Chapter 22: The Shu Character Messenger (Please Keep Reading)

Beneath the ancient, withered tree stump lay a piece of dead wood, no larger than a palm, darkened with age. Xu Xing stepped forward and reached out his hand. The moment his fingers touched the fragment, he felt as if he had wandered into an immortal realm…

In a haze, Xu Xing regained his senses, though he couldn't quite tell what had transpired. Glancing at the decayed wood in his hand, he slipped it into his Cosmos Pouch. Hang Ri hadn't noticed; he was still kneeling before the sickly tree, chanting incantations under his breath.

When Hang Ri finished his ritual, he turned around, fished out a messenger letter from his own pouch, and addressed the still-startled Xu Xing:

“Stories will always fade, and rumors are washed away by the river of time. Even if you carve your story into stone, there will come a day when mountains crumble and seas dry up. Better to walk your path well. Now, take out your letter and place it upon the growth rings. It's time to climb the mountain and enter Beihai Academy.”

Xu Xing hurriedly produced the damp envelope and handed it to Hang Ri.

“Huh? Why does your letter look different from mine? Aren't you a Sea Messenger too?” Hang Ri asked.

“I don't know. This letter was bestowed upon me by a demon catcher long ago. Is there any difference?” Xu Xing replied, puzzled.

Hang Ri laid both envelopes flat, comparing the diagonal lines and the thickness at the corners—there were minute differences. Drawing a trace of spiritual power from his own refined blood, Hang Ri infused it into his envelope and placed it on the tree stump.

“There are three types of messenger letters,” Hang Ri explained unhurriedly. “The first is the most basic, purely ordinary. Mine is the second type—it carries a sigil. As for the third, it's the Shu Script Messenger, meant for those rare individuals singled out among cultivators.”

As Hang Ri finished speaking, the growth rings on the stump emitted a clear blue radiance, pure and deep as the sky after rain. Each ring shimmered with blue arcs, rising gently and forming a dazzling totem above the stump, lingering for a few seconds before sunlight pierced the envelope.

The writing within the letter seemed to come alive, leaping out, floating in midair, swirling together as if gathering for a purpose.

“What... what is this?” Xu Xing exclaimed, shocked by the strange spectacle.

“Look—this is the spirit of my messenger letter. In a moment, they'll merge. The lush thicket behind the sick tree is just an illusion. You'll see soon enough,” Hang Ri replied.

The characters gradually coalesced into the image of a fan, his mythic weapon, emanating a potent divine aura. A wave of authority radiated from the letter as the fan dissolved into a shower of light, enveloping Hang Ri.

The surrounding trees flickered in the shifting light, and the breaking of the fan shattered the stillness, sending ripples through the air.

Ahead, the space began to twist; the thriving reeds and sedges vanished, and a circular totem, a full fathom wide, materialized, glowing with a luminous green that drew the eye, its destination unknown.

So, the scenery ahead had been an illusion all along!

Bathed in white light, Hang Ri walked calmly to the totem and waited for Xu Xing. “Now it's your turn. I wonder what kind of messenger spirit your letter will summon… It seems a bit like the ordinary kind, but also a bit like mine. A Shu Script Messenger, though, seems unlikely.”

Once more, the growth rings shone with holy brilliance, their luster resplendent. Xu Xing watched, curious, uncertain what his own messenger would reveal.

The writing in his letter escaped, rising and spiraling with astonishing speed—ten times faster than Hang Ri’s before. Hang Ri was struck speechless; he knew immediately what this meant. This was the rarest of all—the Shu Script Messenger, reserved for the chosen few among cultivators.

Each sharply angled character blazed with golden light, swirling together, forging a single, powerful glyph. Hang Ri’s face flushed, his composure lost; he swallowed repeatedly, unable to believe what he was witnessing.

“Hang Ri, what kind of messenger is mine?” Xu Xing asked.

“Damn it, don’t play dumb! I always wondered why the demon catcher would favor you. This is the top-tier Shu Script Messenger!” Hang Ri was so astonished he swore aloud.

“What? This is the best?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Now that you’re entering Beihai Academy, you’d better watch your back…” Hang Ri muttered.

Xu Xing remained calm, his face composed, betraying no emotion—as though storms and tempests were nothing to him.

“You—are you just going to sit there pretending?” Hang Ri fumed at Xu Xing’s lack of reaction.

Think of all those who’d ever been granted a Shu Script Messenger—learning of it would leave them sleepless for generations, perhaps even bringing good fortune to their ancestors’ graves, as if they’d saved the crown prince of Shu in a past life.

Hang Ri couldn’t help but feel the difference between people. When he himself had first discovered his sigil messenger, he’d celebrated all night with four courtesans.

Xu Xing’s indifference only emphasized the contrast.

The characters slowly fused into a majestic Shu glyph, radiating untouchable authority—the very emblem of power, identity, and talent. Gold light streamed from the glyph, its aura dense and impenetrable.

Gradually, the glyph dispersed into golden particles, enshrouding Xu Xing. He felt no particular difference, aside from perhaps an elevated sense of style—otherwise, it seemed useless.

Hang Ri retrieved both letters from the stump and handed Xu Xing’s back to him; the writing within remained, undiminished.

Xu Xing still seemed fascinated.

“Hey, genius, let’s go. This time you’ll make waves. Shu Script Messenger—what incredible luck,” Hang Ri said, envy in his voice. Though he tried to hide it, his jealousy was so intense it was almost visible, as though he’d been left out in the frost of early winter.

“That’s… all?” Xu Xing looked at the envelope and muttered, half expecting some grand reward.

But aside from the protective sheen on the outside and the impressive display, there was nothing else.

“All? You’ve got quite the appetite. Do you know how many people would kill for a Shu Script Messenger?” Hang Ri scolded, hands on his hips.

“Well… so be it,” Xu Xing replied indifferently.

“Come on, let’s get to Beihai Academy,” Hang Ri said.

“Alright, wait a moment. Let me look back at this village. Their plight pains me—let my soul linger here with them a little longer.” Xu Xing pressed his palms together over his heart in silent prayer.

Hang Ri fell silent, waiting where he stood.

Xu Xing glanced back toward the edge of the village, where an old man sat. The man looked robust, and Xu Xing had been watching him for some time. He was different from the others—the only one in the whole village sitting beneath the locust tree in fresh clothes.

For reasons he couldn’t name, Xu Xing’s heart ached deeply.

“Alas, he is a man on the verge of transcendence. He knows his end is near, but with no children to dress him in new clothes, he donned them himself and waits quietly for the day, so his journey to the underworld might be a little smoother.”

A solitary, powerful soul—how could it be that not even a descendant remained to lay him to rest, leaving him to bury himself?