Chapter 29: Is That Senior Brother?

“Senior Sister, did you bring a sound talisman?” Song Huan watched the scene in the shadow stone, his anxiety growing. “If she doesn’t go save Qiao Yu soon, he might really die.”

“Why are there so many fiends in the Formless Illusion?” Shan Hongxing stared at the demonic aura swirling around Qiao Yu, lost in thought. Thankfully, the boy had a pure heart—otherwise, with a demon like this aiding him, who knows how many fellow disciples might have been killed.

“The Xuan Yun Sect… Little Five should know about this,” Huo Yongfei continued with a mental transmission, for this matter touched upon the sect’s deepest secrets and could not be overheard by outsiders. “The sect was founded by the first-generation leader, who, legend has it, was the world’s last god. The sect’s location is the very site of the ancient war between immortals and demons, and it was established to seal the remnants of the demon clan’s souls.”

“Are there truly gods in this world?” Shan Hongxing found it laughable. The Diviner himself had reached near the first rank in cultivation, yet after four centuries, he still hadn’t managed to cross that final threshold.

“Who knows!” Ai Fengling rummaged through his robe and, to his surprise, produced a shimmering paper talisman. “I can contact Senior Sister—she’s carrying my prayer beads.”

After speaking, Ai Fengling frowned, keeping his thoughts to himself. If he remembered correctly, those were the beads that sealed one’s cultivation. Hadn’t Senior Sister already scattered her powers? The Formless Illusion was perilous for her in her current state—why bring the beads at all!

“Hurry! Tell Senior Sister where Qiao Yu is.”

Ai Fengling’s furrowed brow deepened until it nearly formed a character on his forehead, for he saw his beloved Senior Sister remove the beads, her hand guided by a newly accepted disciple who had drawn a bow to its fullest.

“Master, should I shoot?” They stood above the cave. Yang Wennan and the others had already left, but Yuan Qingling was still nearby, being chased by little demons emerging from the cavern.

“Wait a bit longer.” Wen Jingge herself didn’t know what she was waiting for—her mind was suddenly flooded with incantations. She recited them out of habit, and when she finished the last line, she said, “It’s done.”

The arrow, infused with profound energy, flew toward the cave. Time seemed to freeze as a terrifying tremor rippled through the air.

Wang Xi clung to Wen Jingge’s waist. That alone kept her from falling from the great height.

“Ma—Master,” Wang Xi stammered, swallowing hard. Her master’s face was pale, and she was wiping blood from the corner of her mouth. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just watch.”

Within the illusion, shadowy thunderclouds gathered, pressing down from above—the sky itself seemed to pulsate like a beating heart, sending waves of force radiating out from the cave.

“Master, is the illusion about to break?”

“Just borrowing a bit of power,” Wen Jingge replied absentmindedly, running her fingers through her hair with an air of calm that belied her inner panic.

“Nonexistence” still hadn’t returned. If this continued, Qiao Yu really would be killed by her own hand.

“Go down there!”

Yuan Qingling felt his heart clench, as if something was fighting to possess his body. At that moment, a figure dropped from the sky, grabbing with bare hands and extracting a ball of blackness from his body. The thing barely struggled before Wen Jingge tore it apart.

When he saw who had saved him, Yuan Qingling was so frightened he didn’t dare move.

“What’s wrong? Do I look uglier than those fiends?” Wen Jingge couldn’t help but laugh. She’d been secluded for decades, but surely her reputation hadn’t fallen so low.

“N-no, not at all!” Yuan Qingling stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence. “I, I, I…”

“Can you guard the formation?”

“Yes, yes, yes—huh?”

Wen Jingge found a place to sit near the vortex. Clouds gathered ever denser, lightning flickered within, and the woods were swept by ominous winds. Black shadows were gradually sucked into the cave, which glowed with a blue-violet light. Suddenly, she was intrigued. “Do all demons live underground? Do they need to burrow up to the surface?”

Yuan Qingling’s mouth twitched. If he hadn’t seen the arrow shot into the cave by Wen Jingge’s disciple, he would have suspected this immortal master had been replaced by a demon.

“Why are you just standing there?”

“Uh—Master, I…”

“Go check over there. There’s no demonic aura in that area. Probably just something the disciples stirred up.”

“Oh.” Wang Xi pouted. Why did a strange man get to stay and guard the formation, instead of herself!

“Immortal Master, did you see them? Are they all right?” Yuan Qingling finally found a topic to ease his nerves. This was Wen Jingge, after all—the very master he dreamed of apprenticing to.

“They should be fine.” As Wen Jingge spoke, she projected the array diagrams appearing in her mind around the cave.

“Nonexistence” still hadn’t returned, but it didn’t matter.

With her years of writing formulaic cultivation stories, she was almost certain she was truly “Wen Jingge.” This body, though outwardly powerless, could borrow the strength of the heavens—a trick she and the Diviner must have devised together. As for the system, its hints had been so blatant that its absence simply meant it truly didn’t exist.

The “existence” of “Nonexistence” was likely meant to remind her, after the Diviner’s passing, when she was left alone in the world.

So, in the plot of “Sword God of the Celestial Vein,” which events were truly inevitable?

Wen Jingge felt a headache coming on. Would “Nonexistence” ever return to her mind? If it had been created, where was the original system? Did the main brain really exist?

Ah, Qiao Yu—if you were possessed by a demon, should I throw you into the cave, or cripple you as the original plot suggested?

Just then, the prayer beads in Wen Jingge’s pocket grew hot. Puzzled, she looked at them and suddenly heard a voice: “Senior Sister! Qiao Yu is in a cave three hundred meters under the southern water bridge.”

“I have no sense of direction,” Wen Jingge rolled her eyes. “Forget it, I’ll just wait for him to come to me.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you more later!”

“Master, we’re here.” When Wang Xi arrived, two groups were locked in a brutal struggle. After settling the scene, she brought back several strange figures whose hair was fried, faces thick with makeup, and wore torn cultivator robes reminiscent of street punks.

Tang Miao Miao’s pockets were full of talismans, but all of them were useless. Yang Wennan admired her—she really shouldn’t be cultivating, but performing circus tricks instead.

Splashing water, breathing fire, summoning rain and thunder, gusts of wind, foul odors—a whole heap of bizarre talismans.

Most were useless, but Wang Sichun’s were effective, though also rather odd.

Before Wang Sichun could throw his talisman, he saw Miss Wang’s body contort, twitching as if struck by paralysis. If it hadn’t been for a talisman that Jianting stepped on by chance, he wouldn’t have had time to untie his own ropes.

“Are any of you talisman or spell cultivators?”

“We are, the both of us,” Wang Sichun replied, still breathing fire.

Wen Jingge glanced at her own hair, singed by the flames, and asked without thinking, “Can you do face-changing?”

“No, I can’t.” Her face was burning.

Just then, Wang Xi suddenly let out a shriek, clutching Wen Jingge’s shoulder as she stared uncertainly at the blood-soaked figure. “Master, is that—is that Senior Brother?”