Chapter Fifty-Five: Today I Sever the Dao Heart—From This Moment On, I No Longer Seek the Great Way

Silvery sword light swirled around Luo Qingchen, his figure slipping out of the residence, heart and blood surging together, racing like lightning behind clouds. The burly coachman, Zhu Shan, had accompanied him from Qingzhou—Zhu Shan was there in Luo Qingchen’s triumph, and remained through his lowest moments.

But now, perhaps this time, Zhu Shan would truly be gone.

Tonight, Luo Qingchen had not seen Zhu Shan. He assumed Zhu Shan was occupied elsewhere; whenever Luo Qingchen had no need, Zhu Shan’s actions were his own. Luo Qingchen recalled Zhu Shan had a lover in the Linhua Pavilion of Lin’an Prefecture whom he visited every seven days.

He thought Zhu Shan’s absence meant he had gone to seek her and relieve his burdens. Luo Qingchen’s own heart was weighed down, his mind preoccupied with cleansing the dust from his Dao heart, so he failed to notice anything amiss. By the time he realized, the cold night wind carried a touch of melancholy.

At Luo Qingchen’s speed, it took only a moment of full effort to reach the entrance of Qingbo Street.

Sword energy surrounded him, slowing his pace as he looked to the carriage at the mouth of the alley, where Qin Qianqiu toyed with a wine cup and Wang Qinhe carried the Dragonbone Blade.

Understanding dawned, and Luo Qingchen’s eyes trembled as he gazed into the distance. There, a burly figure leaned on a blade, standing silent in the cold wind, facing the direction from which Luo Qingchen raced down the long street. He was lifeless.

“Master, Zhu Shan can no longer accompany you back to Qingzhou.”

The sobbing spring night wind seemed to echo those words.

Luo Qingchen felt his heart sink; vast Lin’an rose in endless darkness, devouring him, stripping him of his last intimate companion in this city.

An Le stood in white at Zhu Shan’s side, raising a hand gently to close Zhu Shan’s unseeing eyes.

He seemed aware of Luo Qingchen’s arrival, and looked calmly his way.

Zhu Shan, the burly coachman, had come with a blade to kill him, hoping to buy Luo Qingchen a safe departure from Lin’an Prefecture.

From Zhu Shan’s lips, An Le learned that Luo Qingchen had refused Qin Qianqiu’s demand, unwilling to come to kill him.

But now, upon witnessing Zhu Shan’s death, what would Luo Qingchen’s attitude be?

If Luo Qingchen truly fulfilled Qin Qianqiu’s wish and sought vengeance for Zhu Shan, An Le would not be his match now, though in the future, when he grew stronger, he would not hold back.

Yet Luo Qingchen did not erupt in rage, nor did he reveal any murderous intent. Step by step, he walked to Zhu Shan’s side, gazing at the burly corpse, sorrow gradually filling his eyes.

“I once said I wanted you to carry me back to Qingzhou in glory, but I failed…”

A long sigh, laden with guilt, exhaustion, and self-reproach, escaped Luo Qingchen’s lips.

An Le stepped aside, giving Luo Qingchen space.

He remained silent.

…

…

Moonlight shone through the forest, illuminating the empty street in tranquil night.

Cold moonlight and starlight spilled across the wind-swept, blood-scented street.

Far from the Qingbo Street entrance, a luxurious carriage sat quietly.

Steeds whinnied; atop the carriage roof, two figures stood, faces cold and impassive.

“The coachman failed, and Luo Qingchen has arrived. I wonder if Luo Qingchen will strike in anger,” Qin Qianqiu drained his cup of spirit wine, rich energy bursting through his throat, yet his expression betrayed no enjoyment.

He cared nothing for Luo Qingchen’s arrival, nor for the coachman who had been forced to his death by Qin Qianqiu’s demands.

“Zhu Shan possessed a body-refining inner pill, and the strength of a spirit-refining martialist, but was nearly crushed.”

Though Zhu Shan’s body-refining and spirit-refining techniques were of equal grade, being crushed by a higher realm surprised him. Qin Qianqiu’s own talent in cultivation was ordinary, not comparable to his cousin Qin Hua’an, the Qin family prodigy who earned the Lesser Saint Token by his own power.

The youth before him, An Le, likewise surpassed Qin Qianqiu.

The sense of defeat brought by such prodigies provoked an unspoken irritation in Qin Qianqiu’s heart.

Wang Qinhe stood atop the carriage, the Dragon Spine Blade at his waist emanating cold radiance; he had long since fallen silent, his earlier ease vanished.

An Le’s battle to slay the blade-wielding coachman had made Wang Qinhe wary, and the techniques displayed left him shaken.

“Spirit-refining, yet not transcendent, but able to manipulate sword implements in midair, even threatening a body-refining martialist with an inner pill…”

“This technique reminds me of the sword arts described in the Lesser Saint Token by the Saints.”

Wang Qinhe spoke gravely.

“But he obtained the Lesser Saint Token only yesterday, and today has already grasped its secret arts… What kind of talent is this?!”

Wang Qinhe pondered, an involuntary chill rising within.

Was this the terrifying talent of one who won the Lesser Saint Token by his own merit?

Wang Qinhe had been studying the blade arts within the Lesser Saint Token, but had only scratched the surface so far.

A sudden sense of jealousy and acute danger flooded Wang Qinhe’s heart.

Perhaps soon, An Le would challenge him, and might easily defeat him.

Such prodigies grew too quickly!

Qin Qianqiu looked at Wang Qinhe beside him, sensing the turbulent emotions, and frowned: “Brother Wang… Do you think we should eliminate this youth in advance?”

Wang Qinhe’s feelings surged; he closed his eyes to settle his mood, then opened them, answering seriously, “No.”

“I look forward to his challenge.”

Qin Qianqiu’s face showed surprise: “After what you saw today, aren’t you worried he’ll grow strong enough to defeat you? If he beats you, he’ll climb the rankings over your name.”

Wang Qinhe removed the Dragon Spine Blade, his palm caressing the blade’s dragon-scale pattern, speaking softly: “Pressure is my motivation to advance. Isn’t that the purpose of the Lesser Saint Ranking?”

“Those who earn the Lesser Saint Token are never ordinary. Even if they rely on family resources, if their talent isn’t recognized, the mountain lords won’t grant them the token.”

“Those who possess the Lesser Saint Token are never mediocre!”

“And a genius who earns it entirely by his own power, without any family backing…”

“If I can defeat him openly, my cultivation will be tempered greatly, and my martial path will be smooth.”

Wang Qinhe’s eyes flashed with fighting spirit, his palm sliding over the blade, as if a low dragon’s roar exploded across the night street.

Qin Qianqiu looked on with confusion and disdain; to him, it was best to eliminate dangerous enemies early, and notions of martial honor were useless, while camaraderie among geniuses was laughable.

Wang Qinhe was like this, and so was his exceptionally gifted cousin.

Qin Qianqiu squinted, for the first time truly regarding the youth who had refused his invitation, simply because the boy now threatened him.

In the distance, An Le in snowy white, with the Black Ink Pool at his side, seemed to sense a gaze carried by the wind, turned his head, and let his thoughts drift.

He saw Qin Qianqiu and Wang Qinhe standing atop the carriage.

Wang Qinhe, seeing An Le look his way, grinned, his mind ablaze, and blade energy burst from the Dragon Spine, dazzling in the night.

The Dragon Spine Blade left his hand, like a long dragon, manipulated with blade technique, sweeping across the street with blade energy toward An Le.

“Wang Qinhe of the Lesser Saint Ranking, just saying hello.”

Wang Qinhe laughed atop the carriage.

The blade swept in, its energy fierce but without murderous intent, its target not An Le, but the ground beside him.

This strike was only to set a precedent.

An Le watched calmly, the Black Ink Pool and Green Mountain at his waist stirring slightly.

But a hand reached out, fingers gripping, and seized the Dragon Spine Blade, its surging blade energy instantly extinguished, the spiritual force attached to it severed.

Far away, Wang Qinhe’s face darkened—his blade!

Blade energy whipped up a storm, but Luo Qingchen, expressionless beside Zhu Shan’s corpse, was filled with guilt.

He did not even raise his head, simply stretched out his hand to seize the Dragon Spine.

Holding the blade, he slowly turned.

He glanced at An Le: “Though you killed Zhu Shan, I do not blame you. Still, your sword is stained with his blood—this I will not forget. When you one day reach the Fifth Realm, I will come for you openly, and we shall settle it with life and death.”

“Of course, should the chance still exist.”

An Le replied, dropping the Green Mountain and Black Ink Pool at his waist, his tone calm: “I’ll be waiting.”

Luo Qingchen smiled, the bitterness clear: “Since I accepted the Eastern Sea Heart-Cleansing Pearl from the Qin Prime Minister’s estate to wash the dust from my Dao heart, I have seen no path forward. In many eyes, I am no longer considered a prodigy.”

“Dust washed away with external things cannot be truly cleansed; it only leaves me reeking of decay.”

Luo Qingchen sighed, lifting his head, cold moonlight shining on his face that had grown with the years.

He was no longer the spirited youth who left Qingzhou with pride.

His gaze locked on Qin Qianqiu.

“Qin young master, all your estate has bestowed upon me—these years, I have served your house, and that debt is repaid.”

“The Eastern Sea Pearl helped me cleanse my Dao heart’s dust.”

“Now, I, Luo Qingchen, sever my Dao heart—no more pursuit of the Great Way. Victory or defeat matters little; I seek only the joy within my heart.”

With these words, Luo Qingchen raised his hand, sword energy pouring into his brow.

In that moment, all on the street seemed to hear the sound of something shattering.

The Dao heart is intangible, yet Luo Qingchen wielded his sword to sever it.

Whether he succeeded, none could say.

But Luo Qingchen declared it, and so it was done; no one would doubt him.

“Grace repaid, now for the debt.”

Luo Qingchen’s face was deathly pale, but his spirit light.

His hair and scholar’s robe billowed, and he stepped forward—first walking, then running, finally surging like lightning behind clouds, wielding the Dragon Spine Blade like a tide in the dark, slashing murderous intent toward Qin Qianqiu.

He swung the blade at the noble who had forced his coachman to die and still stood aloof.

The coachman was a small figure, his life a feather to nobles.

But to those who cared, a small figure’s life could be weightier than mountains!

An Le’s debt would be settled.

The debt of Qin Qianqiu—the one who coerced, threatened, and drove his coachman to death—would also be settled!