Chapter Sixty-Six: Master Xiaoshan Stages a Play, the Lame Taoist Draws a Prison on the Ground

Clouds began to rise over the stream as the sun sank behind the pavilion, and the wind swept through the building in anticipation of an impending mountain storm.

Grandmaster Xiaoshan suddenly appeared behind Jiang Wanyi. Her flying sword had lost all its force and could no longer shield her.

Xiaoshan’s blade was about to sweep across Jiang Wanyi’s pale neck. Song Mo closed his eyes, unable to witness the bloody scene about to unfold.

“She’s dead. This time she’s truly doomed,” muttered Xia Yu, despair written all over his face. Their powerful ally was about to be slain, and yet, wounded as he was, he could do nothing to help.

Tang Yi’s expression was cold and severe. He silently pressed his hands to the Soul Gate and Spirit Hall acupoints on his body. A faint crimson glow flickered in his eyes.

“Brother—” Zhao Yueshu started to protest, but Shu Mingli, standing beside her, quickly caught her arm.

Zhao Yueshu looked up to see Shu Mingli give her a meaningful glance. She bit her lip, holding back her words.

She knew in her heart that Jiang Wanyi’s status was different from Song Mo and Tang Yi’s. Song Mo was a mere corpse handler, an insignificant subordinate of the Demon Suppression Division. Tang Yi, at best, had some mysterious connection to the Division. But Jiang Wanyi was an official third-rank Demon Suppressor, certified and true.

Since they had already crossed her, they had made an enemy of the Demon Suppression Division, no matter what.

“Perhaps my brother is right after all,” Zhao Yueshu thought, unable to watch any longer. She turned away, resting her head gently on Zhang Xiaoguang’s shoulder.

Yet she could feel Zhang Xiaoguang trembling ever so slightly. He was afraid—terrified.

“Zhang, are you more afraid of my brother, or of me?” Zhao Yueshu closed her eyes, tears running in silent streams.

“In the next life, may you be born into a kinder family.” The wicked grin vanished from Xiaoshan’s face as she brought her blade down.

“Boundless Celestial Venerable!” A resounding shout, filled with true energy, thundered from the garden’s pavilion.

Xiaoshan’s blade halted, hanging in the air less than half an inch from Jiang Wanyi’s fair neck.

“That voice is so familiar…” Song Mo’s eyes snapped open. He felt certain he’d heard it before.

Everyone turned to look. An old Daoist in a tattered gray robe limped into view, his gait awkward and uneven.

“It’s you—the Lame Daoist!” Song Mo couldn’t help but cry out when he saw the old man’s face.

Tang Yi, seeing the Lame Daoist arrive, quietly withdrew his hands from his acupoints. The crimson in his eyes faded away, leaving them their normal hue.

“So, the Lame Daoist, you have come at last!” Xiaoshan showed no mercy, shoving Jiang Wanyi aside as she shouted furiously.

“Little Shadow Fiend, after all the slaughter you’ve committed, and this whole performance you’ve orchestrated, if I didn’t show up now, all your efforts would have been wasted.” As the Lame Daoist spoke, he unhooked a wine gourd from his waist and took two hearty swigs, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A performance? What is all this?” Xia Yu muttered irritably.

Song Mo was equally bewildered. He sensed something was wrong, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

Tang Yi frowned, pondering a moment, then his expression suggested he had grasped something.

“You old trickster, you’ve deceived us for a hundred years. Now you dare to walk into our trap? Don’t blame me for showing no mercy!” The composure had vanished from Xiaoshan; she glared furiously, teeth clenched.

With that, Xiaoshan attacked.

Her twin arm-blades burst into demonic flame, leaping three feet high. She moved at a ghostly speed, leaving only flickering afterimages in the air.

Clearly, in her earlier fight with Jiang Wanyi, Xiaoshan had been holding back.

“Very well! Let’s see if you’ve made any progress in a hundred years,” the Lame Daoist said, sipping his wine and smiling calmly.

“Enough talk—face my blades!” Xiaoshan’s form dissolved into a mass of black mist, then split into nine attacking shadows, all surging toward the Daoist.

“Impressive. In a hundred years, you’ve mastered the technique of ninefold duplication. You have improved,” the Daoist observed, watching the nine shadows close in without a trace of panic. In fact, his gaze showed a hint of approval.

“Enough chatter—die!” Xiaoshan’s speed quickened yet again. From nine directions, her blades closed in.

“What a pity. In all this time, you haven’t refined your virtue, only accumulated more malice.” The Daoist wrinkled his brow, then took a sip of wine and sighed. “Very well. Let me cleanse some of that malice for you.”

With that, he spat a mouthful of liquor into the air.

The crystalline wine split into nine, transforming into nine tiny swords, each blazing with crimson fire as they streaked through the air.

“What? That’s—Sword Command?” Jiang Wanyi, standing outside the circle, saw it clearly. The Daoist had not even drawn a sword, yet his skill in turning wine into blades was masterful.

She sensed, too, that his technique was indeed the legendary Sword Command.

The nine flaming swords whistled through the air. Xiaoshan parried with her arm-blades, but within a heartbeat she was defeated.

The swords flashed through the shadows; all nine of Xiaoshan’s duplicates vanished without a trace.

“It’s over?” Song Mo stared in astonishment. Xiaoshan’s forms were all gone; there was no sign of her on the field.

“So that’s how it is.” Jiang Wanyi’s eyes shone with sudden clarity. Though she could not see where Xiaoshan hid, she could still sense her presence.

The observer sees what the participant cannot. Jiang Wanyi was quick-witted, and now she understood how Xiaoshan had countered her myriad swords with the Shadow Duplication technique.

The truth was, Xiaoshan’s nine forms weren’t mere duplicates, but her true self—each and every one.

A shadow has no form, existing only when cast by light; it is both there and not. What, then, is the true self?

With this realization, the look of defeat vanished from Jiang Wanyi’s face, replaced by a renewed and blazing fighting spirit.

As she expected, Xiaoshan slowly returned to her former position.

“Cunning old Daoist, I will never let this rest.” Xiaoshan’s face was dark as she held her blades level and intoned, “Shadow is self; all things are self; Armor of Possession!”

The Shadow Armor technique ignited. Black armor once more enveloped Xiaoshan’s form.

“Enough. I’ve no time for your antics,” the Daoist said, frowning slightly as Xiaoshan prepared to attack again.

“That’s not for you to decide!” Xiaoshan retorted, brandishing her blades and charging forward.

“Still not finished? Hold it right there!” the Daoist snapped, slapping a yellow talisman into the air and reciting, “Spirit Talisman as guide, draw the ground as a prison!”

The talisman hovered above Xiaoshan’s head, glowing with golden light. Instantly, she felt herself freeze, powerless to move.

Before she could react, the talisman exploded, golden fragments settling on the ground to form a shining circle that trapped her inside.

Xiaoshan tried to break free, driving forward with her blades, but the circle repelled her as though it were a wall of ten thousand pounds.

“Cunning old Daoist! If you have the guts, let me out!” Xiaoshan stopped struggling and instead hurled curses at the Daoist.

He ignored her, drinking from his gourd as if nothing had happened.

“Old sir, it’s been a hundred years. Must you still be so domineering?” Zhao Yueshu’s face was frosty, her beautiful eyes fixed on him in anger.

“A hundred years? Could this Daoist be the master from back then?” Song Mo thought, startled by the realization.