Chapter 111: How to talk to a head 101

Waking up a severed head wasn’t exactly something that was on Chen Ren’s portfolio.

He’d picked up a lot of strange skills since arriving in this world—talisman, formations, alchemy, the art of dealing with young masters—but "head reanimation" hadn’t made the list. Still, one more skill in his ever-growing portfolio couldn’t hurt.

The only problem was… there was no instruction manual. No hidden switch. No whispered incantation to bring the sleeping thing to life.

Just a silent vault and a waiting head.

For the next ten minutes, they scoured the room again, looking for any clue that might help them. But finally, it was Chen Ren who spotted it. A faint shimmer in the stone. Right beneath the thick shadow of the pedestal.

He crouched and brushed his fingers across the platform’s edge. There—etched in fine, ancient lines—was a small runic array. Barely the size of his palm. It had no glow, no pulsing life. It looked dead, but he was sure it wasn’t broken.

More importantly, it wasn’t drawing on ambient qi. Which meant it needed to be activated manually.

So that’s it,

he thought, squinting at it.

A dormant trigger array. Push qi in, and it lights up?

He didn’t know if it would wake the head. But with the way it was positioned, and the lack of any other mechanisms in sight—it was the best guess he had.

“I think I found something,” he called out. The others quickly gathered, crowding around the podium. Chen Ren explained his theory, pointing to the array.

They didn’t waste time overthinking it. A quick plan was formed, Yalan would prepare an attack, just in case things went sideways. If the head woke up and started casting curses or screaming in demonic tongues—they'd vaporize it before the situation could escalate. It should work.

Yalan nodded and stepped back. Fire gathered, swirling into a crackling orb—twice the size of a football and burning hotter than any furnace on her tail. It was ready.

Chen Ren crouched once more. “Here goes nothing.”

He placed his hand over the array and let his qi flow.

The rune lines responded slowly—sluggish, like someone waking from a hundred-year nap. But they drank in his qi greedily. Far more than he expected. He narrowed his eyes, adjusting the pressure, feeding more in with careful control.

Behind him, he could feel the temperature rise. It was Yalan’s tail and the flickering ball of fire, pressed against the still air.

Chen Ren ignored the searing heat and focused on pushing more qi.

Should be a little more…

he continued until there was a click in the air. It was so faint that he almost missed it. But he knew he activated the array.

He immediately pulled his hand back and watched. His eyes squinted to see any movement. And for a few pregnant seconds, there was nothing. Not even a hum of energy.

Maybe it don't work like—

Before he could finish thinking, the runes flared!

It was so sudden and so sharp, that he had to take more steps backwards that his back hit the wall.

His eyes went to the lighting on the base of the pedestal that glowed a dull crimson.

And slowly… the head stirred.

“That’s scary,” Hong Yi muttered under his breath but it was audible to everyone.

“Is it going to be okay?” Anji asked, following up.

Chen Ren didn’t take his eyes off the head. He was already spooked with the head's presence, and he honestly didn’t know the answer to that question.

“We can just hope,” he said quietly.

For a few long moments, nothing happened.

The crimson light pulsed gently under the severed head, but it didn’t move again. No change, no breath, no twitch. He began to wonder if they had only half-awakened it—if the soul within was trapped deeper, buried in a coma, and they needed something more to stir it fully.

Then, just as he leaned forward slightly to check the runes again, he saw it. There was a twitch—barely perceptible—beneath the eye.

And then, slowly, the lids opened.

Golden irises peered up at him.

Chen Ren blinked, startled for just a heartbeat. They all stood in silence, giving the being time to acclimate.

The head’s eyes flicked about the vault, scanning the walls, the chamber behind the vault door… but always returned to their group. And specifically, to the massive fireball swirling just above Yalan’s tail.

Chen Ren briefly debated whether to speak first, but before he could open his mouth, the head beat him to it.

“What’s going on here?” the man rasped, his voice cracked and old—like parchment catching flame. “And who are you sorry lots?”

Chen Ren straightened. “My name is Chen Ren.”

The head stared at him for a moment, then muttered, “A Chen? I only knew one Chen in my life, and he sure as hell didn’t belong to the glorious Void Blade Sect.” His gaze narrowed, scanning them more intently now. “None of you carry void-aspected dantian signatures either. Not a trace. Who are you really?”

He sounded less curious than disturbed. Unsettled by their presence. But to Chen Ren, those words revealed more than intended.

He’s related to Void Blade Sect,

Chen Ren realized.

And he can sense our cores. That means… he still has some cultivation. Even now. Even like this.

The head scowled. “You’re all grave robbers, aren’t you? Come to take a look at my grave to see if there's any treasures here. Let me tell you, there’s nothing you’ll get out of this. Not a scrap. Not even a sliver of jade!”

Chen Ren tensed slightly, but held his ground.

“And another thing—how the hell did you survive the [Pulverizing Array?] I set that thing to reduce any intruders to molten ash. Even that cat there—” He jerked his gaze toward Yalan, who did not look amused. “—who might be somewhat decent, compared to you, sorry lots. Two weak cultivators… and a mortal slave? Really?”

Anji’s jaw clenched. Yalan’s fireball burned just a shade hotter.

“I’m no slave,” Anji snapped, her voice came out sharp. “And what grave are you even talking about?”

The head blinked, then answered plainly, “My grave.”

His golden eyes swept the room again, slower this time, more searching. Then his brows furrowed.

“…Wait,” he muttered. “This… this isn’t my grave. Where am I?”

Chen Ren let out a breath through his nose.

Great.

So much for thinking that it was a wise soul here to pass on knowledge. This was turning into something far messier.

He took a step forward. “You’re in the sect vault of the Void Blade Sect. I’m Chen Ren, sect leader of the Divine Coin Sect.”

He gestured behind him. “That’s Hong Yi. Yalan. And this is Anji—daughter of the previous sect leader of Void Blade Sect.”

The head’s gaze snapped back to her. “That can’t be. She’s mortal.”

“I was adopted,” Anji said coolly, chin lifted.

“That still doesn’t make sense,” the head muttered, but didn’t argue further. His eyes narrowed instead. “You said… sect vault? What vault? There was no sect vault when I went to sleep. What the fuck is going on here?”

Chen Ren rubbed his temple, then gestured vaguely. “Hell if I know.”

The head grimaced, muttering something under his breath. Then his voice rose again. “Get me Wang De. He’ll have answers. Tell him to come here immediately. I don’t know what that fool’s doing stepping down from the sect leader position.”

Anji blinked. “That’s… that’s not the name of my father.”

The head turned sharply to her. “It’s not?”

“No,” she said, slower now. “That’s the name of our founder. Wang De established the Void Blade Sect centuries ago. He… he perished two hundred years back.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, at the exact same moment:

“Perished?” the head said.

Another loud silence passed over them. The runes under the pedestal dimmed, but the tension between those present only thickened. And for a long moment that followed, the head didn’t speak.

His eyes no longer darted around—they were distant now. He looked deep in thought. The kind of stunned, hollow silence that only came from the slow collapse of everything you believed.

Chen Ren turned his head slightly, looking at Yalan. She looked back at him, ears drawn slightly down, tail coiled low in uncertainty.

For once, she had no answers either.

“What… are we dealing with?” Chen Ren murmured.

Yalan didn’t reply.

Chen Ren rubbed a hand over his own forehead, a dull throb forming at his temples.

This is a mess.

Whatever this man had been, whatever he still was, they were never going to understand anything if they didn’t even know who he was.

And there was only one way to understand. He stepped closer. “Can you introduce yourself to us? And… if you remember it, the year in which you put yourself in that grave.”

The head didn’t reply immediately. It was almost as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

“You’re standing before me, seeing my face, hearing my voice… and you don’t know my name.” He gave a dry laugh. “That’s all the confirmation I need that something terrible has gone wrong.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “Very well. I am Wang Jun, cultivator of the domain manifestation realm, one of the founding members of the Void Blade Sect. Keeper of the [Void Marching Scroll], Defender of the Thirteen Peaks, and bearer of the soul-severance technique [Silent Crossing].”

He paused, then added, “There are more titles, obviously. But I think that’s enough for you to recognize me.”

Chen Ren didn’t recognize any of them. Not one. He looked at others, Hong Yi’s brow was furrowed deep, Yalan was still, her lips pressed into a thin line. And Anji… she looked pale.

“I made my grave in the year 772 of the New Era,” the head added. “I went into dormancy voluntarily, with the sect’s blessing.”

Chen Ren felt the confirmation hit like a stone. It was Year 1978 of the New Era right now.

He’s

ancient

.

He was likely older than most cities still standing today. And domain manifestation? That was one step below the legends. One breath away from breaking into the mythic nascent soul realm—something the world had not seen in centuries.

And yet… no one here had ever heard of him.

Before Chen Ren could speak, Hong Yi stepped forward. “I’ve never heard of any of those titles. Or your name. Not in any scroll, sect record, or historical archive.”

Wang Jun blinked. “What?”

Anji nodded slowly. “Same for me. I’ve lived my whole life inside the Void Blade Sect. I’ve studied our history, read every book I could find. We only have one founder. Wang De

.

Your… brother, if what you said earlier is true. But you? There’s no mention of you. Anywhere.”

The old cultivator’s mouth fell slightly open. Then closed. He stared past them for a long moment. His voice, when it came again, was quiet.

“…They erased me.”

The words came out painful. His voice became low and his eyes went to the ground.

“I was written out.”

Chen Ren felt the weight of it settle in his gut. A cultivator of domain manifestation, one of the founders of a sect, a man who’d created his own grave to preserve himself…

gone

from history.

And they had no idea why.

Chen Ren gave the old man a final, steady nod. “This is the year 1978 of the New Era. The Kalian Empire rules most of the known world now. Most sects—those that still exist—have been forced into a subordinate relationship with it.”

The head—Wang Jun —stared at him blankly at first. Then his brows creased.

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“Kalian… Empire,” he echoed softly. “I’ve heard that name before. Back in my time, it was nothing more than a growing border city. Ambitious, sure, but small. It became an empire?”

Chen Ren nodded. The head didn’t speak again. His golden eyes drifted off, unfocused now, staring at the far wall as if trying to look through it—through stone, time, and memory. Slowly, his lids closed. Then opened. Then closed again.

Chen Ren didn’t interrupt. None of them did.

They all watched in silence as the ancient cultivator processed the truth, the passage of time had not only changed everything—it had erased everything. His titles. His deeds. His name. And still, none of them had the heart to tell him the Void Blade Sect was gone.

That was a truth for later. Chen Ren inhaled quietly, his thoughts drifting again—this time to something else entirely.

How was this man still alive?

He was literally speaking, thinking and conscious. That shouldn’t have been possible.

From the way he spoke, it was clear he’d intentionally put himself into this state. A severed head resting on a podium in the middle of a vault. Was it a kind of preservation? A ritual? Or something tied to soul cultivation? But… What was the plan? Would he regrow a body? Could he?

Chen Ren frowned, imagining the man’s flesh twisting and extending, bones snapping into place as a torso reformed from pure soul energy. The image was so grotesque he had to shake his head. And then, his mind drifted elsewhere.

The spectre that followed Gu Tian…

He still didn’t know the full story. But he could guess. That spectre hadn’t been bound—it had chosen to follow Gu Tian. It had watched, taught, and protected. For what? Perhaps for a future promise.

Maybe,

Chen Ren thought,

the spectre had hoped Gu Tian would one day craft it a body. Restore it. Give it flesh again.

And maybe… He looked at Wang Jun .

Maybe the head was no different.

If this was soul cultivation… then how powerful did your soul need to be to survive like this? It was obvious that Wang Jun had no qi. Only sheer will—and some technique Chen Ren couldn't comprehend.

And that… was terrifying.

Just as Chen Ren was lost in thought—half in theory, half in dread—the golden eyes of the severed head suddenly snapped open.

“THAT FUCKING SNAKE-HEARTED PIECE OF ROTTING DOG SHIT!”

The vault echoed.

Everyone jerked in surprise as Wang Jun exploded in a storm of curses. Spittle didn’t fly—Chen Ren didn't know if the head produced saliva—but the force behind his words felt like spiritual pressure all on its own.

“Demon-spawned mole-eyed jelly spined lich! Half-blooded turd maggot! Lying green-gilled pig-hearted wretch!”

Chen Ren blinked. Half of those insults didn’t even make sense, and he was fairly sure one of them might have been a spell incantation disguised as an insult.

Yalan lowered her fireball slowly, brows furrowed. “Is… he okay?”

“No idea,” Chen Ren muttered. “Let’s give him a minute.”

And sure enough, after one final muttered, “toad-eating, scroll-forging charlatan,” the head finally said something coherent.

“That bastard

Wang De.”

The name dropped like a stone.

“My brother,” the head growled. “He betrayed me. I knew he was jealous—everyone was—but I never expected that short, gremlin-looking bastard to do this.”

He turned his eyes sharply to Anji. “How did he die?”

She blinked. “What?”

“My brother,” the head snarled. “How did that

bastard die?”

Anji glanced nervously at the others, then answered, “According to sect records… he died valiantly. Fighting off dozens of demonic cultivators. He gave his life defending the sect.”

A silence stretched. And then Wang Jun laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh. It was dry, sharp and bitter. And loud.

He scoffed in the end. “Yeah, sure

.

The man who wouldn’t even spar me properly without hiding behind his bodyguards took on a

dozen demonic cultivators? What next—he flew into the heavens and became a star?” He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure one of his devoted lackeys wrote that tale after his death. Probably to polish the turd and make him look like a legend.”

Anji scowled. “That can’t be true.”

“Propaganda,” the head said firmly. “I’m sure you understand that word. Sect records aren’t holy writ—they’re political tools. No sect ever records its founder dying badly, even if they pissed themselves and ran straight into a pit.”

Chen Ren gave a thoughtful nod. “That… does sound like something a lot of sects would do, honestly.”

And now that the shock was wearing off, he could see the edges of truth in the head’s words. If Wang Jun was right—if he had been erased from history—then maybe Wang De hadn’t died a hero. Maybe he’d just made sure no one would ever know there was someone greater.

Chen Ren didn’t blame the man for being furious. If someone had stolen his work, his achievements, his legacy… he’d be breathing fire too.

But still—

“Look,” Chen Ren said, raising a hand calmly. “I get that you’re angry. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you were betrayed. But I want to understand how. What exactly happened to you and how are you even speaking right now?”

His eyes locked on the head. “Did you… choose this state? Are you alive because of soul cultivation?”

Wang Jun's golden gaze focused on him again, sharper this time. And the ancient soul that had once defied death went silent. But something in his eyes told Chen Ren,

They were finally getting to the truth.

Yalan stepped forward, tail low but alert. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the head.

“You said this was a grave,” she said. “What exactly did you mean? Did you… cut your own head off and bury it?”

Wang Jun let out a dry chuckle. “Not quite. It’s a long story. But I can see you’re all curious, so I’ll try to explain it—briefly.” He lifted his chin slightly, regal despite his disembodied state. “I was the strongest cultivator of my time. Born into a middling clan, no legacy, no fortune. But I rose. Fast. Hit the domain manifestation realm at a record age—one hundred and sixty-nine years.”

He paused.

“They called me Heaven’s Child.”

Hong Yi made a sound between a cough and a groan. “I don’t think the question required bragging

.

”

“I’m coming to it,” Wang Jun snapped, annoyed. Then he continued, undeterred. “The point is—I hit the bottleneck early. Too early. There was no path to the nascent soul realm. Not anymore. No manuals, no teachers. The old world was ash, and I was stuck. Worse, I had already mastered everything available to me. Techniques, arts, domains—nothing pushed me forward.” He exhaled softly. “So I turned to soul cultivation.”

That caught everyone’s attention again.

“In one of my expeditions,” he said, “I found fragments of a lost legacy. Manuals. Incomplete, scattered, but enough. I began studying them. Practicing. And what I found… it changed everything.”

He paused.

“Soul cultivation didn’t just work with my void affinity—it enhanced it. Balanced it. I began to see things others couldn’t. Perceive more than spirit and flesh.”

He looked at each of them in turn. “Years turned to decades. Then centuries. Eventually, my brother and I created the Void Blade Sect. I shared what I’d learned with him. I wanted him to rise with me.”

Chen Ren raised a brow. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re just a head.”

Wang Jun went quiet for a beat.

“Because the world was too jealous of me.”

The bitterness in his voice was thick.

“I had both. Soul cultivation and body cultivation. I was already stronger than anyone alive. And that made me a target.”

His eyes gleamed with quiet fury.

“People fear what they can’t match. And so they plot. A group of domain manifestation cultivators—six of them—ambushed me. I killed two. The others… they destroyed most of my body. Nearly ended me.”

Wang Jun paused, the fire in his golden eyes dimming for just a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter—but no less intense.

“That day… I realized I wasn’t immortal after all.”

He breathed out a soundless sigh. “One of the cultivators had a poison-aspected domain. A rare one. It didn’t kill me immediately. It was worse. It rotted me. Day by day, my body began to disintegrate. My flesh… my bones… falling away.”

“So… you cut your head from your body?” Anji asked, putting two and two together.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I poured as much of my soul into it as I could. And then let the rest of my body rot away. There’s an ancient soul cultivation technique—long forbidden, of course—that preserves the soul within the last intact vessel of the body.”

His voice dropped.

“I used it. I lost everything tied to my physical cultivation. But I retained what I could of my soul strength. And I survived

.

”

He paused, and something softened in his eyes.

“My brother promised to look for flesh puppet techniques. A way to give me a new body. He said it might take decades. Centuries. So I told him to seal me away. Build me a resting place. A tomb. I entered hibernation… and set the deadliest arrays I could to guard me.”

His eyes moved slowly across the chamber.

“But it seems all that’s undone. My brother… he changed it

.

Turned my grave into a storage vault.”

His face twisted—an expression of profound disappointment. Chen Ren could understand everything now. And he calmly watched the storm of emotions swirl and harden the head's ancient face.

“So you know a good amount of soul cultivation, then. Enough to teach?”

That drew his attention.

“I dare say,” the head said proudly, “I’m one of the best living experts in the art.”

“Good,” Chen Ren said. “Then you can teach Anji.”

The head blinked. “She’s a mortal.”

Chen Ren crossed his arms. “It doesn’t matter. She’s from the Void Blade Sect.”

“Surely,” Wang Jun scoffed. “Surely there’s someone better in the sect to take as a disciple—”

“There isn’t,” Chen Ren cut in. “She’s the best they have.”

There was silence.

Wang Jun stared at them.

“Everyone else—” Chen Ren said quietly, “—alongside your sect… is dead.”

The words struck like thunder. The golden irises dilated slightly. And then—

“SON OF A SNAKE-FANGED MAGGOT-HUGGER!” the head screamed toward the ceiling, launching into another furious storm of curses so vicious the vault itself seemed to vibrate.

“FOUL-BREATHED LIZARD-SPINE! BLOOD-SOAKED TRAITOR-PISSING FUNGUS RAT!”

Chen Ren stood calmly, arms still crossed.

Yalan just sighed and flicked her tail.

Hong Yi murmured, “He’s got a creative vocabulary.”

And Anji… stood silently. Staring at the man with an unreadable expression.

***

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