Chapter 6 – We Are All Puppets

It’s started!

Hong Yang was beside himself with excitement.

In all his years, this was the first time he’d ever seen immortals fight.

From the ancestral hall, they couldn’t see the inn’s entrance, but the clamor kept growing.

Blades of sword-light streaked across the sky, and villagers dropped one after another.

At Great-Uncle’s shout, the peasants raised hoes and sickles and surrounded Bai Yuheng.

But ordinary folk were helpless before a Cultivator’s Flying Swords.

Sword-light flashed; heads rolled.

You monster! You slaughter my people without mercy—this old man swears he’ll see you dead!

Great-Uncle cowered at the back, bellowing.

Bai Yuheng almost laughed in outrage—the old man’s skill at twisting facts was flawless.

If you weren’t ordering them from behind, who’d dare charge me?

And after I’ve cut down so many, they still fight to the death—ordinary villagers? Elite troops would pale beside them!

A greenhorn might be fooled, stricken with guilt and hesitation.

But I’m a Golden Core grand-Cultivator—do you think your lies can sway me?

Against Remnants of the Pharmacists, you strike without hesitation; even severed heads may not finish them.

Bai Yuheng held back not from pity, but because he could see elders, women, and children in the village—normal people, not Puppets.

He couldn’t slaughter the innocent as well.

Best not let the enemy guess his thoughts, or they’d seize hostages—such fiends have no bottom line.

With that, he feigned retreat.

Feign defeat, lure the old fox and his cabal beyond the village, then wipe them out in one sweep; any stragglers left would be harmless.

Seeing Bai Yuheng about to flee, Great-Uncle panicked.

A lone Cultivator was a once-in-a-lifetime Opportunity; capture him, refine his blood into a Spirit Pill, and you might extend life a century—or even step through the gates of immortality!

He slammed his peach-wood staff on the ground and roared, “Junior Brothers, form the East Azure Wood Great Array with me!”

At his words, seventeen other centenarians in the village straightened their backs; shriveled flesh filled out, and within breaths they stood at their Peak youth.

A vibrant green light rose from the village; thirty-six ancient trees sprouted wildly, their branches weaving into a canopy that sealed Songlin Village tight.

Bai Yuheng’s face darkened—this was bad.

He had underestimated them.

These weren’t mere Remnants of the Pharmacists—he’d stumbled straight into the bandits’ den!

Yunzhong County was chaotic, but he’d never heard of such a large Pharmacist nest; had he not detoured to search for a missing clansman, he might never have noticed.

He decided to stop holding back and end this quickly.

Bai Yuheng leapt skyward; two wings of light unfurled behind him and twenty-four Flying Swords shot out.

Wah—

Hong Yang pressed to the window, awestruck by the sword-storm.

Xiao Chen, look! A Sword Immortal—the legendary Sword Immortal!

Li Qiuchen huddled in the corner, curling small.

Get down! One stray Sword Qi will pin you like a bug!

No way—he heard my call!

Hong Yang babbled, “He knows we’re here; once he beats Great-Uncle—”

Swoosh—

A blade pierced the hall, grazing his scalp; Sword Intent stung his face and he tumbled on his backside.

Hong Yang deflated.

Only then did he realize that in a fight of this level, a kid like him was an ant, unable to weather even the aftershocks.

With a crash the roof of the hall was torn away; Great-Uncle’s sturdy frame fell from the sky, smashing through beams before landing upright.

Yes—sturdy.

Yesterday, Hong Yang would never have linked that word to Great-Uncle.

Yesterday, the man had been a decrepit elder; now he stood twelve feet tall, every muscle knotted.

More terrifying than those muscles were the dozens of eyes embedded across his torso and arms.

Hong Yang was petrified.

People have two eyes and one nose—who grows a bodyful of eyes?

Yet in the corner, Li Qiuchen sensed a blood-deep familiarity from those eyes.

Eyes of the Li Family Bloodline?

He’s transplanted the Li clan’s cultivated Yin and Yang Dharma Eyes into himself?

The old freak really knows how to play it up.

By now, Great-Uncle was covered in eyes, no longer remotely human; many of the eyes had been stabbed blind and oozed a foul, bloody pus.

He scrambled to his feet, shot Hong Yang a vicious glare, then reached for Cherry Grass’s corpse beside him.

“No!”

By the time Hong Yang realized what he meant to do, it was already too late.

Great-Uncle seized Cherry Grass and yanked; the small body tore apart with sickening ease, yet not a single drop of blood spilled.

It was only a skin-bag; the flesh inside had long since been devoured clean by the Spiritual Root.

Great-Uncle plunged his hand into the broken remains, drew out the crimson Spiritual Root, and stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed twice, swallowed with a jerk of his neck, licked his lips with relish, then turned his gaze on Hong Yang.

“You useless little wretch!”

The disappointment on his face was plain; not disappointment in Hong Yang’s naughtiness or rebellion, but in the fact that the boy had still not sprouted a Spiritual Root.

But there was no one left to choose from.

Sword-light cascaded like a waterfall from the Nine Heavens.

The instant Great-Uncle reached for Hong Yang, Bai Yuheng’s Flying Sword arrived.

A flash of steel, and Great-Uncle’s arm was severed.

Bai Yuheng stepped from the sword-glow to shield Hong Yang.

He was gravely wounded; blood had soaked his chest, and strange green shoots sprouted from his wounds, gnawing greedily at his flesh.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Still, without changing expression, he told the two children behind him, “Find somewhere to hide.”

The moment the words left his lips, the ropes binding Li Qiuchen and Hong Yang snapped, freeing them.

Great-Uncle roared; dozens of eyes across his body fixed on Bai Yuheng. Countless tiny wounds burst open across Bai Yuheng’s skin, and in that instant Great-Uncle lunged, wrapped his arms around the swordsman, and carried him out of the ancestral hall.

Hong Yang stood transfixed by the horror; Li Qiuchen was already on his feet, exchanging a glance with Crayfish General, who had secretly loosened his own bonds.

“Now?”

“Wait.”

“They’re beating each other half to death and you still want to wait? Are you the Reincarnation of a thousand-year-old turtle? How can you stand it?”

“Wait!”

Li Qiuchen’s tone was firm.

“Wait… for what?”

Hong Yang came back to himself. “Why aren’t we running? What are you waiting for?”

“Don’t you want revenge for your parents?”

“I do, but Great-Uncle’s turned into that monster and even the sword-immortal can’t handle him. What can the two—no, three—of us do?”

Hong Yang sounded utterly helpless.

“Then come with me to Great-Uncle’s house.”

“Huh? Why?”

“To take back what’s ours!”

The village lay in ruins: walls collapsed, houses flattened, ancient trees uprooted, corpses everywhere, devastation as far as the eye could see.

Sword Qi streaked across the sky, shredding countless branches and vines, yet the next moment they regrew; even the fatal wounds on the fallen villagers knit shut before their eyes.

It would be a long war of attrition.

Bai Yuheng’s Flying Sword was sharp, but against endless, unkillable fiends, who knew how long he could last.

Great-Uncle’s own courtyard had not escaped; it had long since been swallowed by the fighting and reduced to rubble.

Li Qiuchen found the hidden door in the bedroom, gripped the ring, and pulled; the secret chamber opened.

It was piled with gold and jewels—plunder taken from merchant caravans that had once passed through Songlin Village.

The village inn had been a thieves’ den.

The mountain road saw little traffic; travelers and caravans alike often carried goods that couldn’t bear daylight.

If the prey proved too tough, they let it go; but if Opportunity arose—if a traveler was injured or vulnerable—Great-Uncle would swallow them, goods and all.

Besides the treasure, a three-foot bronze Pill Furnace stood in the room, the faint scent of herbs hinting at whatever Medicinal Pill it brewed.

Against the far wall, shelves groaned under the weight of countless books.

“Songlin Village hides many secrets. Some everyone knows but no one speaks of. Others… even Great-Uncle himself may not know.”

Li Qiuchen pulled out a blue-bound volume; on the cover were three characters: classic of scenic clouds.

Scenic clouds are auspicious clouds; when they appear, sweet dew falls.

He had heard villagers say the ancestor of the Li Family was named Li Jingyun.

This was the Li Family’s Legacy Cultivation Technique; years ago Cherry Grass had stolen it for him, but Li Qiuchen had politely refused.

Because… “In the village, anyone who begins to Cultivate—no matter the technique—becomes a Puppet.”

“Great-Uncle really is evil.”

“No—Great-Uncle is a Puppet too.”

“Huh?”