Chapter 162: My Life Is Spent!
“Hoo…”
Shen Xiuhan exhaled, shifted his gaze from the skeleton to the slim volume on the stone table.
He activated the Void-Gazing Eye once more, probing every inch around the table.
Confirming no danger, he walked over.
The volume was thin — a dozen pages at most. The cover was plain, bearing no text.
The paper was fine jade-parchment, but the long years had made it brittle; a light pinch drew a dry, rustling crackle.
Shen Xiuhan thought a moment, then drew the Bone-Eroding Edge from his waist and used its tip to carefully lift the first page.
On the title page, a single line of vigorous calligraphy:
“I, Xiao Yan — Diaohailou’s ninth-generation true disciple!”
Seeing those words, Shen Xiuhan frowned. He turned a few more pages, and the hope he’d been holding died.
Because the volume contained nothing but the true disciple’s personal journal.
The handwriting shifted from neat to scrawled, from clear to chaotic. The ink varied in shade — entries written on different days, in wildly different states of mind.
Descend into an ancient pool, discover a hidden sanctum, obtain a legacy… the script practically wrote itself.
But what sat on this table wasn’t some divine-power manual or cultivation treatise. It was a diary.
Was this a joke?
Shen Xiuhan pressed his lips together. Disappointment aside, a flicker of curiosity stirred. Everyone had an appetite for a good story, and he wanted to know what this Diaohailou true disciple had been doing with his life — and how he’d ended up here.
He steadied himself and read on.
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 31. Cold Dew. Before dawn. Fog on the lake — shapes invisible past ten paces.
It has been over a month since I received the Diaohailou inheritance. My cultivation has surged. Yesterday I broke through to Hidden Strength — force inside me like a tide, ceaselessly churning.
In the dead of night, the Four Seas Heart-Link Disc at my waist suddenly trembled and hummed, blue light flashing — someone was reaching out through the spirit disc.
This disc is the hallmark of a Diaohailou true disciple, one of four in existence. Those who can trace me through it are no ordinary people.
But I am newly inheriting, wary by nature. I dared not respond rashly.
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 31. Frost’s Descent. Morning — opened the shutters to thin ice on the lake. Cold that bites to the bone.
After days of deliberation, the other party seemed to harbor no ill will. I followed the disc’s guidance and met the man at last.
His name is Dou Jiao. He calls himself an inheritor of the Nanxiang Blessed Land and claims shared lineage with my Diaohailou — both descending from the Dao-legacy of the Heavenly-Ren Dark-Hidden True Lord Overturning-Sea.
A man of imposing bearing and eloquent speech, with a sweeping boldness in his brow.
He told me the Nanxiang Blessed Land’s opening is imminent and invited me to enter with him — to claim the inheritance, gather disciples, found a sect, and restore their shared glory.
I have no interest in such things.
The martial path stretches long. What I seek is only to climb to the summit and glimpse the true face of the Dao. Founding sects and taking students is not my calling. I declined.
Dou Jiao’s expression darkened slightly, but he said nothing more — only that every man has his own ambition, and he wouldn’t press.
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 31. Light Snow. First light on the lake. No wind.
The Nanxiang Blessed Land’s opening draws near. Dou Jiao sent word again, inviting me to join him.
In the time since, he has made a great name for himself — befriending allies, gathering followers, several dozen strong already. Thriving.
Though I cultivate at the lake’s center and take no part in worldly affairs, his name reaches me often.
But my mind is made up. Until I achieve Astral Strength, I will not leave seclusion.
The mortal world is noisy, and hearts are treacherous. Entering too soon will only cloud my resolve.
I refused again. As we parted, I sent word through a messenger: among his friends and followers, more than a few were double-dealing. I urged him to be vigilant. Whether he heeds my warning, I cannot say.
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 31. Light Snow. Rain. Sky leaden as ink. Drizzle without end.
The Nanxiang affair is concluded.
And treachery there was.
Barely three to five days after Dou Jiao entered, his signal on the Heart-Link Disc vanished. He must have perished inside.
His surviving followers — dead, scattered, or carried off by orthodox and demonic factions alike. In all likelihood, Dou Jiao’s death was connected to some of them.
Poor Dou Jiao. Blessed by fate, fortune upon him, yet brought to such an end. Alas! What sorrow!
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 32. Start of Spring. Clear sky. Lake surface still as a mirror.
Many days in seclusion. Progress slowing. Cultivation has reached Full Mastery of Hidden Strength, but Transforming Strength remains stubbornly out of reach.
Perhaps I pushed too hard. I broke seclusion to fish and calm the mind — sat at the lake’s heart with a rod, watching the ripples. A pleasant enough diversion.
A small boat blundered in. On it stood a middle-aged man who, seeing me alone at the lake’s center, rod in hand, silence unbroken, took me for a reclusive master.
He abandoned his boat, climbed the reef, and prostrated himself, kowtowing without end, begging to be taken as a disciple.
I judged the man to be in his early forties, his cultivation and aptitude both unremarkable, and refused with a laugh.
But he would not rise. He showed genuine passion for the martial path. Thinking our meeting was fated, I copied out a Tongbi Fist Manual and gave it to him.
The method can carry one to Transforming Strength. Practiced to Full Mastery, and when the Diaohailou Blessed Land opens, it would grant entry to the Divine-General Peak and access to the inner-gate Astral Strength inheritance. A fine fortune in its own right.
The man accepted the manual, thanked me a thousand times, kowtowed, and departed.
—
Qi-Yuan Calendar, Year 32. Awakening of Insects. First spring thunder. All things stir. Sky dark as lead.
Regret, regret, regret!
Had I known the man’s heart was rotten, I would never have given him the manual — much less revealed where I cultivate.
Since receiving the manual, Bai Qingcang has come to the lake’s heart every single day. One day begging pills, the next seeking instruction, the day after that demanding weapons.
The first two times I obliged, thinking to build goodwill.
But the man tasted sweetness and his greed swelled beyond all measure — each demand bolder, each request more outrageous than the last.
Today I refused to see him.
He threatened to expose my hidden retreat to the world.
Killing intent stirred. But I feared his background.
Bai Qingcang claims to be a scion of a great prefectural-city clan, with an Astral Strength elder sitting behind him. If I killed him rashly and drew retaliation, my cover would be blown for good.
Enough! Enough! Enough!
I’ll wait. Once I break through to Transforming Strength, I’ll kill him and flee. The world is vast — anywhere can serve as a place to cultivate.
—
Qi… Year 32, Qingming…
Hate!
Boundless hate!
The venom of the human heart knows no equal!
Of late, a premonition of great calamity has been pressing on my spirit. I meant to flee to distant lands, but then recalled the demonic art stored in my sanctum.
That method was something I once chanced upon. Reading it filled me with revulsion — every form, every technique required the lives of children as fuel, crushing bone and draining marrow. Cruelty beyond imagining. Yet the art was left by an ancient demon lord, and neither blade nor fire could destroy it. I could only hide it away in my sanctum.
Now, on the eve of flight, I feared that if the demonic art fell into unworthy hands, the consequences would be catastrophic. So I returned to retrieve it — but the cursed thing possesses a will of its own, and it hid itself from my senses.
Before I could reach the sanctum, Bai the traitor and his mob had already sprung the ambush. Too late for regret!
Rain falls like tears. Lake wind weeps. My wounds are beyond saving. Let whoever inherits my legacy slay Bai Qingcang and avenge me!
Qingming. Qingming!
Bitter! Bitter!
My life is spent!