Joy of Life - Chapter 660 - One Object in the Air, the Swords in One Hand

[Updated at: 2021-01-12 01:50:32]
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Chapter 660: One Object in the Air, the Swords in One Hand

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

After Ye Liuyun and Fei Jie left, Fan Xian sat by the seaside for a long time. The shadow of the large ship had long disappeared from the sea, but his gaze was still turned toward the ocean that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind and rain whipping against his body had not weakened. His entire body was soaked. He was sitting in a strange position, hugging his knees, just like a cute little boy. In reality, everyone knew it was impossible for Fan Xian to be a pure little boy.

The two types of zhenqi in his body circulated and flowed slowly. The zhenqi that had been pushed out by Ye Liuyun’s purposeful stimulation was being quickly circulated in a relatively calm and harmonious manner. For him, it seemed that this moment was a kind of opportunity. Because of a change in his state of mind, the divine light from the change in surrounding emotions shone lightly into his mind.

Fan Xian closed his eyes and naturally extended his palms into the rain, allowing the rain to strike against his palm.

After a long time, Fan Xian’s palms remained just as dry and smooth as usual. It was as if these raindrops would never be able to truly land on his palm and wet any inch of his skin.

Fan Xian’s palms were covered by a thin layer of zhenqi. This zhenqi was released from every pore and flowed back in through every pore, creating a thin and interesting return path. It was the strange and completely useless technique he had practiced as a child.

This technique allowed him to become an ace climber in this world. He had once climbed the Royal Palace, Xi Mountain, and many dangerous places that humankind had not thought of. Compared to the six years of time and effort he had paid out in his youth, the results were truly not worth it.

At the time, Wu Zhu did not correct him. Everyone knew Wu Zhu did not have internal qi.

Now, it felt different. There was a fine and obscure difference compared to usual. Fan Xian slowly opened his eyes and wiped the rainwater from his face. He stared dazedly at his palm. He was still and lost in thought for a long time.

To be able to have zhenqi leave one’s body and form a weapon that could harm others was a powerful realm but not an unattainable one. As long as one had reached a certain level of cultivation and had a superior enough technique of circulation, powerful warriors would be able to manage it.

Fan Xian had once seen Ye Liuyun’s scattered hands. The Great Grandmaster’s hand had spread like a dried plum. Zhenqi had spewed from the tips of his fingers. In an instant, they split through the air and poked tens of thousands of plum blossoms holes into the beach at the bottom of the cliff in Danzhou. Such movement of zhenqi was already the highest realm of breaking through humankind’s fleshly limit.

Fan Xian had sensed something different today, a completely different feeling. He stood lost in thought in the wind and rain. The rain followed his hair and dripped onto his face. It was somewhat blown away by the wind on the seashore.

When the zhenqi left for a moment and returned to his body, there seemed to be something extra amidst the familiar movement. Given the realm of Fan Xian’s state of mind, he should not have been able to sense there was something extra, but he still felt it.

Other than shock, he was also confused. All things were balanced in the world. However much zhenqi was released, the same amount would be drawn back. Being able to draw it back was already Fan Xian’s unique skill, but how could there be more? Didn’t that mean there was no need for meditation and all he had to do was endlessly carry out this circular flow of zhenqi to increase the amount of zhenqi inside his body?

Where did the extra zhenqi come from?

Fan Xian’s pupils constricted slightly. Even his fingertips began to tremble. He faintly knew that he might have touched on a door that no one had considered, thought of, or arrived at before. What was behind this door?

Why had this change suddenly happened? When Fan Xian sensed this opportunity, he followed it and sat down in the rain by the seashore. What was this opportunity? Was it Ye Liuyun who had come from the sea? Was it the death of Sigu Jian looking out at the sea? Was it the frustration of separation between family?

Fan Xian was perplexed. He began to coolly evaluate what had happened during this one day and night. He had to find the reason for this to understand what color that door was and who had opened it in front of him.

This was not a difficult task. He had rushed to Dongyi from Ten Family village and stayed for a night in the Sword Hut. The most likely thing to have caused this change was those two notebooks, particularly the latter one written in strange sounds.

Fan Xian had asked Fei Jie to take the notebook to the mysterious land in the West, but he had already fully memorized the contents of the notebook. Although there were still many phrases he did not understand, there were some parts he understood.

The phrases didn’t seem like a spell. They were more like poetry he had seen in his previous life, something like Dante’s Divine Comedy.

Did Italian develop from Latin? Fan Xian furrowed his brows and sat thinking in the rain. He could not remember the knowledge that had faded long ago. He only remembered that there were many dialects of Italian. The formal one could not escape connection from Dante’s Divine Comedy.

Was it those few sentences imprinted in his heart that unconsciously changed his state of mind when circulating zhenqi, thus creating the strange situation at hand?

Magic? Fan Xian stood slowly and furrowed his brows. He looked at the empty sea, the deep blue surface that awaited wind and rain, as if he could see the land on the other end of the ocean.

I love you, the charming spring wind.

I use my entire heart and being to sense each thing leaping through the air.

To be close to you, to be with you.

This was a poem, not a spell. Fan Xian stood in a daze in the rain and was firm in his judgment. It was clear that these poetry-like words had made him learn something and feel something. Was there truly vitality between the heaven and earth in the air that should be empty of everything? When he had been circulating earlier, had he added a closeness of the poem as the zhenqi flowed back and absorbed something more?

His feet took a few stumbling steps across the sand. His body turned a few times in the wind and rain by the shore of the East Sea. He looked at the air around him, the wind, and rain, and narrowed his eyes. He released a bright light like he wanted to find a sliver of that intangible thing among these transparent and natural things. However, there was nothing.

Too many hypotheses and judgments surged into his mind and made it difficult for him to bear such a heaven burden. With a muffled groan, he rubbed the spot between his brows.

The notebooks were objects left behind by Master Ku He. Using Sigu Jian’s words that he had let slip, one knew that the Northern Qi’s previous Imperial Advisor was interested in Western magic and had even used a little of it on Dong Mountain.

But, it was all in Italian. No matter how extraordinary he was, he shouldn’t know it. How did he succeed in learning it? What had he learned?

The poetry collection that may have nothing to do with magic was in itself strange. Looking at its age, it should have been very old. It might even pre-dated Ku He’s birth. An elder of this land had probably come into contact with the essence of magic from the Western lands and forcibly recorded these words.

Fan Xian sudden felt regretful. He shouldn’t have given the notebook to his teacher to take to the distant Western lands so hurriedly. He should have studied it more and used the power of the Overwatch Council to try and find the elder, who would have long turned into a pile of white bones, and then followed this clue into history.

Rainwater dripped down his face. Fan Xian suddenly gave a relieved smile and shook his head self-mockingly. He thought he had indeed become a little obsessed under the great pressure. The victory of Dong Mountain had already proved that no matter what level Master Ku He had reached or what kind of understanding he had of this strange magic, in the end, there hadn’t been any foundational changes. He had still lost to the Emperor.

Magic. Perhaps it wasn’t as worthless as people thought, but it was not a weapon that could change everything.

Fan Xian turned his head gloomily and left the seaside. He headed toward the rain-soaked Dongyi. Sigu Jian was dead. Dongyi had presumably sunk into sorrow and hopelessness. He had to return and meet with the disciples of the Sword Hut to take control of the situation.

He didn’t know that he had missed a precious opportunity, one that could have opened that door. Regardless of whether it was in this land or that, it was a rare opportunity. Once lost, no one knew when it could come around again.

Fortunately, opportunity and luck, those illusory things, were always connected to humankind’s persistence and curiosity. Given Fan Xian’s diligent nature and desire to know, presumably, it would be less time before he touched this door again.

White smoke rose from the depths of the grass hut. This white smoke was not cooking fire or the pungent smoke from burning leaves during the depths of winter. The white smoke announced reality. All the Dongyi people who could see the white smoke or heard of it looked with fear and unease in that direction. Some people had already knelt down and were endlessly kowtowing in that direction.

Most of the people already knew of the passing of the sword saint. Fan Xian approached the door of the Sword Hut. The disciples outside looked at him with a resentful gaze. The fire of hatred burning in their eyes was enough to engulf him completely. Despite Fan Xian’s strong willpower, it was still difficult to not shiver in fear under these circumstances.

He knew where the Sword Hut’s disciples’ hatred came from. Sigu Jian had died in a sinister pincer attack by the Qing Emperor and the Qing Great Grandmaster Ye Liuyun. Fan Xian, a powerful Qing official, had, without question, become a replacement object of hatred.

He did not have time to consider how to placate the emotions of these disciples. He only looked at the white smoke in the depths of the grass hut. A sliver of worry flashed through his eyes. Pushing open the door, he went directly to the flat ground by the sword pit. Looking at the blazing fire, he walked forward with unusual directness and threw a handful of something onto the fire.

The flames immediately changed color. The bones of the Great Grandmaster in the fire had long disappeared from view.

Following Fan Xian’s action, sword intent shot out from the depths of the Sword Hut. Eleven swords surrounded his body. The sword intent spewed forth like snake venom. At any moment, Fan Xian could be stabbed to death.

Other than Yun Zhilan and Thirteenth Wang, who were kneeling at the front, the rest of the 13 disciples of the sword hut were all angered by Fan Xian’s action.

Fan Xian felt the bone-piercing chill of the sword intents and did not make any major movements. He knew that faced with the attack of 11 ninth-level aces, even if the Emperor were here, he would still have to consider if it was better to avoid a confrontation. As for him, he wouldn’t even have a chance to retaliate.

He looked at Yun Zhilan kneeling in front and said, “There is poison in the smoke. I didn’t want this white smoke to kill half the people in Dongyi.”

When he had seen the white smoke, Fan Xian’s heart had jumped with fear. He had not thought that at the moment he had sat by the seaside, the disciples of the Sword Hut would so straightforwardly cremate Sigu Jian’s body. After all, in his memory, there wasn’t yet any habit of cremation in this land.

There was poison in Sigu Jian’s remains, powerful poison. Unless it was a poison laid down by Sir Fei Jie, it would not have frozen the body and resisted the injury from the Emperor’s Way of the Emperor’s punch for an entire three years.

Once this poison was set on fire, it would rise with the white smoke. It was not as terrifying as Fan Xian said, but it was best to be careful.

Fan Xian had secretly made preparations for the injury on Sigu Jian’s body. Those medicinal herbs had been for such a situation.

Hearing Fan Xian’s explanation, Yun Zhilan, who was kneeling at the very front, did not turn his head. He only raised his right arm.

The swords returned to their sheaths. The sword lights calmed. In an instant, the area around the sword pit recovered its calm and sorrowful atmosphere. A few sword boys cried to the side and added firewood to the blaze. The 13 disciples of the second generation of the Sword Hut knelt in front of the fire.

Fan Xian looked at this scene and felt moved in his heart. He knew after Sigu Jian’s death, it was Yun Zhilan, without question, who had the greatest prestige in the entire Sword Hut.

Thirteenth swords, what a terrifying power. Wouldn’t it be great if it was his hand that controlled these swords?

Fan Xian furrowed his brows slightly. Looking at the fire, he pondered this matter in his heart.

As dusk fell, Yun Zhilan entered the room. Carrying a cloth-wrapped jug, he handed it to Fan Xian with an indifferent expression and said, “Although I don’t understand teacher’s intentions, since he told me to give it to you, I will give it to you.’

Fan Xian solemnly accepted it with both hands and found that the jug was still slightly warm. He realized that this was Sigu Jian’s still warm ashes. He felt very strange.

Yun Zhilan slowly knelt down in front of him and said, “Following teacher’s orders, the 12 swords of the Sword Hut are placed under your orders.”

Fan Xian’s pupils constricted slightly and glowed with a faint light.