Chapter 227: Through the Pass, the General's Tale
Song Yan furrowed his brow, turning to look at Wang Ke. A trace of disbelief flickered through his gaze.
“Fellow Daoist Wang, you just said—the match recorded on this chess manual golden page, what is it called?”
Wang Ke was still sprawled on the ground. Hearing Song Yan’s question, he looked puzzled.
“Hm?” He raised the chess manual in his hand. “You mean this?”
“Yes.”
“It is called… ‘Five Stars Capture the Vein: Correct Transformations, Clear Diagram.'”
Song Yan murmured to himself. How could the name of this chess manual be so similar to the divine sense cultivation method recorded in the Spirit Transformation Chapter?
Wang Ke glanced at the page in his hand, then at Song Yan.
He said, “What this manual records does not resemble a match, nor is it one of the twenty-four ancient games I seek to collect.”
“If Fellow Daoist Song has interest in it, consider it a gift.”
It was plain to see that Wang Ke held no interest in it whatsoever.
He placed the ancient golden page into Song Yan’s hands, then returned to replaying the final game he had played against Yuan Zhen during the tournament that day.
Song Yan glanced at Wang Ke’s back and tucked the golden page into his Cosmos Bag.
“My thanks.”
Wang Ke waved his hand dismissively. “I can depart at any time. Just call for me when you are ready.”
He then turned his attention back to the chessboard before him.
Song Yan left Wang Ke’s residence.
When he returned to his own courtyard, he found Xiao Ju standing outside the gates, peering within.
“Senior Song.”
“What is it? Why are you standing out here?”
Xiao Ju answered softly, “Your two old friends from the Wu clan have arrived. To avoid any breach of etiquette, I have already ushered them inside. Xiao He is entertaining them at the moment. I was just about to fetch you from Brother Wang’s place.”
It must be Wu Huaguo and Rong Xiaofeng. He had not expected them to pay a visit today.
“Xiao He is receiving guests?”
He had never heard of such a thing.
As he walked toward the pavilion, Song Yan tried with all his might to imagine Xiao He courteously serving tea and pastries to two guests.
Alas, one cannot imagine a scene one has never witnessed.
Pavilion, Tea Room.
When Song Yan entered with Xiao He in tow, the girl was brewing tea for their two guests.
“This is Yan Yan’s favorite and most expensive spirit tea. Try some.”
She stuffed her entire hand into the tea pouch, scooped out a generous handful, and crammed it into the cups before Wu Huaguo and Rong Xiaofeng.
After stuffing the leaves in, she even rubbed her little hands against the rims of their cups, grinding the tea fragments stuck to her fingers into the drink.
The married couple watched her with half-smiles, their gazes fixed on something behind her. Song Yan reached behind and plucked Xiao He up by the scruff.
“Eh?”
The little snake turned her head and saw a familiar face.
“Heh, heh heh…” She said with a guilty air, “They came all this way to play with you. Don’t be so stingy.”
Song Yan removed the spirit tea pouch from her hands. “Go play.”
“Oh.”
With a murmur of assent, she shrank into a small snake and scurried away, coiling around Xiao Ju’s wrist as they left the tea room.
Song Yan eyed the small pouch. The spirit tea—which had already been scarce—was now nearly gone.
It had been a gift from a junior sister in the sect who had visited after the Sword-Tempering Assembly. It was a specialty from her homeland.
This spirit tea tasted entirely different from others, with a sweet, lingering aftertaste.
Rong Xiaofeng noticed Song Yan’s subtle expression as he stared at the empty tea pouch and could not suppress a quiet laugh.
He cleared his throat. “Fellow Daoist Song is fond of spirit tea?”
“When Guo’er first assumed management of the Wu household, a tea-savvy elder of the clan gifted us some spirit tea. My husband and I do not drink the stuff, so I shall have a servant send some over.”
Song Yan set the pouch on the table and shook his head. “There is no need—”
“Fellow Daoist Song, don’t be modest with us,” Wu Huaguo suddenly said. “That demonic monk Yuan Zhen nearly flayed me alive to refine my vital blood. Had you not intervened, I would be rotting by now.”
Wu Huaguo was indeed a person of great composure. Having walked through the gates of death that day, she descended the mountain without the slightest disturbance, carrying on with her duties and arranging the aftermath of the Go tournament as if nothing had happened.
She treated it as though she had merely climbed the mountain to watch an up-close battle.
One could say she possessed the bearing befitting the head of a great clan.
The three of them chatted and laughed together.
For Song Yan, having encountered these two equally sincere people when he was but a fledgling cultivator all those years ago was a rare and precious thing.
As they conversed, Rong Xiaofeng and Wu Huaguo exchanged a glance.
Before his death, Yuan Zhen had pleaded for mercy by revealing that Wu Huaguo possessed a treasure on her person.
It should be noted that any object capable of drawing the covetous gaze of a Central Domain Buddhist cultivator could hardly be an ordinary treasure.
Yet at the time, Song Yan had harbored no intention of holding back, and he never raised the matter afterward. This only deepened the couple’s admiration for him.
In truth, Song Yan had never given the matter a second thought.
After all, who in the cultivation world did not possess a few secrets?
If he felt compelled to pry into the secrets of everyone he knew, what point would there be in pursuing the Sword Dao?
The couple’s visit today had a singular purpose—to express their gratitude for saving their lives.
They brought with them a number of spirit resources of broad utility, along with five hundred spirit stones.
For the two of them, this was no small sum, yet Wu Huaguo felt not a twinge of reluctance.
Once dead, one had nothing.
Song Yan accepted everything without pretense. His relationship with the two was genuine; there was no need for hollow modesty, which would only come across as affected.
“Will Fellow Daoist Song not stay a few days longer?”
“No. At noon tomorrow, I must escort Fellow Daoist Wang Ke to the Chu capital.”
“Very well. Safe travels, then. When you pass by North Peak Mountain, do come by our residence for another cup of tea.”
“I will.”
After seeing the couple off, Song Yan walked alone into the cultivation chamber.
Truthfully, departing today would not have been impossible.
But for one, his battle with Yuan Zhen had exacted a considerable toll, and he had yet to catch his breath. For another, leaving immediately would be far too hasty. Unlike Liang Feng, he had no obligations binding him.
It was the perfect opportunity to sort through the spoils he had claimed from Yuan Zhen.
Yuan Zhen’s storage artifact was not a Cosmos Bag but a wooden fish.
It had taken Song Yan considerable effort to discover this.
Yet what disappointed him was that the wooden fish contained precious few spirit stones.
Only one mid-grade spirit stone and forty or fifty low-grade ones—roughly one hundred and seventy or eighty in total.
He had assumed everyone in the Central Domain was wealthy. It seemed that was not quite the case.
What he did not know was that Yuan Zhen had been stripped of his cultivation by the chief monk of the Pure Karma Chan Monastery, and all his possessions had been confiscated.
This wooden fish was something a young novice monk, who had been close to Yuan Zhen, had secretly slipped him before his expulsion from the monastery.
Moreover, Yuan Zhen had needed to consume vast quantities of spirit resources to rebuild his cultivation.
Naturally, little remained.
In addition to the spirit stones, the wooden fish held a number of magical artifacts that Yuan Zhen had not yet liquidated—likely seized from other cultivators.
Song Yan cast a cursory eye over them. None caught his interest. He sorted through them, setting aside a small heart-protecting mirror and an elegant white flying sword to give to Xiao Ju. The rest he would sell at a market near the Chu capital for spirit stones.
He was on the verge of beginning Foundation Establishment. Every bit of foundation he could lay now would serve him well.
Beyond these, the wooden fish also contained demon beast materials and two demon cores.
Among them, Song Yan recognized one item: the vital blood of an ape demon, usable in alchemy.
As for the demon cores, he naturally set them aside for Xiao He.
Song Yan sorted everything into its proper place, keeping only two items for himself.
A small wooden puppet, and a scripture text.
The puppet appeared to be carved from wood, and when held, it felt cool to the touch.
It stood roughly three inches tall, its entire body a muted gold. Fine cracks marred its surface in many places, bearing witness to untold ages of wind and frost.
The puppet sat cross-legged, its hands forming a lotus seal before its abdomen. Nine small dots upon its crown marked the tonsure scars of a monk.
The puppet had no eyes, no nose, no mouth, no ears—it bore no features whatsoever.
Yet every joint was present and accounted for, each of the five fingers exquisitely defined. Even a slight adjustment of its limbs gave it an almost lifelike quality, brimming with a subtle vitality.
“What is this thing?”
He suffered once more from the penalty of ignorance.
Every item among Yuan Zhen’s motley collection was of considerable value—only this one eluded his understanding.
Could it be some sort of substitute artifact?
He first recalled the Death-Substitute Puppet he had seen in the Earth-Rank Vault.
In his estimation, if not that, then it might be some kind of shape-shifting construct.
In any case, he would refine it first and see.
A wisp of spiritual energy flowed into it, vanishing like a stone cast into the sea, eliciting no response.
After a moment’s thought, Song Yan extended a tendril of divine sense and pressed it to the crown of the wooden puppet.
In that instant, he felt a tremendous pull, as though something were drawing his divine sense inward.
The sensation was familiar—once before, when he had first entered the Two Principles World, it had felt precisely the same.
He yielded to the suction, allowing his consciousness to be swept in.
His awareness remained lucid, yet the scene before his eyes transformed in a flash.
Song Yan now found himself surrounded by a vast and empty expanse.
High above, six golden sword lights descended from the firmament like falling stars, each one radiating an entirely different aura.
Some were condensed and restrained, their edge kept within.
Others surged with overwhelming grandeur, bearing the power to cleave jade and sunder gold.
“This…”
Song Yan squinted toward the distant sky, where a young-looking monk sat cross-legged, suspended amid the heavens.
Gale winds roiled around him, yet the monk’s kasaya stirred only faintly.
His eyes were shut, his hands forming a lotus seal, his brow tightly knit.
Just as Song Yan puzzled over what he beheld, the monk let out a long sigh. Even Song Yan felt the weight of that sorrowful emotion.
“A hundred years of watching swords, and I glimpse but one void. How clumsy.”
Though the monk appeared exceedingly distant, his voice reached Song Yan’s ears with perfect clarity.
At the same moment, the six descending sword lights before Song Yan transformed into golden runes, swirling and converging in midair, gradually taking shape into what appeared to be a scripture.
And between the six streams of sword light, the small wooden figure materialized.
The puppet moved in slow, deliberate motions—now raising an arm, now forming a seal, now flicking its five fingers.
Its movements grew faster and faster, faster still, until they blurred into afterimages that Song Yan could no longer follow.
He was about to focus his divine sense, seeking to comprehend the mystery within, when his consciousness shuddered violently.
Hummm—
An invisible resistance descended abruptly, as though a thin veil had been drawn before his eyes. No matter how he concentrated his divine sense, he could not perceive the puppet’s movements or the scripture inscriptions floating across the sky.
At the same time, the spiritual energy and sword qi throughout his body grew restless.
Beneath the Town-Dao Sword Manor, sword qi churned, dissipating beyond his control.
Through his meridians, spiritual energy surged in reverse, carrying a dull, piercing ache.
A tremendous repulsive force struck him, and Song Yan’s divine sense was expelled from that void realm by some unseen power.
“Hah—”
He hastily adjusted his breath. Fine beads of sweat glistened on his forehead.
He activated the Qi Condensation Chapter and spent a full half hour in meditation before the discomfort caused by the uncontrolled surge of sword qi and spiritual energy finally subsided.
Emerging from his meditative state, Song Yan slowly opened his eyes and gazed upon the silent wooden puppet sitting before him.
He drew a deep breath and thought, “Could this be a Dharma Transmission Figure?”
He had never seen one in person, but the vision within and the scripture text felt strangely familiar.
In the Records of Immortal Realm Curiosities, there were several accounts of remarkable coincidences.
Tales of how certain cultivators had obtained extraordinary opportunities, received unprecedented inheritances, and gone on to glorious immortal paths.
Among them were mentioned several objects called “Dharma Transmission Artifacts.”
These were special magical artifacts used in the cultivation world to transmit techniques and secret arts. They were typically forged by high-level cultivators to preserve core legacies or esoteric divine powers.
Dharma Transmission Artifacts were mostly created by major sects for their core disciples to study and comprehend.
Some were forged by powerful rogue cultivators, hidden within caves or ruins to await a destined inheritor. These transmission artifacts often tested the comprehension or temperament of their successor.
For instance, the transmission scrolls described in the Records—paintings that contained techniques within a realm of vivid illusion, requiring the cultivator to unravel the mysteries within through extraordinary comprehension before receiving the inheritance.
Or the sound-cultivator transmissions unlocked through specific melodies. Even the sword stele within the Two Principles Bead could be considered a form of transmission artifact.
Only this one used a wooden puppet as its vessel.
Transmission artifacts could not only reveal the full scope of scriptures, techniques, and secret arts to the practitioner, but could even convey a measure of the original transmitter’s own comprehension of the Dao.
They were exceedingly rare.
Yet that he had ultimately failed to comprehend the profound mysteries within, Song Yan could make a fair guess.
His divine sense had been just barely sufficient to perceive the contents, but his cultivation realm was far too low. To force comprehension would only trigger a dual backlash of sword qi and spiritual energy, endangering his life.
Hence the Dharma Transmission Figure had ejected him.
This, too, was a form of protection for the practitioner.
And the minimum threshold required to cultivate this method, he surmised, was Foundation Establishment.
The reasoning was simple.
Ever since visiting the Sword Sect ruins, and in light of his many prior observations, Song Yan had come to suspect something.
In the Central Domain and among ancient sects such as the Sword Sect, “Foundation Establishment” was essentially the starting point of cultivation.
The Sword Sect forbade its disciples from leaving before Foundation Establishment. The Thousand Pill Formulas began compilation from the “lowest grade” Foundation Establishment Pill.
All signs pointed to the fact that cultivators at the Qi Refining Stage did not yet warrant serious consideration.
Unlike in Chu Kingdom and elsewhere, where a mid-stage Qi Refining cultivator could already roam the world and be treated as an Immortal Master by mortals.
Thus Song Yan had privately wondered whether Wang Ke might also be a Foundation Establishment cultivator whose cultivation had been sealed.
He simply had no way to confirm it.
This secret technique must have been something Yuan Zhen brought from the Central Domain—requiring at least Foundation Establishment, or perhaps even higher, to cultivate.
Yuan Zhen had not had the chance to practice it himself, and so it had fallen to Song Yan.