The Blood-Stained Ink Sword

Ning Chen did not know much about the Heavenly Tome or the Heavenly Pool.

But the Xiantian Pills of Great Xia were miraculous medicines coveted by martial artists everywhere. It was said that each one gave a powerhouse at the peak of the acquired realm a thirty percent chance of entering the Xiantian realm.

Such a heaven-defying treasure was down to only three pills in Great Xia.

Moreover, not a single one had been successfully refined in the past hundred years.

It could be said that these three Xiantian Pills were the supreme treasures Great Xia used to attract experts from across the land.

The vast majority of the Attendants in the palace had willingly bowed their heads within the imperial palace for years precisely because of these Xiantian Pills.

Ning Chen had never hoped for one, so naturally, he could not speak of disappointment.

"Cough, cough."

Suddenly, Yue Ling covered her mouth and began coughing. The old woman nearby changed expression and immediately stepped forward, stuffing a pill into Yue Ling's mouth.

"Miss, the wind is strong outside. Let us find somewhere to stay for the night first."

"Mm." Yue Ling nodded, a sickly pallor flashing across her lovely face.

"What illness does Miss Yue have?" Ning Chen asked with concern.

"It is an ailment left behind since childhood. It is nothing serious." Yue Ling smiled wearily.

"Then let us rest at this Phoenix Roost Pavilion." Ning Chen glanced at the building behind them and said.

The old woman looked displeased and was just about to speak when Yue Ling raised a hand to stop her. "Let us listen to the young master."

A short while later, the three booked two rooms in the pavilion: one for Ning Chen, and one for Yue Ling and the old woman.

Once they returned to their room, the old woman could no longer hold back her dissatisfaction. "Miss, with your status, how can you spend the night in a place of flowers and smoke?"

"If he can, why can't I?" Yue Ling asked in return.

"He is a man. Besides, how could his status compare to yours, Miss?" the old woman said unwillingly.

"A man, a woman... heh."

Yue Ling smiled faintly.

If she had cared about such things, she would never have done so many things that the world considered outrageously rebellious. As for status, it was useful, but it was also the most irritating thing of all.

In this unfamiliar place, she did not want to be bound by such tedious things again.

"Miss, rest quickly. We still need to continue our journey after dawn," the old woman urged.

"Mm."

Yue Ling nodded, then walked to the bed and lay down fully clothed, her face full of exhaustion.

The old woman extinguished the lamp and sat cross-legged on the other bed, regulating her breathing in meditation.

In the other room, Ning Chen sat in his wheelchair, staring silently out the window in a daze.

"Ding."

Late at night, even the bustling streets had sunk into silence.

At that moment, a crisp bell rang out in the distance, so clear it was like a silver needle falling onto ice.

Ning Chen's eyes narrowed as he watched a black shadow approach from afar, his heart lifting with it.

"Ding."

Amid sinister Ghost Qi, an Underworld Ghost Carriage came from afar.

Black and White Impermanence cleared the way, while Ox-Head and Horse-Face lifted the carriage. With each step, they crossed thirty feet, bizarre beyond measure.

At the sight of such a strange scene, Ning Chen could no longer remain calm. Shock filled his heart. Could ghosts and gods truly exist in this world?

With a bang, Ning Chen slammed both hands onto the table, sending himself and his wheelchair flying out from the second floor.

After landing, Ning Chen reached for Black Impermanence before the ghost carriage, but his hand passed through as though through a shadow, meeting no obstruction at all.

"How could this be?"

Ning Chen's pupils contracted. His cultivation surged, and the Woodcutter's Blade swept out toward the Underworld Ghost Carriage.

Bang!

The Woodcutter's Blade struck Ox-Head, spraying sparks.

Yet the Underworld Ghost Carriage continued onward as before, already thirty feet away in the blink of an eye.

Seeing the ghost carriage depart, Ning Chen turned his blade into a sword. He struck his wheelchair, and his body flashed forward like silver light.

"A Flying Swan Feather, One Sword Between Heaven and Earth!"

A sword faster than a flying swan slashed toward the ghost carriage.

Yet Horse-Face blocked the way. In the instant it turned back, its soul-hooking gaze struck Ning Chen's mind heavily. He crashed to the ground and spat blood.

"Madman."

At some unknown moment, the old woman had appeared beside Ning Chen and mocked him.

Ning Chen ignored her. He slapped both hands against the ground, launched himself back into his wheelchair, and slowly headed toward the pavilion.

After that brief encounter, Ning Chen felt even more lost.

Black and White Impermanence, Ox-Head and Horse-Face—none of them had clearly been martial artists in disguise. If so, did ghosts and gods truly exist?

"Cough, cough."

His mind had been heavily wounded, and Ning Chen began coughing violently. His head throbbed with pain, and amid the daze was an indescribable emptiness.

"Young Master Ning, you were far too reckless this time."

Yue Ling had also been awakened by the commotion outside. She came to Ning Chen's side, stuffed a pill into his mouth, and spoke reproachfully.

"I had no choice. I merely wished to resolve the doubts in my heart."

Ning Chen did not refuse Yue Ling's kindness. The pill melted upon entering his mouth, turning into a sharp, clear stream that immediately eased much of the pain in his head.

"I disturbed your rest, Miss," Ning Chen said apologetically when he saw the exhaustion on Yue Ling's face.

"Mm."

Yue Ling nodded. Ning Chen truly had disturbed her rest.

Hearing Yue Ling's utterly unvarnished reply, a rare trace of embarrassment appeared at the corner of Ning Chen's mouth.

It was genuine, unlike the habitual expression that had always hung on his face in the past.

After all that commotion, the old woman took Yue Ling back to rest, while Ning Chen returned to his own room to meditate quietly and regulate his breathing.

At dawn, Ning Chen opened his eyes and pushed open the door. Seeing Yue Ling and the old woman outside, he knew they had come to say farewell.

"You are leaving?"

"Mm."

"Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again."

The two parted without reluctance or sorrow.

The friendship of gentlemen was pale as water; why put on a clinging display of parting?

"Last night, I saw that you used sword techniques. I shall leave this sword with you as a gift of our acquaintance."

Yue Ling accepted an ink-black sword from the old woman and offered it to Ning Chen.

Ning Chen did not take it. "I already have the Woodcutter's Blade."

Yue Ling still placed the Ink Sword in Ning Chen's hands, insisting, "A Woodcutter's Blade is not meant for fighting, after all."

Ning Chen did not refuse again. His hands brushed across the body of the Ink Sword, and he sighed softly. "Thank you."

"No need. If fate wills it, we shall meet again."

With those words, Yue Ling turned and left, departing with such freedom and ease, without the slightest trace of attachment.

The old woman glanced at the Ink Sword in Ning Chen's hands. Her expression changed several times, but in the end, she said nothing and turned to follow Yue Ling.

The Ink Sword had no sheath, and its edge was concealed. It was not an incomparably sharp sword, and it was extremely heavy in the hand, not something an ordinary person could wield freely.

Yet Ning Chen liked it very much.

There was no reason for it. He simply liked it.

He still had to continue north. In the city, Ning Chen found a blacksmith's shop and had a sheath made for it, equally black as ink, with no edge in sight.

The Woodcutter's Blade and Ink Sword lay side by side behind the wheelchair, bound there with ox sinew. A trace of puzzlement appeared on Ning Chen's face.

Did this mean he had now merged blade and sword into one?

No one would give him an answer to that question. Ning Chen set off, heading north from Falling Moon Gorge. The snow reached his knees, deep enough to make every step arduous.

The wheels of the wheelchair sank more than halfway into the snow. Ning Chen turned them with both hands, once, then again, persisting stubbornly without willing himself to stop.

The wheels crushed through the snow, and two rows of footprints could faintly be seen atop it. Perhaps they had been left by travelers equally anxious to hurry onward.

The thirty-mile Falling Moon Gorge took Ning Chen two days and one night to cross. At sunset on the second day, he finally emerged.

Leaving the gorge behind, the view opened up as though dark willows had given way to bright flowers. With the cliffs no longer hemming him in on both sides, his field of vision widened greatly.

"Mm?"

Suddenly, Ning Chen's eyes contracted sharply. Before him lay corpses strewn everywhere, blood staining the endless white snow red.

There were old people, women, and children. None had been spared.

Ning Chen rarely became angry now, rarely flew into a rage.

But at this sight, the fury in his heart burned through the Nine Heavens, and killing intent surged from his eyes.

The wheelchair rolled over bloodstained snow, becoming tainted with the dead's blood and their resentment. The farther Ning Chen went, the colder his heart became, the colder his gaze became, and the more the veins on his hands bulged.

The blade wounds on the corpses were uneven, and all their valuables had been looted. It was clearly not the work of martial artists, but the handiwork of bandits.

Great Xia had stood for over a thousand years and dealt ruthlessly with mountain bandits and thieves.

Over a hundred years ago, it had even sent a Martial Marquis on a personal campaign, nearly wiping out mountain bandits throughout Great Xia for a time.

No one had expected that, on this day when heavy snow sealed the mountains, such a scene of utterly extinguished humanity would appear here.

The hoofprints remained, showing that the bandits had not gone far.

Yet the bandits had horses, while Ning Chen not only had no horse—his legs were crippled as well.

Ning Chen was a very stubborn person. He had been before, and he still was now. His crippled legs had not changed him in the slightest.

The wheelchair advanced through the snow, leaving a trail of blood behind. The farther it went, the fainter those bloodstains became.

The bandits needed rest. In such heavy snow, even horses could not travel quickly. Ning Chen did not rest; no matter how slowly he moved, there would eventually come a day when he caught them.

Thus, one day passed, then two. Ning Chen caught up with the bandits outside a desolate forest. They were building a fire beyond the woods, thirteen people in all, men and women alike.

The men were fierce and burly, while the women were alluring.

Something roasted over the bonfire, the fragrance of meat drifting far into the distance.

More than ten horses were tethered in the forest, not far from the bandits. In Great Xia, horses were valuable goods, and the bandits guarded them closely.

Ning Chen's arrival drew everyone's attention. In this desolate wilderness, the appearance of a youth in a wheelchair was strange no matter how one looked at it.

The bandit leader was a highly vigilant man and instinctively sensed that something was wrong.

However, not everyone possessed such discernment. An alluring woman among the bandits rose, swaying her hips as she approached Ning Chen.

"Little brother, why are you here? Where is your family?"

Her arm coiled around Ning Chen, and her entire body nearly pressed itself against him.

"May I ask, were the people before Falling Moon Gorge killed by you?"

Ning Chen did not break free. Instead, he looked up at the alluring woman so close before him and asked with a faint, bashful smile.

Seeing the shy smile on the youth's face, the woman suddenly felt a chill run through her entire body. Without realizing it, she loosened her arm and retreated half a step.

"May I ask, were the people before Falling Moon Gorge killed by you?"

Ning Chen asked again, his voice still bashful and calm, without a hint of threat.

"Yes—no, no, it wasn't..."

The woman nodded at first, then sensed something was wrong and tried to deny it. But she no longer had the chance.

A streak of ink-black light flashed past, and the final two words caught in her throat, never to emerge again.

The Ink Sword was stained with blood. It was Ning Chen's first time killing someone, yet he felt nothing—none of the nausea said to follow such a thing.

It was strange, as though he had merely done something utterly insignificant.

Only when the wheelchair passed did the woman fall. The Ink Sword was not sharp, but Ning Chen's sword was fast. One strike sealed her throat, leaving her little suffering.

The remaining bandits finally reacted and raised their blades to resist.

However, bandits were ultimately ordinary people. No matter how vicious and cruel, they could not possibly be a match for a fourth-grade martial artist.

The Ink Sword swung without mercy. The eleven bandits quickly fell one after another. The bandit leader tried to flee, only to have a flying Woodcutter's Blade pierce through his chest and send him falling into the snow.

Ning Chen's coldness made one's heart turn cold. Not one of the thirteen bandits survived, including the seductive woman.

Ning Chen had never considered himself softhearted. He had once said that what he believed in was this: if I do not enter hell, then let others enter hell.

When he said those words, he had meant them. They had not been a joke.

Perhaps Mu Chengxue and Qing Ling had been right not to teach him martial arts in the past. Yet in the end, he had still walked onto this path.

The blood on the Ink Sword was still warm. Ning Chen wiped the blood from its blade with icy snow.

At the same time, he cooled the blade itself.

He knew that he did not regret it...