Chapter Thirty-Six: I Am the Blade Wanderer of the Troubled Times
Chapter Thirty-Six: I Am the Blade Wolf of Chaotic Times
Morning comes especially early in the Ghost Desert. Though it is only the fifth watch, daylight already fills the sky. Fang Junmei stretches lazily, fishes out some dry rations from his storage pouch, eats a little without ceremony, then sets out toward the next ghost storm.
There are many ghost storms in the Ghost Desert, but the distance between any two is at least several miles. Fang Junmei employs his Soaring Dance Art, flying at full speed. Upon arrival, he immediately begins collecting.
The second one.
The third.
...
With the aid of the Three-Breath Divine Stone and his own growing strength, Fang Junmei collects Shadowwind Sand at a remarkable pace. If those outer disciples who once sneered at him could see this, their jaws would surely hit the ground.
In truth, were it not for the time spent traveling and recovering, he could have collected even more, even faster. It seems as though no other person or living being exists in the Ghost Desert; Fang Junmei is like the only soul in this world. For one focused on completing a task, such solitude is a blessing.
This task has a time limit—five years. When Fang Junmei accepted it, more than three years had already passed. That meant he had just over a year left, and subtracting travel time, only about a year to actually work. Determined to earn as many Sword Spirit Stones as possible, Fang Junmei refused to allow any distractions.
But do things ever go so smoothly?
...
In a blink, more than a month passes. Fang Junmei steadily collects about ten clusters of Shadowwind Sand per day. With three hundred clusters, that’s sixty thousand lower-grade spirit stones—a considerable fortune. For his first task outside, such gains delight him, but he fails to notice that his path has drifted farther from the edges of the desert, drawing him closer to its center.
Once again, the bright moon hangs high in the sky. Fang Junmei remains in pursuit of the winds. He has changed his routine, resting and recovering during the day, then traveling and searching for Shadowwind Sand at night to minimize the toll of the blistering heat. After all, he is still just a mortal who has only recently begun his journey in cultivation.
Within a ghost storm, Fang Junmei chases the last cluster of Shadowwind Sand.
A sudden roar echoes from the northwest—a sound between a wild beast’s bellow and the illusory howl of wind, yet unmistakably tinged with the anger of a living creature, not mere wind.
A glint of sharpness flashes in Fang Junmei’s eyes. It’s the first sound he’s heard in over a month besides his own. After a brief contemplation, he quickly collects the last cluster, then lands heavily on the ground using the Gravity Art and fixes his gaze on the source of the noise.
In the dim distance, he can make out nothing unusual. He frowns, regretting that he hasn’t cultivated his spiritual sense more diligently.
After a moment’s thought, Fang Junmei cautiously searches in the direction opposite the northwest.
...
The howling grows louder, the anger within it ever more pronounced, as if provoked. Most troubling, it is drawing nearer to Fang Junmei.
“Could it be that someone is trying to lure trouble my way to escape their own crisis?” The thought flashes through Fang Junmei’s mind, and a sense of impending doom grips him. Glancing back, he finally spots something unusual: a point of white light approaches from several miles off in the northwest. Upon closer inspection, it’s not white light at all, but a figure in black, riding a snow-white long blade, streaking through the air toward him—whether by design or coincidence, he cannot tell.
Behind this person, sand billows violently. Amid the swirling dust, a hulking, man-shaped beast looms, several fathoms tall, with two earth-yellow glowing orbs for eyes—strange and mysterious, glinting fiercely as it charges, wind and sand in tow.
The roar comes from this creature.
“Fellow cultivator, run!” the man in black shouts, his voice clear and forceful—a young man, clearly.
Fang Junmei’s face darkens at this. He nearly spits blood in frustration. Couldn’t the man have led the monster elsewhere? Why bring it toward him and then tell him to run?
Before the words have faded, the man in black veers sharply north, seeming not to wish to drag Fang Junmei into trouble. But if that’s the case, why give such a warning at all? Fang Junmei hesitates—perhaps he has misjudged this person?
He soon has his answer. The sand beast splits into two: one half continues after the man in black, the other charges toward Fang Junmei. So that’s how it is. The monster can divide itself, though the split form is smaller and now has only a single eye.
...
Without a word, Fang Junmei pivots and heads south, toward the Sunset Mountains. The other man can ride his blade, meaning he has at least reached the Dust-Soaring stage—a level Fang Junmei cannot match. Besides, this monster is clearly beyond negotiation; otherwise, why would it pursue him so relentlessly?
Run!
Run!
Run!
Fang Junmei darts away like a rabbit, but two legs are no match for the wind. The sand beast closes in rapidly. It is a creature Fang Junmei has never seen before, formed entirely of wind and sand, its head crowned with a large yellow crystal, reminiscent of Shadowwind Sand but much larger and more solid.
A wave of heat surges as the beast nears. Its massive arms sweep through the air, launching volleys of sand arrows at Fang Junmei’s back. Each arrow whistles like a ghost through the air—being struck would surely mean broken bones, if not death.
Fang Junmei dares not take the attack head-on. He activates the Three-Breath Divine Stone, zigzagging wildly as he flees to dodge the deadly sand arrows. Anyone watching would break out in a cold sweat at the sheer danger of his evasion.
...
Though none of the arrows hit, Fang Junmei’s predicament only worsens—dodging slows him down, allowing the monster to draw ever closer. Despair clouds his heart.
...
At this perilous moment, a second roar sounds—another sand beast is closing in.
“Did it already finish off the man in black?”
Fang Junmei’s brow furrows. He assumes the black-robed man has been slain and now both monsters are after him. He risks a glance back—and is stunned. The man in black is still alive, standing atop his blade, leading one of the monsters toward Fang Junmei once more.
Fang Junmei’s eyes narrow; murderous intent flares. If the man truly means to use him as bait, Fang Junmei would gladly die dragging him down as well.
...
A few breaths later, the situation changes again. The man in black seems to realize something, and veers away in a wide arc.
“Come here—get on my blade! At your speed, you’ll never escape on your own!”
The man’s voice rings not in Fang Junmei’s ears, but in his mind—a spiritual transmission, one of the most basic arts. Though Fang Junmei has learned it, he has never used it before.
He hesitates—can this man be trusted, or is this a trap?
“Are you really hesitating when you’re about to die? If I meant to harm you, why would I have headed north just now?” The black-robed man’s voice is rough, yet honest.
Fang Junmei admits the logic and, not daring to delay, loops around and heads toward the other.
The two draw closer. Sand arrows rain ever more densely upon them.
“Get on!” Thirty paces apart, the black-robed man shouts.
With a leap, Fang Junmei lands on the blade. Before he can steady himself, the man accelerates southward toward the Sunset Mountains. Dozens of sand arrows whistle past them, narrowly missing.
The two sand beasts, seeing their quarry unite, merge together in pursuit, the fusion making it even faster and more powerful.
...
“Brother Daoist, is there no other way to shake them?” Fang Junmei pants, finally able to study his companion. The man is a young man, about Fang Junmei’s height but broader in the shoulder, lean and powerful like a spear. Not handsome, but striking, with sharp, chiseled features, sword-like brows, tiger eyes, and a prominent nose. His eyes are deep and dark, flecked with starlight. Most striking is a scar, an inch long, running from above to below his right eye—any deeper and it would have blinded him.
His long black hair whips wildly in the wind, and his wild, unrestrained demeanor exudes the courage of one who fears neither heaven nor earth, yet is not unpleasant.
“I’ve been thinking about that, ha ha ha—” The man laughs heartily, utterly carefree, even though taking Fang Junmei aboard must have slowed him down. Life and death seem to mean little to him; youthful fearlessness and the thrill of adventure radiate from his every gesture. He cannot be much older than Fang Junmei, and his cultivation is only slightly higher—just entered the early Dust-Soaring stage.
Fang Junmei smiles and shakes his head, inexplicably finding his wariness diminished.
“What are these monsters? Do they have any weaknesses?” he asks.
The young man in black replies, “They’re called Shadowwind Beasts, unique to the Ghost Desert. If Shadowwind Sand is the lowest form of life here, the Shadowwind Beast is a tier higher. Most of the time, they hide deep beneath the sand. As for weaknesses—I don’t know.”
“And what did you do to make it so furious?” Fang Junmei asks.
The youth grimaces. “I accidentally stumbled into its lair and, well, broke a few things. That’s all.”
Fang Junmei notes his reluctance to elaborate and lets the matter drop.
“What about flying higher?” he suggests.
“No use—it can soar higher than I can.”
Fang Junmei says no more.
...
The white blade bears them through the air, dodging arrow after arrow of sand.
“Hey, white-robes, think of something too!” The black-robed youth, seeing Fang Junmei standing calmly on the blade, cannot help but snap.
Fang Junmei merely smiles. “Since you’re still laughing, you must have an ace up your sleeve. Why should I worry?”
The young man is startled, then bursts out laughing. “You’re interesting—much more so than those in my clan.”
Fang Junmei smiles but says nothing.
“But truly, I have nothing up my sleeve. I just have a bigger heart and care less about life and death.”
Fang Junmei shrugs indifferently.
Seeing Fang Junmei’s nonchalance, the youth grows serious. “Our fates are tied together now. We need to do something to survive a bit longer. White-robes, how’s your spellwork?”
“I only know the basics,” Fang Junmei replies without embarrassment.
“Use them—attack while I steer the blade. We must make it to the Sunset Mountains and see if the beast follows.”
“Very well.” Without hesitation, Fang Junmei agrees.
He turns, forms a hand seal, and launches a fireball at the pursuing Shadowwind Beast. As expected, it is a basic spell.
The black-robed youth’s face darkens. He suddenly regrets returning to save Fang Junmei out of guilt—it is not his usual way.
Standing back to back, one drives the blade, the other unleashes basic spells. Neither is trusting by nature, yet fate has thrown them together, forcing them to entrust their backs to each other.
...
The fireball passes harmlessly through the beast’s body, vanishing without a trace—no explosion, no effect. The only response is a more furious roar; the beast is unharmed, its speed undiminished.
Fang Junmei’s eyes narrow. He fires two more fireballs at the beast’s yellow, gem-like eyes. The Shadowwind Beast, sensing a threat, swats the fireballs away. Two explosions bloom, and the beast finally slows a little.
Both men breathe a sigh of relief.
Another furious roar—the beast still pursues, relentless.
Fang Junmei, seeing success, switches spells. When he tries Ice Sword, he finds a surprise: the spell freezes part of the beast’s flowing sand form, coating it in frost and immobilizing it for a moment.
He fires again, this time at its feet. Frost freezes the legs, and the charging beast stumbles and crashes to the ground.
“That’s it! If it gets close again, hit it with everything you’ve got!” The black-robed youth laughs heartily. Fang Junmei, too, is invigorated—they’ve found a way.
...
In the howling winds of the desert, the Shadowwind Beast refuses to relent, no matter how many times it is frozen. But Fang Junmei and his companion grow increasingly uneasy—their spiritual power dwindles, while the beast shows no sign of fatigue. If this continues, they will surely die.
The Sunset Mountains still lie far ahead.
“White-robes, take some pills to replenish your energy,” the black-robed youth says, his face tense. He produces a jade bottle, pours out a few pills, and swallows them with a clatter.
“Give me some,” Fang Junmei says, slapping his companion’s shoulder without ceremony.
“You don’t have any yourself? These are just the most common Qi-restoring pills!” The young man gapes, then smirks mischievously.
“Honestly... I don’t.” Fang Junmei admits awkwardly. He spent all his spirit stones on cultivation, with nothing left for pills.
The youth is speechless, handing over the bottle. “What sect are you from, to be so poor you can’t even afford the most basic pills?”
Fang Junmei swallows a few pills. The energy is coarse, not the purest sword essence, but better than nothing. “I am Fang Junmei, of the Peach Blossom Sword Sect. May I ask your name, brother?”
A glint flashes in the black-robed youth’s eyes. He grins wickedly, drawing out his words: “So, you’re a little brat from the self-righteous Peach Blossom Sword Sect...”
Fang Junmei’s gaze sharpens. “Judging by your tone, you seem to have a grudge against us. Are you perhaps from the demonic sects?”
Neither yields an inch.
“So what if I am?” the other laughs. “I am the Blade Wolf of Chaotic Times!”
He does not mention a sect, as if the name alone speaks volumes.
“You’re from the Chaotic Times Clan—one of the Five Great Demonic Sects?” Fang Junmei asks, recalling what Song Shedé had told him. In the Grand River Kingdom, five great demonic sects and five righteous ones oppose each other. Of the latter, the Luofu Sword Sect has fallen, leaving four. The Chaotic Times Clan is the only family-based demonic sect, with ninety percent of its members practicing the blade; they are infamous for their ruthlessness.
The Blade Wolf grins fiercely. “That’s right. If you’re scared, get off my blade. I’ll escape faster alone.”
Fang Junmei laughs. “I’ve long wanted to test myself against a Dust-Soaring cultivator. Don’t let me stab you in the back.”
The Blade Wolf laughs boisterously, delighted. Fang Junmei laughs as well. In the midst of flight, a sense of rare kinship is born between them.
...
Though they trade barbs, both work hard. The Blade Wolf maneuvers the blade through the air, dodging attacks, while Fang Junmei releases Ice Sword spells whenever the beast draws close, slowing its pursuit.
After more than two days of relentless flight—thanks largely to the Blade Wolf’s ample supply of Qi-restoring pills—the Sunset Mountains finally come into view.
“I’ve been here before and know a perfect place for an ambush!” The Blade Wolf’s eyes gleam with murderous intent. “If it follows us in, Junmei, are you interested in helping me kill it? When we do, we’ll split its two Shadowwind Sand Essences.”
Shadowwind Sand Essences? Fang Junmei has never heard of them, but the name alone suggests their value far surpasses ordinary Shadowwind Sand.
“Let’s do it,” Fang Junmei replies after a brief pause.
“Bold!” The Blade Wolf grins in approval.
Soon they enter the foothills of the Sunset Mountains, and the Shadowwind Beast, undeterred, follows them in. The Blade Wolf’s gaze sharpens, and he begins plotting with Fang Junmei.
...
South of the border between the Sunset Mountains and the Ghost Desert, some ten miles away, lies a stretch of water spanning several miles. The surface is smooth, without a single blade of grass, and the bottom is clearly visible, only half a man deep. But any mortal who thinks to drink from it would find only death, for it is a deadly mire—so dense that even a feather would quickly sink. It is nothing like an ordinary swamp.
The Shadowwind Beast is not mortal, and can soar through the air, but its intelligence is low. With Fang Junmei and the Blade Wolf attacking from both sides, there is a real chance they might succeed in slaying it.
The thunderous footsteps of the beast echo as it leaves the Ghost Desert, the ground trembling beneath its weight. The two young men and the monster draw ever closer to the deadly mire.