Chapter Eight: Gazing at the Stars, Enlightened by the Dao

The wildcat arched its back and let out three consecutive tiger roars. Behind it, layers of black shadows manifested, the overlapping phantoms merging into a mighty tiger wreathed in blazing flames. Its beastly eyes glowed crimson like torches, and it strolled idly before Luo Pu and Luo Bin, betraying not the slightest regard for the two Nascent Soul cultivators.

Hong Wu watched the flaming, crimson-clouded tiger scrutinizing Luo Pu and Luo Bin, a smug smile playing at the corners of his lips. He knew the wildcat before him must have had its strength suppressed, shifting from a state of shadow to its current feline form. Yet Hong Wu could sense that the tiger's true power had reached the very peak of the mid-Nascent Soul stage.

At such a level, a beast of this realm would far surpass a cultivator of equal rank. Hong Wu marveled inwardly, realizing that the actual strength of this beast was likely on par with his own.

"Luo Pu," Hong Wu called, cradling the unconscious Jiang Pingchuan under the willow tree, "you injured Pingchuan today, yet I shall not make it difficult for you. Leave behind ten Body-Cleansing Pills and ten Spirit-Gathering Pills, and you may go."

Little Jiang Pingchuan, his fair face streaked with blood from all seven apertures, looked almost ferocious in his pallor.

"Hong Wu, don't push us too far, you—"

"Roar!"

Luo Bin, infuriated by Hong Wu's demand, was well aware that the entire Yuanwu Continent now suffered from a dire resource shortage. Every sect hoarded their treasures for their most gifted disciples, and Hong Wu's sudden request for twenty pills was simply unacceptable.

Yet before Luo Bin could finish, the tiger's eyes flashed coldly and it roared at him. The sheer force sent Luo Bin's face twisting in pain as he was hurled across the ground, crashing into a willow tree. He stared at the black tiger, eyes wide with terror.

"Wait!" Seeing the black tiger turning toward him, Luo Pu hastily sheathed his iron sword and respectfully cupped his fists to the beast. The black tiger, puzzled, halted mid-stride and looked at Luo Pu, who was inwardly relieved.

"Senior Tiger, you are alone and unfamiliar with Yuanwu Continent. I, Luo Pu, would like to invite you to Sword Sect as a revered guest. What do you think?" Luo Pu sneaked a glance at the unresponsive black tiger, secretly delighted. If he could indeed bring this tiger into Sword Sect as a guardian, he might just unify the entire North with its power.

"Roar!"

The black tiger roared at Luo Pu. The defensive shield Luo Pu had prepared activated just in time, and though the roar sent him stumbling back, he remained unharmed.

"Boy, I killed your disciple, and you still want to invite me as a guardian? Utterly ridiculous." The black tiger bared its saber-like teeth in a chilling laugh, its voice thunderous and compelling. Luo Pu's face turned ashen as he glared at the beast.

"So it was you who killed my nephew Ma Huifeng?" Luo Pu drew his iron sword, his aura surging as he leveled the blade at the tiger, voice icy.

"Indeed it was I. How could your nephew, a mere child not even at the first stage of Qi Refinement, have killed himself? You mean to fight me for real, is that it?"

The black tiger snorted, and within a hundred-mile radius, dark clouds gathered and all birds and beasts hid in their nests, not daring to breathe or make a sound. Countless wandering spirits sank deep into hiding, while the flames consuming the tiger only grew fiercer. Luo Pu stared at the beast as if faced with a deathly messenger from the infernal abyss.

"Friend," Hong Wu called, activating his arts to shield himself and Jiang Pingchuan, "if Luo Pu hands over twenty pills, would you spare his life?"

The aura emanating from the tiger felt oddly familiar to Hong Wu, though he could not recall where he had encountered such a beast before.

The black tiger turned to glance at Hong Wu and nodded. It thudded its paw against the ground, then extended its palm toward Luo Pu. After a brief hesitation, five razor-sharp claws shot out, slicing Luo Pu's iron sword into six pieces. Luo Pu, staring at the hilt left in his hand, felt his mouth go dry.

He swallowed, blinked, tossed aside the hilt, and, wincing in pain, produced twenty pills, placing them in the tiger's paw. The black tiger grinned, baring its fangs, and tossed the pills to Hong Wu, then gestured for Luo Pu and Luo Bin to stand together with their backs to it. Perplexed but wary, Luo Pu helped Luo Bin to his feet, and the two stood with their backs to the tiger, feeling a chill run down their spines as a fierce wind swept over them.

"Roar!"

"Boom!"

The black tiger struck both men squarely on the back. They had barely activated their defensive arts before the tiger's blow shattered their shields. Blood spurted from their mouths as, battered and broken, they fled at top speed back toward Sword Sect.

"Thank you, friend," Hong Wu said, putting away the pills and hoisting Jiang Pingchuan onto his back, bowing to the tiger. The beast gazed at him with a complex expression.

Hong Wu was momentarily stunned by the look in its eyes. The black tiger raised its head, let out a mournful howl, and its body shattered and vanished from the world, leaving only a fat cat behind—yellow and white fur, plump and round as a fluffy ball, eyes glowing red, and posture languid. Hong Wu reached out and rubbed the fat cat's head, and a sudden memory flickered through his mind.

He tried to grasp the memory, but it slipped away as if it had never been. Rising to his feet, Hong Wu gazed at the distant sky. He felt his connection to that place growing weaker and weaker.

Something had happened there; he would have to abandon this identity. With a bitter smile, he carried Jiang Pingchuan and the fat cat, step by step, toward Maoshan Dao beneath the setting sun. He knew that, in the end, one must rely on oneself, and with the connection severed, he was free from further restraint.

In the dead of night, Jiang Pingchuan awoke, got out of bed, and sat cross-legged on the stone steps at the door, reflecting on all that had happened during the day. He realized that without protection, he would be helpless at the foot of the mountain.

His brother, Jiang Yulong, had comprehended the Dao by the age of four and cultivated his first wisp of spiritual energy, while Pingchuan had spent his whole life in play, never able to devote himself to cultivation. Sitting on the steps, he took out the ancient book given to him by the ancestral master, and produced two pills: one Body-Cleansing, one Spirit-Gathering. The other eighteen he had already given to his brother, keeping just two to test his own luck.

If he was not suited for cultivation by nature, taking more pills would only be a waste. But Jiang Yulong was different—his cultivation soared ever higher, already at the second stage of Qi Refinement, a height Pingchuan could only dream of attaining.

Jiang Pingchuan opened the ancient book, glanced at it, and made his way along the old path to the bronze lion statue in front of Maoshan Dao’s main hall. He spread the book open beneath the statue, dipped his sleeve into the large stone vat nearby until it was soaked through, then stood before the book and began to trace the symbols from its pages onto the blue stone slabs, using his wet sleeve as a brush.

As time passed, he had transcribed more than half the symbols. Bathed in the moonlight, his small figure shimmered with hints of purple mist.

After copying half the book, Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes grew bloodshot and he felt his body slip beyond his own control, frantically tracing the remaining symbols at a feverish pace. His sleeve was worn to shreds, and soon he was using his bare fingers to scratch the characters into the stone.

As his fingertips wore down, his face turned ever paler. He wanted to stop, but every time the thought arose his mind was wracked with pain. Gritting his teeth, he let his body continue—now writing the latter half of the book’s symbols in his own blood.

When he finally finished the last symbol, hope flickered in his eyes. Yet his body refused to stop. The characters he wrote spread across the slabs, his body trembling as he felt all his blood being drawn into the stones beneath his feet. Exhaustion battered his mind, his eyes wide and veined as he watched his hands reduced to nothing but palms. Just as he thought death was near, he abruptly regained control of his body.

Raising his head, he saw the thousand slabs before him—he had filled them with symbols, yet now, under the moonlight, not a single mark remained except for one character at his feet. With a bitter laugh, he collapsed to his knees, head bowed to stare at the solitary symbol left behind.

Decree!

“Decree!”

In a hoarse voice, he read aloud the only character remaining. Instantly, the blood-red symbol soared into the air, transforming into a purple-gold light that shot to the center above the thousand stone slabs, spinning rapidly.

In that moment, thousands of characters emerged from the slabs, glowing golden as they rose and circled the decree, ringing out like bells. Jiang Pingchuan stared blankly at the spectacle, and only then did he realize he was standing at the very center of the swirling symbols.

He sat cross-legged, gazing upward at the myriad characters as they spun faster and faster, leaving layer upon layer of afterimages. He heard the whirring of their motion and the rush of wind, but gradually the afterimages faded, the sounds vanished, and before him stretched the boundless starry sky.

Countless stars in Jiang Pingchuan’s vision transformed into characters, endlessly forming new combinations and new constellations. He felt as though a sea of stars revolved within his body, mirroring whatever star-patterns he saw before his eyes.

Amid the myriad stars, he spotted a purple-gold star radiating a strange light, hurtling toward him. He wanted to dodge, but could not move; he watched helplessly as the purple star plunged into his brow. Unseen, within his forehead, a purple-gold decree character glimmered with a ghostly red light before slowly fading away into his skin.

Jiang Pingchuan felt a burning heat in his mind, as though he were plunging into a sea of molten lava, tormented by hellish flames. His eyes transformed, layers of purple irises overlapping, and within the infinite river of stars, a cold current surged into his body.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, his face contorting. He sensed a new meridian inside him, one he had never known, expanding and devouring his original channels, nourished by two surging streams of energy. Yet his body could barely withstand the power flooding through this new vessel. Blood seeped from his seven apertures as his very structure began to change; his old meridians were entirely replaced and consumed.

He could feel the transformation within. A vital energy coursed through him. He reached out and touched the void before him, feeling a tremendous resistance. His fingers brushed the circle of characters, and sparks flew. He clenched his small hand.

With a resounding crack, all the symbols around him shattered, and the stars above shifted. Jiang Pingchuan rose, gazing at the endless night sky, its myriad stars mirrored in his purple eyes.

He lifted a hand, palm up, and flicked his wrist. Instantly, the stars began to tremble and twist, as if he alone could alter their course. In the distant, infinite sky, the image of a calm-faced skull appeared. The empty skull revealed no other sign or omen. Jiang Pingchuan watched the skull formed by the twisting stars, smiled faintly, closed his eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.