Rebirth As A Human Cauldron Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Qin Duan circled around the altar at the foot of Mount Jiàn for a few rounds. Each time he was forcefully expelled by the illusion array. After several attempts, he finally understood that it was against the will of the heavens. He decided to leave the Shìyǔ Hall and find a nearby inn.

It seemed that Wēn Yúshū wouldn’t awaken before he left Liángzhou. Thus, there was no rush. He called for someone to bring him hot water, removed his wrinkled robe, and enjoyed a relaxing bath.

Of course, he didn’t forget to extract what the other party had left inside him. This was the first time Qin Duan had engaged in such an activity, and he found himself sweating profusely in the bath, thinking about how he would deal with that kid when they met again.

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The next day, when Qin Duan set out, he had already altered his appearance using magic and casually bought a mask from a roadside stall. The mask was made of silver and felt cool to the touch. It covered most of his face, leaving only one side of his mouth exposed, forming a slight curve.

Thanks to the silver ring on his hand, as long as he didn’t actively release his demonic energy, ordinary cultivators wouldn’t be able to detect anything unusual about him. Unless there was a significant difference in cultivation levels… Well, most powerful cultivators preferred to remain hidden or were as famous as Wēn Yúshū, so the idea of encountering them on the street was unlikely.

Moreover, Qin Duan excelled in various studies and carried numerous talismans in his storage ring. Tossing a few casually would be more effective than direct confrontation.

With this plan in mind, he confidently strolled toward the vicinity of the wanted posters. He went straight to the poster with the fewest people.

The wanted posters of the Law Proclamation Assembly were divided into four levels: gold, silver, bronze, and iron. The gold level was the highest, featuring cultivators mostly in the Golden Core or Yuan Ying stages. Those above were beyond the posters’ scope. In the past, Qin Duan had always been at the top of the list, like a mascot, until he was struck by lightning during his tribulation, ending his reign.

Now, Feng Li was following his path. Once a prominent figure, his stature had fallen. With no sect or faction backing him, it wasn’t surprising that he had become a target for many. Contemplating this, Qin Duan’s emotions grew complicated. He looked at the wanted order with that cold, beautiful face on it. Lost in thought, he momentarily let his guard down, only to have a hand suddenly reach out from behind and snatch the thin paper away.

Qin Duan abruptly turned around, noticing a group of five individuals, all dressed alike, wearing swords at their sides. They appeared to be fellow disciples. The person who had torn down the wanted poster was at the middle Golden Core stage, similar to Qin Duan’s cultivation. The rest were all at the early stages of cultivation. 

These troublemakers dared to approach Feng Li like this? Qin Duan frowned, feeling an unsettling premonition. Indeed, one of them spoke up, his tone casual, as if the matter was already settled: “Feng Li is currently heavily injured and hiding in the mountains to recuperate. How about we, brothers, go together and catch him off guard? Wouldn’t that be great?”

He spoke as if the situation was already set in stone. However, the person who had torn down the poster wrinkled his brow and replied, “Feng Li is a once-in-a-generation genius. Even if he’s injured, we can’t underestimate him. Fourth-shixiong, if you mention this to our master, you might face his anger.”

The impertinent Fourth-shixiong pouted in dissatisfaction but refrained from further arguing.

The person who had torn down the poster shook his head and exchanged the wanted order for a tracking spiritual disc. However, when he finally held it, he realized that they were in a bit of a predicament.

The five of them had spent years immersed in their sect’s practice, oblivious to the world outside. Additionally, sword cultivation required wholehearted dedication. Matters beyond swordsmanship were essentially alien to them. With the spiritual disc in hand, they were at a loss on how to use it.

As they struggled, a hoarse voice from the side offered a solution, “Turn it over and let a drop of blood fall into the groove on the back. Infuse it with your spiritual energy, and you’ll be able to see its location.”

Following these instructions, the person followed suit. The compass-like disc began to rotate and, after a few turns, pointed to a direction in the distance. Delight filled the person as they turned and respectfully thanked, “Thank you for your assistance, Brother.”

The hoarse-voiced individual shook their head, “No need for thanks. I have an unfavorable request, though. Would you permit me to join you in subduing the sword cultivator Feng Li?”

Upon hearing this, the five exchanged glances. The person who had torn down the poster examined the speaker’s cultivation, finding it inscrutable. Assuming them to be highly skilled, they replied, “Exterminating evil and upholding righteousness is our duty. If Brother wishes to join, you’re welcome.”

The person… Qin Duan lightly smiled, concealing the murderous intent in his eyes as he looked down. “Then I’m grateful for your hospitality.”

“I’m Fēng Zhìchéng, a disciple of Qiānshān Sect. These are my shidis,” Fēng Zhìchéng introduced. “May I know your name?”

“…Qin Xu.”

With names exchanged, the initial distance between them seemed to disappear. Fēng Zhìchéng, being the shixiong, was more composed. However, his shidis were different. Seeing Qin Duan’s enigmatic appearance, they eagerly approached to chat.

After leaving Liángzhou, the group arrived at an inn in the evening to rest. Fēng Zhìchéng ordered a table of food and drinks, inviting Qin Duan over.

Gathering around the table, after three rounds of drinks, the atmosphere warmed. Someone stared at Qin Duan’s masked face and curiously asked, “Brother Qin, your face… what happened?”

“In my childhood, there was a fire at home, leaving behind scars,” he calmly replied, raising his cup and downing its contents before revealing the bottom of the cup.

After spending half a day together, Qin Duan had already gained a basic understanding of their personalities. These fellow disciples were new to the world, behaving like curious kids entering a city. They were intrigued by everything yet knew nothing. Despite being cultivators, their actions and demeanor were no different from those unruly folks in the martial world. As for that Qiānshān Sect they hailed from, it was merely a small sect near Liángzhou, hardly worth mentioning.

Qin Duan didn’t hold much fondness for them, especially for the initially impudent one—Fēng Zhìyǒng. Despite his youth, Fēng Zhìyǒng possessed decent cultivation and an excessive pride. With the best talent among the disciples, he had probably been spoiled within the sect. Now, seeing everyone gravitate around Qin Duan, it seemed Fēng Zhìyǒng found it difficult to digest.

At that moment, Fēng Zhìyǒng poured a cup of wine, lifted his chin, and toasted, “Brother Qin, a toast to you.”

Qin Duan chose not to respond directly and instead initiated a topic, “I’ve just emerged from seclusion after a hundred years and joined the ranking to find a challenge. May I inquire about the reasons for each of your pursuits?”

The third shidi, Fēng Zhìfāng, slammed his hand on the table. “Brother Qin’s intention is similar to ours. We’re all sword cultivators, born with a penchant for battle. However, whenever people mention sword cultivators, they talk of the heartless sword cultivator Feng Li. This person betrayed his sect, committed countless misdeeds. How can he possibly deserve the title of the world’s number one? We, brothers, naturally don’t accept this. This time we’ve entered the world to subdue him and eliminate evil!”

As if emboldened by his own resounding declaration, Fēng Zhìfāng snatched the cup from his fourth shidi’s hand, gulping down its contents without noticing the increasingly gloomy expression on Qin Duan’s face.

Qin Duan’s gaze shifted between the two, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, visible beneath the mask. “Oh? Before my seclusion, isn’t this individual the chief disciple of Xuánzōng Sect?”

“Pah, to hell with his chief disciple status,” the impatient Fēng Zhìyǒng couldn’t resist interjecting, “He’s just luckier than us, having attached himself to the mighty Xuán Zōng Sect… Haha, regardless, he still committed the heinous crime of slaughtering in the Demonic Abyss, a blatant disregard for ethics and morality…”

The three words “Demonic Abyss” seemed to strike like thunder. Qin Duan’s grip on his cup tightened slightly. “I’m eager to hear more.”

Fēng Zhìyǒng sneered, “Three hundred years ago, the Asura Demon Lord, Qin Duan, perished while crossing his tribulation, but his belongings remained unscathed in the Demonic Abyss. The Demon Lord had lived for a thousand years, potentially leaving behind countless hidden dangers. We righteous cultivators took the initiative to explore the demonic lair, only for the sword cultivator Feng Li to guard the entrance, preventing anyone from passing. Despite being the chief disciple, he shamelessly stopped individuals to go. He even… he even…”

He took a deep breath, using a gnashing tone to enunciate each word, “Even massacred fellow cultivators, staining the Demonic Abyss with blood!”

“Who would have thought that the world’s number one sword cultivator would turn to the demonic path—this triggered collective outrage. Around a thousand people formed an alliance to confront the Xuánzōng Sect… After that, Feng Li abandoned the sect, and the Law Proclamation Assembly issued a golden order, making him a globally wanted man.”

Fēng Zhìyǒng’s enthusiasm was high, and he refilled his own cup, “Now that Feng Li is heavily injured, it’s our golden opportunity. As long as we deliver his head to the Law Proclamation Assembly, the reward…” He burst into laughter, and as Qin Duan’s murderous intent rose, he accidentally crushed the cup in his hand. Shards flew, cutting his fingers and staining his hand with blood.

A moment of silence descended upon the scene as everyone’s gaze turned toward him. Qin Duan closed his eyes briefly, his voice hoarse. “I’ve had a bit too much to drink. I lost control. My apologies for any inconvenience caused.”

The always vocal second shidi, Fēng Zhìjiàng, frowned slightly. “Could it be that Brother Qin has some connection with Feng Li?”

Qin Duan remained silent for a moment and then said calmly, “When he was still the chief disciple of Xuánzōng Sect, we had a passing encounter. Unexpectedly, after so many years, he has… fallen to this state. It’s somewhat regrettable.”

He spoke softly and lightly wiped his injured finger across the shards, reducing them to powder.

This remark silenced the others. They all turned their eyes to their shixiong, Fēng Zhìchéng. He paused slightly before saying, “Feng Li has changed considerably now. I hope Brother Qin won’t hesitate to act mercilessly.”

“Of course,” the eyes beneath Qin Duan’s mask curved slightly, as if he were smiling. “I wish no one more than I do to see him in this condition.”

The once brilliant and astonishing young prodigy shouldn’t have ended up like this, bearing such infamy.

He shouldn’t live like this, nor should he die.

Because no one in this world deserves to take his life away.

Perhaps it was the effects of the alcohol, but Qin Duan felt as though his heart was being tightly gripped, a sour sensation twisting within him.

He gazed at those ugly faces before him, suddenly feeling the urge to lash out and kill. However, he restrained himself. The compass could only be activated by the one who removed the wanted notice. To find Feng Li, he needed to stay with them until the right moment.

…Fortunately, Feng Li wasn’t far from them.

Liángzhou was a land of spiritual energy, and the surrounding areas had even denser spiritual qi than ordinary places. This was why the province was surrounded by mountains, steep and undulating, with only a few roads leading out, traversing mountains and hills, yet still relatively smooth.

Among these mountains lay treacherous terrain. One place, in particular, featured a broken precipice whose exact height was unknown. When viewed from above, only white clouds and mist could be seen, giving it the name “Broken Cloud Cliff.”

This cliff was backed by a mountain range known as Eternal Mist Mountain, perennially shrouded in mist. Furthermore, all magical treasures that approached would be affected by the fog, gradually losing their effectiveness. It was indeed a good hiding place.

Yet apart from oneself, no one knew what lay within the thick mist. Thus, those who ventured into Eternal Mist Mountain, be they cultivators or mortals, rarely emerged alive, and those who did were often raving lunatics, unable to speak coherently.

Now, Qin Duan stood at the foot of Eternal Mist Mountain with a few disciples from Qiānshān Sect. As he looked up, he saw the continuous ups and downs of the mountain range enshrouded in heavy mist. Despite it being midday, the scene exuded an eerie atmosphere.

Third shidi, Fēng Zhìfāng, shivered, feeling a bit apprehensive. He stepped back and received a fierce glare from Fēng Zhìchéng. Tripping over his own feet, he nearly fell to the ground.

Fēng Zhìchéng’s compass had gone haywire, the pointer spinning wildly, and the gears emitting a strained buzzing sound. His brow furrowed tightly as he retrieved the completely useless compass and drew his sword from its sheath behind him. Taking the lead, he stepped forward and said, “Let’s go.”

Setting an example, Fēng Zhìchéng went first; the others exchanged glances and gritted their teeth before following suit. Behind them, Qin Duan walked slowly, contrasting starkly with the others’ tension as if he were taking a leisurely stroll.

With a slight movement of his fingers hidden within his sleeve, a palm-sized talisman fluttered down and ignited upon contact with the ground, turning into an invisible flame.

For this journey up the mountain, Qin Duan had prepared nearly a hundred guiding talismans. Fortunately, he had spent some time in the Shiyu Hall earlier, so he had a substantial supply. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have dared to venture into the mountains so rashly.

As for those fledgling newcomers ahead… Qin Duan sneered. It didn’t matter; they wouldn’t be able to escape no matter what.

The dense fog of Eternal Mist Mountain could block spiritual awareness. To find someone within, besides relying on luck and following footprints, there were no other choices.

Guiding his shidis, Fēng Zhìchéng led them through the mountain, but as evening approached, there was still no sign of Feng Li. His expression grew unsightly, and his shidis looked even more disheveled. Now, leaning against trees, they sighed and groaned in frustration. Fēng Zhìchéng couldn’t help but order them to rest and regroup.

Meanwhile, Qin Duan sat on a slightly higher tree branch, squinting at the hazy campfire below. As night fell, the mist in the forest grew even thicker, obscuring visibility even at a distance of just a few meters.

However, the voices of his companions remained clear through the fog, discussing various complaints and even suggesting the fruitless strategy of waiting at the mountain’s entrance. Yet, Fēng Zhìcheng, who initially led them into the mountains, remained silent throughout, presumably regretting his decision.

The more Qin Duan listened, the more amused he became. He thought to himself, how dare these inexperienced fools think they can tear down that golden wanted notice?

Feng Li, oh Feng Li, just what level of desperation have you reached for these ants to think they have a chance?

Qin Duan closed his eyes, feeling the sourness in his chest intensify to the point of overflowing. He couldn’t quite fathom why he felt… pity for that person. But whenever he recalled those eyes that had been dyed a sinister red by demonic influence, an overwhelming sadness welled up within him.

Since his encounter with Wēn Yúshū, he seemed to have changed considerably – as if a small gap had opened in his heart that was previously held down by his Dao Heart. Now, countless emotions flowed out like water, soaking his heart.

He couldn’t say if it was good or bad, but it was certainly a natural progression.

After this rare bout of melancholy passed, Qin Duan leaned against the tree and dozed off until he was awakened by a chilling presence.

He shivered abruptly, sitting up straight. The firelight beneath him continued to flicker, its flames consuming the charcoal with a subtle crackling sound, mingling with the rhythmic breathing of the group and infusing a sense of vitality.

The night air was laden with intense coldness within the thick fog. Each breath carried a bone-chilling chill. Qin Duan lightly leaped down to the ground, his sturdy shoe soles making contact with the withered grass without a sound.

The spiritual symbols he had previously scattered around remained quiet for now. Despite this, Qin Duan couldn’t shake off the sense of danger. It felt like something could burst out of the dense fog at any moment, catching him off guard.

Just as he contemplated this, danger approached as expected.

It wasn’t clear who let out the first scream – a confused, half-asleep wail that pierced through the silent night. It startled the birds in the woods, causing the campfire to flicker wildly. Like a small boat swaying precariously in a storm, the flames weakened and extinguished in an instant, plunging everything into darkness.

Fēng Zhìchéng’s grip on his sword tightened. Cold sweat slid down his tense forehead and into his eyes.

However, he dared not blink even once. Even though he couldn’t see anything clearly, the palpable intent to kill lurking around them warned them that any moment of relaxation would result in death.

Someone tremblingly threw out a fire talisman. Its light flickered slowly within the thick fog, barely illuminating the ground beneath their feet. The senior brothers gradually converged around the dim light until they were back-to-back.

“Shi… shixiong…” The voice seemed almost tearful. Fēng Zhìchéng’s brows furrowed, and he managed to ask calmly, “Who screamed just now?”

“It… it wasn’t me…”

“N… nor was it me…”

“Sh… should we do a roll call?” someone suggested. “I’m the third…”

“Fourth…”

“Second.”

They had all accounted for themselves. Fēng Zhìchéng finally let out a breath. He thought that the scream earlier had probably come from Qin Xù, a regrettable loss. Nonetheless, with the current situation, he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. He just needed to figure out how to get his brothers out of this predicament.

The time was barely midnight, the night was dark, and making it through until dawn wouldn’t be easy. After the ordeal they just experienced, none of them felt sleepy anymore. They sat back-to-back in a cross-legged position, their spirits tense and vigilant, observing any movement around them.

They remained in this state for who knows how long, until someone suddenly couldn’t stay quiet any longer and complained, “If it weren’t for shixiong’s stubbornness, we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

Fēng Zhìchéng remained silent throughout.

He truly felt guilt in his heart. With the current imminent danger, his remorse only deepened, shaking even his Dao heart for a moment. He inhaled a breath of icy mist and was about to explain something when he suddenly felt a chill on his neck. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

Something scalding flowed down his constricted throat, instantly stealing away all warmth from his body. Fēng Zhìchéng’s eyes widened, gazing into the endless darkness before him, until his eyeballs bulged, life extinguished.

Fēng Zhìyǒng died without a sound, without closing his eyes. Even the fervor of his aspirations, unfulfilled, was consumed by the dense fog. And the most terrifying aspect was that the others still remained ignorant.

Third disciple, Fēng Zhìfāng, hunched his shoulders. He had always been the most timid among them. At this moment, his teeth chattered, and he turned his head to look at his companions. In his haste, he accidentally brushed against something icy cold, causing him to shriek.

The people behind him were startled, “What’s wrong?!”

“N… nothing…” Fēng Zhìfāng swallowed hard, but he had a faint feeling that something was amiss. The object he accidentally touched felt like a stone at first, but its texture was unmistakably… human skin.

He shivered all over, wanting to alert his companions, but he was too late, following in the footsteps of his shixiong

Fēng Zhìfāng also died, his body stiff and motionless, severed in two. Fourth disciple, Fēng Zhìyǒng, rubbed his arms, feeling a bone-chilling coldness.

He opened his mouth to say something to ease the tension, but a sharp sword aura tore through the fog and descended upon them. It grazed his hair and fell behind him, bisecting the person leaning against his back.

The one who died was second disciple, Fēng Zhìgāng. His blood had long gone cold, his body severed into two pieces, yet no blood flowed out.

A black figure emerged from the dismembered body, screaming as it lunged towards the petrified Fēng Zhìyǒng.

The second sword aura arrived as expected, its icy edge carrying the wind and snow, transforming into a piercing silver light that plunged into the black figure. With a single strike, it turned to ash.

Fēng Zhìyǒng suddenly turned around, only to see a figure standing behind him. Clad in white robes, the figure seemed to float in the breeze against the inky night backdrop, holding a sword that seemed capable of slicing through the darkness itself.

The figure stood there, illuminated by the dark night behind, wielding a sword that glinted with an otherworldly sheen.

Fēng Zhìyǒng’s eyes reddened. He let out a desperate scream, charging forward as if possessed. Drawing his sword, he aimed it at the figure in white—

But in the next instant, a slender, pale hand pierced through his chest. The crimson fingertips appeared as if dipped in a maiden’s rouge, radiating a brilliant glow.

A gentle laugh sounded in his ear, a laughter that carried a chilling intent rather than warmth.

Qín Duàn slowly withdrew his bloodstained fingers, lifting his gaze towards the sword-wielding figure. A smile curved at the corners of his lips, and his gaze could be described as tender.

He said, “Don’t let the blood of such rabble stain your sword.”

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