The Black Flood Dragon's Anchor of Existence

The only person who could have beaten him to the precious saber was that kid. To have regarded him as nothing more than an idle fop the entire journey—he truly had been blind. Sun Fuping's gaze swept across the ruins. Over such an expansive stretch of ground, how was he supposed to track someone down? He Lingchuan must have left only moments ago. *** He Lingchuan sprinted through the ruins, just passing the abandoned government office where a towering corner turret still stood, having escaped total destruction in the fires of war. Cradled in his arms was that saber, its pommel ring clasped in a flood dragon's jaws. Indeed, not long ago, he had quietly slipped down the side of the city wall, skirted the battlefield, and doubled back to the official quarters for the sole purpose of retrieving this blade from the head of Zhong Shengguang's bed. When contemporary smiths forged weapons, they most often cast the pommels and hilts in the likeness of the Yazi, a creature with the body of a jackal and the head of a dragon. Only the remaining twenty to thirty percent were carved into other varieties of monstrous beasts. The pommel ring of the saber beside Zhong Shengguang's bed, however, was a straight-horned flood dragon's head. He Lingchuan had visited twice before without paying it any mind, all his attention drawn to other furnishings—especially that blue-flowered comb on the vanity. Yet the black flood dragon had emerged when the official residence was destroyed, proving it shared a special connection to the Zhong estate. Looking closely at the black flood dragon's massive head, that straight, unbranched horn bore more than a passing resemblance to the dragon head carved into the pommel ring—it was an exact match! He Lingchuan could not help admiring his own formidable memory. When he had stepped into the post-war official quarters and seen the saber hanging unharmed on the crumbling wall without a single speck of soot, his suspicions had only been confirmed. Something was unusual about this saber. It belonged in the official quarters during peacetime, when Zhong Shengguang still lived there. It had no place in the post-war quarters, for Zhong Shengguang had long since moved into the grand mansion. The saber's presence here was glaringly out of place. Furthermore, it remained as smooth and pristine as new, completely untouched by the flames of war. Clearly, in actual history, it had not hung upon that wall when the fire blazed. Though He Lingchuan had not heard Nian Songyu speak of the "black flood dragon's anchor of existence" to Sun Fuping, his sharp instincts told him the blade held unique significance for the creature. With the saber in hand, he would have an extra measure of protection when facing the black flood dragon. Drawing his new prize, he took a look. It gleamed bright and clear like autumn waters. The moment it cleared the scabbard, a bone-chilling aura rolled out, dropping the ambient temperature by at least two degrees. The curve of the blade was flawless, the weight evenly distributed, and best of all was the superb grip. In his hand, it felt like an extension of his forearm, bearing none of the awkwardness of an unfamiliar weapon, but rather like a reunion with an old friend. With a casual swing, a pillar thicker than his head sliced cleanly in two without making a sound. Pity, though, that a crack ran along the blade, extending from the spine toward the edge and fading out about two-thirds of the way down. He Lingchuan also caught the heavy, pungent stench of bloodlust, even though both blade and scabbard were spotless, without a single drop of fresh blood. There was no telling how much hot blood from severed necks it had once drunk. The youth flicked the blade with his finger. Could this thing be taken out of the illusion? After a moment's thought, he shamelessly buckled it to his waist. Now he needed to hurry back. Glancing upward, he saw monstrous birds gathering in ever greater numbers. They seemed to have spotted him, though he could not tell whether they would swoop down to snatch his prize. Yet He Lingchuan soon realized they were merely a secondary concern, for the primary trouble had already emerged from a dark alleyway, barring his path. Sun Fuping. Startled, He Lingchuan halted in his tracks and gave a dry laugh. "Grand National Preceptor Sun, what a coincidence!" What should he do? Where could he run? His mind raced frantically. The look in Sun Fuping's eyes was bizarre, filled with equal parts frantic delight and venomous malice. He held out a hand toward He Lingchuan. "Where is the saber?" The moment he discovered the precious blade missing, he had launched into a frantic search. With the saber in hand, that He kid could not possibly hide among the ruins and vanish as he had before, or fetching the blade would have been pointless. He would certainly carry such a crucial bargaining chip back to the South Gate. All Sun Fuping had to do was cut him off. Both the official quarters and the government office sat by the lake, leaving He Lingchuan very few paths to take. Sun Fuping had finally intercepted him. He Lingchuan rested a hand on the hilt at his waist, conveniently concealing the pommel ring, and wore a look of utter bafflement. "What saber? National Preceptor, what are you talking about?" Sun Fuping let out a sneer. Without wasting breath on words, he casually hurled a length of silk-binding rope. This treasure was usually wound around his wrist disguised as a red cord. Once cast, it expanded upon meeting the wind, tracking its target automatically before descending like a casting net to envelop the foe. Even an elephant could not break free—provided its master could hold the line. Moreover, the mesh was lined with barbed hooks, adding grievous harm while preventing escape. He Lingchuan had managed only a few strides when the massive net descended from above, scooping him up in one motion. Sun Fuping gave a sharp tug, causing the barbed hooks across the mesh to flare wide. Had He Lingchuan not raised his arms to shield his face in time, his eyes might have been gouged out on the spot. Even so, bloody gashes were torn across every inch of exposed skin, some of the barbs ripping away strips of flesh and leaving him grimacing in agony. With a flick of his palm, Sun Fuping sent three streaks of true fire surging along the main lines of the silk-binding rope. With a loud whoosh, as though oil had been poured onto a blaze, the entire net was engulfed in roaring flames. The fire even held a touch of pale white amidst the golden red, burning with an extraordinarily intense heat capable of reducing white bone to ash in the blink of an eye. Sun Fuping's true intentions for this expedition to the Panlong Desert were now fully bared. No longer needing to keep He Lingchuan as a sacrifice, he felt boundless murderous intent surge within him. To his surprise, He Lingchuan merely let out a loud yowl from the pain of the barbed hooks, standing completely unharmed amidst the blazing fire. At the same time, a halo of blue light erupted from his person. One look told Sun Fuping that the kid carried a talisman that warded off fire, automatically triggered by extreme heat. Yet his true fire was exceedingly potent, capable of melting ordinary fire-repelling artifacts into slag. That not a single hair on He Lingchuan's head had been singed proved the treasure was anything but ordinary. Amidst the chaos, He Lingchuan glanced down and realized that the glowing treasure was none other than the divine bone necklace! It had finally proven its worth. Otherwise, he would have been roasted into a charred corpse within dozens of breaths. Sun Fuping drew his sword, preparing to step forward and cut him down personally. Unexpectedly, the sky darkened as a massive monstrous bird plunged from above, its talons striking straight for his face. Such creatures were troublesome to deal with. A careless slip against those razor-sharp talons could easily disembowel a man. What was more, its loose, wrinkled skin was remarkably tough; sawing away with a dagger for half a day would scarcely leave a scratch. Sun Fuping was forced to turn on the defensive, though he did not forget to flick two concealed darts straight at He Lingchuan. He Lingchuan cried out, failing to notice several black bugs sliding off the darts. With suction cups on their heads and maggot-like bodies, they burrowed directly into his open wounds. These creatures were spoils Sun Fuping had claimed years ago when he killed a Gu master while marching to quell a southern rebellion. The lethal technique that Gu master employed, known as the "Flying Head Gu," was reputedly formless and shadowless, capable of claiming lives from a hundred paces away. In truth, it relied on these Gu insects burrowing into a victim's body to gnaw through heart and brain and siphon away their essence. Sun Fuping had detested the method of casting the Gu, but he had taken a keen interest in the insects' efficacy. Once gorged on the vital blood and marrow of humans or monsters, these Gu bugs would curl into a tight ball and digest it over the span of two months. This process served to purge impurities and concentrate the essence. After repeating the cycle three or four times, the insects could absorb no more, transforming into a potent, ingestible tonic. Their ability to restore qi and blood was astonishingly rapid, easily outstripping virtually any medicine.