Chapter Thirty-Seven: Qian Dahai

Tap, tap, tap.

The sound was crisp and lively, echoing from deep within Qian Dahai's twisted, swollen form. It was as if, in the midst of hell itself, a child had suddenly shaken a tiny rattle.

In that moment, the oppressive stench of blood and flesh seemed to dissipate, replaced by the vision of a small rural courtyard, bathed in gentle sunlight.

“Grandpa, look! Can you hear how loud I shake it?”

“When I get better, when I’m stronger, I’ll shake it for you—it’ll be louder than thunder in the sky!”

A six-year-old girl with pigtails held up a brand-new rattle, her laughter ringing out like the warmest breeze of spring.

Tap, tap, tap—the sound of the drum struck Qian Dahai’s heart, more beautiful than any heavenly music.

It was half a year ago, the last time he returned home to visit his frail granddaughter.

The scene shifted again, this time to a stormy night ten years prior.

He knelt before the door of a renowned physician, bowing his head again and again, desperate for a life-saving prescription.

“Please, miracle doctor, save my granddaughter…”

Rain mixed with tears flowed down his face.

Another shift, to a dark chamber, where he kneeled before a monstrous faceless idol, performing three bows and nine prostrations. From that moment, he allowed the polluted flow to enter his body, selling his soul to the cult of corruption, all to obtain precious herbs that might keep his granddaughter alive.

Risking death at every turn, he climbed over mountains of corpses and seas of blood, finally becoming the Lamp Keeper.

The first time he killed, he didn’t sleep for three days, haunted by vengeful spirits in his dreams.

The tenth time, he merely frowned, and used a cloth given by the shopkeeper to carefully wipe the blood from beneath his fingernails.

Gradually, the polluted flow within him began to consume his sanity; at last, he could not resist the craving for the flesh of his own kind. The first time he ate human flesh, he vomited halfway through, retching until his insides threatened to spill out, yet he could not stop himself from continuing.

One became two, then three. He grew numb, his heart hardened, even critiquing the taste of blood in front of fellow cultists.

Yet, in the end, the vision returned to that rural courtyard.

His granddaughter’s small hands trembled as she peeled an orange segment, using all her strength, and carefully held it to Qian Dahai’s lips.

She looked up, her pale face flushed, breathing hard but smiling radiantly:

“Grandpa… huff… look, I peeled it for you.”

“This is… the sweetest segment… I can see the little sugar crystals sparkling inside… I want you to have it… If you eat it, you’ll have strength, and you can stay with me forever.”

At that moment, as he gazed at her delicate neck, an uncontrollable hunger surged within him.

He was terrified, cold to the bone.

He knew, this was the inescapable fate of the Lamp Keeper.

But he was afraid.

Afraid that one day, he would consume the only light left in his world.

“At least… at least let her recover… Then I’ll leave quietly, never to return…”

Tap.

A single beat of the drum, as if awakening from a dream.

Before him, Qian Dahai was no longer human.

His flesh and blood had transformed into a torrent of gold and silver, mingled with torn ledger pages and shattered abacus beads, the stench of blood interwoven with the reek of copper, enough to make one nauseous.

Even more horrifying, innocent smiles of his granddaughter would sometimes surface on the flowing flesh, only to be instantly devoured by the greedy flood of gold and silver.

His eyes bulged, bloodshot, filled with desperate resistance against his own downfall, and with endless worry and longing for his sick granddaughter.

In Lu Chenyuan’s mind, Qian Dahai’s words from the inn echoed suddenly.

“Those who cultivate the polluted flow are always shrouded in gloomy, chaotic energies, but they most fear filth. If you time it right, tilt your wrist just so, and splash a few drops of dirty, boiling tea on his fingers just as he’s about to channel his energy…”

“Imagine—his concentration is shattered by the heat and filth. What do you think will happen?”

Yes… What would happen?

Lu Chenyuan murmured to himself.

He had no boiling tea, nor dirty dishwater at hand.

But he possessed something far older and more sinister.

It was the aura of the innate monster within him, now coiling around the bone-picking knife in his hand.

He had no idea what would come of this.

He had already tried using dishwater and succeeded in disrupting the techniques of two cultists, but now he faced a Lamp Keeper losing control—a very different matter.

Yet, since escape was impossible, he might as well try.

He wanted to see whether his own power could suppress the corrupting flow that polluted the world.

If it could, to what extent?

Qian Dahai had taught him a method; now, he would return it with a blade.

Perhaps he could not save his life, but at least he could prevent him from sinking wholly into monstrosity, losing all sense of self.

“Hurry, save him!” came Shangguan Chuci’s urgent shout, while Shen Guizhou, Han Lin, and the guards’ blades and swords swept in.

Lu Chenyuan seemed oblivious.

He slowly closed his eyes.

To outsiders, he looked petrified, giving up all resistance.

But in his world, only the rhythm of the polluted flow within Qian Dahai remained, surging and ebbing.

He silently recited the nameless mantra his master had given him, adjusting his breath.

He had to prevent the monster within from breaking loose now.

He waited.

He waited for a moment.

A fraction of a second when old power was spent, new power not yet born, the Dao heart fully shattered, all defenses utterly gone—a fleeting window!

Now!

Lu Chenyuan’s eyes snapped open, clear and cold, free of all confusion.

He stepped forward, advancing rather than retreating, facing the monster’s foul wind head-on, like a drawn sword thrust into the heart of chaos.

In his hand, the ordinary bone-picking knife now shone with an invincible brilliance.

Hiss!

A soft sound.

The blade plunged directly into Qian Dahai’s heart, already wrapped in pollution and greed.

The grotesque monster, swelling with madness, shrank rapidly, as if a punctured bladder.

The stench of gold and copper vanished instantly at the touch of the blade’s dark aura.

Silence fell.

Han Lin’s blade halted midair, Shangguan Chuci’s sword froze at his fingertips, everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the unimaginable sight.

They had thought the youth was paralyzed with fear, never expecting him to strike with such force, cleaving through the Lamp Keeper’s descent and severing it.

Lu Chenyuan withdrew his blade, standing amid splattered blood.

He looked at the monster-like Qian Dahai clutching his chest, and once again that absurd nightmare came to mind.

His dazzling master piercing his heart with a sword.

Her face, full of grief and resolve, was clearer than ever.

Qian Dahai slowly fell.

“Lu… thank… thank you…”

Lying in a pool of blood, much of his monstrous visage had faded, leaving him half-human, half-ghost.

Blood frothed from his mouth, but his eyes shone with unprecedented clarity and relief.

Yet he could not die just yet.

Qian Dahai mustered his last strength, clutching Lu Chenyuan’s sleeve, trembling as he spoke:

“Under the counter… the vase… lotus pattern… stroke it three times… then drip blood inside… it will open… what’s inside… must… must be given to my granddaughter…”

Lu Chenyuan was silent for a moment, recalling the two cold, hard buns in the steamer.

He looked into Qian Dahai’s pleading eyes, finally bent down and whispered in his ear:

“If I have the chance, I will.”

Qian Dahai smiled, relieved, his ever-sharp eyes slowly closed, and his grip slipped from Lu Chenyuan’s sleeve.

He breathed his last.