Volume 3: Dao, Dao, Dao… Heaven’s Dao, Earth’s Dao, Human Dao, Ghost Dao— I seek only my own Dao! Chapter 144

Dust motes danced in the morning light.

For a brief moment, following the fall of that man’s voice, the inn grew so quiet that one could clearly hear the puff-puff sounds of cooking still coming from the kitchen.

Lu Liangsheng set down his water bowl, turned his face slightly, and looked toward the man, spreading his sleeves and cupping his fists in greeting.

“Haha… then I, Lu, thank this brother for the wine.”

“To meet by chance in a humble countryside tavern…”

The man also lifted his hand slightly and said, “…is fate. I am Yang Su of Chang’an.”

“Lu Liangsheng of Qixia Mountain.”

In the main hall, Li Sui’an glanced at the middle-aged man carrying a sword, then at the calmly seated scholar. He vaguely sensed that the atmosphere was odd. And judging by appearances alone, that man called Yang Su—anyone could see the heavy aura of hostility about him.

‘This one’s probably here to cause trouble for the gentleman… Doesn’t look like a good person at all.’

As these thoughts flitted through the youth’s mind, Yang Su lowered his hand, his expression impassive as he turned slightly, fingers stroking his short beard.

“Young man, quickly bring the wine and dishes.”

Upon hearing this, the boy halted his thoughts, a flattering smile emerging on his face. He hurriedly bowed and nodded.

“Kind sir, please wait a moment. I’ll fetch them right away!”

Soon after, he returned from the kitchen and first brought out the dishes that Mister Lu had ordered, setting them on the table one by one.

“Sir, your steamed perch with scallions, and five taels’ worth of braised pork.”

Then, turning to the middle-aged swordsman at the other table, he added, “This gentleman arrived first—yours will be served shortly.”

“Mn.”

Yang Su merely gave a light hum in response, not bothering to argue with a countryside inn’s servant. But after two days of rough travel through wind and rain, pursuing through the night, his stomach had long been empty of anything rich or meaty. The aroma wafting from that table stirred his throat to involuntarily swallow.

A soft gulp sounded.

Lu Liangsheng picked up a slice of meat, blew on the steam rising from it, then placed it into his mouth to slowly chew. Upon hearing that faint sound, he looked toward Yang Su and smiled.

“Why not come over and share this table, Brother?”

“No need.”

Yang Su averted his gaze from the tip of the other’s chopsticks, straightened his posture, and gently stroked his beard.

“…Judging by your attire and accent, sir, you must be a scholar from Southern Chen. What brings you to the northern lands?”

At that moment, in the kitchen, Li Sui’an squeezed the juice from several bean-like plants and, while his aunt was busy drawing wine, quietly dripped it into one of the dishes.

‘Hehe… I truly am destined to become a great hero.’

Outside, Lu Liangsheng set down his chopsticks, also mulling over the other man’s words. That person was most likely someone who had pursued him out of Chang’an, and judging from the cultivation aura he bore, he truly seemed to be a member of the Fire-Worship Sect—perhaps even a skilled one.

“I dare not be called ‘sir’, I’ve only come to Northern Zhou to roam freely and ease my mind, and, along the way, slay the wicked…”

The scholar’s eyes shifted slightly toward the corner, glancing at Yang Su. His final words dropped gently: “…and root out evil.”

As they conversed, the inn’s young servant came out carrying dishes and wine, reporting the names of the food while placing them on the table.

“Esteemed guest, here is your wine.”

As he was about to pour, a hand reached out and stopped him. Yang Su looked at him, then gestured toward the neighboring table.

“No need for mine. Go pour for that gentleman over there.”

Li Sui’an turned his head, his lips silently mouthing: “Use your own, not your mother’s…” Then, with a reluctant look, he made his way to Lu Liangsheng’s table and filled the cup to the brim with a glug-glug of wine.

“Sir, enjoy.”

He collected the tray but lingered, standing there without moving.

Lu Liangsheng seemed to guess what he was thinking. Smiling faintly, he lifted the cup and sniffed its contents.

“Anything else, young brother?”

The youth grinned and backed away quickly, waving his hands repeatedly.

“No, no—enjoy your meal, sir!”

With that said, he returned to the kitchen, set the tray down, and quite smugly made his way to the rear courtyard to tend to the old donkey.

Inside the main hall of the inn, Yang Su took a few bites of food, washed it down with a sip of wine, and felt much more at ease.

Only then did he pick up where Lu Liangsheng had left off: “Slaying the wicked and rooting out evil? That being the case, your cultivation must be impressive. As it happens, I, too, know a bit of swordplay. Why don’t we have a little spar?”

Lu Liangsheng paused with his cup at his lips, took a light sip, and smiled. That familiar fiery tingle passed down his throat. Since the man had brought it up, it was a good time to settle the matter and cut off this loose end. Judging from the incidents in Chang’an and Heliang Prefecture, the Fire-Worship Sect was no benevolent faction. Might as well deal with them all at once.

He gently set the cup back on the table. A ripple stirred in the wine. Lu Liangsheng reached for the Veiled Moon Sword leaning against the corner of the table, rose to his feet, and walked toward the door. The morning light fell upon his smiling face.

“Very well. I was thinking the same. But there are many villagers nearby—let us not harm the innocent.”

Not far off, children ran about playing and laughing. Old folk leaned on canes, exchanging greetings with neighbors. Young men heading to the fields slung hoes over their shoulders. Amidst these unaware gazes, a figure stepped out of the inn and in a swish soared onto a tall branch. The limb bent and sprang back as he leapt from it, his silhouette flying beyond the village bounds.

“Hahaha… Splendid, Mister Lu!”

With a sweep of his wide sleeve, Yang Su strode out the door.

“Where’d they go? Where are they?!”

Inside the inn, a woman came out of the kitchen holding a bowl of soup. Seeing both tables empty, she let out a furious shout.

“Freeloaders deserve to die miserable deaths!!”

On the path where the village met the open fields, the wind howled fiercely as Lu Liangsheng and Yang Su raced forward in close pursuit, leaping and bounding. With a single step onto the trunk of a tree, the entire tree trembled violently.

Falling leaves swirled through the air.

In the midst of their flight, the two figures collided mid-air. Crack! Crack! Crack!—they exchanged a flurry of bare-handed blows.

Pa!

With a final loud slap, their palms struck and separated. Lu Liangsheng vaulted toward the hillside. His azure robe flared out as he swept a technique through the air, channeling his spell to tug on something behind the inn.

The old donkey, still lazily chewing in the rear courtyard, blinked and slowly moved its long snout. The bookshelf strapped to its back began to rattle violently—clang, clang, clang!—waking the Toad Daoist from within. Groggily, he instinctively flattened himself and hugged his head.

At that moment, a series of flying swords unsheathed with a sharp shing, soaring into the sky right before Li Sui’an’s eyes.

“Immortal…Immortal Swords…”

The youth dropped the fodder in his hands and pinched his own cheek hard. Staring at the long swords threading through the branches above, he broke into a run beneath them, chasing after the spectacle. He stumbled, fell with a thud, scrambled back up in a mess, and climbed up a hillside.

There—he saw the seven long swords descend and hover ahead, their buzzing vibration filling the air as they floated on either side of the scholar.

“Th-this…”

Hiding behind a small rocky slope, he poked his head out to peek, holding his breath at the sight. His fingers clenched tight around a single blade of grass, pulling it up—roots and all.

“…That has to be an immortal…”

Wind swept across the plains, rustling a few leaves from the trees, sending them drifting to the scholar’s feet. The air thrummed with resonance as several flying swords glimmered with cold light.

Yang Su’s gaze grew grave. Even the sword in his hand seemed to tremble faintly in response to the opponent’s sword-controlling technique.

“Sword control arts? Canglan Mountain hasn’t produced that in many years… I never thought I’d see it again here.”

As he murmured to himself, the scholar across the field suddenly stirred. The seven swords floating around him, all pointing downwards, suddenly lifted in unison and shot forward like arrows. Lu Liangsheng stepped forward, following right behind. With a crisp clang, Veiled Moon was drawn from its sheath, trailing a streak of cold light.

Myriad Techniques Sword Intent – Wrath Blossoms Like a Lotus.

The art of sword control drove the intent. Sword intent embodied technique.

Guided by incantation, the seven long swords spread open like a blooming lotus. Each blade unleashed countless sword shadows. The infused sword intent surged forth with such force it became almost corporeal. Reflected in the morning sun, the world became filled with glinting silver; fierce astral winds raged, and the very air seemed torn apart.

BOOM—

In a blinding flash of sword light, Yang Su swiftly activated his own incantation. With two fingers, he traced his blade. The spiritual sword answered his command and struck directly into the center of the “lotus”.

A delicate ding sang through the air.

Then came a series of clang clang clang—a symphony of clashing metal. His sword spun through the storm of sword shadows, iron against iron, as countless sparks burst and scattered.

Lu Liangsheng’s form paused for a moment. His brow creased faintly—this man’s sword technique held a killing intent far too strong. His style was experienced and ruthless, and his cultivation was clearly above his own.

As that thought stirred in his mind, Lu Liangsheng’s fingertip flared with spiritual light. Stroke by stroke, he completed the final horizontal line of the character “盛” (Prosper).

His robe sleeves billowed as he raised a finger.

“Open!”

The whirling lotus of swords burst into radiance. With a series of sharp swish swish swish, the swords scattered outward like shooting stars, only to reverse mid-flight and descend again in an instant. Countless sword shadows, sword lights, and waves of spell-light surged forth like a school of hungry fish in water, swarming toward Yang Su from every direction—slicing, thrusting, sweeping…

“Wah…”

Behind the sand slope and stone outcrop, the boy’s mouth fell open in awe. He had secretly watched a few bandit brawls before, but none had ever reached such a dazzling and mystical level.

Those countless dancing, flying swords seemed like something from legend.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Boom! Boom!

Yang Su wielded his arts, parrying the stabbing and sweeping blades. His own weapon clashed head-on with the scholar’s spiritual swords, steel ringing against steel. His topknot unraveled in an instant, and his hair fell loose around his shoulders.

“Hahahaha… Excellent!”

With a sudden burst of laughter, he flung forth an iron whip from his sleeve, which churned the air as he transformed into a fleeting afterimage, retreating swiftly. His feet stomped against a rock behind him, and the boulder shattered instantly from the force.

“With ghost soldiers to slaughter the immortals — Yin and Yang flow as one!”

The sword in Yang Su’s hand erupted with light. Around him, the ground quaked as dust and pebbles were swept up. Violent gales howled, billowing his robes and whipping his scattered hair into wild motion.

“Hahaha! Daoist Lu! Do you recognize this technique of mine—urk…”

Gurgle…

Suddenly, his voice cut off as if severed by a blade. A twisting pain surged in his belly, his concentration shattered, and the spell unraveled on the spot.

The wind rushed past.

The scattered flying swords screamed through the air, and Lu Liangsheng’s figure surged forward in the midst of them, appearing as layers of overlapping shadows pressing in all at once.

“Wait a moment!” came a sudden cry.

The tip of a sword halted with a sharp buzz, just a hair’s breadth from Yang Su’s nose. Lu Liangsheng paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. Opposite him, Yang Su retracted his energy, raised his sword, and cupped his fists in a gesture of peace, clearly holding something back.

“This bout is done. Let’s just call it a draw—how about it?”

…Eh?

Could it be that this man isn’t with the Fire-Worship Sect?

“If fellow Daoist says so, then a draw it is.”

Lu Liangsheng swept his sleeve, and all the surrounding flying swords fell in unison, embedding into the earth with a soft hum.

“But I must ask—Daoist Yang, have you really chased me all this way just for a friendly duel?”

“We’ll talk in a bit, we’ll talk in a bit!”

Grroooowl…

Across from him, Yang Su dropped his sword, waved a hand dismissively, and clutched his stomach. In a flash, his figure darted into the wild grass behind the hillside in a frenzy. Moments later—puff, puff, puff!—came a series of muffled, indecorous sounds.

Lu Liangsheng stared in astonishment, then waved his sleeve in front of his nose to fan the air.

Turning his head, he looked in another direction.

“Come out. Was it you who spiked the food?”

From behind the slope, the youth slowly stepped out.