Chapter Seventy-Three: Gathering the True Water

"Recite the incantation silently! Guard your spiritual center closely."

He did not ask Xiyue to leave.

Lu Qian stepped before Yaoyue and spoke softly.

His eyes were clear and bright, filled with desire yet devoid of it, his body moving while his heart remained still—a perfect state for cultivating this art.

"Yes," Yaoyue whispered, lowering her head and closing her eyes tightly.

Night deepened; the trees stilled, but the wind did not cease. Candlelight flickered.

What is the path of harmonizing yin and yang?

The immortal of Huainanzi once said:

Gold fills three carts, seizing the divine machine,
Breaking open the nine apertures, passing through Cao Creek.
Traversing far, it enters the summit of Kunlun,
Countless rays of rosy clouds shoot toward the Purple Tenuity.
Three carts carry treasure up to Kunlun,
No leaks must tie the ferry gate.
Lightning strikes, thunder roars, the dragon and tiger clash,
Swiftly gather sweet rain to nourish heaven and earth.

When the deed is done, gather your power.

Lu Qian closed his eyes, feeling the yin-kui true water within him grow stronger, inwardly marveling at the effectiveness of this cultivation method.

A night of cultivation increased the scale by three marks—three times the usual rate.

Practicing normally in the morning and noon yielded two marks in total; at night, harvesting true water granted three more.

Conservatively, he could increase by five marks a day, slightly faster than cultivating in the cave manor.

But the number of times he could harvest true water was limited.

The path of harmonizing yin and yang was not the same as the crude absorption of yin to supplement yang.

True harmonization of yin and yang must benefit both parties.

With this in mind, Lu Qian opened his eyes and said to Xiyue, who had stayed awake all night, "See Yaoyue off to rest first. Go back and meditate on your own; once you gain a sense of qi, report to me."

The latter sentence was addressed to Yaoyue.

Yaoyue draped her robe over herself, her long, snow-white feet stepping forward as she bowed deeply to Lu Qian. "Thank you, Master."

Once outside, joy welled up within her.

She was shrewd; Xiyue had memorized the incantation first but was not allowed to tell Master.

If Xiyue were to win more of his favor, her own position would be in jeopardy; she might never again enjoy the adoration of all around her.

Thus, she had played a small trick.

Now, having gained the opportunity to cultivate, she too would rise above the rest.

Yaoyue was adept at seizing opportunities and knew that Lu Qian was her only support, so she spared no effort to please him.

"Greeting to you, young ladies," a voice called.

Just then, a carriage rolled up.

From the carriage came the clinking of shackles and a faint scent of blood, mingled with the anguished cries of men.

Black Hawk stood atop the carriage, cupping his fists in salute.

"Greetings, Chief Black Hawk," Xiyue hurried to return the gesture.

Yaoyue cast a glance at Black Hawk and walked straight toward the rear courtyard.

"My apologies, Brother Black Hawk," Xiyue said. "My sister has not been well lately."

Black Hawk was not offended—these were people close to Master Lu, and even if they slapped him, he would have to endure it.

The carriage continued to the rear courtyard, arriving before a gloomy house, where candles burned even in broad daylight.

Down from the carriage came more than a dozen shackled men, all tall and wounded, their spirits drained.

They were led into the basement, where torches flickered.

Iron cages lined both sides; in the center was a large stone platform.

Before it stood a Daoist in black, his form half-concealed by shadow, his features barely discernible. Beside him stood two pallid, paper-like figures, terrifying in the darkness.

Black Hawk’s heart thudded heavily. He had seen what these paper men could do—martial artists slaughtered like helpless chicks.

"Master, the men are here. All are mountain bandits—killers of the worst kind."

"Bring two over," Lu Qian instructed.

"Yes!"

Black Hawk dragged two of the prisoners from their cells.

"Spare me, Master! I’ll never do it again!" one cried, sensing his impending fate, struggling frantically, but Black Hawk’s grip was unbreakable as iron.

Under Lu Qian’s direction, one bandit was shackled hand and foot, forced to lie prone on the stone platform.

Then, Lu Qian produced a pale blade.

The knife was as if forged from bone, its surface veined with cobweb-like cracks.

The moment Black Hawk saw it, a murderous aura struck him between the eyes, as if he were standing on an ancient battlefield strewn with corpses.

When he came to his senses, his back was drenched in cold sweat.

What happened next nearly made him collapse.

Lu Qian forced the bandit to swallow a powder.

Then, he drew a small knife and slit open the back of the bandit’s neck.

A shrill, blood-curdling scream erupted from the bandit.

Next, Lu Qian plunged the pale demonic blade into the bandit’s cervical spine.

Blade ground against bone with an agonizing screech, blood splattering across the platform.

Once the blade was embedded, the bandit fell silent, eyes glazed.

The other bandits, witnessing this horror, mostly fainted in terror, leaving only the stench of fear in the air.

Lu Qian then produced a suit of blue scale armor and fitted it onto another prisoner.

The armor writhed like a living thing, burrowing into the man’s flesh.

The bandit howled as if being flayed alive, his agony chilling to the core.

He too soon fainted.

The chamber fell silent, broken only by the gurgling, sucking sounds of the two magical artifacts draining blood.

The bandits’ bodies and skin grew slack, shriveled.

"Too bloody," Black Hawk cried inwardly. Ruthless as he was, even he had never seen such horror.

He barely managed to remain upright.

"Anything else?" Lu Qian asked calmly, turning to Black Hawk.

"No... I’ll take my leave."

"Keep bringing more. The more the better—five or six hundred is not too many."

"Yes!"

Imagining the fate awaiting these men, Black Hawk suddenly found the place insufferably cold, as if a chill wind swept through.

When he had gone, Lu Qian wiped the blood from his hands.

He had not yet mastered artifact refinement, so he began with the blood-forging method for enslaving tools.

It was best to repair the magical instruments first.

He had seen first-hand how powerful these two artifacts were. Not even a full array of Seven-Kill Yin Talisman Swords could defeat them; had he not detonated the talisman swords in desperation, he would likely have perished there.

Never underestimate the heroes of the world.

From here, he would study alchemy, refine his body, and continue his path of cultivation.

As time passed, Lu Qian felt a growing sense of danger. Li Du remained a hidden threat.

Moreover, when he killed Li Lin, he had left a flaw.

To escape Li Mingyou’s ghostly fire, he had used yin-kui true water.

Though many at the Daoist temple practiced it, he was the prime suspect.

Half a year flashed by.

In that time, he spent days making pills, concocting medicines, repairing artifacts, and raising the fish-dragon.

At night, he cultivated his qi and harvested true water. After taking in Xiyue, he practiced dual cultivation with the two sisters.

His rate of progress increased slightly, reaching six marks a day.

...

In the underground chamber.

Dim lights, damp air.

Lu Qian held a thumb-sized, metallic golden pill and forced it into a bandit’s mouth.

The bandit’s face flushed, his whole body steaming as if boiled alive.

Green scales sprouted from his skin, his teeth lengthened, his eyes grew fierce like a leopard’s, his face morphing into that of a beast, claws sharp as an eagle’s—half-man, half-monster.

It was the bloodline of the Green-Scaled Leopard.

Snap!

"You monster! Die!" the bandit roared, breaking his chains. With venomous eyes, he lunged at Lu Qian, claws slashing at his head, fast as a bolt of lightning.