Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Taoist Arrives, Walking Upon the Moon

As true energy and essence poured into the Golden Silken Jade Shears, the spiritual treasure emitted a hazy radiance, finally awakening a hint of its power.

At this moment, Jiang Liunian’s face was drained of color, pale to the point of being frightening. From his sleeve, he drew a crimson talisman, then wielded the jade shears in his hand, swiftly cutting the talisman into the shape of a pair of wings.

These wings were bright red like blood, covered with peculiar patterns, giving an uncanny sense of lifelike animation. This was one of the forbidden arts within the paper-cutting Daoist techniques, requiring the caster’s own copious blood and essence to perform, but its power was wondrous and unfathomable.

Jiang Liunian tore off his own shirt, revealing a sturdy back, and pressed the palm-sized wings onto his shoulder blades. The instant the talisman touched his skin, countless web-like bloodlines spread, seeping into his flesh. As the bloodlines covered his body, the red wings fused with him, voraciously consuming his internal true energy and essence.

In the end, he stretched out his arms, and the wings behind him unfurled suddenly, expanding to over six meters, casting a dim red glow.

Jiang Liunian grabbed the unconscious Liu Xiyue from the ground, his wings beating, and soared skyward like a crimson roc, carried by a fierce gust of wind.

The world below shrank rapidly; in the blink of an eye, he was already dozens of meters high. Seeing the city walls growing near, he poured all his true energy into the crimson wings, harnessing the wind to dive swiftly toward his goal.

“He’s in the sky!”

The striking red wings quickly drew the attention of the soldiers searching for Jiang Liunian below. Several thousand guards, torches in hand, shouted and gave chase. The city was thrown into chaos.

But with Daoist arts empowering him, and sacrificing his own blood and essence, Jiang Liunian’s speed reached an unimaginable level—even a martial master could only watch helplessly.

Within moments, he crossed the towering city walls, flying beyond the city limits.

A middle-aged scholar, searching separately from Zhang Zongcheng, soon received word and rushed over. Standing atop the city wall, he saw Jiang Liunian, wings ablaze with crimson, slicing through the night sky. His eyes flashed with fervor.

This eccentric could actually fly? How much more intriguing than those who merely swallow fire and water. If he could master this art, able to traverse sky and earth at will, who besides the greatest martial masters could challenge him?

With this thought, the scholar moved, shooting after Jiang Liunian like an arrow from a bow, sticking close behind him. Though not as fast, his vast true energy ensured Jiang Liunian could not shake him.

The chase stretched for dozens of miles.

“Heh heh! Well now, let’s see how much longer you can last!” Seeing the red wings fade, the scholar’s eyes brightened, his true energy surging even faster.

Feeling the pursuer drawing nearer, Jiang Liunian’s heart sank. His true energy was nearly depleted, and there were still ten miles to Pine Mountain. Not far, yet now it felt like an insurmountable chasm.

Jiang Liunian gave a bitter smile, blaming his greed for seeking the sword on the wall. He hadn’t expected the demonic sword to possess a spirit, wounding him so severely.

But thinking on it now was futile. Watching the pursuers draw near, he retracted his wings and plunged into the mountain forest below.

The dense woods might offer a chance to shake them off.

As soon as he landed, Jiang Liunian coughed up blood, barely mustering the strength to release several paper Daoist soldiers.

The soldiers hefted a bright red sedan, carrying Jiang Liunian and Liu Xiyue swiftly through the thick forest.

Soon, with the sound of splintering trees, the scholar arrived, standing atop the crown of a massive tree. His eagle-like eyes swept the surroundings, quickly locking onto the movement through the woods, a cold smile curling on his lips.

“A pointless struggle—just makes it more amusing!”

With a surge of true energy, the scholar’s speed increased severalfold as he leapt toward the thicket.

Jiang Liunian lay in the paper sedan, feeling the jarring bumps, his face twisted in a bitter smile. The paper soldiers could only carry them a few miles, reaching the foothills of Pine Mountain.

But seeking aid now was clearly too late.

He had fallen behind, after all.

The wind howled; the pursuers had arrived!

The scholar laughed, punching from afar and shattering the sedan to pieces.

The two tumbled to the ground in disarray.

Liu Xiyue finally awoke, staring in confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings. When she saw Jiang Liunian covered in blood, her pupils contracted and she cried out, “Master Jiang? What happened to you?”

Jiang Liunian gave a wry smile.

Was it not obvious? Both of them were on the verge of death.

Yet, he felt little fear. Life and death had become trivial since he had avenged his great hatred.

He took a moment to explain, then leaned against a tree, coldly watching the scholar approach.

Now, the scholar stopped a hundred paces away, like a cat stalking its prey, his face mocking and amused.

“Why not keep running? Why stop now?”

He didn’t dare approach rashly; these eccentrics had unpredictable tricks, and though confident, he didn’t wish to fall into a trap.

The moon hung high over the foothills, its cold light illuminating the three figures in stark brightness.

Proud and triumphant, the scholar spoke: “Hand over your strange arts, and I’ll spare your life. What do you say?”

Jiang Liunian sneered.

“You martial masters always look down on us eccentrics, and now you covet our Daoist arts?”

The scholar nodded. “Indeed! Martial arts are the grand path, far above your little tricks, but a wise man makes use of all tools. I see no shame in borrowing strengths.”

“Little tricks?”

Jiang Liunian laughed as if hearing a joke.

Were it not for the decline of the Dao, the severing of spiritual energy, and the inability to unleash full power, how could such a frog in a well dare to mock Daoist arts? What difference did it make if he was a martial master?

He sighed inwardly.

The scholar, patience spent, prepared to kill this stubborn eccentric and search his corpse for secrets.

At that moment—

An autumn wind suddenly swept the land; dead leaves rustled, golden wind carried death’s chill. What should have been a natural cycle now caused the scholar to freeze, gripped by a bone-deep cold.

It felt as if the entire world had turned against him, bristling with deadly intent, ready to pronounce judgment at any moment.

His martial master’s intuition screamed that this killing intent was inescapable, unstoppable—he would die beneath it.

The overwhelming sense of danger pressed on his mind, almost forcing a shout to relieve his terror.

He retreated several steps, scanning for the source.

At last, sensing something, he raised his head with difficulty.

He saw the final—and most unbelievable—scene of his life.

Across the sky, the moon shone like a mirror.

A young Daoist strode above the clouds, bearing the blue heavens, walking upon the moonlight!

His bearing was utterly extraordinary, like a banished immortal.

“I have a sword, Master—would you care to witness it?”

Unrestrained and elegant, the youth swept his blade in a casual arc.

The moon at the horizon reflected in the sword’s gleam.

In that instant, the moonlight itself was eclipsed by the dazzling brilliance of his sword.