IT WAS TERRIBLY COLD and damp in the cave, the air suffused with the perfume of makeup and the stink of corpse fluids. The ground was littered with scraps of human bone and fabric, and some yet-unconsumed human hearts and eyes were piled on a shallow white plate in the corner. In contrast with this ghastly scene, the center of the cavern held a pile of crimson mats, and upon it a golden bed canopy embroidered with colorful butterflies.
Within the depths of the canopy, a woman in tattered clothes was curled up and wailing piteously. She was delirious and didn't seem to register their arrival.
Yue Chenqing jumped with fear. "How is the rapist a woman?"
No sooner had he spoken than a hand shot out from the pile of red bedding and savagely grabbed the maiden. Before she could so much as scream, that hand dragged her into the billowing red cloth. A pale-skinned man emerged from the bedding and climbed on top of her. As they watched, he fiercely bit the maiden's lips.
Her soul seemed to be sucked out of her in the blink of an eye. Her hands went limp like soft cotton, and her eyes went wide and blank as she died…
After the man took her soul, he turned his head. He had a thin face, with long, slender eyes and slightly sunken cheeks. A few wisps of long black hair dangled at his temples. He was extraordinarily emaciated. This was the true "rapist."
There were a few beats of silence.
"It's you," Mo Xi said.
The man licked his wet lips, then smiled. "Xihe-jun's met me before?"
A pause. "Yes."
They had met before.
Many years ago, on a battlefield of the northern frontier, Mo Xi had been alone and in danger: a pack of demon wolves trained by the Liao Kingdom had surrounded him, leaving him no way out. In the nick of time, a young cultivator clad in green arrived, sword in hand. With sword technique both ethereal and exquisite, he fought alongside Mo Xi—a stranger—and helped him beat back the pack of demon wolves, more than a thousand strong.
Mo Xi had wanted to thank the cultivator before he left, but the man only turned with a smile, his features as gentle as the green ribbon in his hair, fluttering on the breeze.
"It was nothing—I was only passing by." His cheeks were faintly creased with laugh lines. "You need not think on it any further, Officer."
Luminous as the first snow, a righteous and honorable swordsman. That was the Li Qingqian whom Mo Xi had met.
That was also why, even though multiple marks of the Water-Parting Sword had been found on the brothel murder corpses, Mo Xi had been unable to believe it without laying eyes on the man himself.
Murong Lian had seen Li Qingqian's portrait in the records of heroes, and he recognized him now as well. Though briefly stunned, he soon sharply asked, "Why is it you?"
"Who else did you think it would be?" Li Qingqian rose, carelessly kicking Miss Lan's limp corpse to the side as he spoke scornfully. "Did you really think I was that runaway cook?" He bared his teeth. "That fool was nothing more than one of my pawns. If he had half my ability, could you have kept him locked up for so many years?"
When it came to sarcasm, Murong Lian never admitted defeat. After his initial shock passed, the corners of his mouth crooked upward in mockery. "Heh heh, how odd. The Water-Parting Sword, Li Qingqian, is a lofty master whose name is known throughout the land. His reputation has ever been clear and honorable. But upon meeting him today, I find that he's no more than a rapist who likes to drink blood, eat flesh, and dig hearts. This has truly broadened this lord's mind—how admirable. How admirable indeed…"
Unexpectedly, before Li Qingqian could respond, Yue Chenqing blurted out, "That can't be right."
"What isn't right?"
"He isn't Li Qingqian, he's—he's clearly a…" Yue Chenqing hesitated for a moment, as if he weren't sure of his judgment. "He's not a living person. He's a sword spirit!"
As soon as these words were uttered, the faint smile on Li Qingqian's face froze. His gaze landed on Yue Chenqing. As yet, his smile hadn't quite disappeared, but the malice in the depths of his eyes was fully hostile.
Yue Chenqing couldn't help flinching, and he shuffled his feet to hide behind Mo Xi.
Li Qingqian bared his teeth in a ghastly grin. "This little brother acts ordinary but is quite the sage. Please enlighten me with your esteemed name."
"M-my name is Yue…"
"Why are you answering him?!" Mo Xi lifted a long leg and gave the boy a hard kick. "Do you think you're still a disciple at the academy, obligated to answer all questions?!"
Yue Chenqing shook his head like a rattle-drum. "My name isn't Yue —" he said hastily.
Li Qingqian threw his head back in raucous laughter, his scarlet lapels opening wide. "Enough. All I needed to know was your surname. Chonghua's Yue Clan is one of the top artificer lines in the Nine Provinces and Twenty-Eight Nations—no wonder a little rascal like you was able to decipher clues that even the two shenjun Xihe and Wangshu could not."
On the battlefield, Yue Chenqing liked to hide in the back. At present, there were only three people and a bamboo warrior in the mountain cavern, and he was suddenly the focus of attention. He was left feeling extremely nervous, cowering like a quail. "I-I-I…"
Though Mo Xi had kicked him a second ago, he pulled Yue Chenqing behind himself. He turned to ask, "He was the one you fought at the tavern?"
"Y-yes…"
"Why couldn't you tell he was a sword spirit then?"
"I only thought his scent was somewhat familiar…" Yue Chenqing mumbled. "Xihe-jun, don't you remember? I told you. In hindsight, that was the aura of a sword spirit, but…"
"But I was intentionally suppressing it at the time." Li Qingqian took over with a contemptuous smile. "And this young Yue-gongzi only exchanged a few blows with me. At his age, he likely hasn't yet mastered the artificing and analysis techniques of the Yue Clan. That's why he couldn't identify me straightaway."
He paused, licking the corner of his lip. "But young Yue-gongzi, the most important lesson your family elders ought to impart to you has nothing to do with artificing, but rather something else."
"Huh?" Yue Chenqing was baffled.
"Sometimes, even if you know something, it's best to pretend…" Li Qingqian soared into the air before he finished his sentence, summoning an iron sword and striking at Yue Chenqing as he gritted out his final three words: "that you don't!"
As the sword point rushed toward him, Yue Chenqing shrieked miserably. "Xihe-jun, help!"
Mo Xi shoved Yue Chenqing toward Murong Lian and stepped forward to meet the attack. With a flash of red light, Shuairan transformed into a longsword and clashed against Li Qingqian's blade.
Sword spirit… Sword spirit… So that's what it was!
No wonder those wounds had borne the marks of malevolent qi as well as an ordinary weapon. Vengeful ghosts typically didn't use weapons to harm people, nor were they particularly clear-minded, and they couldn't possibly write on walls. But if the culprit was a sword spirit, everything made sense.
In pursuit of an even stronger and more versatile weapon, rather than the usual method of imbuing a sword with a spirit, some artificers of the Nine Provinces sacrificed living people to a blade. However, this method of tempering was unbelievably cruel, and the twenty countries headed by Chonghua had long since banned it. The only nation where this technique remained prevalent was the Liao Kingdom.
After the human soul was imbued in the weapon's blade, their consciousness would either sink into an eternal sleep as the years flowed by, never to wake—or, if they possessed an unresolved obsession, slowly coalesce into human form. Sword spirits who could recover their human shapes were nearly identical to living people in appearance and bearing, but for the intense malevolent qi they emanated. They required large amounts of spiritual energy to maintain their form, so if their own cultivation was insufficient, as Li Qingqian's was, they would need to consume the flesh and hearts of other cultivators in order to absorb the souls of weaker beings and thereby pursue their larger goals.
A corporeal sword spirit was often extremely strong, each move and strike better than the last—but they had a fatal weakness. This was why, upon being exposed by Yue Chenqing, Li Qingqian was livid and moved at once to kill him.
Their true form could not fall into their enemy's hands.
That was to say, if someone obtained the weapon vessel of the sword spirit and either sealed or destroyed it, the sword spirit would be helpless no matter its strength.
Murong Lian had clearly realized the same thing. While Mo Xi engaged the sword spirit, he pulled Yue Chenqing aside. "You said this Li Qingqian is a sword spirit. Do you know how to locate his true form?"
"I'll try!" Yue Chenqing closed his eyes and created an array seal with his hands. After a moment, he blinked his eyes open and stared dazedly at Murong Lian.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Murong Lian asked, perplexed.
"Murong-dage…" Yue Chenqing said incredulously. "His true form… His true form is on you!"
"What nonsense is this?!" Murong Lian said angrily, loudly rapping Yue Chenqing's head with his pipe. "You dare accuse me of working with Liao Kingdom flunkies?"
"I'm not, I'm not! I just said that his true form is, is—"
"Not on me!"
"…Okay."
Murong Lian pressed down on his head in displeasure. "Try again!"
Yue Chenqing was left with no choice but to comply, but after several more attempts, he finally opened his eyes and stared pitifully at Murong Lian without daring to speak.
Murong Lian's face was beginning to turn green. His lips parted—he wanted to take a puff of ephemera to steady his nerves. However, as soon as he remembered that he had stuck his pipe into a corpse's mouth during their grand battle a few minutes ago, he was immediately disgusted. He wiped the pipe back and forth, again and again, on Yue Chenqing's clothes.
As he did so, something occurred to him. His expression grew stiff, and his movements gradually slowed. "Hold it," he muttered. "It might… actually be on me."
He glanced toward Li Qingqian and Mo Xi, who were clashing with sword qi. It would be impossible for Li Qingqian to get past Mo Xi and draw near to them anytime soon, so he hastily pulled Yue Chenqing aside, aiming to find a more secluded spot behind the stalagmites.
Li Qingqian wasn't stupid. He spied their movements out of the corner of his eye, snorted, and turned his blade, planning to give chase.
Yet before he had swept even a few yards in that direction, he heard Mo Xi intone coldly from behind him: "Shuairan, spirit transformation!"
Li Qingqian was startled. He heard an explosion behind his back, and red light lit the stone cave into a sea of flame. A spiritual snake as tall as three men slithered out from the blazing crimson, furiously charging at Li Qingqian and blocking his path.
Li Qingqian turned to bark furiously, "Watch yourself, Mo Xi! Maybe others don't know about the shameful things you've done with that damned Gu Mang, but I know them all too well! I know all about what you said and did with him at Luomei Pavilion upon your return! If you continue to get in my way, I'll destroy your reputation!"
He didn't expect that Mo Xi would do nothing more than shoot him a frosty glance. Holding the leather whip that manifested as Shuairan's physical form, Mo Xi cracked it and uttered a single word: "Go."
Shuairan swooped down toward Li Qingqian.
"Asshole!" Li Qingqian shouted. "Do you really not care about what I could say?!"
"Me, care about what you say?" Mo Xi narrowed his eyes, his expression filled with scorn. "Who would believe you?"
"You—!"
But Li Qingqian knew Mo Xi's words were true. Mo-gongzi had been pristine and proper since youth, and he never behaved outrageously. No matter if he was presented with beautiful men or alluring women, he was completely uninterested. Gu Mang was perhaps the only stain, the only scandal in all the world that could be linked to this man. Li Qingqian was a malevolent spirit, so even if his story was watertight, who would believe it? What could they do even if they did?
He clenched his jaw and turned to fight the Shuairan snake.
The bamboo warrior creaked noisily as it ran back and forth, wanting to help. Mo Xi looked at the sleeping Gu Mang still tied to it. With a wave of his hand, he conjured a protective barrier and enclosed him within it.
The bamboo warrior creaked furiously.
"Stay there and don't move," Mo Xi said.
The warrior seemed dejected by its inability to pull its weight as part of the team. Its head drooped, bringing Gu Mang's head down as well. After a while, it extended its arms, straightened its back in resignation, and stood there like a scarecrow.
Behind the stalagmites, Yue Chenqing knelt on the ground, staring stupefied at a pile of miniature weapons before him. Blades, swords, rods, and whips, all the size of a fingernail, crashed and poured out of Murong Lian's qiankun pouch as he shook it.
"These were all confiscated from the captives of Luomei Pavilion," Murong Lian said. "Even though their owners' spiritual cores were broken, the weapons might not accept a new master so easily. Their resentment is very potent."
"Murong-dage, keeping so many unclaimed holy weapons on you is super dangerous—if they transformed into spirits, it would be a disaster!" Yue Chenqing said, shocked.
Murong Lian rolled his eyes at his concern. "I'm not an idiot. This qiankun pouch was made by your great-grandfather, and emblazoned with his seal. A couple hundred weapons is nothing for it. Even a thousand wouldn't pose a threat. Besides, I had your father extract the spiritual forms of these weapons long ago—they're all suppressed in the Qingquan Pool at Luomei Pavilion. Forty-nine spirit-suppressing carp are kept in that pool, and on top of that, barriers to prevent the escape of malevolent spirits are all around Luomei Pavilion, so usually…"
At this point, he stopped. Then, as if a new thought had occurred to him, his expression slowly fell. "I understand now…"
"Murong-dage, what do you understand?"
"I understand how the sword spirit Li Qingqian escaped from Luomei Pavilion."