Chapter 133: Chapter 133
When they had heard him out, the listeners wore varied expressions.
Luo Tangyin’s lovely eyes were wide, her red lips slightly parted — clearly this was the first time she’d heard such a hidden tale.
Ji Ning’s expression was reserved, his thoughts unreadable.
Shen Xiuhan’s face showed nothing, as though he were listening to some celestial scripture — utterly unmoved.
Lin Sheng’s eyes brimmed with awe, and the look he turned on Wang Xuanyang carried a faint trace of fawning eagerness.
Only Xiao Wu…
His gaze flickered, as though weighing something. In the end, he affected a casual air and remarked:
“Nanxiang Marsh… that name bears a striking resemblance to the Nanxiang prefectural city.”
“Ha ha, there’s something Brother Xiao doesn’t know.”
Wang Xuanyang’s expression stayed easy, and he explained with a smile.
“What the ancients called the Nanxiang Marsh is today’s Nanxiang Commandery together with the eight-hundred-li Yunshui Lake! Back then, this stretch of water was a realm of marsh and flood spanning ten thousand li — water and sky as one — dozens of times vaster than it is now.”
He paused, then continued.
“As for why it shrank to its present state — that began after the True Lord Overturning-Sea passed away, when another of his true disciples, ‘Xiao Ting,’ fell while seeking the Dao… and the waters began dwindling, day by day.”
Xiao Ting!
At those two characters, Shen Xiuhan’s heart slammed.
He remembered it clearly.
The founding patriarch of Diaohailou had been named Xiao Ting.
It was that very patriarch who had created the ritual vessel — the Diaohailou Plain-Heart Bell — which, combined with the rank and station of the Diaohailou Blessed Land, had continuously given rise to Children of Destiny!
Shen Xiuhan had once wondered.
Since Xiao Wu was a Child of Destiny, might there be some connection between him and Diaohailou’s founding patriarch, Xiao Ting?
The thought set his mind churning, and his gaze slid toward Xiao Wu.
Xiao Wu’s expression was unchanged.
As though the name “Xiao Ting” were nothing more than a stranger’s to him.
At the head of the hall, Wang Zhidao had likewise stolen a glance at Xiao Wu’s face.
Seeing no reaction — no shock, no evasion — Wang Zhidao felt a quiet stir of disappointment.
Then his gaze shifted to Zhao Zheng, and he gave a slight nod.
Zhao Zheng understood at once.
He set down his cup and rose, armor-leaves clinking.
“Everyone!”
The single word drew every eye to him.
“The hour grows late. Let us begin.”
So saying, Zhao Zheng solemnly opened a long wooden case on the table.
The case was rosewood-bodied, its corners bound in bronze, its lid carved with cloud-patterns and a beast’s head — plainly no common thing.
The lid lifted, revealing a dark-red velvet lining within.
Zhao Zheng reached in and drew out an object.
It was a chain, black from end to end.
Some three feet long, thick as a forearm, every link etched with dense, intricate patterns — cloud and thunder, dragon scales, layer upon layer — a dim light shifting through the grooves as though the thing were alive.
“This is the Imperial Dragon-Binding Lock.”
Zhao Zheng cradled the chain in both hands, surveyed the room, and intoned gravely.
“This treasure is a supreme ancient spirit artifact of very high grade. It places considerable demands on the cultivation of those who wield it. Even I cannot send all of you in at once.”
As he spoke, his fingertips trembled faintly, and a thread of condensed, qi-like force welled from his palm — fine as silk — winding around the chain.
The chain hummed and trembled at once, the patterns along its links lighting up in sequence, ghost-light flickering like dragon scales opening and closing.
“Form a line. One of you steps forward at a time and grips this lock. I will drive the spirit artifact and send you into the sealed realm to cultivate.”
Zhao Zheng drew a deep breath. His force surged abruptly, the black radiance flaring until it lit the entire hall.
“Mark my words! Three days from now is the time of your emergence. When that hour comes, I will drive the artifact and draw you back out.”
His gaze swept the room, his voice dropping low.
“Come!”
Xiao Wu, never one to hang back, was the first on his feet.
He strode forward, spread his five fingers, and laid them on the chain.
Zhao Zheng’s force roared into the lock. He gave a low command.
“In!”
SWISH!
A flash of black light.
Xiao Wu’s figure vanished in an instant, as though he had never been.
Next came Ji Ning, then Wang Xuanyang, Luo Tangyin, and Shen Xiuhan.
When it was Lin Sheng’s turn —
Wang Zhidao waved a hand, and the black light dimmed at once.
“Household head…”
Lin Sheng bowed his head and dropped to both knees, his expression uneasy.
“I asked about the Dragon Blood Essence Pool, just as the steward instructed me to…”
Wang Zhidao stared at him in cold silence, saying nothing.
The hall was deathly still, broken only by the occasional crackle of a candle.
Sweat gradually beaded on Lin Sheng’s forehead, sliding down his skin and into the corner of his eye. He didn’t dare wipe it. He stayed prostrate, back arched like a snail shrinking into its shell.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP…
The sweat gathered and gathered, running down the bridge of his nose to patter onto the grey brick.
At long last, Wang Zhidao spoke, his tone utterly devoid of warmth.
“Well done.”
Whew —
Lin Sheng let out a long breath, the tension easing from his arched back.
But before he could settle, Wang Zhidao spoke again.
“I hear… you have an aged mother and a young sister living in Changshui County?”
Lin Sheng’s face twitched. His teeth began to chatter.
“…Yes.”
“I will send men to bring them to Changyun County — and you will move here as well. From this day forward, you and yours serve the Wang family.”
“But mark this… if a single word of what passed in this hall reaches another’s ears, none of your three — not one — will live.”
“…Yes, yes — this subordinate understands!”
…
A dizzying spin. Light and shadow twisting before his eyes like a whirlpool.
When Shen Xiuhan came to his senses, he was standing in a dim cavern.
Mist coiled all around.
It was no ordinary vapor, but a blood-fog thick as paste. A single breath of it made his pores flare open and his blood surge faster.
Shen Xiuhan narrowed his eyes and slowly scanned his surroundings.
The cavern was vast and empty, its vaulted ceiling lost in darkness. The walls all around glistened wet, weeping dark-red droplets that fell to the ground with a soft DRIP, DRIP.
The cavern held no furnishings — only a stone stair sloping downward, leading to a deep pit far below.
In the pit lay a massive pool of blood, perhaps ten-odd zhang across.
The liquid within was dark, red, and viscous — like molten ruby. Now and then a bubble rose to the surface, and when it burst, it released a vast wave of qi-blood force.
‘So this is… the Dragon Blood Essence Pool.’
Shen Xiuhan drew a deep breath, suppressing his awe.
A site of creation like this — every breath was precious beyond measure. Not a moment could be wasted.
His gaze swept left and right.
Xiao Wu, Ji Ning, Wang Xuanyang, and Luo Tangyin had each already found a spot on the stone stair and settled cross-legged — several zhang apart, none disturbing the others.
Some had closed their eyes in concentration, some had formed hand-seals, some murmured under their breath. All had entered meditation.
Shen Xiuhan picked a spot nearer the center of the pool, brushed off his robe-hem, and sat down cross-legged.
He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, cycling the Golden Vulture Soaring Wind Art. Within him, qi-blood stirred awake like a slumbering flood-dragon.
Every pore on his body flared open, devouring the impossibly dense qi-blood like a starving man.
“Such thick qi-blood…”
Shen Xiuhan marveled inwardly.
The Dragon Blood Essence Pool truly lived up to its name. A month of bitter training outside wasn’t worth a single day here.
If he could cultivate here for a year or two, wouldn’t he charge straight into Transforming Strength?
He swept the stray thoughts away, sank his spirit inward, and guided the surging torrent of qi-blood toward the last sinew he had yet to open.
The Yang Heel!
Two-odd hours later.
CRACK!
A crisp sound burst forth — like an ice-river breaking, like an iron lock snapping.
The Yang Heel Vessel, which would ordinarily have taken twenty-odd days of bitter work to open, blew wide in an instant under the flood of qi-blood.
“Manifest Strength Perfection… done!”
Shen Xiuhan clenched his fist. All five major sinews now stood open, qi-blood flowing like a great river, free of any obstruction.
His strength had more than doubled from before he entered the Pool.
His eyes blazed. He drew a deep breath.
“Again!”
“Breaking through to Hidden Strength — today!”