Chapter Sixty-Four: A Different Path

Lu Chenyuan followed Shangguan Chuci’s method, once again focusing his mind on the vast and boundless ink-wash world before him.

In the center of his sea of consciousness, the ink-flame burned quietly, radiating an indescribable, sinister aura.

"Use the spirit as the brush... the spirit as the brush..."

He recited this silently in his heart. He didn’t know how long had passed when he finally felt his soul truly transform into an invisible brush, reaching slowly toward that heart-flame.

Yet the moment the brush of his soul touched the edge of the fire, he felt a heaviness beyond words. It was as if a man who cannot swim had been thrown alive into a cold pool, the icy water surrounding him, binding him tightly.

No matter how he struggled or strained upward, he could only watch helplessly as his body sank lower and lower, finding not even the smallest purchase.

Lu Chenyuan’s spirit trembled violently, and he hastily withdrew his intent. Only then did that suffocating heaviness abate a little.

He tried three or four times more, but each time was the same.

Finally, Lu Chenyuan opened his eyes; fine beads of sweat had formed on his brow. He shook his head at Shangguan Chuci with a bitter smile and said,

“It’s no use. Though I can see the heart-flame, it’s like a stubborn stone. My intent is no more than a strand of spider’s silk—how could it move it at all?”

Shangguan Chuci showed no surprise at these words, as if she had expected it all along. She smiled faintly and said,

“Don’t be anxious, Brother Lu. I knew this would happen. The heaviness you feel is because your meridians are devoid of any spiritual energy. Relying on intent alone, how could you stir the heart-flame?”

She paused, her bright eyes fixed on Lu Chenyuan, and continued, “I had you try first only to confirm a suspicion. I have another method.”

Lu Chenyuan asked in wonder, “If there’s no spiritual power to use, I wonder what marvelous method you might have?”

Shangguan Chuci replied, “Have you forgotten? The human body is like a treasure mountain. If one can wield it, why rely solely on vital energy or spiritual power? The most primal force of blood and qi is also among the purest energies in all of heaven and earth.”

“Try biting your fingertip and imagine that drop of essence blood as a spark, falling into your sea of consciousness. Use it as a guide to light the ink-flame, then wield the spirit as a brush and see what happens.”

Upon hearing this, Lu Chenyuan felt it was something he’d never heard before. Yet Shangguan Chuci spoke with such certainty that he harbored no doubts. Gritting his teeth, he bit open his forefinger, and a drop of crimson blood welled forth.

He didn’t dare hesitate. Closing his eyes once more, he followed Shangguan Chuci’s instructions and visualized that drop of essence blood falling into his sea of consciousness.

In an instant, the previously dead and silent ink-wash world seemed as though a burning coal had been cast into it—a “whoomph”—a wave of heat surged forth!

The ink chrysanthemum, once quietly burning, now gained a barely perceptible red glow at its heart, thanks to the blood’s aid.

Delighted, Lu Chenyuan hastened to wield his spirit as a brush, reaching again for the heart-flame.

This time, the sensation of heaviness was greatly diminished. His soul-brush truly managed to draw up a faint trace of ink.

“It worked!”

Joy surged through his heart. Gathering all his focus, he prepared to write in the void before him the primordial stroke that split heaven and earth: the character for “one.”

But just as the brush-tip fell, a wave of profound weakness washed over him. The wound on his chest, only just healed, began to throb again, as if this bit of life’s essence had been forcibly extracted from his very bones.

Darkness swam before his eyes; he could no longer maintain his soul-brush. All he left behind was a single formless ink-dot in the void before his consciousness was spent, his body going slack—he nearly collapsed.

Shangguan Chuci had been standing by, watching over him intently. Seeing him sway, she reacted swiftly, reaching out a jade-white arm to steady him, her voice filled with concern:

“Brother Lu, how do you feel?”

Leaning against her shoulder, a faint fragrance wafted to his nose, and Lu Chenyuan’s face flushed with heat. He hurried to sit upright, catching his breath:

“I can stir it a little, but only just a little.”

Shangguan Chuci pondered for a moment, then said, “If your body were healed, you might indeed be able to stir the heart-flame this way. Yet the cost is great and the effect meager—hardly useful in a real contest.”

Hearing this, the hope that had just kindled in Lu Chenyuan’s heart dimmed once more. He asked, “Do you have any other way, Chuci? Or must I begin formal cultivation before I can truly use it?”

“Don’t worry, we have one final method.”

A sly glint flickered in Shangguan Chuci’s bright eyes.

“Do you recall, Brother Lu, within your own sea of consciousness, you once used that demon eye lurking in the darkness to glimpse your own true form?”

At her words, the image of that monster carrying a cage of flesh and blood, its body covered in demon eyes, once again rose vividly in Lu Chenyuan’s mind.

His heart stirred—he understood Shangguan Chuci’s intent:

“You mean to use the power of the curse within me to rouse the heart-flame?”

Shangguan Chuci nodded. “Exactly. Since Wei Zhuo’s heart-flame is now the caged bird of your ‘other self,’ then using the master’s own power to stir it is only natural—and may even yield unexpected results.”

Yet Lu Chenyuan hesitated.

At that thought, the horror of Master Li feeding on living men, and the mark of teeth he himself had left on that tender, fragrant shoulder during his own bout of madness, surfaced vividly in his mind.

He shook his head slowly, his voice grave:

“This method may be clever, but it’s far too dangerous. If I draw on the monster’s strength, how am I any different from the Lamplighter? That power is mighty, but it is also the easiest path to losing oneself—becoming little more than a mindless killer.”

His words were earnest, clearly spoken from the heart.

Hearing his refusal, Shangguan Chuci was not the least bit displeased. If anything, her admiration deepened.

In this sick and deranged world, to hold fast to one’s true heart was no easy thing.

Suddenly, Shangguan Chuci smiled slyly—a smile that in the young man’s eyes was indescribably captivating—and said,

“Your worry, Brother Lu, is something I’ve already anticipated.”

Lu Chenyuan asked in surprise, “Oh? Do you have another trick up your sleeve?”

Shangguan Chuci replied, “I may not know exactly how the Lamplighter cultivates, but I do know that they draw in foul currents and feed the demon with their own bodies.”

“Brother Lu, try looking inward. In your sea of consciousness, is the foul current illuminated by the heart-flame already one with the ink-wash mountains and rivers?”

Lu Chenyuan did as she said. “You’re right, the foul currents and the landscape have become one.”

She asked, “Right now, aside from weakness and pain from your wounds, do you feel any disturbance or unrest in your spirit?”

He shook his head again.

At this, Shangguan Chuci’s smile deepened. With the tip of her folding fan, she gently tapped Lu Chenyuan’s chest, laughing softly:

“There you have it. This heart-flame and foundation you seized by force is, for you, merely an external thing—a shell. As it stands, it can’t shake your true heart.”

Seeing the puzzlement in Lu Chenyuan’s eyes, she leaned in closer, lowering her voice:

“What we’re doing now isn’t asking you to accept the curse’s power, nor to take in the foul current. Instead, we want you to…”

She paused, her gaze lingering on the youth’s wide, curious eyes, and at last her lips curled into a satisfied, confident smile as she slowly enunciated:

“To borrow the tiger’s might with the fox’s cunning.”