Chapter Sixty-Seven: The Spirit-Calming Talisman

Lu Chenyuan fell silent for a moment at these words, then spoke softly, “If there comes a day when I can no longer control myself, should you be present, Young Lord Chu, I beg you—do not put yourself in danger again. Whether you kill me yourself, or let the Demon Suppression Bureau execute me, I will bear no resentment whatsoever.”

Shangguan Chuci did not respond directly. Instead, she smiled faintly and said, “Let the future worry about itself. Since you have resolved to pursue the Way, I will keep no secrets from you. I shall now teach you a celestial art—the ‘Calming Talisman.’”

She paused, and seeing Lu Chenyuan’s keen attention, continued, “This technique uses spiritual power as cinnabar to draw a talisman, either upon paper or in the air. Used against an enemy, it can restrict their movements and slow the flow of their spiritual power; used upon oneself, it may be affixed to the brow to clear the mind and guard against inner demons. This is a celestial art, but my own foundation lies in the Human Way, so when I perform it, its efficacy is diminished—hence, I seldom use it. Your foundation, though taken from another, is now in harmony with the heavens and earth; you are well suited to try.”

With that, she extended a slender, fair finger and traced a complicated talisman in the air, formed of spiritual energy.

“Brother Lu, the way to draw this talisman differs from that ‘One’ character. You must first, in your mind’s eye, dip into that ink-flame, gather it at your fingertip, and then, in the waking world, trace the talisman as I have shown you.”

Lu Chenyuan watched with unwavering focus, sensing with every stroke and line some hidden principle of the cosmos. Strangely, though this was his first time seeing it, it felt as though he had already traced it countless times in his heart—an inexplicable familiarity, which brought to mind the legend of the Sin Immortal and his master’s claim that he had once been the Immortal Emperor in a past life.

After a moment, Lu Chenyuan nodded. “I have memorized it.”

Shangguan Chuci was both admiring and curious at his quick comprehension. She smiled, “Most people, upon first seeing these talismans, find them impossibly arcane and hard to remember. For you to commit it to memory so quickly, you must indeed be extraordinarily gifted.”

She recalled how the High Steward had likened Lu Chenyuan to a carp poised to leap the Dragon Gate, and was all the more convinced that this youth harbored unimaginable secrets and an extraordinary origin.

“Since you’ve remembered it, why not try it on me?” she suggested.

Lu Chenyuan hesitated, shaking his head. “That wouldn’t do. You’re still injured…”

But Shangguan Chuci lightly flicked open her folding fan. “No matter. I am at least a practitioner of the Fire-Wielding Stage. Your first attempt at the Calming Talisman cannot harm me. Go ahead.”

Seeing her so insistent, Lu Chenyuan finally took a deep breath. “Very well—please be cautious, Young Lord Chu.”

He followed her instructions, focusing inward, letting his mind sink into that ink-wash realm. This time, rather than forcibly driving his intent, he guided the rebellious, sinister force within him toward the heart-flame of ink.

Shangguan Chuci was already on guard, the logic-fire in her eyes quietly kindled. She saw that Lu Chenyuan’s shadow, cast by the lamplight, once again transformed into the specter of a demon god holding a bone pen, moving in perfect unison with his own actions.

Man and shadow, substance and illusion, both raised their right arm, merged index and middle fingers, and slowly drew a pitch-black talisman in the air.

As soon as the talisman took shape, it seemed to come alive; the light around them dimmed, and a chill, oppressive aura spread forth—even more uncanny than when Wei Zhuo had cast his spells.

“Go!” Lu Chenyuan called in a low voice. The talisman instantly became a ray of ghostly light, shooting silently toward Shangguan Chuci and, in a blink, entering her body.

Shangguan Chuci felt her body abruptly weighed down, as if a thousand-pound boulder had crashed atop her, her every motion becoming sluggish. Alarmed, she looked down and saw her own shadow come alive, turning to a viscous mire that clung tightly to her feet.

She tried to gather her strength and move, and though her body responded, the shadow remained fixed, giving her a bizarre sensation as though her soul and body were being torn apart—a dizziness and heaviness in her chest.

“What a fiendish immobilization talisman!” she thought, but aloud, she snapped, “Break!”

Her vital energy surged, expelling a faint ring of black smoke from her body; yet as soon as the smoke left her, it crept back, clinging like maggots to bone.

More unsettling still, from the mire-like shadow, inky black arms reached out—some grasping her ankles, some winding about her waist, as if to drag her into the boundless darkness.

“Fire!” Her brows arched, and she no longer held back—the logic-fire within her mind blazed forth. Radiance poured from her body; the clinging black smoke and ghostly hands met the light and, with a faint sizzle, melted away in an instant.

Only then did she exhale, looking at Lu Chenyuan with admiration and wonder on her pale, lovely face.

“Brother Lu, your Calming Talisman is truly unlike any other. For a mortal, to produce such results on a first attempt is remarkable.”

She paused, then continued, “It appears that though you have obtained that heretic’s foundation and heart-flame, your body still lacks genuine vital energy. Thus, the power of this art falls short of a true Fire-Wielding practitioner. But against those who have not yet mastered the heart-flame, this move would be hard to guard against, and difficult to break.”

Lu Chenyuan nodded, feeling no disappointment. For him, any new means to face enemies was a welcome gain.

Shangguan Chuci, noticing his paler complexion despite his success, asked with concern, “How do you feel now, Brother Lu?”

Lu Chenyuan steadied himself. “A little dizzy. Oddly, though this Calming Talisman is a true art, it was not as taxing to cast as writing the ‘One’ character—the reaction in my mental realm was far less intense.”

Shangguan Chuci was not surprised, and smiled. “You may not know, Brother Lu, but as the saying goes: ‘From One comes Two, from Two comes Three, from Three, all things are born.’ That ‘One’ character, though simple in appearance, contains the principle of creation—the beginning of all arts. To study the arts, one must first learn to write the ‘One’—only then can one talk of mastering other techniques. Thus, writing that single stroke is indeed more difficult than other ordinary arts.”

Hearing this, Lu Chenyuan was enlightened. “So that’s how it is.”

She went on, “You are only just recovering from grave wounds, so you must rest. Moreover, the efficacy of any art depends on the practitioner’s own insight—the deeper the understanding, the greater the power. In these days, with the world’s spiritual energy so scarce, progress is hard, so many turn to studying such arts. Even this simplest Calming Talisman varies greatly in effect depending on who wields it.”

Lu Chenyuan nodded thoughtfully, feeling that with her patient explanations, his understanding of the cultivation world had deepened yet again.

As if struck by a sudden thought, his gaze shifted to Shangguan Chuci’s face, carrying a trace of an undefinable emotion.

Shangguan Chuci, unsettled by the way he looked at her, asked, “Brother Lu, why are you looking at me like that?”

Lu Chenyuan gazed at her and said with sincere feeling, “I was just thinking that meeting you here in Zhenhai River is truly one of the great fortunes of my life.”

At these words, Shangguan Chuci’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she refused to be modest. With a flick of her fan, she laughed, “As well you should. In my world, someone with such a discerning eye, who offers help in another’s hour of need, is known by a special title—we call them ‘angel investors.’”

“Angel investor?” Lu Chenyuan was intrigued by the strange term.

Seeing his curiosity, Shangguan Chuci explained it in terms he could understand: a person of keen insight who, recognizing hidden value in the unpolished, is willing to risk their fortune on someone’s future.

Upon hearing this, Lu Chenyuan realized, “I see…”

His gaze drifted inadvertently to the pile of straw in the corner, and he suddenly frowned. “That’s odd…”

“What is?” Shangguan Chuci followed his gaze, quickly understood, and smiled knowingly. “Are you worried about the inn servant hidden there?”

“You knew?” Lu Chenyuan was surprised.

Shangguan Chuci recounted how, at dusk that day, she had come looking for him, found the servant unconscious in the woodshed, and had him moved to a guest room.

“He’s already awake. I saw him in the inn’s main hall earlier today.”

At this, Lu Chenyuan recalled she had said she’d come to the back courtyard to speak openly with him. He had believed her for the most part, but now, with her testimony, all doubt was dispelled.

In that moment, he felt his face burning with shame, the guilt from his misunderstanding swelling within him.

He raised his head, meeting her smiling, bright eyes, and suddenly said, “Young Lord Chu.”

“Yes?”

“About that day—I misunderstood you. I’m truly sorry.”

The words which, out of shyness, he’d never managed to speak at last found their way out.