Volume Two – The Map of Nine Provinces Unveiled, Entering the Spiritual Ruins Chapter 57: Picking Up the Silk Treasure

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Passing through several more inner chambers, the scenes were much the same as in the great hall—everything had already been swept clean by the cultivators who had gone ahead. Chen Yu hurried deeper inside, soon arriving in a courtyard. Judging from its arrangement, it must once have been planted with various flora, which, needless to say, had only recently been taken away. Now, not even a single blade of grass remained for Chen Yu to claim.

Those who had been trailing behind, still hoping to pick up some overlooked treasure, were left utterly disappointed. Lacking the courage to compete with the others, they had no choice but to depart. Only Chen Yu continued pressing forward.

Crossing the courtyard, Chen Yu began to hear the clash of metal. He grew even more cautious, stealthily creeping closer. Within, he found a chamber lined with bookshelves.

Only three remained alive in this room, representing the three factions: Wuyai Sword Monastery, Lingxu, and the Cui Clan. Among them, the representative of Lingxu was none other than Wang Ji, whom Chen Yu recognized.

“Haha… I’ve long heard that Brother Wang Ji of Lingxu is fond of collecting obscure histories and miscellaneous records,” sneered Zeng Tang, a disciple of Wuyai Sword Monastery.

“Hehe… Brother Zeng, you jest. It’s just a personal hobby,” Wang Ji replied with a smile.

“But with so many books here, who knows if some secret techniques or arcane methods might be hidden among them,” Zeng Tang said with a wicked grin.

“Is that so? In that case, Brother Zeng, take as many as you wish,” Wang Ji replied with apparent humility. “There are far too many for me to carry away.”

Zeng Tang snorted coldly. “It seems Brother Wang does not understand my meaning.”

“Oh? And what do you mean, Brother Zeng?”

“It’s simple. If you wish to take any of these books, you’ll have to leave some valuables behind,” Zeng Tang demanded.

Wang Ji’s face darkened instantly. “So you’re threatening me?”

“I wouldn’t dare. I’m simply stating a fact.”

Wang Ji gave Zeng Tang a cold glance, then turned to Cui Ke, who stood aside. “And what about you, Brother Cui?”

“Haha… Forgive me, but this matter is between the two of you. It wouldn’t be proper for me to interfere,” Cui Ke replied cleverly, immediately stepping aside to watch the drama unfold.

Seeing this, Zeng Tang snorted dismissively and turned back to Wang Ji. “Brother Wang, have you made up your mind?”

“Idiot,” Wang Ji mocked. “It’s nothing but a few miscellaneous records—do you really think they’re worth anything?”

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“Courting death?” Enraged at being mocked, Zeng Tang struck out with his sword—not at Wang Ji, but at the bookshelf behind him.

Instantly, under Zeng Tang’s blade, the pages turned to ash, the paper shredded like falling snow.

Wang Ji’s expression darkened. Though furious, he maintained his composure and retorted, “So this is what passes for a disciple of Wuyai Sword Monastery? How disappointing. Or is your sect truly in decline?”

“Enough of this!” Zeng Tang shouted, lunging forward with a thrust.

Wang Ji’s face was grim as he stepped aside, dodging the attack. “Do you really think I’m afraid of you?”

As Wang Ji shifted his stance, he drew his sword in a swift upward flick, forcing Zeng Tang to retreat.

“So this is Lingxu’s Wang Ji? Seems you’re not as incompetent as the rumors suggested,” Zeng Tang said coldly, then unleashed a flurry of sword strikes.

Wang Ji responded swiftly, his own sword dancing, evenly matched with Zeng Tang.

In the span of a single breath, they exchanged dozens of moves. Steel clashed with steel, and then the two quickly separated. Books lay scattered across the floor, many already destroyed in the chaos.

Wang Ji looked upon the wreckage and felt a pang of sorrow.

“Haha… Now there’s nothing left,” Zeng Tang laughed triumphantly. “So let me add a little more fuel to the fire.”

With that, a Flame-Spitting Talisman appeared in Zeng Tang’s hand.

“Stop!” cried Wang Ji, heart aching, but of course Zeng Tang paid him no heed. The talisman became a snake of fire, devouring every scrap of paper and book.

“Damn you, Zeng Tang!” Wang Ji cursed furiously.

Zeng Tang only laughed. “So what? None of this belonged to you, Wang Ji. You don’t even have the right to be angry.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode away.

Fuming but helpless, Wang Ji looked at the ashes and flames, then turned and left as well.

Cui Ke, who had been hoping to witness a good show, found it all rather dull in the end and decided to try his luck elsewhere.

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Only after the three had left did Chen Yu cautiously enter the chamber. He gazed at the field of ashes with deep regret.

Once again, he was struck by the chaos of the Nine Provinces. If he could not have something, then neither should others—even if this was perhaps just an isolated incident, there was little time for Chen Yu to ponder it.

With a sigh, Chen Yu stepped over the cinders. After only a few steps, a strange sensation beneath his foot caught his attention. Sensitive and alert, he quickly stepped back, sweeping aside the black ash with his foot. There, to his delight, he found a piece of silk, completely unscathed.

Elated, he snatched it up without even glancing at it, tucking it safely into his robes. He glanced around—no one had noticed. Only then did he relax.

He summoned a gust of sword wind to scatter the ashes, hoping to uncover anything else that might have survived the flames. Alas, it was wishful thinking; nothing else remained. Still, to have gained even a single piece of silk—whether it was a treasure or not—he was already satisfied.

In high spirits, Chen Yu moved on. But his luck did not hold.

No sooner had he entered the next grand hall than a flash of sword light swept across, flinging him aside. Fortunately, it was only a residual wave of sword energy; had it been the full force, he would have suffered far worse than just being knocked aside.

Suppressing the turmoil within his chest, Chen Yu peered carefully inside. The floor was littered with corpses—even disciples from Wuyai Sword Monastery, Lingxu, and the Cui Clan had perished here. Nearly all the remaining cultivators from the three factions had gathered in this place.

“This cauldron belongs to Wuyai Sword Monastery. If any of you dare to interfere, don’t blame us for being merciless,” declared one of the monastery’s disciples, his body wreathed in sword aura, every blade-like edge radiating menace.

“Xia Jian, just you?” sneered Xue You from Lingxu.

“That’s right, just me,” Xia Jian replied arrogantly. “If you’re dissatisfied, then come and fight. But I won’t guarantee there won’t be more deaths beneath my sword.”

“You…” Xue You seethed, but could do nothing; he was indeed no match for the other.

“Hmph, such arrogance,” a woman from the Cui Clan spoke up. “Xia Jian, you may be strong, but do you really think you can stop the combined might of both our clans?”

“Haha… Cui Qiao, don’t flatter yourselves,” Xia Jian scoffed. “Even if you join forces, you’ll find me more than a match.”

“Insolent!” Xue You and Cui Qiao shouted in unison, ready to join forces for a decisive battle with Xia Jian.