Chapter 28: The Five Divine Weapons

As the mechanism activated, the coffin lid opened only halfway, yet due to the enormity of the stone sarcophagus, the entire interior was laid bare to view. At that moment, Lu Xin was pinned against the lid by an unseen force, half his body suspended over the void, in imminent danger of tumbling in.

He reached behind himself, but his hand found nothing tangible on his back. Lu Xin was bewildered, feeling only the chill wind biting at him, a deep ache in his neck, and pain beginning to creep across his whole body.

He turned his gaze back into the coffin. The two lifelike corpses within decayed in the blink of an eye, all flesh vanishing as if swept away by a gust of wind, leaving behind only two desiccated skeletons.

Unease churned in Lu Xin’s heart. He struggled with all his might to rise, but the pressure on his back was overwhelming—so much so that even if his spine snapped, he would not be able to get up.

“What manner of thing is this? Human or ghost, show yourself if you have the courage!” Lu Xin roared in fury. He had come to the ancestral tomb of the Niu family with unfinished business and could not simply remain prostrate. At his shout, the sword suspended in midair above the coffin began to sway, emitting a strange metallic hum. At times, it sounded like the roar of tigers and the song of dragons; at others, like the furtive whispers of children. The sound made Lu Xin’s mind reel. He glanced at the sword’s reflection and saw, to his horror, the outline of a person crouched upon his back—a pair of pallid hands slowly creeping over his shoulders, their fingers grotesquely long, seeming to clutch at his throat.

His breath came short; pain tightened around his neck, his throat constricted further, blood rushed to his face until it was swollen and crimson. At any moment, he might succumb to suffocation. This was no human strength—Lu Xin realized with dread he was in the grip of a ghost.

Yet there was nothing he could do. Even with his mastery of swordsmanship, he could not break free from this supernatural force.

In that desperate instant, he longed to turn and see the woman lying on the ground one last time. But he could not; his vision blurred, and his memories began to fragment.

“Am I going to die? Brother Tingfang, it seems I will not be able to return with you after all…”

“Foul creature, begone at once!”

Just as Lu Xin’s eyes were about to close in the throes of death, a beam of golden light shot in from outside the tomb’s entrance. A man’s commanding voice echoed through the chamber, followed by a piercing yowl like that of a cat. Within two heartbeats, the force on his back vanished. Lu Xin shuddered and sprang to his feet.

He turned to see an elderly Daoist with white hair and beard approaching the sarcophagus in slow, shuffling steps. Though the Daoist’s visage was ancient and his gait unsteady, his eyes burned with a bright, fiery light. Lu Xin did not know exactly what had just transpired, but it was clear he had been saved by this old master.

“Thank you, Reverend, for your timely aid. May I ask your name, so that I, Lu Xin, might one day return the favor?”

Though uncertain why the Daoist had come to the Niu family’s ancestral tomb, it was not unusual to encounter a Daoist priest on Tianfeng Mountain, the site of the Jiuyang Monastery. Lu Xin, however, was anxious about the task he had yet to complete—destroying another’s ancestral feng shui was a dire act, and if the old Daoist tried to intervene, it would complicate matters greatly.

“My name has long since been forgotten. My Daoist title is Wuyou. You may call me Master Wuyou.”

“Master Wuyou? I shall remember. Reverend, was it a ghost you just drove away?”

Lu Xin nodded in acknowledgement and immediately inquired about what had occurred. Master Wuyou did not answer, his gaze instead drifting to the sword that hung suspended in the air, eyes becoming distant and unfathomable. Only after a long silence did he return to himself. Lu Xin glanced at him—the old Daoist’s eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Two centuries… At last, the day has come. Master, may your spirit in heaven behold this moment.”

Master Wuyou gazed skyward and sighed, then bowed deeply to the suspended sword, striking his head to the ground three times in succession. Lu Xin’s face paled, and he leapt down from the coffin lid in haste. The old master must have been over a hundred years old—who could bear the weight of such a sage’s obeisance?

“Two hundred years? Whom has he been waiting for? Could he have foreseen the sword’s emergence?”

Lu Xin looked up at the sword floating above the stone coffin, his brow furrowed. Since entering this tomb, he had been beset by one strange event after another. Even the sudden appearance of Master Wuyou seemed to be an ordained part of some greater design. Lu Xin did not know why, but he felt as if someone above was watching and guiding every move.

“I have been waiting for you!”

Master Wuyou seemed to have heard the question in the young man’s heart. He turned to Lu Xin, his gaze now clear and alight with excitement, as though a long-cherished wish had finally been fulfilled.

“For me? Reverend, you must be joking. We have never met; indeed, I come from a distant land. There is no reason anyone here should know me.”

“I know. Your homeland is not of this world. You might say you have transcended the five elements, exist beyond the three realms, and are not among the ordinary folk of this world.”

“What? You know my origins?”

Lu Xin stepped forward, his face stricken with shock. Master Wuyou’s words were too astonishing—since crossing into the Tang dynasty, he had never revealed his true origins to anyone, not even Tu Xing, who regarded him as an adopted grandson. Yet this elder clearly knew something.

Master Wuyou glanced at Lu Xin, then shook his head, turning his eyes once more to the suspended sword.

“I do not know your true origins. These were the words my master spoke to me two hundred years ago. He instructed me to remain on Tianfeng Mountain, telling me that, one day, a child would arrive and awaken the slumbering Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal. From that day forth, I have waited here, watching Jiuyang Monastery grow from a dilapidated hut into the thriving sanctuary it is today.”

“Two hundred years? Reverend, could you have lived so long?”

Lu Xin could not suppress a gasp. Human lifespans are so very short—even in the modern world, with its advanced medicine, few live past a hundred years, let alone two centuries. Was this man a true immortal?

“Do not be astonished. We practitioners of the Yin-Yang arts, upon reaching the Subtle Realm, may attain a lifespan of one hundred and fifty years. If one breaks through to the Divine Realm, three centuries are within reach. Alas, my talents were limited. Though my master taught me with great care, I could not achieve enlightenment. Now, I survive only by the grace of elixirs, sustaining the last thread of life.”

Master Wuyou’s voice was tranquil. Though he spoke of his approaching end, there was not a trace of fear within him. Lu Xin could not fathom such an elevated state, but the old Daoist had lived over two hundred years—surely his cultivation was far beyond the Subtle Realm he mentioned.

“Reverend, just who was your master? And this Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal—why was I the one to awaken it?”

“The cultivation of a Yin-Yang master is beset with countless tribulations. Without a treasure to protect oneself, each step is fraught with peril. Among Daoist adepts, there are five legendary weapons: Guiguzi’s Soul-Piercing Needle; Master Huangshi’s Supreme Demon-Catching Mirror; Zhuge Liang’s Life-Extending Seven-Star Lamp; Guan Lu’s Celestial Incompletion Inkstone; and finally, my master’s Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal. His name was Guo Pu…”

As Master Wuyou spoke, Lu Xin’s consciousness was drawn into an altogether new world—a world ruled by these formidable Yin-Yang masters. Guo Pu, Master Wuyou’s teacher, was the most preeminent among them, having reached the pinnacle of the Divine Realm four centuries prior. Upon exhausting his lifespan, Guo Pu told Wuyou: two hundred years hence, a child would come to Tianfeng Mountain, open the Niu ancestral tomb, and awaken the Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal. Thus, Master Wuyou founded Jiuyang Monastery and waited, fulfilling his master’s dying wish.

“So, Reverend, you mean this sword was left to me by Guo Pu—your master?”

Lu Xin looked at the still-suspended divine sword, a mix of awe and delight in his heart. As a swordsman, he yearned for such a legendary weapon. Yet, to think it was left to him by a man dead two centuries before seemed almost too fantastical. How could anyone foresee events so far into the future? But then, if he himself could travel from 2018 to the Tang dynasty, why shouldn’t a sword wait for him across the centuries?

With mingled hesitation and excitement, Lu Xin leapt onto the sarcophagus and seized the Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal. Instantly, all strange phenomena ceased. As his hand wrapped around the hilt, he felt an uncanny intimacy with the blade, as though it were always meant for him.

“What a light sword—holding it is like holding nothing at all.”

Lu Xin marveled; the sword was so light it seemed weightless, lighter than a sheet of paper. He could not resist testing it, swinging it in graceful arcs, etching his calligraphy-inspired swordplay into the stone walls with effortless ease; each stroke pierced the hard rock, the blade incomparably sharp. Such a sword, even in untrained hands, would become a deadly weapon.

“You have received the divine sword. My master’s charge is fulfilled. You must descend the mountain at once. A moment ago, the cat demon borrowed the corpse’s breath to manifest—a sign of malevolence. Though I have driven it off, its cunning is not to be underestimated. This place is no longer safe. Go now, and may you heed my master’s wish: guard the Sword of Yin-Yang Wandering Immortal, and protect all living things…”

“Reverend? Reverend!”

No sooner had Master Wuyou finished speaking than he sat down and gently closed his eyes. Lu Xin called out twice, but there was no response. His heart sank; he stepped forward and checked for breath—he was gone. Though there were many questions left unasked, there was nothing more to be done.

Without delay, Lu Xin placed Tian Yuer’s body into the stone coffin, setting a talisman of his own making between her lips. Then, at each of the tomb’s four corners—east, south, west, and north—he buried a blood-stained jade stone. Having completed these rites, Lu Xin carried out Master Wuyou’s corpse and Niu Ercheng’s body from the cave. Only when the tomb door closed behind him did he finally release a long breath.

He looked up at the sky. Moonlight poured over the world, spilling into the mountain pool, as if peering into the secrets of heaven and earth. Lu Xin had thought that once he buried Tian Yuer, all would be finished. But now, it seemed, everything was only just beginning.