassured.

Seeing lingering hesitation, the serpent demon tempted them:

“Daoists excel at alchemy. The Qiu Zhen Temple, renowned within a hundred miles of Floating Cloud County and with a lineage over a century old, must surely possess spirit pills. The flesh and blood of cultivators also benefit our training. If you don’t go, don’t blame me for enjoying these benefits alone.”

At this, the demons’ interest was piqued—they had gathered for gain; why not seize it?

The toad demon glanced anxiously around, sensing unease yet feeling compelled to agree. Refusal would mean rejection by the others; he had no choice but to grit his teeth and consent.

With the demons in accord, the sullen serpent man’s face brightened. The group concealed their tracks and pressed onward.

Reaching halfway up the mountain, suddenly a sword light flashed. Blood splattered as a large, fine head was severed, scattering droplets of crimson like rain before falling to the ground.

Amid screams, a fish demon was beheaded, revealing its true form before dying utterly.

The sudden ambush shocked the demons. They immediately grew wary, eyes scanning the surroundings with caution and gravity.

Another sword light surged from the forest, striking again. This time, they saw it was a peachwood sword.

Apparently, the elder Daoists on the mountain had detected them already. But how so quickly? They hadn’t even entered the Qiu Zhen Temple.

Though surprised, the demons acted swiftly, unleashing their magic to counter the sword light.

The toad demon spat a water orb, manipulating waves. Two shrimp demons joined forces, their pincers suddenly enlarging and radiating a sharp metallic aura, clamping toward the peachwood sword.

The serpent demon exhaled dense demonic mist. As it spread, grass and trees corroded; leaves withered and fell instantly, revealing potent poison. At the same time, it whipped out its tail, striking toward the peachwood sword in a swift arc.

———

The wooden sword sliced through the air, its light surging explosively.

The demons’ combined strike was like paper beneath the sword light.

The water orb shattered; the shrimp pincers were crushed.

The waves and serpent tail were bisected.

The poisonous mist hissed and vanished completely under the sword light.

Even the weaker shrimp demons were swept away, slain and reduced to two three-foot-long crayfish.

The peachwood sword changed direction and attacked again, its light sharper, its killing intent stronger.

The serpent demon’s face changed drastically, realizing it could not match this power, and turned to flee; the toad demon did likewise.

The sword light pursued relentlessly.

The serpent demon gritted its teeth, grabbed the toad demon, and without hesitation hurled it backward.

In the face of life and death, it abandoned its comrade to save itself.

The toad demon’s expression changed dramatically. As the sword light pierced it, its dim eyes suddenly flared with bright light. Fueled by rage, it lashed out its long tongue, entwining the serpent demon.

True to the phrase, it would never let go in death.

The serpent demon panicked and grew furious, attempting to sever the tongue with magic—but it was too late.

A brilliant sword light pierced its chest and severed its head.

Before consciousness faded completely, it seemed to glimpse a white-haired elder Daoist, realizing it had been careless.

This was no mere third-level elder Daoist; calling him a Qi Refining Real Immortal would hardly be an exaggeration.

Then, it slipped entirely into darkness.