Chapter 99: The First Battle Beyond the Pass

A flash of red light. Hongshui Shui did not dodge in time, and her back burned as if it had caught fire.

“Damn, this hurts!” Stars burst before her eyes, her ears ringing. She crashed through the air on a flying scarf, carving a violet arc, and slammed down heavily.

The so-called “old rogue” turned out to be a woman, and not just any woman, but a voluptuous, stunning beauty in purple robes. So this is what those men from Great Shu call an “elegant nickname,” apparently. Feng Ke’er watched, amused despite herself, and gave the disheveled demon-lady a full appraisal.

As usual, her eyes went straight to the core point. A beast-cultivator, too, has a dantian in the abdomen. After entering the Peak Perfected Foundation stage, Feng Ke’er had discovered her eyes had evolved: no matter whether human-cultivator or beast-cultivator, one glance at that core and she could directly read their level. She had tested it with the Celestial Codex, and it never failed. Never once had it drawn retaliation from someone she judged. So from then on, whenever she fought beasts, she habitually scanned their dantians boldly first.

Sixth level, first rank. Her opponent’s core had expanded into a whole elixir sea, and inside coiled a huge purple python with a human head and snake tail.

It was a serpent demon that had just entered the Shapeshifting Stage—and, moreover, had taken the “beauty treatment.” Feng Ke’er could see clearly that the human face in the dantian and the demoness’s own face were two separate faces.

At first she had thought this was normal—after all, in *Strange Tales from a Ghostly Studio*, whenever a demon takes form its human skin is almost always pretty.

But after seeing more of them, she reached a sober conclusion: what a beast-cultivator looks like after transforming is, in principle, decided by the beast-core in their dantian. Not all monsters are beauties. Most retain bits of their original features no matter what, and by human standards they cannot even claim handsome, much less beautiful.

Yet the love of beauty belongs to beasts as well as people. And in the cultivation world, beast-blood is the most despised lineage. Out of deep inferiority, most shapeshifters in the Barrier Sea take beauty pills every year. After ten consecutive years, no matter how hideous their base form, their faces become almost flawless. Feng Ke’er joked that it was just “one treatment cycle.” The pills never change the beast-core itself, though, so when they advance a stage they must endure excruciating pain all over again and take another decade of doses. In the end it is a superficial fix, no better than modern cosmetic surgery from Korea.

This purple python outside had clearly finished one full cycle of beauty pills.

Hongshui Shui was badly hurt; it took almost crushing the edge of one silver tooth before she managed to stagger to her feet.

Too late—the noxious black smoke, thick as ink, rolled in behind her like a shadow.

“Ah!” Hongshui Shui could not evade in time at all. In that life-or-death instant she finally abandoned pride and dignity, tossed the two Judge’s Pens aside, and dropped to the ground. One shake of her head and her true form emerged.

She was, in truth, a three-zhang-long purple giant python—huge head like a basin, vicious hanging triangular eyes as large as melons, fire-red forked tongue, and a thick, twisting body broader than a large bucket, covered with violet scale patterns.

A massive beast, yes. Feng Ke’er felt a chill run down her spine. She had killed countless snake demons in her life, yet the raw serpent form still unsettled her. Appearance matters, after all.

The purple python reared its upper half, hissing and spewing crimson tongue-flicks.

“Bang, bang, bang”—rings of white light surged toward the black smoke.
After three strikes, the smoke dispersed. In the air above hovered a lean middle-aged man in yellow robes, riding a black iron basin with a large broad sword shining red at his brow, swooping down with a howl. After entering the advanced Foundation stage, human cultivators can travel by sword-flight. Here, a sword means a flying sword—one kind of aerial vehicle. Perhaps for matters of taste, or by convention, low-ranking human cultivators usually choose one flying-sword style or another. Only higher ranks grow a taste for personalized craft. This one was clearly someone who liked an unusual style.

“Hey! You shameless fool. Sin-wracked fiend, come die!” The man on the basin spat like a show-off, formed a sword-form with his left hand, and barked, “Go!”

A second of red light flashed. The hovering sword sprang upward and crashed down toward the python’s head in a slicing sweep.
The poor purple python had no breath left for a cry before it was hacked into two pieces.

Its massive head thudded to the ground. A violet flash burst from the severed neck, and the snake-body’s purple beast-core sprang free, trying to escape.

The yellow-robed man snorted coldly, lifted his broad sword, and swung again.
A strangled cry came from the escaping beast-core as he split it in half. It twisted like a twisted rope, dimmed, and vanished entirely into thin air.

“Return!” The sword vanished. He set down the iron basin and strode to the snake corpse.

When the snake died, a dozen or more storage pouches in every size bounced and clattered from its body.
He stood still, swept his sleeves once, and all of the Judge’s Pens and pouches flew neatly into his sleeves. Then he drew a gleaming dagger and, in swift practiced strokes, skinned and deseeded the serpent corpse with clean efficiency. Feng Ke’er watched from the cave in keen interest. She had no formal master; most of her skills were stolen in exactly this way.

A quarter hour later, it was done. He took out a white silk kerchief, wiped his hands, then produced the iron basin again. He seemed ready to leave.

But suddenly he knit his brow, sent out his awareness, and barked, “Whoever came here with such shamelessness—show yourself!”

Caught. Feng Ke’er scratched her head in annoyed surprise. This was the first time since she had scanned a dantian that she got discovered.

She had already begun to wonder, from his Dao-like bearing and a few obvious techniques, how strong he might be. Curiosity won out, and she could not resist checking his dantian.
The result: he was a beast-cultivator as well, a weasel demon at Sixth Level, Fully Perfected—and also cosmetically altered.

No wonder this fool cursed without regard to gender, rode a broken basin, and wrapped himself in that foul black smoke. Beast-cultivator craftsmanship in artifact making is far behind human methods; most of their forges are random luck. Whatever pattern emerges from the furnace after materials enter it depends mostly on chance.

The deceived beauty-obsessed one in her muttered to herself, “Hah, you’re the shameless rat spawn, you and your whole brood included!”

Still, Feng Ke’er refused to step out immediately. After dealing with countless monsters, she had learned one thing: beast senses are far sharper than human cultivators’. So the “rat spawn” might not have sensed her at all, and all this was instinctive bluffing. This happened often in the Barrier Sea.

Besides, she had emerged from seclusion for two hundred years. Her strength had risen a lot, but she still had no exact measure of it. She had never fought blindly. This was never her style.

To test this creature’s ability, she quietly removed the Phoenix Jade Tag from her neck and tucked it into a storage pouch. That made the Suppress-Breath Talisman fail. Years of fighting beasts had taught her that if, after that talisman was removed, the beast-cultivator still did not notice her, then she could handle it. Fifth or sixth level? Nonsense. She was always in the habit of killing above her level.

Yet the weasel demon was still trying to deceive her. He surveyed his surroundings warily, then laughed at himself in the odd way of the predatory, and leapt onto his basin.

“Trying to leave? There is no door.” Feng Ke’er laughed coldly and blasted the cave mouth open with a single palm strike.

A blast of qi wind surged up.
Yellow Seven—Huang Qi, in truth—turned in alarm. On the trunk of an old tree behind him, broad enough to hold three people at once, a pitch-black hollow suddenly opened. A young woman in a white robe leaned out slowly and stepped out without hurry.

Her brows twitched slightly. She lazily tucked a strand of hair behind her right ear, lifted her eyelids, and smiled faintly.
“Slow down… slow... uhm. Slow,” she said.

Damn. Two hundred years without speaking, and now that her mouth suddenly opened, her tongue ignored commands. Feng Ke’er swallowed hard, managing only a simple sentence before speaking ended. Her cheeks flared red.
She had meant to pose like a cool boss. Instead, quite the opposite. Ah, careless! One careless moment and she had become the clumsiest ambush assassin in history, giving that weasel room to laugh.

Of course, that was all her imagination. In fact, when Huang Qi recoiled with a start, he looked far more terrifying than any handsome middle-aged “gentleman-cultivator.”

“Aaaah, no!” While still urging the basin, he brandished the red broad sword, hacked out a rough feint, then turned and ran.

Such a timid spirit. Humph. Let’s see where he can run! Feng Ke’er’s confidence surged. She flashed the Qingshen Sword from her waist and called, “Breeze Art!”

Running was one of her specialties. In the entire Barrier Sea, she had not met anyone or any creature faster than her.

In one breath, she was less than ten feet away.

“Hey, kid, watch this!” Huang Qi said proudly as he spun around. His hands whirled in a blur and he fired off his signature move.
The broad sword burned red, rang with a deep metallic cry, and shot forward with ruthless speed for a direct stab at Feng Ke’er’s heart.

In truth, Huang Qi had a skill unmatched in the Barrier Sea: he could perceive qi fluctuations within one hundred meters. Any thing with qi—whether or not it is a cultivator—pulses naturally with such fluctuations, as natural as breathing. So while fighting Hongshui Shui, he had already known she was present. Even while cleaning up the loot, he had once secreted a thread of consciousness to sniff things out.

Anyone able to survive deep in the second layer of the Barrier Sea is no ordinary person. So Huang Qi did not dare to probe Feng Ke’er’s dantian recklessly. He used only the thinnest thread of awareness to approach her. Yet it had bounced back, as if hitting an elastic wall. Feng Ke’er did not know he possessed such an outrageous ability, and she had trusted her Suppress-Breath Talisman too much; while watching him skin a snake, she had been careless and felt nothing.

What did this mean? Either the person in the tree was at least three levels above him, or the other was heavily protected by a precious relic. Huang Qi was convinced of the latter. Who was three levels above him? A True Immortal, obviously. As everyone knows, the gateway to the Spirit-Linked World has been sealed for over two hundred years. Where would a True Immortal come from in this lower world?

So after flaying the snake, Huang Qi had already formed a neat “play the fool, eat the tiger” plan. Even if Feng Ke’er stayed silent, he thought he could force her to step out of the cave. He guessed the opening part right, but he was wrong about the process and the ending.

When the broad sword charged in full force, Feng Ke’er neither dodged nor yielded. She pinched the swordblade with her left index finger and middle finger like a pair of tongs—if earlier she had held back any respect for him, now not a trace remained. With that much power, plus this tiny trick, he didn’t even deserve to be compared with her shoes. What did “Fully Perfected Sixth Level” even mean? It was laughably weak.

Two hundred years of training had not been wasted. Feng Ke’er’s mouth twitched into a smile and she gave her fingertips just a touch.

With a hard crack, the sword was clamped apart as if she had bitten through it. The booming red light went dark; the thing became two chunks of corroded junk and dropped to the ground.

“Ugh,” Huang Qi paled and spat out fresh blood. That broad sword had been his true weapon of destiny. Splintering it shattered his seven channels and eight vessels badly.

This time the hawk got pecked in the eye.

At once he slapped both sleeves, and one after another he flicked out eighteen top-grade spirit talismans.
They burst into a golden-tinted talisman-man at his feet.
“Go!” he barked, hurling the blood from his chest at it and pushing with both palms.
The talisman-man woke with a snarl, baring jagged jaws to block Feng Ke’er’s path.

At the same time Huang Qi stamped the basin and sprinted off, trying to break away in earnest.

What trash ever thought it could hold me? For two hundred years I’ve only played with true talismans; I don’t bother with this kiddie nonsense! Feng Ke’er didn’t even blink. One flick, she tossed out a needle of ice; every one of the eighteen talismans was knocked down.

His sword was now almost at her back when he cursed her one last time. There was nothing else to do. Huang Qi used his final move, transformed, revealed his true form, and raised his tail to strike at her.

“Filthy beast,” Feng Ke’er said with disgust, wrinkling her nose. “Let your stink go to hell.” She lifted her hand and snapped out a swordstroke.
From years of slaying monsters, she had long practiced what the Patriarch of the Sky had once said: “In all skill and combat, speed alone breaks through.” Her sword work was always fast, precise, and ruthless, with no frills. A sword withheld is one thing; once drawn, it is death itself.

He never had time to unleash his final life-saver trick. Feng Ke’er’s blade skewered him like a spit roast. The weasel had died far more miserably than she had. Even his beast-core was pinned alive inside the elixir sea with no chance to escape.

A thread of hot qi slipped into her lower belly. Feng Ke’er looked down at her elixir sea and smiled faintly. It had been a long time since she had felt a sensation like this.

The ownerless basin drifted, swaying in midair, half-filled with assorted storage pouches inside.
“Hmm. A serious hoarder, this weasel,” she judged. With the tip of her toe she tapped the basin and said, “Good iron stock. Nice quality.”
(to be continued)

Celestial Codex, Chapter Ninety-Nine: The First Battle after Leaving the Cultivation Chamber is complete.