Chapter Forty-Eight: Journey to the Imperial City

To rise from the early to the late stage of Foundation Establishment within a single month was nothing short of legendary. In the cultivation world, every advancement in realm demanded immense fortune and opportunity. If Su Fan had not possessed those seven Violet Spirit Pills, he could never have reached his current realm so swiftly. Yet even so, without the jade pendant’s aid, such a violent influx of spiritual power would have torn Su Fan’s body apart, killing him outright.

Su Fan understood exactly what Mr. Zhao was trying to do with his words; he merely wished for Su Fan to reveal any other trump cards he might possess. But Su Fan was no fool—on the contrary, he was shrewd and cautious. Such a magical artifact was nothing like those zombie puppets. The jade pendant had saved his life many times, and besides, Lan Yifeng was still inside it. Lan Yifeng had saved his life on more than one occasion; though Su Fan was by no means a saint, he valued favors deeply. From any perspective, he could not allow the jade pendant to be exposed.

Smiling, he replied, “Then I must thank you for your generous gift. But what is it exactly that you want my help with?”

Mr. Zhao answered, “Now that your cultivation has advanced, you need not worry about your lifespan any longer.” Su Fan could only sigh inwardly at Mr. Zhao’s cunning—no matter how he tried to divert the conversation, Mr. Zhao would not let go.

Su Fan’s smile faded. Calmly, he said, “Since you know I am acquainted with the general, you must also be aware that I was once a registered disciple at the Tianyuan Sect.”

Mr. Zhao nodded.

Su Fan continued, “I have a friend, a disciple of the Tianyuan Sect—Xiao Lin, whom you know. He entrusted me with a cultivation technique that allows for rapid absorption of spiritual energy.”

Mr. Zhao suddenly laughed. “If that’s the case, then all is well. Still, such techniques often come with drawbacks, so I urge you to be cautious in their use.”

Su Fan was relieved that Mr. Zhao had not seen through the secret of the jade pendant and grew even more wary of Mr. Zhao’s depth of scheming.

Mr. Zhao went on, “Take my jade tube to the imperial city. A hundred miles outside the city lies a Daoist temple. Seek out Daoist Liu there and hand him the jade tube. He will see to it that you reach your intended destination.”

Su Fan replied with composure, “And when I arrive at this place, what am I to do?”

Mr. Zhao had already left the room, tossing back a single sentence: “Set out at once. You will know when you arrive. When you return, I shall present you with a second great gift.”

All Su Fan could do was smile wryly. Staring at the two jade tubes on the table, his mind swirled with tangled thoughts.

Luocheng was still as bustling as ever; the marketplace was alive with unending cries of vendors. But there were few cultivators about, and those remaining were all outsiders. Su Fan knew the fates of those cultivators. Since Mr. Zhao could bring tens of thousands of black-armored soldiers under his command, it was only natural that he could subdue the other cultivators of Luocheng as well. For those who refused, there was likely only one end—death, as had befallen the Ransuo Sect and Qingyuan Pavilion.

Su Fan stood at the gates of the once grand Qingyuan Pavilion. Fallen leaves blanketed the yard, as though no one had swept them in ages. Such a scene of desolation moved even Su Fan to sigh; once, Qingyuan Pavilion had been glorious, but in the end, none could escape the fate decreed by destiny.

Within the courtyard, an old man sat in a weathered rocking chair, gently fanning himself. This was Mo Hanfeng, the former master of Qingyuan Pavilion, now left to silently mourn before his son’s grave. Yet now, he was smiling, his eyes half-closed as if dozing, perhaps dreaming of his son, of a house full of descendants, of the wife who had passed away many years before.

Su Fan did not wish to disturb the old man. Having lost his son was pain enough; to shatter his peaceful dream would have been cruel indeed. Su Fan was not cruel, but Mr. Zhao had no desire to see the old man’s peaceful smile.

At some point, Mr. Zhao had slipped into the courtyard. He crouched beside Mo Hanfeng, speaking softly, “Master Mo, are you well, living all alone here? Why not come back with me to the General’s Mansion?”

Of course, he had no intention of inviting Mo Hanfeng to the mansion. He merely wished to witness the suffering of someone who had once looked down on him.

His voice was soft, yet Mo Hanfeng heard him. The old man opened his eyes slowly, regret coloring his expression. “A century has passed,” he said quietly, “and yet you still remember.”

Mr. Zhao’s gaze was icy. “Of course I remember—every detail is clear in my mind.”

Su Fan could not understand their exchange, but he could see that Mo Hanfeng’s hands were trembling violently. He hurried forward, grasping the old man’s hand, and said with a smile to Mr. Zhao, “You have already succeeded, Mr. Zhao. Could you not let it end here?”

Mr. Zhao snorted coldly, glared at Su Fan, and disappeared from the courtyard.

Mo Hanfeng drifted back to sleep, so peaceful that perhaps only he knew what his heart could still endure.

Su Fan sighed deeply and murmured, “The cultivation world is vast—there must be a way to bring the dead back to life.”

Mo Hanfeng remained silent.

Su Fan stepped softly out of the courtyard, saying as he left, “Please wait here for a while, Master Mo. I will go in search of a way.”

Of course, Su Fan knew of no method to resurrect the dead. He only wished to give Mo Hanfeng a glimmer of hope, for it is hope that allows people to go on living. Mo Hanfeng still kept his eyes closed and said nothing, but the tear at the corner of his eye was plain to see.

Leaving Qingyuan Pavilion, Su Fan made his way to the Dusty Fates Inn. From a distance, he saw that the inn had long since changed hands, now run by a man who looked honest and unassuming. Su Fan had come hoping to see someone, but finding no trace, he could only sigh and depart.

Luocheng seemed little changed from before, but Su Fan could tell that the city was now heavily guarded. Clearly, Mr. Zhao remained wary of Tianyuan Sect.

Su Fan paid these things little mind. He wanted only to finish his task and leave as soon as possible; the city was stifling to him. Thus, as soon as he left the city gates, he broke into a cheerful smile, laughing to himself. But he did not run away—instead, he followed the map given by Mr. Zhao to seek out the Daoist temple.

Knowing Mr. Zhao’s cunning, Su Fan understood that being allowed to leave the city alone must come with strings attached. Aware of this, he kept up his cheerful facade while speeding along as swiftly as he could.

Walking on clouds high in the sky, Su Fan’s smile faded when he caught sight of the towering Three Sovereigns Fortress in the distance. He was not foolish enough to seek vengeance in a fit of passion; even with his greatly increased cultivation, he was no match for the Three Sovereigns’ master. Not yet.

Though he lacked the power for revenge, his speed had indeed improved. In less than half a day, Su Fan reached the place marked on the map. Yet it was still an unknown distance from the imperial city—certainly more than a hundred miles, since Su Fan estimated it would take him months to fly to the imperial city at his current speed.

He had no choice but to descend and proceed on foot to investigate. Soon, he understood the meaning of “a hundred miles”—he saw an enormous stone stele by the roadside, inscribed with “Imperial City Hundred Miles.” So this was the name of the place, not a mere indication of distance.

Su Fan could only laugh wryly and began to extend his spiritual sense to search for the Daoist temple.

Within his range, he soon located a temple and appeared at its gate in a flash. Inside, a solitary Daoist swept the floor. His robe was faded with age, and there was no trace of spiritual energy about him—he seemed entirely mortal. The floor was nothing but hardened yellow earth.

Curious, Su Fan approached. “Are you Daoist Liu? I was sent by Nameless.”

Nameless was Mr. Zhao; fearing the Daoist might not recognize the name, Su Fan clarified. The Daoist seemed not to hear, continuing to sweep, his wide sleeves covering his arms completely.

Su Fan tried again, “Mr. Zhao sent me.”

Still, the Daoist did not reply.

Su Fan grew uneasy, thinking the man might be deaf. But soon he realized otherwise—the Daoist’s hearing was keen. He had no arms beneath those empty sleeves and was using his spiritual sense to control the broom. The ground was swept perfectly smooth, a testament to his mastery of spiritual manipulation.

Su Fan produced the jade tube, which instantly shone with a green light. Daoist Liu was able to read its message with his spiritual sense alone. His expression shifted minutely as he glanced at Su Fan, then set the broom aside and said, “Follow me.”

The temple was dilapidated, with towering trees outside and sunlight streaming into the rooms. The walls bore the faded image of some deity, the features blurred by time and humidity.

After several twists and turns, Daoist Liu led Su Fan into a cavernous chamber—a world unto itself. The air was fragrant, the stone walls solid, dense spiritual energy filling the cave. At the far end stood a battered teleportation array, long buried in dust, yet still recognizable.

With a wave of his hand, Daoist Liu swept the dust away, and the array gleamed as if newly made. He handed Su Fan another jade tube and gestured toward the array.

Su Fan obeyed. With a flick of Daoist Liu’s spiritual sense, a spirit stone floated from his storage pouch—a mid-grade stone, no less. It flew into the array and disintegrated, releasing a surge of spiritual power that set the array in motion.

With a thunderous sound, Su Fan vanished from the spot.