Chapter Twenty-Five: The Phantom Army’s Manifestation

Dejiang Prefecture lay only a few hundred miles from Heavenly Lake. In the past, the golden dragon could have covered this distance in the blink of an eye. But now, with Buxu gravely injured and the dragon’s divine weapon partially destroyed, their speed had slowed to a crawl. Seated upon the dragon’s back, Yang Nan watched as billowing white clouds drifted past, and his heart gradually eased. The terror he’d felt earlier, clinging to the flood dragon’s back, had nearly scared him to death, yet this second journey through the skies had made him grow accustomed to the sensation of flight.

Without its tail, the golden dragon took half an hour just to reach the Wang family’s fleet anchored on the surface of the Dejiang River. At a glance, the ships seemed merely a bit scattered, none the worse for the havoc wrought by the flood dragon. Buxu, not wishing to draw attention, shrank the dragon’s form and landed quietly behind the third deck. Yet the moment she touched the deck, Chiyang sensed her arrival. Seeing that Yang Nan had returned, the worry on Chiyang’s face vanished in an instant.

“Nan, where did you and the flood dragon go? Where is that creature now?” Chiyang blurted out, desperate for news. If Yang Nan had died, how could he ever explain to the late Duke?

Yang Nan gave a wry smile and glanced at Buxu, now dressed as a village girl and wearing a calm expression. He recounted the events, omitting Buxu’s true identity, for she clearly preferred her disguise, and it was not his place to reveal her secret.

Chiyang breathed a sigh of relief and repeatedly thanked Buxu. He knew the temperament of this lofty disciple of Kunlun and thus spoke with extra care. He then recounted all that had occurred that day. When the flood dragon swept Yang Nan into the sky, the surging waves nearly destroyed the riverside dwellings, bringing calamity to the common folk. Fortunately, Chiyang had ordered the Crab General to stem the flood in time, or else even the Wang family’s fleet would have sunk.

Yang Nan nodded. He hadn’t expected that thick-skulled crab to possess such power over the waves; it seemed that even a river spirit could prove useful. Returning to his room, he was greeted by Baiyi and Dieyi, who only then let their worries fade upon seeing their master safe and sound.

Dieyi, noticing Yang Nan’s bedraggled state, patted her chest with relief. “Young master, it is such a blessing you returned unharmed. I was worried something dreadful had happened to you…”

Yang Nan smiled faintly. He had gained much that day, fortune and misfortune intertwined. Dieyi’s concern warmed him, yet now was no time for lengthy conversation—Buxu was still waiting for him to produce the Xuan Flame Sword.

“Brother Chiyang, where is the Xuan Flame Sword? Bring it here so sister fairy may see it.”

Chiyang nodded. Given that Buxu had returned with Yang Nan, the sword must be the reason. He understood that if this powerful village maiden saw the Xuan Flame Sword, it could only benefit Yang Nan—having a guide was always better than relying on a single sword.

“Here is the Xuan Flame Sword, fairy, please take a look.” He produced a thin jade box from his person. The box was less than a foot long and scarcely an inch thick. Once he took it out, his usually broad frame seemed to grow slender, returning to its original form.

With an indifferent expression, Buxu accepted the jade box. When she opened it, a streak of crimson light shot skyward, fluid and ever-shifting within the room, like a myriad sparks scattering, each pulsing with potent spiritual energy. For Baiyi and Dieyi, whose bodies were those of spirits, the sword’s oppressive aura was overwhelming—they retreated in fear, their faces pale with terror.

Upon seeing the sword’s radiance, even the chill in Buxu’s eyes thawed, a glint of excitement flashing within. She gracefully raised her fair wrist and grasped the Xuan Flame Sword. The weapon was truly extraordinary—seemingly not forged of metal, but appearing as a flowing red current, flecked with flashes of gold. Yang Nan’s description was not exaggerated: on the blade’s front was carved a divine beast; on the back, the characters for “Azure Wind.”

The Xuan Flame Sword moved in Buxu’s hand like a tangible flame. Chiyang watched in silent amazement. He had carried this sword for years, yet even as a master of fire, he could not lift it when the jade box was opened. How was it that this fairy, neither of the fire element nor a weapon master, could wield it so easily?

Yang Nan, seeing Buxu so absorbed, felt his heart settle. If the sword were a fake, she would have turned on him at once, and his journey to Kunlun would be for naught. Her focused gaze proved its authenticity beyond doubt!

Buxu studied the sword for a while, her icy eyes suddenly burning with fervor. She sighed, “Three hundred years have passed, and yet I behold the Xuan Flame Sword once more! Master Yang Pu was truly thoughtful…” Though her tone remained cool, Yang Nan could sense the passion beneath.

“So it’s real after all. I hope this reassures you, sister fairy. My old grandfather, being a Confucian master, would hardly deceive me.” At the thought of his revered elder, Yang Nan’s expression grew melancholy.

Buxu nodded gently and swept the sword in a slow arc. Crimson light flowed and danced like a living fire dragon, its quality rivaling even her own sacred weapon, Coiling Dragon.

“Little rascal, you claim to bear the mark of a Yin Soldier—what grade is your Yin Soldier aspect?” Buxu sheathed the Xuan Flame Sword, placed it back in the box, and turned her gaze on Yang Nan, a curious glint in her eyes—perhaps even a trace of expectation.

Yang Nan rolled up his sleeves. “I’m not sure what grade. My left hand is a snake, my right a dragon—perhaps you could tell me, sister fairy.” For over a decade he’d been troubled by these strange markings, like a law-abiding citizen branded with gang tattoos. If not for others in this world bearing such signs, and his grandfather’s assurance that it was a gift for cultivation, he would have tried to erase them long ago.

After practicing the Xuan Yi Azure Water Technique, the azure dragon on his right wrist appeared lifelike, as though poised to soar into the sky. The black serpent on his left, however, was sinister and ferocious, lacking the dragon’s vitality, yet its strangeness far exceeded the dragon’s. Buxu, unconcerned with propriety, grasped his wrist and studied it for a long time, then scrutinized his brow, her face turning thoughtful. Yang Nan wondered at her silence; could it be that even the mighty Kunlun Sect had never seen such a black serpent?

“Your brow radiates sharpness, and the black serpent on your wrist exudes a deadly aura. It is indeed the mark of a Yin Soldier, but not of any known grade—upper, middle, lower, saintly, celestial, or divine. I do not know what spirit this black serpent represents. Its boundless might and rolling malice, those deep, horizontal eyes seem to devour all beneath heaven. Its origin is most peculiar…” Buxu examined him at length, her icy gaze tinged with wonder. As a disciple of Kunlun, she’d seen many with rare gifts, but never one with such bizarre markings as Yang Nan.

Yang Nan sighed inwardly. Now he understood—this “Devourer of Nine Yin” was, in past legends, a divine guardian of the underworld. Its absence in this world was hardly surprising, but surely its grade could not surpass the true dragon?

“Sister fairy, in your opinion, what grade is my Yin Soldier aspect?” Yang Nan asked, curiosity piqued by this talk of grades.

Buxu smiled slightly. “Somewhere between upper and saintly, though that is only my guess. Your right wrist’s azure dragon is a saintly aspect. If you were to switch to the path of the law sect and gain a superior technique, you would surely achieve great things.”

“Switch to the law sect?” Yang Nan shook his head to himself. Having witnessed Buxu’s power as a weapon sect cultivator, he had no desire to change his path. He knew that without a saintly aspect, one could never attain the rank of Weapon Saint, yet destiny was not set in stone—if even Buxu could not identify his black serpent aspect, who knew what fate might hold?

Perhaps there was hope yet…

Yang Nan steeled himself and replied loudly, “Since I have resolved to go to Kunlun, I will not change to the law sect. The water technique is only for self-defense; the true path for me lies with the weapon sect’s arts!”

Buxu nodded approvingly. The Dao has countless branches, but sincerity is key to attainment. Yang Nan’s resolve was indeed commendable. Releasing his wrist, she said, “No matter your grade, there is something I would discuss with you.”

Seeing Buxu so solemn, Yang Nan straightened and replied, “Please speak, sister fairy. If it is in my power, I will not refuse.”

Buxu gestured to the Xuan Flame Sword on the table and said calmly, “After my battle with that wicked dragon and wild pheasant, my spiritual power is greatly diminished. If I cannot find a way to recover, my cultivation will regress and my realm fall. There is, however, a method to heal my wounds—but only if you are willing. Should you agree, you will benefit as well.”

Yang Nan exclaimed, “You are so severely wounded, sister fairy? Whatever can aid your recovery, I am of course willing to help!” Buxu’s cultivation was truly earth-shaking; to have her indebted to him would be a boon beyond measure. He understood at once—Buxu would never humble herself to ask for help unless she was truly at the end of her rope.

Hounded by his uncles, Yang Nan had no choice but to seek refuge under Kunlun’s protection. If he could assist Buxu, even without reward, he would gladly do so.

Seeing how readily Yang Nan agreed, Buxu hesitated for a moment, then said, “Now that you have retrieved the Xuan Flame Sword, you will surely be admitted to Kunlun. Thus, teaching you Kunlun’s peerless secret art, the ‘Indestructible Yin-Yang Wheel,’ does not violate sect rules.”

Yang Nan was startled. “But isn’t this about healing your wounds? What does this Yin-Yang Wheel have to do with it?”

Buxu replied coolly, “Kunlun differs from other sects. Each orthodox disciple is taught by a single master, in harmony with the Dao of creation. My aspect is the golden dragon, the epitome of yang. After such grave injury, only celestial elixirs or the help of a yin-aspect master or disciple could heal me. True elixirs are rare, and my master has been gone for centuries, leaving no disciples. With Kunlun still thousands of miles away, I have no choice but to seek your aid.” She hesitated, then added, “I notice you enjoy gathering spirit beasts. I have here a technique called ‘Supreme Spirit Body.’ If you agree to help, it is yours.”

To obtain a peerless art reserved for true disciples, plus a technique of the spirit race, and earn her gratitude—Yang Nan was overjoyed. Though Buxu was ruthless and cold as ice, she was an unrivaled master. To learn from such a weapon sect sage would greatly ease his path to mastering its divine arts.

As Yang Nan pondered, Buxu seemed to sense his thoughts and spoke, “Your strength is low. Only by mastering the Indestructible Yin-Yang Wheel can you draw the fire energy from the Xuan Flame Sword to aid me. This spirit body technique can quickly raise your power, granting you some protection. However, becoming my disciple is impossible, and channeling power from the sword is extremely risky. Consider this carefully.”

Yang Nan paused, remembering that entry into Kunlun began with the lowest rank, progressing through outer and inner disciples; only those with exceptional talent gained true transmission. Though Buxu was an orthodox disciple, she could not take him as her own without the sect leader’s decree. If anyone could easily receive true teachings, Kunlun would not have so few true disciples each generation.

The Dao is not lightly transmitted, nor entrusted to the unworthy. Unless one’s gifts were extraordinary and one’s future bright, gaining a supreme art was harder than reaching heaven itself—this was true of every sect.

Buxu, proud by nature, would not stoop to deceive a mere youth, even in need. Yang Nan, by helping her heal, would gain a peerless art and a life-saving technique—a fair exchange, with no one at a loss.

If Yang Nan had not wanted to join Kunlun, Buxu would rather die from her wounds than ask his help. He understood this well, had thought it through, and said at once, “Sister fairy, we will speak of discipleship later. Since you are teaching me this supreme art, I will help you heal, come what may!”