Shen Yi brought his divine sense to the jade slip.
Dense, tightly packed small characters at once flooded into his mind. Once he’d digested them all, a line of text quietly appeared on the panel.
【Spirit-Transformation (Rare) · Parting-Flame Heart-Burning Palm, Upper Volume: Not Yet Begun】
“…”
Earlier, hovering in the air for a while and catching the several men’s conversation clearly, Shen Yi had guessed the thing this crowd had come by might be no simple matter. The reason being that Xuanguang Cave had plainly stationed a disciple to guard outside the estate. Zheng Zisheng, alone as he was, had still risked striking to seize it — which meant he was unwilling even to let his fellow disciples learn of the treasure’s existence, wanting to swallow it whole himself.
So it was a half-scroll of a technique exceedingly precious even at the Spirit-Transformation realm.
“A remnant scroll, then.”
Shen Yi turned his gaze to the thick book and opened it. The writing upon it was neat and orderly, with annotations specially made besides. Once he’d finished the preface, Shen Yi roughly understood.
The cave estate’s master had chanced to obtain this technique’s Parting-Flame volume, yet could never find the Heart-Burning volume. Consumed with curiosity, he’d simply set about deriving it himself. It was precisely for this reason that the technique had been left in the loft used for resting — letting this crowd of outsiders pick up the bargain.
Shen Yi steadied his mind and read on, a measure of delight entering his eyes. He couldn’t make much sense of it, but from the notes the estate’s master had left, one could see this technique had already been eighty or ninety percent derived. Only the final finishing work remained.
For him this was as fine a thing as could be. Setting aside the lifespan it saved, with a predecessor’s guidance he’d no longer have it wrongly warped into demon martial arts.
But there was one trouble that could never be gotten around. Whether Mixed Origin martial arts or Spirit-Transformation techniques, all required a spiritual root to even begin.
At the thought, Shen Yi glanced again at Aqing beside him, earnestly sorting the storage pouches. If he’d guessed right, the other’s true name should be Xu Qing’er. That great formation-clan who’d offended Xuanguang Cave, then withdrawn into seclusion with their whole kin. The other’s earlier shift of expression was, in all likelihood, because he knew something about the killing-force peerless-grade spiritual root.
He’d have to think of a way to draw the information out.
Still, a power like this, one that had suffered a loss at outsiders’ hands — once bitten by a snake, ten years in fear of a coiled rope — winning their trust wouldn’t be easy. Shen Yi hadn’t for a moment considered using some base method. Back in Baiyun County, life and death uncertain, he hadn’t turned the long saber in his hand on Lin Baixi to force her to hand over a technique. And now that he had some power to protect himself, why do things to disgust himself? Besides, Xuanguang Cave had seized over a hundred of the Xu clan, and to this day hadn’t managed to find them for revenge — a power this cautious, how could grabbing one little girl ever force them to yield, and offend the other party for nothing besides.
Take it slow.
“Grandmaster Shen, look at this!”
Aqing lifted his head in delight, a small, exquisitely shaped furnace cupped in his palms. “It’s a Wutong Mountain spirit-gathering furnace! Its value rivals a treasure!”
“What’s a spirit-gathering furnace?” Shen Yi looked over in puzzlement.
“It’s one of Wutong Mountain’s untransmitted secrets. It can gather the qi of heaven and earth to aid cultivation, and only their Perfected Masters may enjoy its use; on occasion they’ll bestow one on a registered disciple they think well of… Eh, how would it be in a Xuanguang Cave disciple’s storage pouch?”
Aqing blinked, seeming to catch on to something, and hurriedly put the thing back into a storage treasure. It was a scalding-hot potato.
Shen Yi raised an eyebrow likewise. If he remembered right, the last time he’d heard of a Wutong Mountain registered disciple being cut down, the one who did it — that Blood-Transmuting Demon Emperor — had, it seemed, been hunted most wretchedly for it.
“You look at the other things first.”
He reached out and took the storage pouch, steering around the topic. “If you were that Perfected Master Zhang, where would you go once you’d entered the estate?”
“That, is it…”
Aqing dared not be careless and set to thinking in earnest. The Grandmaster surely meant to avoid that Perfected Master; should he point out the wrong path, he might well land the man in great trouble.
“The most important thing in a cave estate is nothing but the treasure-storing pavilion, but Xuanguang Cave once explored here and learned this estate’s master was an artifact-smith, so in all likelihood he’ll go take a look over there.” Aqing pointed toward a certain spot. “The spare hours from forging treasures would be just right for coming to this loft for a rest. And this direction is where the fire-qi of the whole great formation runs most vigorous — enter from here, and it should be the estate master’s artifact-forging workshop.”
He went on. “If you want to avoid Xuanguang Cave, actually you could leave right now, because neither the forging workshop nor the treasure-storing pavilion is something that can be cracked open in a mere few days.”
Shen Yi looked toward the direction Aqing pointed. Apart from mountains, water, and white clouds, he could make out nothing at all.
Each craft has its specialist. Beyond raising his realm, it was about time he learned something else too, or in the future he’d easily be made a fool of, taken for a brute with nothing but crude strength.
He dipped his chin lightly, and gave the distant Chen Zhong a look in passing, then swept off that way with Aqing in tow.
“Senior…”
Chen Zhong, truthfully, wasn’t much willing to press deeper inside. A vague, ill premonition stirred in his heart. The Thousand Demon Den had plainly come prepared, its target most likely Zhang Mingyang. Those several demon kings from before might have been mere foils. To cut down a Spirit-Transformation-realm Perfected Master, there was surely a demon emperor involved — and one confident of crushing Zhang Mingyang outright.
To take ten thousand steps back, even without the Thousand Demon Den — once Zhang Mingyang saw him, by long custom, Chen Zhong would forever be the one to scout the road ahead. Quite a few of Great Qian’s Grandmasters had fallen just this way. It was only that Chen Zhong’s realm was a shade deeper, his experience more seasoned, that he’d managed to crawl on living to this day.
“So be it.”
Away from home, out in the world, one wasn’t one’s own master. The old man shook his head and drove his path infant to full power to follow.
“…”
So it wasn’t to avoid them after all?
Aqing, gripped by the back of the collar, was blown swaying this way and that by the wild wind rushing at him. He’d actually wanted to say that he too had a cloud-riding treasure. But stealing a glance up at Shen Yi’s calm profile, he simply shut his mouth. Never mind Grandmaster Shen’s silence and few words — once he got moving, he wasn’t the least bit courteous; better for him to keep quiet.
Once he’d grown used to this manner of travel, he looked around curiously, then said softly, “Grandmaster Shen, we’re almost there.”
Shen Yi dipped his chin slightly and swiftly put away Red Cloud, dropping downward. A wave of his hand, and a cloak black as ink draped over his body.
The gains of a spiritual root plus a technique had, in fact, already left him fairly satisfied; the reason he pressed deeper was only to see whether he might pick up a windfall. Should he happen upon a gravely wounded demon emperor… that harvest would be far more precious than any treasure.
“You should have something on you to conceal your presence?” Shen Yi glanced sidelong.
“I do!”
Aqing began rifling through his storage pouch again. Soon he took out three palm-sized formation-plates, handing them to Shen Yi and Chen Zhong behind, and taught the two how to use them.
Shen Yi had Qinghua’s cloak, but a means of concealing one’s presence was hardly a thing one could have too much of. Best of all to hide himself away entirely.
“This… my thanks.”
Chen Zhong took the formation-plate and swept a glance over it. His pupils suddenly contracted. He seemed to have recognized something, and stole a glance at Aqing — but as though constrained by Shen Yi’s presence, he decisively buried the guess in his heart.
(End of Chapter 265)