Chapter 58: Eliminating Three Evils. Back at Green Leaf Peak.
Song Yan adjusted his breathing and calmed his mind before sinking his divine sense into the Twin Jade World.
At first glance, the small sword formed from the nascent Dao heart had already returned to the Dao seed of the sword.
The original flying sword “Heart Demon” now underwent a tremendous change.
The hilt remained black as ink, but white patterns now appeared upon it.
Faint black flames still flickered and vanished around the hilt.
There was no clear guard between the hilt and blade, only a strand of white spiritual light amidst the ink-black, strikingly conspicuous.
The blade’s blackness dissipated, now pure white and flawless.
Perhaps due to the interplay of black and white within the Twin Jade World, the blade now emitted a faint white glow.
“Fine sword!”
Even though Song Yan knew little about flying swords, the sword’s appearance and texture alone could make him praise it from the bottom of his heart.
Perhaps he had not seen much of the world.
But this sword was right before his eyes, and it was the best sword Song Yan had ever seen.
He controlled his divine sense and walked forward a few steps. The body formed by his divine sense reached out to touch the sword’s hilt.
The moment his divine sense touched the flying sword.
A sudden change occurred.
The faint black flames around the hilt and the strand of white spiritual light within the ink-black hilt surged toward him through his fingertips!
A severe pain erupted from the depths of his soul. His divine sense trembled, and his consciousness began to blur.
“Ugh…”
With a muffled groan, everything before his eyes descended into chaos.
In his last moment of clarity, the black and white winds and clouds within the Twin Jade World shifted violently…
…
…
So painful…
My head hurts so much…
It feels like my skull is splitting apart.
Bzzz–
Forcing himself to endure the discomfort of the ringing in his ears, he with great difficulty opened one eye.
Only after the discomfort subsided somewhat did he slowly open the other eye.
Where is this place…
Looking around, he saw rural farmland, mud and stone walls.
His mind was blurred, and he stumbled forward.
Along the way, he encountered pedestrians and wanted to approach them for answers, but the villagers, upon seeing him, avoided him as if he were a malevolent ghost.
Whispers around him poured into his head, making his already unclear mind even more chaotic.
“That brat from the Zhou family, who is he going to harm today?”
“Make no more noise! Hurry and close the door!”
“…”
At some moment.
Like a ghost returning to life, his mind regained clarity.
This was the Xianyang Township of Xingyi Prefecture in the State of Jin.
His name was Zhou Ziyin.
…
Zhou Ziyin lost his father at a young age. His mother, overcome with grief, fell ill and passed away before she could care for him.
The townspeople pitied his orphaned state and indulged him, but he became wild and unrestrained.
By day, he rode horses through young crops; by night, he got drunk and smashed food stalls. The neighbors dared to be angry but not to speak.
He possessed innate divine strength, and before reaching twenty, his strength was unmatched. He neglected minor details, was fierce and overbearing, and acted on impulse.
At that time, a white‑browed man‑eating tiger plagued the southern Yangshan mountains, and a malicious flood dragon capsized boats and drowned fishermen in the northern Jiangchi.
The people suffered greatly, and so they grouped Zhou Ziyin with the tiger and the dragon, calling them together…
“The Three Evils.”
…
One day, Zhou Ziyin staggered through the market carrying a wine jug and saw an old man weeping at a street corner.
A surge of violent anger rose in his heart. He kicked the wine jug over, and it crashed beside the old man. “Why are you wailing, old man?!”
“Your clamoring disturbs the peace!”
The old man, terrified, shrank back and said, “The white‑browed tiger on South Mountain devoured two more people last night. My only son died without a whole body…” Before he could finish, Zhou Ziyin burst into loud laughter. “Just a beast! Watch me take its head tomorrow!”
The next morning, before the mist had cleared, Zhou Ziyin entered the mountains with a saber.
The tiger’s roar was fierce, shaking the forest and making pine needles rustle.
The white‑browed tiger leaped down from the cliff top, its claws carrying a gust of foul wind as it pounced toward him.
The tiger’s claws tore half his sleeve, leaving three deep wounds.
Zhou Ziyin ignored them completely. In an instant, he countered by hurling a short blade, which pierced the tiger’s eye.
“Roar–“
The beast roared in pain. As it tumbled, he flew onto its back, his iron fists falling like rain, actually shattering the tiger’s skull.
He dragged the tiger’s corpse down the mountain and returned to the township. Pedestrians and villagers along the way were astonished.
“He actually did…”
“The Three Evils are down one, no matter what, it’s a good thing!”
The villagers whispered among themselves, but Zhou Ziyin paid no heed, only feeling the noise was a nuisance.
He dragged the tiger’s corpse to the old man, only to find the old man still weeping and wailing.
“You, old man! Look closely!”
He tossed the tiger’s corpse before the old man. “The evil tiger is slain! Why are you still crying?”
He stared at the old man with wide, angry eyes.
The old man continued to weep. “In the Yang River’s Xuan Pool, a dragon stirs, drowning fishermen and boatmen. My own brother died without a burial place…”
Zhou Ziyin sneered, dropped the tiger’s corpse, turned, and left straight for Xuan Pool.
Ordinary people, upon hearing of the malicious dragon, felt only terror and sorrow.
Zhou Ziyin, however, was full of violent rage, determined to kill it.
That day, at Xuan Pool in the Yang River north of Xianyang Township, the river wind carried a foul stench. The dragon’s scales were like iron, and where its tail swept, boat planks shattered.
Zhou Ziyin leaped into the rushing current with his saber and fought the dragon for three days and three nights.
The river churned as if boiling. Villagers gathered on the banks, burning incense. When the murky waves subsided and no figure was seen, they beat gongs and drums, running to tell one another:
“The Three Evils are all eliminated!”
Who knew that Zhou Ziyin and the dragon had been bobbing up and down, battling in Xuan Pool for three days and three nights, before he finally severed its head.
After three days of battle, Zhou Ziyin felt only hunger.
There was no food to be found, so he used his saber to skin the dragon, pull out its tendons, and eat its flesh and blood raw.
The flesh was warm and nourishing, and he ate his fill.
Inside the dragon’s belly, he found an ancient sword.
This ancient sword had long been steeped in the violent and fierce aura of the flood dragon. Its blade was black, like ink clouds roiling.
Zhou Ziyin laughed toward the sky and rode the dragon’s corpse back down the river.
He was covered in blood and gore, dragging the dragon’s corpse ashore, only to see the townspeople festooned with lanterns and decorations, somewhat bewildered.
Why were they already celebrating before he had even returned?
He walked into the township, and the cheers abruptly stopped as the townspeople fled in panic.
Angry, he grabbed a villager and demanded, “Why do you fear me so?!”
The villager, trembling with fear, replied, “Rumors say Ziyin is dead, and we are celebrating the mutual destruction of the Three Evils!”
Zhou Ziyin stumbled backward, the ancient sword in his hand clattering to the ground.
He looked at his reflection in a puddle—disheveled hair, dirty face, eyes red—and realized he looked even more ferocious than the mountain tiger or the river dragon.
“…”
Outside Xianyang Township, at the Tomb of the Three Evils.
Zhou Ziyin sat desiccated before the tomb, the dragon’s corpse beside him.
The ancient sword was casually thrust into the dragon’s skull.
“A prodigal’s return is worth more than gold; wash your heart and become a sage~”
Suddenly, he heard a singing voice from behind.
He turned to look—it was the weeping old man from the township!
Now dressed in a dark Daoist robe, he poured wine from a gourd. Under Zhou Ziyin’s gaze, the wine seemed to sting his eyes.
The old man’s features shifted, transforming into the appearance of a middle‑aged cultivator.
A streak of spiritual light flew from the wine gourd, turning into a flying sword. He gracefully rose and hovered upon the sword.
“The ancients said, ‘He who hears the Way in the morning may die content in the evening…'”
“Ziyin, would you like to start anew?”