Chapter Twenty-Six: The Peril of Zilan

Li Duozuo said, “Such matters are of the utmost secrecy! How did you come to know of them?” The cultist replied, “These things aren’t normally for someone like me to know, but Divine Light Master saw that I was quick-witted and diligent, so he made me an attendant to serve tea and water. Over time, I was able to overhear snatches of what Divine Light Master discussed with the inner circle. From those fragments, I pieced together the general idea.”

Li Duozuo pressed further, “What is the origin of your Crane Immortal Divine Sect? Who is this Crane Immortal Sovereign, and what kind of person is he?” The cultist trembled uncontrollably, unable to speak. Li Chongjun stepped forward, pressed his palm against the cultist’s back, and infused him with a trace of true energy to protect his heart meridian. After panting for a while, the man continued, “When our Qinghai Sect first joined, it wasn’t called the Crane Immortal Divine Sect yet—just the Crane Immortal Hall. The Crane Immortal Hall was originally a small gang in Youzhou. The Crane Immortal Sovereign noticed the gang occupied a prime location and had taken over both the river and land docks, which were lucrative. He gathered several experts and wiped out the Crane Immortal Hall, then claimed it for himself, setting himself up as the hall master and ruling over Youzhou. He was so well-connected that even the local authorities and military dared not provoke him. After our Qinghai Sect merged in, Divine Light Master advised the Sovereign that although the Crane Immortal Hall had a big name, it was still just a bandit’s den. He suggested renaming it the Crane Immortal Divine Sect and forcing local officials, merchants, and gentry to join. Not only would they reap substantial initiation fees, but the Sovereign could use his influence to push these people into office, expanding the sect’s power. The Sovereign was highly impressed by Divine Light Master’s plan. That very day, he renamed the Crane Immortal Hall as the Crane Immortal Divine Sect and sent invitations to local notables, promising great rewards to those who joined. Those who refused, we quietly killed, claiming they had been struck down by heaven’s wrath. What do ordinary people know? Some joined out of fear, others out of greed. Soon, the whole of Youzhou came under the sect’s control. Even among the clerks, scribes, and advisers in the Youzhou governor’s office, many are members of the sect.”

Li Duozuo asked, “And who, truly, is this Sovereign?” The cultist answered, “I only glimpsed him from afar once—he’s a strikingly handsome young man. According to Divine Light Master, this man comes and goes from the imperial palace as if it were his own home. He commands four great guardians: White Serpent, Ghost Sword, Divine Light Master himself, and another—a poison expert from Miaojiang called the Poison Guanyin. Each of these guardians has their own agenda. With the exception of White Serpent and Ghost Sword, they are not united. Beyond this, I know nothing more.”

Li Chongyuan nodded slightly. Li Duozuo drew his flexible sword and said, “Since you have answered honestly, I’ll end your suffering now.” With that, he swept his sword, and the cultist fell dead on the spot.

A melodious voice laughed from outside, “General Li Duozuo, your decisiveness is truly admirable!” As the words faded, Li Chongjun struck, shattering the door. In the morning breeze, Yan Fengjiao stood at the threshold, Ghost Sword Han Qinghua close behind.

The previous night, Divine Light Master had summoned his followers to interrogate Li Duozuo. Yan Fengjiao and Ghost Sword had been searching day and night in Hengyang for Li Duozuo’s whereabouts. On hearing the news, they hurried over, only to find Li Duozuo bound to a bamboo pole. Ghost Sword was ready to intervene immediately, but Yan Fengjiao spotted a shadow moving swiftly behind Li Duozuo and knew something was afoot. She persuaded Ghost Sword to wait and watch. As expected, Li Chongjun intervened, not only rescuing Li Duozuo but gravely injuring Divine Light Master, who barely escaped. After the two left, Yan Fengjiao and her companion trailed them quietly to this deserted house. However, wary of Li Chongjun’s martial prowess, they dared not get too close and missed his conversation with Li Duozuo.

“Li Jiu, why aren’t you staying on Tianshan? What business do you have mucking about in the Central Plains?” Ghost Sword said coldly. “If it weren't for your use of the Thunderwind Palm against Divine Light Master, I might not have recognized you.” Li Chongjun sneered, “We are both among the Four Great Guardians. You saw Divine Light Master suffer a defeat—are you here to avenge him?” Ghost Sword dismissed him, “If Divine Light Master was bested, he has only his own incompetence to blame. That man is always muttering nonsense—he had it coming! We’re here only for the Sacred Armor. The rest isn’t our concern.”

Li Chongjun sighed, “If the Sacred Armor could be taken by a few words, it would hardly be worthy of its name.” Ghost Sword raised an eyebrow. “I knew you wouldn’t hand it over so easily. Years ago, your master and I were both named among the Four Great Swords, and we met once. We were both in our prime and admired each other’s skill. We exchanged fifty moves, both holding back. So, there was no winner or loser. Afterward, I regretted not risking it all for the sake of martial enlightenment. Now your master is the leader of Tianshan Sect, a man of high standing, while I am just a wretched soul living two lives. To spar with your master again is now impossible. All the same, seeing your defeat of Divine Light Master, you already surpass your master’s prowess of old. Let’s have a good match—you can stand in for your master. I swear not to use my Nether Blood Fiend Art, only the Kongtong Sword Style.” With that, he unsheathed a dark sword, forming a sword seal with his fingers, and fixed his gaze on Li Chongjun.

Li Chongjun sighed, “I know what truly matters. As for whose swordsmanship is superior, I care little. But the Sacred Armor—you cannot have it!” As the word “have” left his lips, his wrist flicked, his sword flashed from its sheath, and in a crack of lightning, he attacked Yan Fengjiao, the White Serpent. Li Duozuo’s own blade glimmered as he lunged at Ghost Sword Han Qinghua.

In martial skill, White Serpent surpassed Li Duozuo but was no match for Li Chongjun. Though Li Chongjun had inherited the full teaching of Zi Wuzhuo, he was still a shade below Ghost Sword Han Qinghua. Yet this journey down the mountain was for the sake of dynastic affairs; he had no desire to quibble over reputation in the martial world. Thus he pressed the attack on Yan Fengjiao, leaving Li Duozuo to entangle Ghost Sword. Ghost Sword’s swordsmanship was far beyond Li Duozuo’s, but unwilling to risk killing Li Duozuo before securing the Sacred Armor, he held back. If Li Duozuo could merely stall him, it would be enough—for in a short while, White Serpent would fall to Li Chongjun, who could then turn on Ghost Sword together with Li Duozuo.

Ghost Sword, an expert among experts, saw through this plan at once. With a furious shout—“Despicable!”—he unleashed a flurry of dazzling, unpredictable sword moves at Li Duozuo. Li Duozuo knew he was no match, but only needed to delay. He darted around, occasionally countering with a thrust or two.

White Serpent was utterly outmatched. The Tianshan Sword Style struck like a wintry gale, closing off every escape. White Serpent, right hand wielding a sword, left channeling the Nether Blood Fiend Art, fought to hold on. Within a dozen exchanges, she was in dire peril.

Ghost Sword Han Qinghua’s eyes flashed with murderous intent. His swordwork grew more intense, launching a series of bizarre attacks at Li Duozuo. Li Duozuo had only lasted this long because Han Qinghua dared not kill him outright, but seeing White Serpent in danger, Han Qinghua threw caution aside, unleashing deadly moves intent on killing Li Duozuo before saving White Serpent.

White Serpent cried out in alarm, “Hua Lang, don’t kill him, or everything will be lost! Ah—!” Her warning ended in a scream. Li Chongjun’s sword tip swept across her back; quick as she was, a half-foot gash opened, blood streaming down. Han Qinghua roared, his swordplay turning wild and frenzied. It became a race—if Li Chongjun’s sword proved faster, he would kill White Serpent and rescue Li Duozuo; if Han Qinghua’s, he would kill Li Duozuo and save White Serpent.

Suddenly, outside the deserted house, there came a cacophony of thunderous crashes. An enormous, iron-tower of a man swung a spiked club, smashing doors and walls as he barreled in like a rampaging rhinoceros, leaving dust and wreckage in his wake. This giant was none other than Kunlun Vajra, Muller.

Muller gripped the spiked club in one hand, carrying a person in the other. His voice boomed like thunder, “Li Jiu! Look who I’ve brought!” Lifting the captive high, he revealed it was Zilan.

The night Li Chongjun had rescued his comrade, someone under White Serpent’s command had recognized that he had been staying at an inn outside the city with a woman. White Serpent immediately dispatched Muller and eight attendants to the inn.

Zilan was spotted at the inn. Muller tried to seize her, but she was not one to surrender easily. She drew her sword and fought him fiercely. Muller suffered three wounds, but his thick skin and flesh protected him from serious harm. In the end, Zilan’s strength gave out; Muller overpowered her, bound her with rawhide, and followed White Serpent’s trail markers to pursue the group.

In pure martial skill, Zilan was not inferior to Muller, but she lacked any real experience in battle. On Tianshan, Zi Wuzhuo had been a strict and uncompromising teacher, but when it came time for Zilan to travel the world, he was always anxious, sending skilled escorts with her. These guardians, knowing Zilan was their master’s beloved, were unfailingly cautious, steering her far from trouble. If danger did arise, others would take care of it; Zilan’s involvement rarely went beyond brandishing her sword and shouting a few words. Her so-called “trials” in the martial world were more like sightseeing tours. She had no inkling of the real tricks and traps of a true fight. Muller, on the other hand, was a seasoned gladiator, blooded in savage combat. Against such a foe, how could Zilan hope to prevail?