Chapter Seventy-Four: Gravely Wounded, Fleeing in Desperation; Disaster Averted, Calamity Dissolved

With Zhang Zongcheng’s cultivation at the pinnacle of Grandmaster, wielding the Ancient Sword of the Yellow Springs was as easy as moving his own arm. In the blink of an eye, all obstacles before him were swept away. He strode forward, stepping over the scattered remains of the paper men, and slashed out again. A blood-red arc of sword light flashed, as if countless evil spirits had clawed their way up from hell itself, sweeping down upon the three before him. Within that sword light, killing intent soared to the heavens, instantly conjuring all manner of terrifying illusions. Under this blood-hued onslaught, the three felt all resistance was futile, unable to keep themselves from slipping into a state of utter despair.

Just as Yu Jing and his companion were about to lose themselves entirely, a brilliant azure sword light suddenly erupted, cleaving through the blood-colored sky. The sword light, undiminished, shot straight at Zhang Zongcheng, as if to cleanse all filth and slay all evil.

Zhang Zongcheng, who had been toying with his prey like a cat with mice, was caught completely off guard and suffered a heavy blow. Had he not parried in time with the sinister sword of the Yellow Springs, his life would have ended beneath that strike. Even so, a bloody gash now stretched across his chest.

At the very instant he saw that sword light, a memory rose unbidden in Zhang Zongcheng’s mind—the scene of Qingyangzi slaying the Plague Demon, with two sword lights just as before. At the time, he had paid no mind, dismissing it as the power of a late-stage Grandmaster, nothing that could threaten him at his peak. But now, taken by surprise, he had suffered dearly.

His face clouded. He had not expected to suffer such a setback in so trivial a place. Even so, though seriously wounded, with his cultivation at its peak, he still did not think it difficult to kill the three before him, and prepared to strike again.

Yet he had barely taken two steps when his pupils contracted. Opposite him, Jiang Liunian’s right hand, at some unknown moment, had quietly grasped a jade talisman, ready to be unleashed at any moment.

Zhang Zongcheng’s eyes flickered, and his step froze where he stood. Under normal circumstances, he would not have cared—but having just suffered such a loss, he could no longer be certain he could withstand another sword light.

“Heh! That was only because I was caught off guard. Do you really think you can threaten me now?” Zhang Zongcheng narrowed his eyes, addressing Jiang Liunian.

Jiang Liunian laughed easily. “Even if this sword cannot kill the palace lord, it could still drag you down with us to the Yellow Springs. The four of us would journey together—wouldn’t that be a fine thing?”

Zhang Zongcheng’s gaze grew deep as he stared at Jiang Liunian. The latter met his eyes unflinchingly, not backing down in the least. After a moment, Zhang Zongcheng let out a sigh. “If only you were my nephew!”

“We dare not accept such favor, Palace Lord. If there is nothing else, we will take our leave,” Jiang Liunian replied with a shake of his head and a smile. Then, waving his hand, he signaled for the other disciples to press on.

Zhang Zongcheng watched them pass, murderous intent flashing in his eyes. But in the end, he could not bring himself to strike. Jiang Liunian, meanwhile, kept the jade talisman firmly in hand, bringing up the rear and never letting Zhang Zongcheng out of his sight until they had left his range. Only then did he release a long-held breath.

Yu Jing and the old Daoist, seeing Jiang Liunian’s back soaked through with cold sweat, suddenly understood and hurriedly asked, “Mister Jiang, that jade talisman?”

Jiang Liunian only shook his head in reply. The talisman he held was genuine, but it was not a sword technique—it was a restorative charm for curing plagues and diseases.

He had correctly judged that Zhang Zongcheng was cautious by nature and would not risk acting without absolute certainty. So he had gambled everything on a facade of calm.

“He is much like me,” Zhang Zongcheng muttered, watching Jiang Liunian’s departing figure, as if seeing his own youthful self. After a moment’s silence, he melted into the forest, abandoning his path toward Chisong Dao Palace. After all, he now knew there was no great Grandmaster within, only a single stranger with a few tricks. Dealing with them would not be difficult. In ten days or so, the Grandmaster sent by King Weiling would arrive, and then not one soul in Chisong Dao Palace would remain.

By the shores of Lake Jici, the atmosphere grew heavier with every passing moment. Now, not only outside the city but even within, groups of plague victims had gathered. With no doctors or medicine left in Jinhua City, staying put meant certain death, so they had flocked to the lakeside, where famous physicians were rumored to gather, hoping for a miracle.

The crowd was now surrounded on all sides by plague victims. If not for the presence of the elderly master, they might already have rushed forward in desperation.

Su Mu, meanwhile, was wracked with anxiety, doing his utmost to calm the refugees of Jiangzhou, terrified that panic would spark chaos.

At that moment, over a dozen wandering physicians stepped forward from the crowd. Though fully aware of the plague’s terror, these elderly doctors, most well past their prime, resolutely offered their aid, tending to the stricken.

This act, indeed, helped to calm the unrest among the afflicted. Qingyangzi took careful note of these men’s faces, for Uncle-Master Yuchen had instructed him that such true-hearted physicians would be key allies for Chisong Dao Palace in the future.

Still, worry gnawed at his heart—why had the abbot and the others not yet arrived? Had something gone wrong?

Just as he looked anxiously to the distance, a clear voice suddenly rang out from the crowd: “Jiang Liunian, wandering scholar of Suiyang, together with the disciples of Chisong Dao Palace, come by decree of Master Yuchen, to dispel calamity and cure the plague!”

The voice pierced through all obstacles, resounding across the lakeshore. In the shocked gaze of tens of thousands, a dozen paper-crafted mules and horses appeared, bearing dozens of baskets of apricot fruit, stepping weightlessly through the air.

“It’s Mister Jiang! And the abbot is here as well!” Qingyangzi exclaimed in delight.

The elder at his side finally smiled, repeating “Good! Good!” several times.

Jiang Liunian, seated on the back of a paper bird, looked down at the twenty thousand plague victims below, silently thankful he had not arrived a moment too late. At once, he crushed his remaining jade talisman, summoning a rain cloud.

A gentle, persistent spiritual rain spread over the entire lakeshore. Those whose afflictions were mild were instantly healed, and even other ailments eased. The gravely ill were given bitter apricots by the Daoist disciples. In less than half an hour, over ten thousand apricots were distributed.

Those who had hovered on the brink of death felt a warm current surge back into their organs, their previously frail bodies regaining strength. In truth, the bitter apricots themselves had no such effect; it was simply the death of the plague worms within that allowed the stored vitality to flow back into the body.

Yet now, it seemed nothing short of miraculous, as tens of thousands of plague victims were brought back to life.

“Immortals, please accept our thanks!”

“Living gods!”

“We will never forget this kindness, not for all our lives!”

All the plague victims, as one, knelt in the direction of the Chisong Dao Palace disciples. Faint golden auras rose from each person’s head, drifting along the threads of fate, to gather in a distant place.