Chapter 53: A New Chapter in the Sword Scripture Unfolds, the Nine Luminaries!

Returning from Scarlet Cloud Mountain, Cao Kong took stock of his gains: over eighty stalks of spirit bamboo, more than ten of which were over a century old. While searching once again for the lair of the Yellow Wind King, he had also stumbled upon a breathing technique far superior to the one he had previously practiced on Mist-shrouded Mountain. Since the teachings of his own lineage could not be passed on to others, this new method might serve well for instructing the young foxes one day.

What delighted Cao Kong even more was the discovery of several dozen catties of spirit grain. Although ordinary grains from the human world could be used in winemaking, spirit grain brought out the best qualities in the brew and was beneficial to cultivation as well. After acquiring these treasures, Cao Kong lent a hand in purging the remaining monsters from Scarlet Cloud Mountain, then returned to Mist-shrouded Mountain.

Day by day, time slipped by. Cao Kong devoted himself to cultivation, finding no tedium in the routine; instead, he took joy in it, his days filled to the brim. He spent his time brewing wine, practicing swordsmanship, reading scriptures, chanting sutras, and, in harmony with the seasons, regulating his breath, storing essence, energy, and spirit.

The Nine-Spirit Primordial Sage had once told him that the Golden Elixir method he cultivated was more difficult than most, but if he succeeded, the rewards would surpass those of others. Thus, Cao Kong persisted without slackening, hoping for early success.

Now, he had reached the stage where the five elements reversed, generating and restraining each other. All that remained was to unify the five elements into one breath, transmute breath to liquid, and liquid to breath again. Through this process, true water would be born from breath, true fire from liquid; the true dragon would be found in water, the true tiger in fire. When dragon and tiger met and the pellet dissolved to produce the Yellow Sprout, it would be said that the Golden Elixir was within reach, and immortality no longer a distant dream.

That Yellow Sprout could be forged into the Great Medicine—the very Golden Elixir itself. Once formed, one would become an immortal.

Time vanished unnoticed in the mountains; days and years meant little to those who cultivated. In a blink, two months passed. The spiritual energy around Mist-shrouded Mountain grew denser and more vibrant—so much so that even the Golden Coin Leopard could not help but marvel at the change, feeling that the mountain's aura was flourishing.

This was thanks to Cao Kong's art of storing winds and gathering qi, which, while aiding his own cultivation by borrowing the mountain's power, also nourished the land in return. In just two months, the results were evident. Cao Kong found it hard to imagine what Mist-shrouded Mountain might become after centuries—perhaps a true celestial paradise, a sanctuary for immortals.

As for the manifestation of the Liver Palace’s divine power, he continued to seek it. Fortunately, with the spirit bamboo secured, half was set aside for Cao Kong to brew Pidu wine, the other half for the Golden Coin Leopard to craft Clear Mind Pills. A single Clear Mind Pill could calm Cao Kong’s mind for half an hour, and he could safely take one per day—no more, lest it do harm.

Yet, the supply of spirit bamboo was limited. Even if the Golden Coin Leopard managed to refine several hundred pills, they would be consumed quickly. At best, this would save him a year's time.

But Cao Kong was content. The four essentials of cultivation—method, wealth, companions, and dwelling—were all his: the Golden Elixir method, the Mist-shrouded Mountain, spirit wine and pills. He had already surpassed the lot of ordinary men.

As for the young foxes, knowing their good fortune, they never slacked off in their duties. Eager to learn, they often attended to Cao Kong while he read and chanted. Pleased by their diligence, he taught them to read and write; thus, the mountain often echoed with the sounds of study, rivaling any private academy in the human world.

...

A thousand miles away, there was a place called Reverse Scale Cave, home to a demon king: the One-horned Reverse Scale Dragon. This dragon excelled at alchemy and was versed in the art of refining pills with human blood. To this end, he sent out his minions to prey upon humans and harvest their blood, all for the sake of forging blood pills to further his cultivation.

The day of pill refinement was drawing near. By rights, even if some demons were still abroad, they should have sent word back. Yet one band under his command, dispatched long ago, had neither returned nor reported.

The One-horned Reverse Scale Dragon’s beastly pupils widened, displeasure flickering in his eyes. At his side, a pig demon, watching his expression, inquired, “Why is the Great King discontent?”

“Where is Yellow Wind? Why has he neither returned nor sent word? I instructed him of the date two months ago through a messenger,” the dragon said.

The pig demon replied at once, “Yellow Wind must have gone to Scarlet Cloud Mountain. Do not worry, Great King. I shall go and find him at once. If he harbors any rebellious intent, I will bring you his head.”

The One-horned Reverse Scale Dragon nodded in satisfaction. “Go, then. Do not jeopardize my great undertaking.”

...

Another day dawned.

Now, as summer gave way to autumn, the mountains took on a hint of bleakness. The element of metal began with the Start of Autumn, peaked at the Autumn Equinox, and waned at Cold Dew. Cao Kong, attuned to the shift, sensed it was the perfect time to practice the Sword of the Western Seven Mansions.

He spat forth a radiant golden light, which solidified in his hand. Taking up a flask of Pidu wine, sealed with a bamboo segment, he drank deeply, the fragrance filling his senses. Then, stepping to the position of Qian and Dui, he took seven steps in succession, aligning with the stars of the Seven Mansions: Kui, Lou, Wei, Mao, Bi, Zui, and Shen. Wherever he passed, a subtle aura of magic lingered.

Thereafter, Cao Kong wielded his sword. The golden blade in his hand flashed with dazzling speed and ferocity. The White Tiger governs slaughter, so in sword practice, a killing aura naturally emerged. The technique had minor, medium, and major levels of mastery. For three years, he had diligently trained. According to the Nine-Spirit Primordial Sage, if he could reach minor mastery, new content in the Sword Canon would be revealed to him.

Yet, to this day, the Sword Canon remained unchanged, meaning he had not yet achieved even minor mastery. This thought weighed on him. Minor mastery was supposed to be the foundation. Could it be he wasn’t even at that level?

The sword in his hand, like the golden autumn, swept forth with a killing wind—yet something was missing; there was force and ferocity, but no true spirit.

Suddenly, an autumn wind gusted by, whistling through the air. Cao Kong shivered, as if hearing a sharp, mournful note of gold, and a realization struck him.

Yes—the Western realm governs slaughter, but it is the will of Heaven that destroys all things, not mere wanton killing. He had been trapped by the word “kill,” forgetting that this was the killing of Heaven and Earth, not human desire.

He raised his sword and began again. This time, the Sword of the Western Seven Mansions lacked nothing in spirit.

At that moment, within the intangible space of the Sword Canon, a new chapter appeared—its name: The Nine Luminaries.

...

Fifty miles from Mist-shrouded Mountain, a youth was making his way. His features were striking—jade-like face, delicate as the full moon, vermilion lips, square mouth with gleaming teeth, adorned with embroidered sashes and treading on a blaze of colored flames. Anyone would praise him as a handsome young man; even women, upon seeing him, would feel their hearts stirred.

Yet, this elegant youth was locked in combat with a pig demon ten fathoms tall. No, not simply combat—he was utterly overwhelming his foe. The pig demon, its breath coming in rough snorts, monstrous energy surging, launched attack after attack at Nezha.

But Nezha, as if toying with his opponent, needed only to stretch out a fair hand and casually slap, sending the demon spewing blood with each blow.

“I am a great general under the One-horned Reverse Scale Dragon, Demon King! Boy, do you know the consequences of obstructing me?” the pig demon blustered, though his bravado was hollow—he had realized by now that Nezha was no ordinary being and could only invoke his master’s name, hoping to scare him off.

To his surprise, the handsome youth merely laughed, “Don’t worry—your demon king will be joining you soon enough.”

With that, Nezha seemed to lose all patience. A blade appeared in his hand, and with a casual swing, a streak of light split not only the pig demon but also the land for miles behind him.

Nezha yawned, bored. He wasn’t sure why the Grand Supreme Elder had sent him here first.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up—he sensed a surge of the Dao: the will of the White Tiger of the West! Nezha’s curiosity was piqued, and at once he mounted his Wind Fire Wheels and sped away.