Chapter Thirty-Four: The Height of Heaven’s Equal (Two-in-One)

"Shape-Grass Sword?"

Princess Prajna’s expression was inscrutable. Among the Ten Paths of the Demonic Sect, the "Path of Annihilation" consisted of the most terrifying groups of madmen—figures feared even by other practitioners. These lunatics were purely insane, acting without regard for friend or foe, and following no discernible pattern. Even fellow members of the Demonic Sect approached them with extreme caution, lest they be slaughtered simply for stepping forward with their left foot first.

Yet, their indiscriminate nature extended to themselves as well. Often, one would find that a follower of the "Path of Annihilation" had already self-destructed before they could even be located. In the grand scheme of things, the danger posed by the "Path of Annihilation" was far less than that of the other nine paths. The truly terrifying ones were those who retained their reason—the few who remained clear-headed.

Shape-Grass Sword was one of them. No one knew his real name; since his emergence, the sword art he practiced had become his name. The concept of "Shape-Grass" was defined by a single principle: "Those who possess no self and align with the Dao view form as grass and wood, and being hewn as a forest." Simply put, there were only two types of people in his world: fellow travelers of the Dao, and ants. If one did not align with his path, they were not human, but weeds and rotting wood, fit to be plucked or felled at will. As for himself, unless he encountered a bottleneck in his sword path, he would never classify himself among the weeds.

Regrettably, Shape-Grass Sword was a genius of the sword. Though only thirty-seven years old, this man, obsessed with the sword, had already reached the Third Rank, the "Great Mansion" realm. Such "Path of Annihilation" followers, whose intent for self-destruction was minimal, were the truly dangerous ones. In recent years, many experts of the Great Wei had perished due to his extreme pursuit of the sword, not to mention the common folk accidentally caught in the wake of the Demonic Sect's operations. He was, arguably, the sharpest and most useful blade in the Sect’s arsenal.

"A Demonic Sect expert of this caliber would surely have the ‘Six Ministries Star Lords’ conceal his trail. How did he know Shape-Grass Sword was in the west of the city?" Princess Prajna stared at the paper in her hand, her invisible gaze sweeping over every character.

Nearby, Qing Jian saw her fall into a long silence and asked, "Princess, is something amiss?"

Princess Prajna looked up, realizing that even Qing Jian could not decipher the information contained within. Many of the materials mentioned were not just rare; they were extremely obscure. Ordinary people had never even heard their names, let alone notice the typos hidden among them. While this might have been a precaution against the Demonic Sect or the Prince of the North, the fact that her personal maid could not be trusted left the Princess feeling deeply displeased. She had originally kept Qing Jian by Gu Fangchen’s side to monitor him, but by pulling this stunt, Gu Fangchen was undoubtedly sending a warning: he had countless ways to transmit information right under Qing Jian’s nose that she would never comprehend!

"This fellow’s paranoia is perhaps even worse than the Saint of War’s..." Princess Prajna sneered. If so, the probability that this man was an old monster reincarnated had increased significantly. "He wants me to work for him without revealing a single clue about the holy object. This is no way to play a game of ‘empty-handed wolf-catching’."

She was about to put the paper down and order Qing Jian to go to the west of the city to verify the information. As for when to strike… killing a Third-Rank Demonic expert was no easy feat.

"Qing—"

The Princess had barely uttered a syllable when her face changed, and she picked up the paper again. Perhaps it had been too long, or perhaps she had intentionally forgotten. She hadn't realized until now that one of the herbs listed existed only in the ancient Kingdom of Garuda. And that kingdom had long since fallen. How could a Central Plains native know of a herb unique to Garuda? She remembered every face and every person who lived in Garuda back then; there was no practitioner with a personality like Gu Fangchen’s.

Princess Prajna’s expression shifted, and finally, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She stood up from her couch.

"Princess?" Qing Jian asked, puzzled.

Princess Prajna waved her hand, and the paper drifted into Qing Jian’s grasp. "Go to the Three Treasures Temple first. Find the pharmacist and gather these materials for Gu Fangchen."

"Yes," Qing Jian replied respectfully. "And what of Shape-Grass Sword?"

Then, she saw the beautiful woman before her lift her head with a stern, killing intent. A fissure cracked open in the center of the Princess’s forehead, revealing a vertical pupil, like that of a beast or a god, gazing into the distance.

"I shall kill him."

Behind her, a pale, phantom statue of a compassionate Buddha Mother with four arms and a serene face manifested. Two of the Buddha Mother’s hands covered her ears, and the other two were crossed to cover her mouth. Only a pair of eyes remained vivid, as if they had been carved from a living person and embedded into the statue—ancient, solemn, and imbued with immense pressure.

Qing Jian’s eyes widened. All sound around her vanished, replaced only by a grand, celestial roar announcing slaughter. Her expression turned to one of fanatical obsession, and she immediately prostrated herself. There were twenty-two incarnations of the Buddha Mother of Salvation, and only the Saintess could manifest them. What stood before her was the fifteenth incarnation: the Great Silence Tara.

The Great Silence, which meant… slaughter.

***

Shape-Grass Sword sat cross-legged on a simple wooden bed. Outwardly, he appeared as a disheveled wanderer, his frame gaunt and skeletal, his wild, unkempt hair hanging loose, and his cold, sharp eyes radiating defiance. One did not need to open their eyes to know that his gaze surely held a frigid intensity that most could not bear to face. He was like a drawn sword. Even the stray sword qi he emitted was enough to slice human skin.

His sword, lacking a sheath, lay naked across his knees—a plain, unremarkable blade. Its black fish-skin grip was wrapped in dirty white cloth. Only the blade, clear as water, revealed something unusual. It was too bright, too clean, and too new; it bore no marks of axe or chisel, nor any blood stains seeped into its core. It looked like a sword just forged, a newness that made one’s skin crawl.

Perhaps only the ghosts under Shape-Grass Sword’s blade understood why. Shape-Grass Sword was a blade of relentless speed, moving only forward, never retreating. Once a strike was launched, it meant certain death—so fast that even the blade itself could not be stained by blood. Even his opponents were often unable to react in time. Once, a famous old swordsman had challenged him. Shape-Grass Sword had struck only once, stopping the blade at the old man’s neck before turning away. The old man, believing Shape-Grass had admitted defeat, boasted and feasted for three days and nights. Only on the fourth morning, when servants went to wake him, did they find his head had rolled to the floor. The sword had severed his neck four days prior; the flesh had simply held together until he lay down.

Since he began his path, no one had lasted a single exchange before him. As he aligned further with his "Path of Annihilation," he grew stronger, reaching the Third Rank "Great Mansion" realm. He was confident that even among the Second-Rankers of the world, few—save for the Sword Saint and the Life Saint—could survive a single strike from him if caught unprepared. However, he would not strike at a Second-Ranker without absolute certainty, for he only ever struck once.

That was the core of his Dao. Since "those who possess no self and align with the Dao view form as grass and wood," he treated every enemy as such. A light cut, and the grass was severed. If he could not do this, the momentum he had built over the years would collapse. Thus, every operation required the cooperation of the Demonic Sect to ensure he could slay his opponent in one blow.

He had heard that this time, his target was merely a man with no cultivation. Shape-Grass Sword stroked his blade, his heart void of joy or sorrow. To him, non-believers were but weeds. Killing a practitioner or a commoner, a thousand or one—it made no difference. It always took only one strike. He flicked his blade, thinking idly that if he could sing to the sword, it might pass the time, but he had to remain in disguise.

"Hum..." The sword emitted a piercing ring that lingered. Shape-Grass Sword’s lips curled in joy at his partner’s resonance, but soon, the curve of his mouth stiffened. The ringing did not fade; it grew louder. Louder and louder!

"Hum—!"

The sound rose to a pitch of unbearable sharpness. Shape-Grass Sword felt his hair stand on end. He opened his eyes, his expression shifting as he prepared to draw his blade, but the sound vanished instantly. His expression grew grave. No, it wasn't just the ringing… all the sounds in the world had vanished!

Who? Who had struck? Shape-Grass Sword held his breath, gripping his sword tightly, his body tense, trying to sense the presence of an intruder. But there was nothing. How could there be nothing? His face turned ghastly. He looked around, only to find that the straw hut had vanished. Everything around him was pitch black. Not a person, not even a ghost in sight.

When…?! Shape-Grass Sword was horrified. Could it be that General Qianmo had struck, shifting the entire space? But why would the General strike him? It was impossible; there was no conflict between him and the Path of Measurement.

Time ticked by, yet nothing changed. Total silence, total darkness. Where was he? A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced himself to calm down, closing his eyes. Regardless of where he was, he still had one strike! He instinctively reached for his blade, but… he grasped at empty air.

Shape-Grass Sword froze. He looked down. He had no sword. Impossible! No one could take his blade from him without a sound! Fear finally gripped his heart. He looked around, trying to find a way out, but after walking for who knows how long, he looked down again and found that he, too, was gone…

The last shred of his bewildered consciousness dissipated into the Great Silence, melting into the dark.

The Third Rank is known as the Great Mansion Realm. One’s body is like a grand mansion, viewing the masses as ants.
The Second Rank is known as the Heaven-Equal Realm. One’s height is equal to the heavens, viewing the Great Mansion as ants.
That day, Shape-Grass Sword finally understood what a true Second-Ranker was.

***

The servant left the Prince of the North’s estate, turned through three streets, exited the city, and entered a house in the suburbs. When she emerged, she had changed. The frail, honest servant was now an alluring, beautiful woman. This transformation was not her own doing, but a "Substitution Technique" of the Six Ministries Star Lords. By crafting a straw effigy, inserting a thread of karma and one’s own birth date, and burning it, one could replace a person’s existence in the world for a limited time. Even gods would struggle to tell the difference. The price, however, was that the karma could only be used once, and one would fully transform into that person, including their cultivation.

She, in truth, was called Magu. It was not a name, but a code. She served the Master of the "Measurement" Path—General Qianmo—and was skilled in movement techniques, thus responsible for the relay of information and personnel. All such people, regardless of gender, were called Magu. This transaction with the Prince of the North, involving Shape-Grass Sword, was the will of her superiors.

Magu carried a basket of buns, walking gracefully toward the west of the city. In the west of the Imperial Capital lay fields where farmers toiled for the nobility. Shape-Grass Sword was staying in the house she currently inhabited. She pushed open the door and whispered, "My Lord, it is time to strike..."

She took two steps forward, then froze, her face turning pale with terror. Before her, Shape-Grass Sword sat on his bed just as she had left him, head hanging low, silent. But she realized in an instant that the Third-Rank practitioner before her had no life left in him! He was dead!

***

Gu Fangchen washed the paper scraps in four batches, eventually assembling nearly forty orange-quality characters, ten red, and three rainbow-quality. Fortunately, even though he was no longer in the game, the system still provided the prompts associated with his profession. He took a deep breath, arranged the scraps, and began to contemplate.

A moment later, Gu Fangchen felt his body lighten. He opened his eyes to find himself floating in mid-air, looking down at his own meditating body. His eyes flashed.

Success! Divine Path, Eighth Rank, Shell-Exiting Realm!