Chapter 118: Fellow Disciples
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The middle-aged, scruffy man taught Qingshan a set of spear techniques, which to the young boy seemed easily summarized in one simple phrase:
“Truly formidable.”
Usually idle and carefree, the man wielded the long spear like a war god descended to the mortal realm. The spear moved like a dragon—masterful and mesmerizing—leaving Qingshan wide-eyed and speechless, his mind filled with only one thought:
“So this is how one wields a spear.”
Watching the spear dance tirelessly before him, Qingshan felt anxious. “I’m afraid I won’t learn it.”
The middle-aged man replied lazily, “Doesn’t matter. Just remember the moves. Don’t chase the spirit of the spear, just get the form right.”
Qingshan nodded, half understanding.
The next day.
Before dawn had fully broken, the moment Shen Yu pushed open the door, Qingshan was already waiting quietly outside the courtyard.
The sound of the spear slicing through the air rang out.
The early-rising villagers glanced over a few times but soon departed, seeing nothing remarkable.
Shen Yu sat on a small stool by the fence, calm and composed.
Qingshan, nervous and awkward, fumbled with the spear. His movements were clumsy, lacking the ease of the previous day. When he forgot the next move, he would freeze, trying to recall it.
Shen Yu showed no impatience, silently watching.
“Give me the spear,” Shen Yu suddenly interrupted.
Qingshan was slightly startled but handed it over.
Grasping the spear, Shen Yu began to demonstrate slowly within the yard.
His spear style was unhurried; the spear tip traced intricate patterns in the air.
To Qingshan’s eyes, this young immortal differed from the domineering middle-aged man at the tavern. Instead, he was ethereal, almost otherworldly—as if a gentle stream flowing endlessly under a winter sun.
Shen Yu tossed the spear back and said, “Practice once every morning and evening. Keep at it for three years.”
Qingshan nodded instinctively.
“Go home,” Shen Yu added. “Then show him.”
“‘Him’ is, of course, that middle-aged man from the tavern.”
Earlier, Shen Yu had used Qingshan’s mouth to share his understanding of the spear with that man, who then made his intentions clear:
He would teach Qingshan spear techniques and speak with his actions.
Now Shen Yu responded in kind.
Qingshan scratched his head and repeated, “It’s a bit difficult. I’m afraid I can’t learn it.”
Shen Yu was silent for a moment, then said, “Doesn’t matter. Just remember the moves. Don’t chase the spirit of the spear; just get the form.”
Qingshan left the house, his expression strange. These two immortals were truly perplexing—even their words were exactly the same.
...
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In the days that followed, Qingshan acted as a messenger between the two, running back and forth, exceedingly busy.
Shen Yu taught Qingshan spear techniques during his leisure but mostly spent his time resting with closed eyes—more importantly, healing his wounds.
The mountain village was remote and desolate, isolated from news of the outside world.
This made Shen Yu restless.
When he had been struck and flung far away from the high platform in Qianliu City by that woman, a True Immortal wielding three blades, some matters were left unfinished.
The Yang family father and daughter still remained in the city, and Yan Nantian was still alive.
Who knew what would happen next?
Staring at the horizon, Shen Yu frowned. He thought bitterly that he should have borne that blade and killed Yan Nantian outright—then there would be no lingering trouble.
“Immortal, what are you thinking about?”
A familiar youthful voice came again.
Shen Yu turned and said, “So soon this time?”
The youth smiled, “No, the middle-aged man said he wants to see you. He invited the immortal to the tavern for a drink.”
Shen Yu remained silent.
The youth hesitated, unsure, “Is it inconvenient for you, Immortal?”
Shen Yu glanced at the spear in the youth’s hand and said, “Let’s go.”
...
The tavern was small, with only one main hall.
Dust covered the wine jars around, and a few scattered pots on the floor exuded a foul smell.
Shen Yu stepped over the low threshold and saw the middle-aged man.
His face was covered with stubble, wearing coarse linen clothes, eyes squinting as he dozed off soundly.
The youth stood between them, about to call out to wake him, but suddenly his eyes rolled back and he fell asleep.
Shen Yu’s expression remained calm as he caught Qingshan and placed him gently on a nearby wooden table.
“I heard that the Dao Sect has produced a once-in-a-century prodigy, Yu Wenwen, though she is a woman.”
The middle-aged man opened his eyes. “Never thought the disciples taught by the Dao Sect these years were so terrifying. Looks like those arrogant bastards have some real skill.”
Shen Yu did not ask how the man knew he was from the Dao Sect but said faintly, “I also didn’t expect that in this remote mountain village there would be two innate Dao bodies.”
The middle-aged man smirked, “Including you, that makes three, right?”
Shen Yu looked at the sleeping youth and said, “If you know, then why let it be like this?”
Shen Yu’s words were hard to grasp, but only the middle-aged man could understand.
He had once given Qingshan a spear.
The spear held vast spear intent but was also tainted with endless vengeful spirits and sinister energy.
For one who had mastered the spear path, like the man himself, it was no problem. But for Qingshan, even as an innate Dao body, it was deeply unsuitable.
Over time, this would subtly and irreversibly warp his mind.
Later, Shen Yu took the initiative to teach him spear techniques.
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The man passed on the art—the myriad changes of spear techniques.
Shen Yu imparted the Dao—the righteous heart that dispels darkness and evil.
The former concerns technique; the latter concerns spirit.
The middle-aged man said nothing, coldly remarking, “If you can’t overcome even that, why learn the spear? Might as well die.”
Shen Yu said nothing in reply, merely studying the spear silently.
The middle-aged man laughed, “Interested in it?”
Shen Yu spoke, “The malice and resentment on the spear are not strong, but extremely dense—thick to the point of being impossible to remove.”
“Hm?”
“You must have killed many.”
Shen Yu was silent a moment, then said lightly, “A hundred thousand.”
...
Shen Yu’s meaning was subtle, but every word the middle-aged man understood.
Back then, in Fengdu Ghost City, a hundred thousand souls were slain by a powerful cultivator, whose killing intent and bloodlust stained the entire city.
It was known far and wide.
The middle-aged man’s expression did not change. He casually took a sip from a wine jar and said, “Rumor has it that person was a Dao cultivator. I’m just a spearman—how could it be me?”
“You have connections to the Dao Sect, and many know that being from the Dao Sect doesn’t necessarily mean one is a Dao cultivator,” Shen Yu replied.
“Moreover, since I am also an innate Dao body, I can see more than most.”
The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow, “Who told you I have ties to the Dao Sect?”
“By your aura,” Shen Yu said calmly. “As far as I know, only those from the Dao Sect carry that shameless aura.”
The man was taken aback, then burst into hearty laughter that echoed through the village. Curiously, no one else seemed to hear it.
Shen Yu said, “Seems you really are from the Dao Sect.”
“So what if I am? Or if I’m not? I have nothing to do with them now,” the man said dismissively.
“Speak. What do you want? Were you beaten outside? The blade energy inside you is chilling—surprising you haven’t cried out yet.”
Shen Yu got straight to the point, “Someone will come for me in a few days. I need you to stop them.”
The man rubbed his chin, amused, “What if I refuse?”
Shen Yu said calmly, “Then I’ll report you to the academy.”
The man’s eyes widened, “After all, we come from the same place. Is the Dao Sect really willing to kill its own? What about brotherhood among disciples?”
Shen Yu replied with icy calm, “None of my concern.”