Chapter Forty-Two: Ambush on All Sides

This move struck unexpectedly. Although Shangguan Chuci had intended to use her inner fire to illuminate the path through confusion, she had not anticipated a hidden ambush behind the wall. Fortunately, Lu Chenyuan's timely warning saved her; in a moment of crisis, she shifted her body three feet backward, the sword in her hand swirling to form a dazzling bloom, protecting her vital points.

A flurry of crisp clangs, like rain beating on banana leaves, echoed as she parried each attack. Yet, the enemy had numbers and brute force, their blows so fierce that her blood surged, her arm tingling with numbness. The three evil cultivators, having failed their initial strike, pressed forward, blades weaving an impenetrable web that blocked every path of escape.

Shangguan Chuci's heart tightened. Her sword technique relied on agility and lightness, ill-suited for such hard-fought entanglement. As she pondered a way out, Lu Chenyuan’s voice sounded behind her, low and urgent:

“The man on the right—three inches below his left rib!”

The instruction came at the perfect moment. Though surprised, Shangguan Chuci did not hesitate. She had absolute trust in Lu Chenyuan’s uncanny intuition. With a sharp cry, she dropped her stance, narrowly slipping between two steel blades, and with a deft twist, slashed upward with her sword.

As the blade struck, realization flashed within her mind. By observing her enemy with the fire of logic, she could see the flow of spiritual energy coursing through his body. The evil cultivator before her possessed a seamless, circulating spiritual force. Yet, in the instant Lu Chenyuan’s shout rang out, she focused her sword’s intent precisely at the point three inches below his left rib.

At that very moment, she sensed the threadlike energy of her blade slip through that spot without resistance. Though it appeared no different from other parts, it was peculiarly insubstantial—a new weakness formed where spiritual energy met the turbulent flow and canceled each other out.

“So that's it. For these cultists, the turbulent flow is both an opportunity and a risk. Especially those low-ranking, lightly tainted followers—they cannot perceive the turbulence, but draw it in through special means. Though it grants them strange abilities, they cannot control the flow, creating unexpected vulnerabilities.”

The evil cultivator on the right was attacking with full force, never expecting her sudden counter. A chill swept beneath his left rib; looking down, he saw the bloodied sword tip protruding through his body. His eyes widened in disbelief, mouth agape as he spat blood and collapsed lifelessly.

The remaining two, horrified at their companion’s brutal death, surged with rage and fear. One shouted fiercely and slashed overhead at Shangguan Chuci, while the other swung low, aiming for her legs.

Shangguan Chuci’s previous strength had waned, and new energy had not yet arisen; she was about to be caught in a pincer attack.

“Strike his left wrist!”

Lu Chenyuan’s calm voice rang again.

Shangguan Chuci understood instantly. Instead of retreating, she advanced, meeting the overhead blade head-on. Her sword, as gentle as a breeze through willow branches, flicked lightly, striking precisely at the Yangchi point on her opponent’s left wrist.

The evil cultivator felt his hand go numb, fingers loosening involuntarily—the steel blade clattered to the ground. Terrified, he turned to flee, but Shangguan Chuci was merciless; her sword flashed again, leaving a clear hole in his back.

In an instant, two of the three evil cultivators lay dead.

The last, paralyzed with fear, feigned a strike and attempted to escape into the wall of flesh and blood.

“She’s escaping!” Shangguan Chuci shouted.

“No need to pursue,” Lu Chenyuan replied, his eyes narrowed. “There are others waiting ahead.”

Shangguan Chuci focused her inner fire, sensing multiple presences lurking ahead. Had she chased, they would be trapped between foes, growing ever more vulnerable.

Her beautiful eyes sparkled as she glanced back at him, admiringly, “Brother Lu, you truly have a keen eye!”

Her heart was filled with astonishment and respect. In the flash of chaos, she had only managed to fend off attacks, unable to spot the fleeting weaknesses in her opponents. Yet this untrained mortal could see more clearly than herself, a cultivator at the Fire-wielding stage—a truly remarkable gift!

Lu Chenyuan showed no pride. He knew it was not simply sharp eyesight, but a natural sensitivity to the turbulent flow, reinforced by Qian Dahai’s guidance and two real battles. Now, his understanding of the turbulent flow perhaps surpassed even some cultists.

He tucked the doll deeper into his chest, lowering his voice, “Be careful as we leave.”

For reasons unknown, he felt a foreboding. That Master Li had simply let them leave—despite Shangguan Chuci’s protective presence—made him uneasy.

Shangguan Chuci nodded, ever more impressed by Lu Chenyuan’s extraordinary composure. Without further words, she raised her sword defensively, taking the lead as she moved forward.

The passageway of flesh and blood before them was a monstrous illusion wrought by Master Li’s evil arts—false in form, yet deadly in essence. The walls writhed, sinews squirming, snake heads occasionally emerging to spit venom. The ground was thick and muddy; a single misstep could lead to being trapped.

The two advanced cautiously, one behind the other. Shangguan Chuci illuminated the path with her inner fire, while Lu Chenyuan relied on his uncanny sense for evil miasma, deftly avoiding hidden traps with uncanny precision.

Soon, the path opened up and the half-open side door to the backyard was within sight. Yet the door itself was covered in writhing, fleshy tendrils—an unsettling sight.

Shangguan Chuci stared for a moment, then reached out a slender hand to push the door.

“Wait!” Lu Chenyuan suddenly called out.

Before his words finished, a soft hiss sounded—dozens of fine, poisoned needles shot out from the crack in the door.

Unperturbed, Shangguan Chuci snapped open her folding fan. The white jade fan, infused with spiritual energy, easily blocked the needles.

“A trap indeed, meant for those who open the door.”

Shangguan Chuci smiled gently, shaking her jade fan, “Thank you for the warning, Brother Lu.”

Lu Chenyuan realized she had feigned a move to lure the cultists into attack. Seeing the words “The World for All” inscribed on her fan, the familiar scene brought to mind their first meeting.

Who could have guessed that the “nobleman” he once rescued would now fight alongside him?

As Lu Chenyuan’s thoughts wandered, Shangguan Chuci abruptly closed her fan and waved it forward.

With a thunderous crash, the decayed wooden door shattered, sending splinters flying. The two cultists hidden behind, wielding blowpipes, were struck by the debris and sent hurtling backward with screams.

Beyond the door lay the familiar backyard of the Tidewatch Inn.

Moonlight spilled like water, bathing the crooked old locust tree—a stark contrast to the hellish realm they had just escaped.

The two had barely stepped out of the bloody illusion when a chilling premonition seized them.

The backyard was empty.

The presences they sensed earlier numbered far more than just the two cultists—where had the others gone?

Alert, they searched the area, their gazes finally converging upon a single spot, pupils narrowing in shock.

At some unknown moment, a vast white hemp scroll had been hung atop the courtyard wall.

The scroll was blank, save for a few faint ink strokes outlining rocks and dead trees—a scene of utter desolation.

Both Lu Chenyuan and Shangguan Chuci felt a chill. They had stayed at the inn for days, yet had never seen such an eerie painting.

As they watched in bewilderment, the scroll began to change.

The ink lines stirred, as if alive, shifting, extending, intertwining. In the blink of an eye, a crooked locust tree appeared, identical to the one in the courtyard.

Then, more strokes gave rise to a thin figure in a gray-yellow robe beneath the tree.

The figure, originally facing away, slowly turned within the painting, revealing a gaunt face.

He grinned at them.

The smile was stiff and deeply unsettling.

More terrifying still, he stepped from the scroll, one foot at a time, growing more solid with each step, until he stood fully formed upon the stone tiles of the backyard.

In his hand was the very brush that had given life to his image moments before.

Facing the two, who watched him as if confronting a dire enemy, he smiled and said:

“I am Wei Zhuo. What do you think of my little trick—'Drawing People from the Painting'?”

As his words faded, the scroll on the wall surged with activity. Countless ink dots appeared, stretching and transforming into dozens of black-clad cultists wielding blades, who leapt from the painting and landed in the four corners of the courtyard, surrounding the pair.

In a heartbeat, the once silent backyard became a deadly ambush on all sides.