From a loser to an immortal sage

Chapter 501 The Hidden Treasure

When the shaking of the stone seat finally subsided, I realized that I was pressed against Wen Chen's chest.

His outer robe was damp with blood mist, yet he stubbornly pressed his back against the cave wall, like a wall between me and all danger.

“Those eyes…” My voice trembled, the eerie light from the shadow of the sword still lingering before my eyes.

Wen Chen gently pressed his fingers on the back of my neck, a soothing touch: "It's the guardian spirit of the sword, suppressed by Yao Guang for three hundred years." As he lowered his head, a strand of his hair brushed against my forehead. "The sword's cry awakened it just now, and now it should be suppressed by your sword intent."

Zi Ling's medicine bottle suddenly jingled softly. She tiptoed towards the stone seat, stone dust clinging to her skirt falling off in a flurry. "The blood mist dissipated completely just now, and the guardian spirit's aura has weakened." Elder Qingfeng loosened his grip on the prayer beads, dust from his knuckles smearing onto his monk's robe. "This old monk senses that the restrictions deep within the cave... seem to have loosened."

The ethereal immortal's white eyebrows relaxed slightly. He raised his hand and gently tapped the stone seat, and wisps of blue light seeped from the stone's patterns: "The Demon-Suppressing Stone Seat is connected to the earth's veins. Yao Guang's appearance in the world has activated the spiritual veins, thus paving the way for us." As he turned around, a gust of wind rose from his sleeve, making the scabbard on my wrist slightly hot—that was Yao Guang's response.

When Wen Chen released me, his palms were still slightly sweaty.

He squeezed my wrist to make sure the scabbard was at a normal temperature before withdrawing his hand and placing it on the hilt: "Keep going in." His voice was still hoarse, but it shone steadily like a torch soaked in pine resin.

The cave became more spacious as you went deeper, and the fluorescent moss on the rock walls turned from dark green to a deep blue, like a handful of stars scattered on the ground.

My heel hit a protruding stone edge, and as I stumbled, Wen Chen's fingertips gently hooked my sleeve—not with force, but enough to steady me.

This action is so similar to what happened three hundred years ago on Cold Abyss Peak, when I first learned the art of flying and fell into a snowdrift. He did the same thing, hooking my fluttering sleeve with his fingertips.

"Look." Ziling suddenly tugged at my sleeve.

Her fingertips smelled of medicine. Following her gaze, a sliver of golden light peeked through a crevice in the rock wall ahead, as if someone had crushed up the sun and stuffed it inside.

Wen Chen stopped in his tracks, the sword tassel tassel taut at his side.

He didn't speak, but I knew he was confirming: there was no malevolent energy or array fluctuations in that light.

Elder Qingfeng took out a tortoise shell and tossed it to the ground. The tortoise shell spun around three times before coming to rest face up, with the "auspicious" pattern engraved on it flashing.

"It's a treasure trove." The ethereal immortal's voice carried a rare hint of joy as he exhaled a breath of fresh air into his palm and pressed it against the rock wall.

Stone chips fell down one after another, revealing a stone door about half a person's height. The two characters "藏珍" (Cang Zhen, meaning treasure) on the lintel had been worn dull by the years, but the gold paint from that time could still be seen.

My heart suddenly started racing.

Three hundred years ago in the mortal realm, I squatted at the entrance of a pawnshop watching wealthy people pawn their jewelry. The shopkeeper's abacus beads clicked loudly as I ate steamed buns with pickled vegetables, thinking that if I could have my own box, it would be nice to put even half a piece of broken jade in it.

Behind this door now lies something hundreds or even thousands of times larger than that box...

“Ayao.” Wen Chen placed his hand on my back and gently pushed me. “I’ll go in first.” His body temperature wafted through my clothes, reminding me of the time in the dilapidated temple when he tucked the only blanket into my arms; it was just as warm then.

The stone door creaked open.

The first thing that comes out is the aroma of herbs, bittersweet, like soaking in a spiritual spring.

Next came the shimmering light. The jade box on the east wall was open, and half of the dust-repelling pearl had rolled out, illuminating the ground. On the sword rack on the west wall hung seven swords, each wrapped with a red rope, and the tassels on the sword tassels still held lingering spiritual energy. On the innermost stone platform, there was a mountain of spirit crystals, some as big as a fist and some as small as a star, with even the air filled with tiny fragments of spiritual light.

“This…this is the treasure pavilion of an ancient cultivator.” Zi Ling’s voice trembled. She staggered forward two steps, her fingertips just about to touch the medicine bottle on the table, but she suddenly pulled back—the pill pattern on the medicine bottle was the familiar “Nine Revolutions”, exactly the same as the mold her master used when she was learning alchemy at Dan Ding Peak.

Elder Qingfeng traced the carvings on the stone wall, his prayer beads spinning rapidly between his fingers. "The restriction is repaired every ten years; the last time was three hundred years ago." He looked up, his eyes gleaming. "It seems some senior foresaw this day and left it specifically."

I took two steps forward, my boots crushing scattered spirit crystals. With a "crack," a glimmer of blue light burst from the shards and entered my brow—it was a fragment of lingering memory, vaguely discernible, but I could hear the words "a gift to those who come after."

Wen Chen's sword was still sheathed. He stood at the doorway, his gaze sweeping over every corner: "No traps." He turned to look at me, his eyes reflecting the glittering pearls filling the room. "A Yao, you said you wanted to build a small medicine hut to brew medicine for the children from the mortal realm... These spirit crystals are enough to build ten."

My throat suddenly felt tight.

Three hundred years ago, I knelt in a dilapidated temple praying for rain, hoping that my sick child wouldn't run out of medicine; three hundred years later, I stand here, stepping on spirit crystals that could buy an entire city, but what makes my heart flutter the most is that Wen Chen remembers the wish I casually mentioned.

The ethereal immortal sighed as he looked at the sword rack. He reached out and touched the tassel of one of the swords: "I've seen this 'Cold Sky' in ancient texts. It was the sword of the first Sword Master of Ten Thousand Swords Mountain." He turned to look at me, his white eyebrows curving into crescent moons. "With your 'Jade Light' appearing in the world, these swords seem to be waiting for their master."

Ziling finally touched the medicine bottle. She uncorked it, and a burst of medicinal fragrance wafted out. "It's a Youth-Preserving Pill!" Her eyes shone like two bright pearls. "My master said this pill requires three-hundred-year-old snow ginseng and five-hundred-year-old lingzhi... I've been refining eight-hundred-year-old pills, and I've only ever seen them in books!" She turned and shoved it into my arms. "Ayao, you keep this. You always say you age quickly—"

"No matter how old I look, I'm still your sister Yao." I smiled and pushed her hand away, but secretly wiped the corner of my eye with my fingertips.

Elder Qingfeng suddenly exclaimed "Eh!"

He crouched in the corner, rummaging through the pile of jade slips to reveal a palm-sized jade tablet engraved with the three characters "Qinghui Sect." "Qinghui Sect?" I leaned closer. "A small sect that was wiped out three hundred years ago. I heard about it from an old scholar in the mortal realm; they were all slaughtered by demonic beasts..."

"There's a message inside the jade tablet." Elder Qingfeng channeled his spiritual energy into it, and a phantom image appeared in the air: a young disciple in a blue robe, his eyes shining like stars. "If anyone later finds this treasure, please take three Soul Nourishing Pills and send them back to the old site of the Qinghui Sect—my senior brother's soul is still trapped in the broken wall..."

Zi Ling's medicine bottle clattered to the ground.

She crouched down to pick it up, the silver hairpin in her hair swayed, and a tear fell, landing on the jade pendant: "I'm going."

I'll go tomorrow.

Wen Chen appeared beside me without my noticing. His hand covered the back of my hand, his fingertips brushing against the scabbard on my wrist—still warm from Yao Guang's sword. "A Yao," he whispered, "look."

I followed his gaze.

On the innermost stone platform, there is a cloth bag embroidered with twin lotus flowers.

The edges of the cloth bag were worn white, as if it had been touched a thousand times.

I walked over, and as soon as my fingertips touched the cloth bag, the contents inside suddenly became hot—it was half a piece of broken jade, which I had picked up in the dilapidated temple three hundred years ago, and they fit together perfectly.

The jade tablet began to sing in the sea of ​​consciousness, but this time it was not a joyful song; it was a sob choked with emotion.

I suddenly realized that the most precious treasure in this room was never the spiritual crystals or magical artifacts, but rather the wishes I had kept for myself three hundred years ago, wishes about "being a guiding light in my next life."

“The stitches on this cloth bag…” Zi Ling leaned closer, “It’s the technique of mortal embroiderers, the ‘overlock stitch.’ My mother taught me.” She suddenly covered her mouth, “A Yao, when you used to sell embroidery, you always said you wanted to save money to buy a good piece of cloth, to make a garment for…for someone important.”

My vision blurred.

Wen Chen's hand landed on the back of my neck and pressed gently, as if to say, "I'm here."

Elder Qingfeng touched the prayer beads and murmured "Well done." The ethereal immortal turned his back, his sleeves trembling slightly—he must have noticed that besides the broken jade, there was also an unfinished handkerchief in the cloth bag. Only half of the twin lotus flowers on it were embroidered, and the stitches were crooked and uneven, just like the handkerchief I used to secretly embroider for a boy with always red ears when I brought him medicine under the oil lamp.

The fluorescent moss on the cave ceiling suddenly swayed.

We both looked up at the same time.

Zi Ling's medicine bottle gleamed again in her palm, and Wen Chen's sword hummed as it was drawn half an inch from its sheath.

Elder Qingfeng's tortoise shell cracked with a "crack," and the ethereal immortal's white eyebrows furrowed again: "This aura... is not right."

I gripped the half-piece of jade tightly, the warmth seeping into my veins through my palm.

The room's pearly light suddenly dimmed, as if someone had slowly covered the moon with a black cloth.

Just as everyone was immersed in joy, a cold voice came from the depths of the cave:

"You think you can find the treasure like this? How naive!"

The chilling voice was like a needle dipped in ice water, piercing into the bones along the back of the neck.

I tightened my grip on the half-broken jade, the edge of the jade digging painfully into my palm—but this pain was good, it prevented me from being overwhelmed by the sudden, exploding heart palpitations.

Wen Chen's sword was drawn almost simultaneously.

He was originally standing half a step away from me, but now he was like an arrow taut on a bowstring, "whoosh" appearing between me and the source of the sound.

The cold light on the blade cleaved through the pearly light in the half-room, and I saw the taut muscles on the back of his neck, like the unyielding cliff face of Hanyuan Peak. "Mo Yu." He gritted his teeth and spat out these two words, the tip of the sword trembling slightly—not out of fear, but out of a murderous intent that wished he could pierce the other's throat immediately.

Zi Ling's medicine bottle clattered to the ground.

She had been squatting in front of the jade pendant wiping away tears, but suddenly jumped up. The silver hairpin in her hair was askew behind her ear, and her fingertips were still covered with mud from when she picked up the medicine bottle: "It's that dark figure!"

She had been entangled in the blood mist with A Yao! She staggered toward me, but stopped three steps away—I knew she remembered that her cultivation was still shallow and that rushing over now would only cause trouble.

Elder Qingfeng's tortoise shell shattered into two pieces with a "crack".

He was holding the prayer beads and silently reciting mantras when he suddenly let go, and the beads scattered all over the ground with a "clatter".

He stared into the darkness deep within the cave, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I should have realized it sooner... the auspicious sign from the tortoise shell just now only foreshadowed the opening of a treasure, not the impending calamity."

The ethereal immortal's white eyebrows were twisted into a tight knot.

He had been looking at the sword rack with his back to us, but when he turned around, his sleeve knocked over a medicine bottle on the table, and the Youth Preservation Pill rolled to my feet.

He raised his hand and formed a hand seal, a burst of azure light rising from his fingertips: "This aura...is not that of an ordinary cultivator." He stared at the figure gradually emerging from the darkness, his voice deep, "It's a demonic cultivator steeped in resentment, a remnant of the Demon-Suppressing Stone from three hundred years ago."

Mo Yu's figure finally emerged from the darkness.

He was shrouded in black mist, wearing a bronze demon mask that revealed only his scarlet eyes.

I recognized those eyes—the eerie light in the shadows beneath the sword when the guardian spirit awoke just now was the same color as those eyes. "Three hundred years." His voice was like a broken bellows, each word crackling with static. "Back then, the Yao Guang Sword Master sealed me in the Sword Tomb, and then used this broken stone to suppress me for three hundred years." A bony hand emerged from the black mist, pointing to the scabbard on my wrist. "Now her sword has recognized you as its master, perfectly timed to repay her debt."

I suddenly remembered that when the sword spirit awoke, Wen Chen said, "It was suppressed by Yao Guang for three hundred years."

It turns out that this Mo Yu was actually the demonic cultivator that Yao Guang Sword Venerable suppressed back then.

"Pay back the debt?" My voice was more steady than I had imagined.

The broken jade was still warm in my palm. It was half a piece I had picked up in a dilapidated temple three hundred years ago. Now it was stuck to the other half in my cloth bag, as if someone had lit a lamp in my heart.