Chapter 172 — Quickly, summon the Venerable Master!

The “Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial” was the first painting Lu Liangsheng could not complete in one sitting.

When he withdrew from the painting, dizziness and nausea surged through him — the scene he had witnessed was entirely different from what others would have seen.

With his spirit wholly immersed, he had beheld a somber sky; all between Heaven and Earth was dyed crimson-red. The sunlight carried not the slightest trace of warmth; mountains were like blades, and rivers ran dark with coagulated blood. Standing alone in the desolate wilds, the wails of ghosts echoed through the forests — it was as if he himself stood within that painted world.

“I’ll leave it for the next session…”

Putting away his brush and easel, Lu Liangsheng finally noticed that dusk had fallen. The setting sun poured into his vision like a surging tide. Within the fenced courtyard, the old donkey crouched in its grass shed as Lu Laoshi scolded it; Honglian and Lu Xiaoxian sat indoors learning to sew garments; and his master, once again caught by his mother, was being tossed out into the vegetable plot, clothes in hand. Everything felt warm and real.

As for Sun Yingxian, he had probably run off again to play with the Lu family’s Great Vajras.

The young scholar on the bench carried the easel and painting back inside. In the adjoining room, he asked Honglian for a piece of white cloth and draped it over the scroll to conceal it.

In the vegetable garden, the Toad Daoist, who had been squatting there, took the chance as Li Jinhua entered the kitchen to straighten up on his hind legs. With a splash of his webbed feet, he darted swiftly into the house, pushed the door shut behind him, clambered onto the bed, and sat down panting, taking a gulp of water.

“Liangsheng, have you had an enlightenment in the Dao of Painting?”

“Enlightenment?”

Lu Liangsheng turned his head in surprise as he sorted through the books left open from last night. To be honest, he wasn’t sure himself.

Placing the books neatly on another table, he sat down beside the Toad Daoist.

“I don’t know either, I just felt that, to deal with that Venerable Master, I had to give it my all — to paint out what I envisioned before… And when I came out of it, I realized time had passed without me noticing.”

The Toad Daoist lightly kicked his webbed feet, the thin membrane stretching as he rubbed his chin. “Then you’re not far from true comprehension. Back when I was at that stage…”

Hoo… hoohoo…

The words on the toad’s lips came to an abrupt stop as he turned his head—Lu Liangsheng, lying on the bed, already looked weary and had fallen asleep fully clothed.

…Couldn’t you at least let your master finish speaking?

“Liangsheng, time to eat!”

With a creak, the door was pushed open. The Toad Daoist hastily dropped flat, pretending to sleep. Li Jinhua stood at the doorway, glanced at her sleeping son, and didn’t wake him. Instead, she reached out and grabbed the loudly snoring toad beside him.

“Running into the house all day long, such a big toad, and still no sense in that head of yours. Aren’t there enough bugs for you in the vegetable patch?”

Muttering as she went, she carried the toad outside and tossed him back into the vegetable garden. Outside the fence, Sun Yingxian happened to be returning from outside and immediately caught the woman’s sharp gaze.

“What are you staring at? Go eat!”

The Daoist’s head drooped at once. Lowering it, he scurried past the donkey shed. Lu Laoshi came out, wiping his hands, intending to speak a few words of comfort — only to have his ear seized by his wife. “Not a single one of you gives me peace!”

“Ow—ow, it hurts—hurts—!”

Lu Laoshi yelped a few times as he was dragged straight into the kitchen.

The next morning, amid the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs, Honglian pushed open the window lattice and called softly: “Young Master, it’s time to get up!”

The cool morning breeze drifted in. Brushed by its chill, Lu Liangsheng slowly opened his eyes. After greeting Honglian, he slipped on his shoes, stood up, and stretched lazily.

He had slept soundly through the night; his spirit felt restored. His stomach, however, was growling fiercely. After tucking the small quilt over his still-snoring master, he stepped out, went to the kitchen for a bite, then carried a book on refining artifacts to the eaves and quietly began to read.

In the courtyard, Sun Yingxian was practicing his martial arts. One still, one moving — they complemented each other perfectly.

On the old tree above, a few birds fluttered down to perch by the well, chirping noisily, then hopped onto his book, tilting their tiny heads curiously from side to side.

Lu Liangsheng flicked his finger lightly, shooing away the little bird. Taking the cup of tea that Xiaoxian handed over, he continued studying the contents of the book on artifact refinement. As for yesterday’s painting, “The Netherworld’s Soul-Reclaiming Burial”, he set it aside for the time being — there were still details within that he had yet to comprehend fully.

To avenge my mentor, I must face that Venerable Master head-on. To suppress his Soul-Summoning Brahma Chant, I have the painting “Netherworld’s Soul-Calling Burial”. But to truly defeat him, the Veiled Moon Sword must also be reforged… even then, it may still not be enough.

As he murmured and pondered, Lu Liangsheng habitually turned to the Strategies and Responses for reference. After closing the book, his gaze drifted toward the Daoist, whose movements were fierce and vigorous as he practiced in the courtyard. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

If I can force him to reveal his true form, the surge of demonic qi will surely alarm the Heaven’s Enforcer and the surrounding City Gods. Perhaps even other cultivators will be drawn here… yes, this is what they call borrowing strength from the situation.

Having settled his plan, he rose and returned to the room. From the bookshelf, he took down seven spiritual swords and slung them across his back. He also picked up the Veiled Moon Sword, greeted the Daoist in passing, and leapt up — stepping across the rooftops and soaring out of the village.

Below him, fields freshly harvested stretched far and wide, the yellow earth flashing by beneath his gaze. Soaring higher, the green of the mountains filled his heart with calm delight.

Whoosh—

He landed lightly on a great tree, shaking its branches and leaves. In midair, he twisted, leaping again to the treetop, his toes brushing the leaves as his figure traced a streak of pale light. In the distance, he caught sight of an ancient pine standing sentinel on a cliff’s edge. His feet struck down hard.

Crash!

The tree canopy quivered violently. Lu Liangsheng vaulted upward, dashing up the steep rock face, his body leaning forward as he sprinted along the cliff, and then vaulted onto the precipice.

“Good morning, Mentor!”

The young scholar bowed respectfully before the tombstone. Bathed in the morning sunlight, he followed the instructions from the artifact refinement manual. With a surge of spiritual power, the seven spiritual swords on his back floated up and formed a circle around him.

“Your turn now.”

Lu Liangsheng unfastened the sword sheath and tossed it lightly. The Veiled Moon Sword spun once in midair before descending slowly, point-first, humming with a deep vibration. That sound rippled outward, resonating with the seven spiritual swords encircling it.

“These mountains and forests are rich in spiritual energy—may this refinement succeed!”

Watching the blades resonate with one another, Lu Liangsheng stepped onto a nearby rock and sat cross-legged.

This ritual sought to merge the spiritual essence of the seven swords into the Veiled Moon Sword, nurturing within it the embryonic form of a new blade.

“Let it succeed…”

There was still time; if it failed once, he could always try again. Yet, of course, he hoped the sword would take form sooner rather than later.

Chen Dynasty, Tianzhi.

On the sixteenth day of the sixth lunar month, during Lesser Heat, a gentle drizzle began to fall. The fine rain hung in silken curtains, pattering pleasantly. Within the Hall of Spring Delights, Emperor Chen Shubao reclined with his beloved consort and several concubines, listening to the qin and watching the rain. From time to time, he let the women feed him wine mouth-to-mouth; the spilled drops stained his robes, but he paid it no mind.

Swaying slightly, he rose from among the beauties, wine cup in hand.

“Hahaha… Thirty thousand soldiers march south! Let that Lu Liangsheng see—what of cultivation? Zhen is the Son of Heaven! The nation’s fate rests upon Zhen; millions will throw themselves before Zhen!”

With a dramatic sweep of his dragon sleeves, he turned in place, his gaze sweeping across the bevy of radiant faces before him. Among them, his favored consort, Zhang Lihua, was peerlessly graceful — her brows like brushstrokes, her hair soft as drifting clouds.

There was also a new woman he had recently taken in. Thinking of the delights she had brought while sitting upon his lap, a poetic urge rose within him. He ordered someone to bring the Four Treasures of the Study.

“Your Majesty intends to compose a poem?”

Zhang Lihua lifted the hem of her gown and came forward to grind the ink for him. Gazing out at the curtain of rain that hung beyond the window and the distant pavilions blurred by the drizzle, she drew in a gentle breath. Suddenly, the man beside her pulled her into his embrace, dipped his brush into the inkstone, and in the soft hum that escaped her lips, the brush tip began to glide across the paper:

“Fair halls and fragrant groves face lofty towers,

A new beauty’s radiant charm could topple a city…”

After writing two lines, he paused, turning his head slightly to glance at the delicate beauty in his arms, and then at the lingering memory of the general’s wife beyond the palace walls.

“…The temptress’s face holds dew within a flower,

The jade-like grace outshines the rear palace court.”

Reading the lines, Zhang Lihua covered her lips and laughed softly. With a playful glint in her eyes, she reached out and pinched his waist.

“Your Majesty, how wicked—how could you write such things?”

“Haha, there’s more to come.”

Chen Shubao adored that expression on the woman’s face. Suppressing his excitement, he lifted his arm and continued to write. Yet just as his brush traced the words — “Flowers bloom and fall; beauty never lasts for long” — a palace maid entered from the covered walkway outside, holding something in her hands. The attendants nearby hurried to intercept her, took the item, dismissed the maid, and came up behind the emperor, who was laughing and painting.

“Your Majesty, military news.”

In the attendant’s hands was an urgent dispatch.

“My beloved consort, don’t fret—let Zhen see whether this is good news.” Chen Shubao set down his brush, smiled, pinched Zhang Lihua’s nose, and reached out to take the letter. He unfolded it and glanced through it—

—and in the next instant, his smile froze.

“Ah!”

With a cry, he flung the letter aside and overturned the desk. Ink, brushes, and paper crashed to the floor in chaos.

Zhang Lihua jumped in fright. She bent down to pick up the letter, but before she could read it, the emperor, his face contorted with rage, shouted, “Go! Summon the Venerable Master at once! Zhen must see him now!!!”

As though that shout had drained all his strength, Chen Shubao stumbled back into his chair.

The three characters Lu Liangsheng weighed upon his heart like a mountain.