Chapter 37: The Mediocre Old Sword Cultivator

“I’ll take this sword now—any objections?” Chen Changsheng asked.

Yan Bei’an shook his head. Compared to that, a sword was never as important as life.

“Good there’s none.”

Chen Changsheng nodded slightly; it seemed this man wasn’t hard to talk to.

Under Yan Bei’an’s gaze, he watched the figure of that gentleman disappear on the desert sand dunes.

He stood guarding the sword case, motionless for a long time.

Until the sun shifted, turning the desert a fiery red; clouds blazing in the sky felt like an omen, guiding Yan Bei’an.

His lips parted slightly as he voiced something.

“So it was an Immortal Sword… no wonder…”

“No wonder…”

Chen Changsheng took back the sword, turned, and left the Northwest Desert. As for that swordsman, he didn’t spare the thought; he aimed to find another person.

The one who had handed the sword case to the desert swordsman.

Shangjing City buzzed lively as ever. Though dusk was near the Civic District market hadn’t cleared. Yet it felt a bit less energetic.

Many inns and wine taverns hung lanterns at doors to draw customers; pleasure boats hosted steady streams of patrons who listened to tunes, drank wine, relishing the fun.

Shangjing City partied night after night, but only one spot stayed quiet.

That was the Imperial Palace!

On its hundreds of steps before the grand hall, a person sprawled.

He looked like a swordsman—a sword lay beside him—but resembled inner-palace staff too, with a rough edge to him. He lounged on the steps, one leg propped up, chewing a weed plucked who knows where.

He wasn’t young anymore; his face mapped wrinkles, eyes betraying hard years.

Suddenly the Old Sword Cultivator stiffened inside.

He opened his eyes and peered skyward.

He raised a hand to do quick fingers-sums, instantly sensing trouble.

“Time to scram!”

The cultivator muttered, scrambling up for a quick escape.

But then a shape dropped from above, blocking his path.

The Green-Robed Gentleman gripped his sword, eyeing the figure. “Where do you think you’re off to, sir?”

Seeing this, the cultivator whirled to bolt another way.

With one step he covered dozens of paces at once.

“Shrinks land with each stride?”

Chen Changsheng brightened. “What a coincidence—I know that too.”

He swept forward, channeling Magical Power from his sword. One step put him right before the Old Sword Cultivator.

He barred the way.

The cultivator’s face changed. “How come you run so fast? Oh wow, can’t you take it easy?”

With that he spun to rush off elsewhere.

Chen Changsheng found it fun and played along wherever the cultivator dashed; Chen raced right over, blocking his front each time.

Seeming to grasp he’d never outpace this man, the cultivator resigned still.

Chen Changsheng asked, “Done running?”

He rolled his eyes and sat. “Can’t run anymore. Kill me, skin me—it’s your call.”

Chen Changsheng chuckled and sat beside him.

He asked, “Know why I tracked you down?”

The cultivator eyed his sword. “You tell me.”

Chen Changsheng gave a small nod. “Fair enough you know.”

He mumbled, “If I’d known how sticky this sword would be, I’d have left it alone; this geezer knew it’d heap trouble.”

“If you knew, why grip it?” Chen Changsheng asked.

The cultivator said to Chen, “With Magical Power so pure—who’d resist a chance?”

Chen Changsheng sized him up. “But why tuck it in a case and palm it off to someone else?”

The cultivator opened his mouth like he hoped to skip this talk.

On seeing that, Chen lifted a hand to do a fingers-sum. Then he grinned. “Ah—settling an old debt, huh?”

He scratched at his hair. “Fire off your question quick: come to charge me, punish me, toss what you will—I’ll beat you?”

“How’d you peg you’d fall short?”

“The sword is yours; its power springs from you. With magical stuff this clean—I’m not croaking my neck near it.”

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Chen Changsheng felt he showed spirit, plopping down without a fight—funny; really funny.

Chen Changsheng pressed, “I grow curious: debt repaid now, why cling as Cultivator inside these palace halls?”

The cultivator looked over. “Not after me?”

“Yes I am. Chat first, though.”

“Signing off my will?”

“Not that grim.”

Chen Changsheng stated, “Top end—I’d seal your Magical Power.”

At that, the cultivator’s eyes shot wide. “If that, just put me down now!”

Chen laughed once. “What—can’t live minus power?”

“I’m a Cultivator! A Cultivator stripped of Magical Power—how dwells he?”

“Sounds fair. I’ll seal it away now.”

“Oh no don’t!” The cultivator sprang to his feet. “Honored Celestial Immortal, I’m barely a dabble-Cultivator! Powerless bits—why pick on me? Since when?”

Chen watched him, puffing air. “Your head dropped pretty fast there.”

“A real man bends and flexes—that’s nothing.”

“Never saw a Cultivator like you.”

He cracked a grin, yellow teeth jutting. “Whether Mortal or Cultivator—only shameless souls cling long.”

Chen Changsheng waved this off. “Best crack my question first.”

“Got it.” He nodded waiter-like, sank back, and began his tale to Chen.

“You ought know, Celestial Immortal: my line survives by hunting demons down. When I got here way back, so…”

The cultivator rambled. Chen grasped his gist.

Chen paused. “The concubine of the Human Emperor—she transformed from a Fox Demon?”

“True.”

The cultivator nodded. “Sprang from a spirit fox—quad tails—bitched quite the fit one.”

“Hmm?” Chen bobbed, “And her fit streak ties how?”

He coughed. “Eh… gossip misses point. Bottom line: I stayed to guard her shadow.”

Chen narrowed peeps. “You spared that Fox Demon?”

“Tried once.”

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“Then?”

“Let her pass.”

“Turned loose?”

“Yep—she owned my belief: truly loves Great Jing’s king.”

Hearing this hooked Chen. “Spill the whole.”