Chapter Nine: The Art of Forging Blades

"……"

Zhou Bai looked at the wrinkles on his face, deep enough to crush a mosquito, and found it truly hard to associate the phrase “precocious youth” with this man.

Daoist Hou, knowing his words were a bit much, added, "Regardless, my skills are no less than that fellow Qingfeng Sanren’s."

Zhou Bai was rather helpless. He glanced up at the sun already halfway up the mountainside. “Let’s get going. If we drag our feet any longer, it’ll be nightfall by the time we reach Hangdu.”

"True, I’ll go pack my things. Been in Yangzhou so long, and I haven’t even had a chance to properly visit Hangdu. A shame I never saw the famous flower boats on the Qinghe River."

Zhou Bai thought to himself, even if you’re dressed in Daoist robes, you look more like a monkey. You’ll probably scare the passersby along the way.

Impatient, Daoist Hou turned and hurried into the shabby little temple. Zhou Bai, curious, followed him in. As soon as he entered, a stench hit him in the face and he quickly covered his mouth and nose. “How can your place reek so much?”

Daoist Hou’s face showed some embarrassment. “I told you, it’s the fasting period. And it’s not easy to find food in this little mountain valley.”

As he spoke, he produced a cotton sack from who knows where and began shoving all sorts of miscellaneous items into it.

Zhou Bai frowned, wondering if he was resorting to desperate measures. This Daoist Hou really didn't seem reliable.

He looked around the temple—it was strewn with garbage, even leftover animal bones tossed carelessly about. He’d been here before, though only as fragments of memory from his previous life. As he recalled, even when Qingfeng Sanren wasn’t in residence, the place had never been this filthy.

He started to understand; this old Daoist must have just squatted here. When Qingfeng Sanren returned and saw his temple in this state, wouldn’t he go mad with rage?

At that moment, something caught his eye—a pile of tattered books scattered atop a wooden stool in the corner.

“Oh, those old books? I brought them from Xuzhou. If you’re interested, take a look. If you want to buy, I can sell them,” Daoist Hou said quickly when he noticed Zhou Bai’s gaze.

Most of these manuals, he’d acquired while exorcising spirits in Xuzhou—payment from clients who lacked silver.

Zhou Bai nodded and squatted down, flipping through the books one by one, all the while keeping an eye on the system’s notifications.

After a long while, his face lit up. He wrapped one of the books in cloth, ignoring the rest.

Daoist Hou’s eyes brightened and he began his pitch. “Excellent eye, young master Zhou! All of these are legendary martial arts manuals—throwing knives, lightness skills, fist techniques, swordsmanship, everything you could possibly want. Each one is a unique treasure that could dominate the martial world!”

“How much for this one?” Zhou Bai found that the other manuals were useless to him, but the one he’d picked up was recognized by the system.

Daoist Hou’s eyes rolled as he grinned, revealing crooked yellow teeth. “Not cheap! At least fifty taels. A unique copy, you know, passed down through generations.”

“Oh, then I don’t want it.” Zhou Bai shot him a glance, as if he were a fool, then unwrapped the bundle and tossed the manual back to Daoist Hou.

Before Daoist Hou could react, the manual decayed at a visible rate, turning to dust in seconds and covering his face.

“Pah… pah… pah…” He rubbed his eyes and spat on the ground, caught off guard by the mouthful of paper dust.

“Your manuals are rubbish. Forget it, I don’t want them.”

Zhou Bai was secretly delighted as he glanced at the system interface only he could see. A new skill had appeared—one he’d been lacking, a martial art for harming foes.

Mastered: Yin Yang Eyes (5%), Meat-Eating Method (100%), Blade-Refining Technique (1%).

Though the technique’s name was odd, having skimmed the manual, he was certain it was a blade art.

Only a lack of points prevented him from fully mastering it. If he could, his self-defense capability would be assured.

“This book is a bit worn out,” Daoist Hou said awkwardly. “How about I give you the remaining ten taels instead?”

“No need. Couldn’t make sense of it. If you manage to learn it, you can teach me.”

Zhou Bai had learned his lesson; he wasn’t about to be tricked again. He’d probably overpaid for the exorcism as well.

Though he didn’t care much for money, and no one else could handle this matter but Daoist Hou, Zhou Bai still felt a touch of annoyance.

He shot the old Daoist a cold glance. These thirty taels weren’t going to be easy to earn.

A shiver ran down Daoist Hou’s spine, and he glanced nervously toward Xuzhou. Could it be that old enemies were after him?

“Let’s go, let’s go. If we don’t leave Qingfeng Temple now, it’ll be dark soon.”

Seeing his dawdling, Zhou Bai urged him again.

“All right, I’m off!” Daoist Hou hefted the cotton sack onto his shoulder and hurried down the mountain path with surprising agility.

“Daoist Hou, are we acting tonight? I noticed the number of ghosts is dwindling. They seem to be devouring each other to grow stronger.”

Zhou Bai followed him, making idle conversation.

“Not tonight. The living walk on the sunlit road, the dead on the solitary bridge. We should deal with these spirits at midday, when the yang energy is strongest. Don’t worry—since they’re tied to a wish, they can’t wander far.”

Zhou Bai was intrigued by his confident words. “Good. By the way, Daoist Hou, where did you learn your skills?”

Daoist Hou hesitated, mumbling, “Ah… I’m just a wandering practitioner, no formal master.”

“Show me something. I’ve never seen a Daoist perform magic before.”

“All right, I’ll let you witness my cultivation.”

Stopping, Daoist Hou grinned proudly, rummaged in his robe, and produced a crumpled talisman between his fingers.

“Heavenly thunder, heed my command—strike!”

He chanted, a faint spiritual glow flickering at his fingertips. The talisman reddened, and he flung it as if it were a hot coal.

In midair, the paper caught fire and shot toward an ancient tree as thick as a man’s waist.

A blast resounded, then from thin air a violet bolt of lightning crashed down, splitting the tree in two.

“Ha! Not bad, eh? That’s my Daoist art.”

Daoist Hou was a bit out of breath, but after a few deep breaths, he recovered. He looked at Zhou Bai with pride—surely an ordinary person would prostrate themselves after witnessing such magic.

To his surprise, Zhou Bai was only mildly impressed. Instead, his eyes sparkled with interest. “Daoist, would you teach me that art?”