Chapter Eighty-Four: The Stupa Art

A gaunt old man sat cross-legged on the ground, clutching a clod of stale rice. Then who had the man at the city gate been at the beginning? Jiang Pingchuan stared at the old man on the ground, and the old man stared back at him.

A glimmer had flashed through those once-cloudy eyes, only to be swallowed up again by the murk. Jiang Pingchuan’s brow furrowed. Suddenly, he whirled around and clamped a hand hard around Fu’s throat from behind.

The blade in Fu’s hand had been a hair’s breadth away from Jiang Pingchuan’s throat. Fu’s face flushed red as he was throttled, but he said nothing. The sharp knife slipped from his grasp and hit the floor. Seeing Fu’s trembling lips, Jiang Pingchuan released his grip.

Fu dropped to his knees before him, clutching his throat and gasping for breath. Jiang Pingchuan looked down at him expressionlessly, fists slowly tightening.

In that instant, Fu had used some unknown method to conceal the killing intent of the dagger in his hand. A heartbeat later, and Jiang Pingchuan would have had his throat pierced.

“Hey, hey, don’t kill him, don’t kill him,” the old man on the floor cried, stretching out a hand to seize Jiang Pingchuan’s clenched fist and shaking it lightly, chains rattling all the while.

Jiang Pingchuan lowered his head and looked at the deranged old man on the ground. He could not tell whether this foul old creature was truly mad or merely pretending madness to set a trap for him.

“Why shouldn’t I kill him? Has he treated you well?” Jiang Pingchuan asked curiously, ignoring the kneeling Fu entirely.

The old man could only grin foolishly and shake his head, then nod eagerly again and again.

“I’ll kill him for you. How about that?”

Still smiling, Jiang Pingchuan looked at the old man. At those words, the old man’s face suddenly stiffened with anger, then twisted strangely, and he nodded frantically, as if agreeing that Jiang Pingchuan should help him kill Fu.

“Kill him, kill him—no, if you kill him, I’ll kill you! Heh-heh, hurry, hurry and kill him for me!”

The old man let go of Jiang Pingchuan’s hand and flailed wildly toward Fu on the ground, but his movements were constrained by four iron chains and he could not reach him.

Jiang Pingchuan crouched down, patted the old man on the shoulder, and raised a finger to his lips, signaling him to be quiet.

The old man froze, suddenly alert. His eyes darted restlessly over Jiang Pingchuan before he clumsily copied the gesture, pressing a finger to his own lips and hushing himself.

After soothing the old man, Jiang Pingchuan turned to Fu before him. He patted Fu’s face, motioning for him to raise his head. Fu obeyed and met Jiang Pingchuan’s gaze.

“Speak. What is going on here? Who is the one outside?”

Jiang Pingchuan studied Fu’s face, now returned to normal. He probed carefully and found no trace of a cultivator’s aura on him whatsoever, yet everything that had happened here was deeply strange.

“He is Master Gong. The real Master Gong. The one outside is... the one outside is...”

Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes narrowed. “The one outside is your father, isn’t he?”

Fu stared blankly at him, then began kowtowing furiously. Jiang Pingchuan steadied his shoulders and looked at the blood on his forehead, shaking his head.

“Why?”

He could not understand why Fu’s father would imprison Master Gong here, or why he would take on Master Gong’s appearance. By rights, Fu’s father should have been the old steward of the Gong household and ought not to have done such a thing.

But the facts were plain: everything had unfolded contrary to reason. Master Gong had been imprisoned here and tormented by his own steward, while that steward roamed freely outside, living in comfort and ease.

“My father was bewitched for a moment. He meant no harm. Please, don’t kill him,” Fu said, agitated beyond measure. Then, on his knees, he crawled over to Master Gong, seized his hand, and shook it desperately, pleading for the old man to spare his father. Master Gong babbled madly, nodding and shaking his head in confusion.

“Evil men fear neither man nor heaven; the good are oppressed by men but not by heaven.”

Jiang Pingchuan rose, left those words behind, and walked out of the wood-shed. Fu watched his retreating figure, sorrow flooding his eyes, and buried his face deeply against his knees. Master Gong chuckled softly and patted Fu’s head, as if to comfort him.

Once outside the wood-shed, Jiang Pingchuan headed for the main hall of the Gong estate. Standing there, he scanned the room. He was searching for his purple skull. He could sense that it was somewhere within the Gong residence.

It was a safeguard left to him by another self, something that must never be lost, nor ever be allowed into the hands of others, lest its hidden heavenly thunder be unleashed.

After sensing it for some time, the aura of the purple skull suddenly vanished without a trace. Just as Jiang Pingchuan was about to turn and leave, its presence abruptly swelled again, rich and vivid.

He turned sharply. Behind him stood Master Gong, smiling as he held Jiang Pingchuan’s skull, studying it with relish.

“Have you looked enough?” Jiang Pingchuan asked in a low voice.

In Master Gong’s hands, the purple skull was no longer its pure original violet; faint streaks of black now coiled around its surface. Hearing Jiang Pingchuan, Master Gong looked up, frowned, then smiled at him again.

“Pingchuan, I must admit you are a very unusual man. Your entire body is a treasure.”

Master Gong spoke with a sly, uncanny tone, greed burning in his eyes. The Master Gong before him had already been blinded by his own desire.

“There’s no need for more nonsense. Shouldn’t we settle our account now?”

Jiang Pingchuan turned both hands over. The eight dao crystals within his body hummed as they spun violently, and the aura around him instantly swelled.

As his power rose, Jiang Pingchuan could clearly feel a tremendous force pressing down from the sky above, suppressing him and forbidding him from breaking through its restraints.

He slowly exhaled and kept his strength at the peak of the early foundation realm. In Changfeng Continent, that was the highest level of power. And when the eighth dao crystal manifested again, Jiang Pingchuan could firmly raise himself to the peak of early foundation establishment.

Yet he knew that he was still in the qi-refining realm, or rather, at the eighth level of qi refinement. That level of strength was already enough to contend with a normal cultivator at the peak of early foundation establishment.

And with the techniques in the Myriad Methods Scripture that he could currently cultivate, Jiang Pingchuan could face cultivators of the same rank without falling behind at all.

Master Gong raised a hand to withstand the aura surging from Jiang Pingchuan. It was far too violent; if he did not resist, his soul might be wounded by it.

With a cold snort, Master Gong looked at Jiang Pingchuan, who was now in perfect condition, and waved a large hand. Behind him, a scene appeared.

Seeing the images flicker across that luminous screen, Jiang Pingchuan ceased his movements and halted his technique, standing still as he looked at everything within the light.

Inside the screen, Fox Charm was bound to a pillar and being whipped mercilessly. Her face was bloodless and twisted with pain. Beside her stood two more stone pillars.

Fastened to them were Lan Dao and another woman Jiang Pingchuan did not recognize. All three were injured to varying degrees.

Jiang Pingchuan clenched his fists tightly and ground his teeth as he looked at the self-satisfied smile on Master Gong’s face.

“What do you want?” he asked.

His eyes turned silver as he fixed a deadly stare on Master Gong. A pale ripple pattern flowed around the silver robe on his body; it was the robe’s defensive barrier.

Master Gong watched him and shook his head with a smile.

“I don’t want much. As long as you are willing to hand over your soul to me, I will release them. How about it?”

Still smiling, he looked at Jiang Pingchuan. He now held Jiang Pingchuan’s weakness in his hand and did not fear that Jiang Pingchuan would refuse to obey.

“You want me to be your puppet? Do you know who Lan Dao is? If you lay a hand on him, don’t think you’ll leave Changfeng Continent alive.”

Jiang Pingchuan stared at the light screen behind Master Gong. Lan Dao within it was cursing continuously, his face contorted with rage. Fox Charm was the most grievously injured of the three, already on the verge of losing consciousness.

Jiang Pingchuan’s mind raced. The soul-seizing chapter of the Myriad Methods Scripture flashed through his thoughts. He needed a technique capable of controlling his own soul if he wished to survive.

Otherwise, even if he became this Master Gong’s puppet today, the three in the screen might still not be spared, no matter what promise the old man made.

“So what if he’s a prince? There are plenty who want him dead. Killing him would earn me a token of loyalty, and I imagine there would be many eager to recruit me.”

Master Gong chuckled smugly. In Jiang Pingchuan’s mind, three golden characters surfaced: the Buddha Pagoda Scripture. It was the only technique in the Myriad Methods Scripture that Jiang Pingchuan could cultivate with the strength of peak early foundation establishment.

Jiang Pingchuan closed his eyes and felt the Buddha Pagoda Scripture take hold, and little by little, his soul began to drift.

Master Gong, however, had no idea what Jiang Pingchuan was doing. But he was not in a hurry. He knew Jiang Pingchuan would certainly agree to his demand.