Chapter 398: The Principle of the Formation Corpse

Elder Qingquan.

He still wore that same gray cloth robe, washed until it was pale. There were no intricate formation lines adorning it—it was as simple as an old village schoolteacher’s attire.

His hair and beard were pure white. His face was gaunt and refined.

At that moment, he was holding a worn-out palm-leaf fan in his hand. Facing the small red-clay stove before him, he gently fanned the flames, one stroke at a time.

His movements were unhurried, steady. They carried a strange, rhythmic cadence.

On the stove sat an earthenware pot. The water inside had already reached a rolling boil, bubbling and hissing as steam rose. White vapor quickly dissipated in the wind at the cliff’s edge.

Hearing Su Ming’s deliberately slowed footsteps, Elder Qingquan didn’t even lift his head.

His gaze remained fixed on that little red-clay stove.

“Finally decided to come?”

His voice was faint. There was no joy or anger in it—like he was asking about the weather.

Su Ming’s heart tightened sharply.

He didn’t dare to be careless. Quickly stepping forward, he stopped at exactly three zhang from the stone table and stood in proper form.

This distance was the most appropriate polite distance for a junior to meet an elder.

Su Ming clasped his hands together, raised them above his head, and bowed deeply, his hands reaching the ground.

It was an extremely standard, formal salute.

“Disciple Su Ming pays respects to the Elder.”

Su Ming’s voice was clear, laced with sincerity.

“Disciple was entangled in mundane affairs and failed to come and pay respects earlier. Disciple arrived late; please forgive this transgression, Elder.”

Silence fell over the courtyard.

Only the wind and the sound of boiling water remained.

Elder Qingquan did not look at him. He didn’t even pause his movements. That worn palm-leaf fan still traced a steady arc through the air.

One stroke. Two strokes. Three strokes.

Su Ming maintained his bowed posture. His back was taut.

Time seemed to stretch on.

A full dozen or more breaths passed.

The steam from the earthenware pot suddenly burst open the lid, letting out a sharp whistle.

Only then did Elder Qingquan set down the fan.

He reached out, lifted the scorching pot handle, and poured the boiling water into the teacup beside him.

“Rise.”

Elder Qingquan finally spoke. His voice was still calm.

“Standing there—aren’t you tired?”

Su Ming slowly straightened up. He didn’t move recklessly. He kept his hands lowered, standing respectfully in place.

Elder Qingquan set the teapot back on the stove.

“Sit.”

He pointed to the stone stool across from him.

“Yes.” Su Ming obeyed and walked over.

He sat down on the stone stool, his back ramrod straight, his hands placed properly on his knees. He looked like a young student waiting for his teacher to check his homework.

Elder Qingquan finally raised his eyelids.

Those deep, abyss-like eyes passed over the rising steam and landed on Su Ming.

His gaze lingered for a moment on Su Ming’s purple True Disciple robe.

“Foundation Establishment.”

There was no discernible emotion in Elder Qingquan’s voice.

“Became a True Disciple. Wings got tough. The sun must be rising from the west today for you to suddenly remember that on this mountainside, there’s still a nominal master?”

Cold sweat instantly beaded on Su Ming’s forehead.

This old man—his words were still that sharp, that direct.

“Disciple would never dare.”

Su Ming took a deep breath, his tone even more respectful.

“Disciple absolutely did not mean that. It’s just... after returning from the Northern Border, one thing followed another. The Heart-Questioning Formation, Foundation Establishment, taking a master—the affairs were truly numerous. I’ve never been able to find the time.”

Su Ming didn’t make excuses; he only stated the facts.

“Today, Disciple went to the Administration Hall to take on a long-term mission. Thinking that I would soon go down the mountain to train, with no fixed return date, I suddenly realized that I had never formally come to the Listening to Waves Pavilion to pay respects to the Elder.”

Su Ming lowered his head.

“Disciple was rude. If the Elder wishes to punish me, Disciple will bear it without complaint.”

Elder Qingquan stared at him for a while.

The wind in the courtyard seemed to have stopped.

After a moment, Elder Qingquan let out an extremely light snort.

“At least you still have a conscience.”

He withdrew his gaze. The invisible pressure that had weighed on Su Ming’s heart dissipated instantly, without a trace.

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the bamboo leaves, casting scattered, dappled shadows on the stone table.

Elder Qingquan put down the fan in his hand.

He picked up the coarse ceramic teapot and poured a full cup of tea for himself.

The tea was an orange-golden, translucent color. An extremely faint fragrance spread through the courtyard.

He did not pour tea for Su Ming.

Elder Qingquan raised the teacup, gently blew on the leaves floating on the surface, and took a shallow sip.

His demeanor was completely relaxed.

“That ‘Eight Gates Lost Trace Incomplete Formation.’”

Elder Qingquan set down the teacup, his tone as casual as if he were asking Su Ming if he’d eaten.

“How far have you gotten with it?”

Su Ming’s heart clenched sharply.

Here it was.

This was the main event today. It was the test Elder Qingquan had given him during their first meeting.

Coming to ask now meant it was an official examination.

If he didn’t pass, he might never step through this bamboo gate again.

Su Ming didn’t answer immediately.

He rapidly organized his thoughts in his mind. He reviewed the data he had simulated during those countless sleepless nights at Iron Wall Pass, replaying it before his eyes.

He took a deep breath.

He lifted his head, met Elder Qingquan’s gaze, and answered truthfully:

“In reply to the Elder, Disciple is dull-witted.”

Su Ming’s voice was steady.

“I have yet to fully break this formation.”

Having said this, Su Ming actually felt more at ease. He hadn’t lied. If he couldn’t solve it, he couldn’t solve it. Playing with empty words in front of a Grandmaster of Formations of this level would be courting death.

After hearing this, Elder Qingquan didn’t show any sign of disappointment on his face.

He didn’t even frown.

He just let out an extremely light “Mm.”

There was no reproach, no rebuke.

“Tell me about it.” Elder Qingquan tapped his fingers lightly on the table. “How far have you gotten?”

Su Ming straightened his body.

He knew that success or failure rested on this moment.

“When Disciple was guarding the border at Iron Wall Pass, every quiet night, I would take out that jade slip and simulate the formation.”

Su Ming’s speech was not fast, ensuring every word was clear.

“The internal logic of that formation was like a snake biting its own tail. The head and tail were connected, mutually causal. Touching one part affected the whole. No matter whether I entered through the Life Gate or the Death Gate, I would eventually fall into an infinite loop.”

Elder Qingquan listened quietly, without any reaction.

“Later, while repairing the city-guarding grand formation at Iron Wall Pass, I suddenly had a flash of insight.”

Su Ming’s eyes grew exceptionally bright.

“I used that incomplete formation to comprehend the principle that ‘a formation is like a living thing.’”

The fingers Elder Qingquan had been tapping on the table paused slightly.

“Disciple discovered that the formation in that jade slip was not simply a ‘broken formation.’ It wasn’t a dead thing that had been cut off by someone’s blade.”

Su Ming threw out the conclusion he had carefully considered.

“It had been twisted by some extremely violent external force. Over the long years, in order to keep its core from collapsing, it instinctively performed self-repair. It was a ‘Formation Corpse.’”

The hand holding Elder Qingquan’s teacup froze in mid-air.

In those eyes as still as an ancient well, a flicker of extraordinary light finally appeared.

“Formation Corpse.”

Elder Qingquan savored these two words.

“Interesting.”