Chapter Twenty: The Slaying

Chen Jin’s steps, following the ancient ritual gait, were swift, his breath steady and unhurried. He quickly returned to the mountain temple.

There was no door at the entrance, and before stepping inside, Chen Jin could already see someone seated within, their back turned to him. By now, Chen Jin could no longer distinguish whether he was facing a human or a spirit—after what he had witnessed in that village, the line between the living and the dead seemed impossibly blurred. One couldn’t simply assume a shadowy, monochrome figure was a ghost… Well, perhaps the black-and-white ones truly were, but if that were the sole criterion, he might mistakenly believe all ghosts looked that way, when those villagers, before he saw through their illusion, were as vivid as any living soul.

He stood at the threshold for a long while, torn and hesitant, unsure whether to enter. Then, the figure inside turned around.

At the sight of that face, Chen Jin’s pupils widened in shock—there was no mouth, no nose, only a single vertical eye set in the center of the brow.

“You’ve come out,” the one-eyed man said.

Chen Jin did not answer, sweeping his gaze repeatedly over this strange being. Thankfully, the Metal Qi Incantation he’d practiced kept his mind cold and focused, repetition of its formula anchoring his spirit.

“A little game, was it not amusing?” the one-eyed man continued.

Chen Jin still held his tongue. Who could tell what might happen if he replied? It might be like the legendary gourd of the Supreme Elder: one answer, and he’d be swallowed whole, with no recourse for complaint.

“All three hundred and seventeen villagers became phantoms, doomed to guard this place forever, and to turn any passing traveler into one of their own. It’s the most exquisite game I’ve devised in years—what do you think?” Though his face showed no emotion, Chen Jin knew the madness behind it, as if this man were entirely unhinged.

“But… you escaped…” Now the one-eyed man’s gaze fell upon Chen Jin, full of irritation and curiosity. “My game is incomplete now, so… I need you to return, go back to the village…” His words grew hollow, seductive, as if weaving a spell.

Yet Chen Jin was unmoved. His mind had gone blank, registering only terror at the man’s words, reminiscent of the villagers’ cries as he fled. Even so, he turned, his eyes dazed, and began to run towards the village with desperate speed.

The one-eyed man seemed satisfied, sitting slowly at the temple threshold, watching as Chen Jin raced down the mountain toward the village—only to see him run along a trajectory perfectly tangent to the village’s broken fence.

Chen Jin ran right past the village.

He pressed on, heading into the distance, into the fading light of the setting sun.

Chen Jin did not pause to congratulate himself on his cleverness. Instead, he ran even harder, fearful that the one-eyed man would pursue him. With a creature so bizarre, escape was unlikely to be so simple, but he would not surrender without a fight. It was not in his nature to admit defeat without resistance.

Resignation was out of the question—never, not in this lifetime… Or so he thought, until the one-eyed man appeared ahead of him.

Still, Chen Jin refused to yield. He picked up his pace, but as he closed to within a foot of the one-eyed man, he suddenly slammed into what felt like an invisible glass wall. His head reeled with pain, his heart skipped as his momentum halted, and a wave of weightlessness washed over him.

With a thud, he crashed to the ground, utterly disoriented.

As the world spun wildly, the one-eyed man’s face loomed close—far too close, just a foot away. Chen Jin wanted to raise his fist and strike the monstrous visage, but his body would not obey his mind’s frantic commands.

“Someone’s coming. I’ll take my leave for now. Another day, we’ll play again. Today, I truly enjoyed myself,” the one-eyed man said suddenly.

And then, under Chen Jin’s baleful glare, he vanished.

But then a flash of white light swept across, and the one-eyed man reappeared, landing heavily on the ground. Another arc of white light sliced through, and his head tumbled from his neck, the wound clean as a razor’s edge. Dark, purplish blood erupted, spattering both his severed head and Chen Jin.

“Are you a Sword Immortal of Mount Shu?” came the dying wail from the one-eyed man’s severed head, and then he was no more.

“You may deceive me, but I can deceive you—and myself as well,” Chen Jin muttered, pale-faced, sitting on the ground and gasping for breath.

It was indeed Chen Jin who had killed the one-eyed man, but the power he used was not his own—it belonged to the body he now inhabited.

This body was no rustic charlatan, though he was a native of Wenma County. He had no master named Wang Erhu, but his mundane name was Wang Goudan, a villager from that very ghost-infested place. After entering the mountains to cultivate, his teacher had given him the Daoist name Xinyang, calling him a child of pure metal, ideal for the flying sword arts.

After thirty years of cultivation, he returned home to find his village a haunted ruin, and his heart was filled with grief. He began to investigate, seeking revenge, and traced the cause to the one-eyed man. Then, he set a trap: sealing his own memories and cultivation, he became once more Wang Goudan.

But before he could complete his plan, Chen Jin took his place. Still, the one-eyed man died by his hand in the end.

Only now did Chen Jin truly inherit this body.

These memories had come flooding back the moment he struck that invisible barrier.

With his recovered cultivation, Chen Jin unleashed a killing blow, ending the one-eyed man swiftly and without hesitation.

Afterward, he scrambled to his feet and sat to recover his strength.

A breeze swept the grass beside him, and a figure appeared—an old man with youthful features, long beard, and white hair, holding a staff. The old man tapped Chen Jin lightly with his staff.

At once, all signs of exhaustion and injury vanished from Chen Jin’s body, and he looked revitalized.

Opening his eyes, he saw the white-haired elder smiling at him, and returned the gesture, saying, “Thank you, Immortal Elder, for your aid.”

“You’re quite something, lad. To have devised such a scheme and slain the One-Eyed Lord here—truly impressive,” the old man said with a laugh.

“I must thank you as well, Elder, for without your help, he would have escaped and the opportunity would have been wasted,” Chen Jin replied with a respectful bow.

The first flash of white light had come from the elder, while the second, which had severed the one-eyed man’s head, was Chen Jin’s own doing.

“Even without me, your Soul-Scattering Sword could have severed his head and destroyed his spirit. But such flying sword techniques harm the natural order—best use them sparingly,” the old man sighed.

“I understand, Elder. My master has often warned me: unless there is no other choice, I must not use it,” Chen Jin answered humbly, as if accepting instruction.

“Ah, perhaps I’ve spoken too much. I’ll go up the mountain to refine elixirs. As for you… well, do what you can to lay your kin to rest. If you need help, come and find me,” the old man said.

“Thank you, Immortal Elder,” Chen Jin replied, bowing once more.

The old man returned the gesture, then soared skyward toward Gaoping Mountain.

At last, it was over.

…