Chapter 1 – Taiyi Sect’s Chou Bodeng
A new joke was making the rounds in Fu City.
A young cultivator had walked into a pawnshop with a broken sword, insisting it was the Taiyi Sect’s mountain-suppressing treasure and demanding seventy-seven thousand taels of gold for it. The shopkeeper, seeing how young he was, with his red lips, white teeth, and looks prettier than a painting, didn’t have the heart to curse him out. He politely sent the boy on his way. It was only during idle chatter over tea that he learned the young man had visited all three pawnshops in the city.
In each, he tried to sell that same broken sword for a sky-high price.
Everyone found it ridiculous.
Never mind that the Taiyi Sect was the foremost of the Immortal Sects, so how could its ultimate treasure fall into the hands of a young boy? The “ultimate treasure” itself was absurdly laughable. The scabbard was rotten, the hilt and guard were rusted, and the blade was so pitted and chipped it looked like a dog had chewed on it. Forget seventy-seven thousand taels of gold; no one would even pay a single coin for it.
In the end, everyone assumed it was just some rich young master, bored and looking for a bit of fun.
***
Clang.
The subject of the joke tossed the sword far away.
The “worthless” broken sword rolled twice on the ground before zipping back with a swoosh. It hovered in front of Chou Bodeng, swaying back and forth as it poked his arm with its scabbard.
It actually looked rather wronged.
“You feel wronged?!” Chou Bodeng was furious. “If you really think I’m some evil spirit that’s seized this body, then just run me through. Not only will I not blame you, I’ll even thank you.”
“Go on, right here, right now!”
The broken sword fell to the ground with a clatter, dejectedly rubbing its hilt against his boot.
Chou Bodeng squatted down and poked it with a stick. “Cut the act. If you hadn’t inexplicably brought me to this godforsaken place, would I have ended up in this state?”
He gave a slight, cold smile.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled about transmigrating into a book.
In his previous life, the Chou family was a “renowned and influential clan,” possessing both power and wealth. Chou Bodeng was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and grew up in the lap of luxury, getting whatever he wanted. Life couldn’t have been more carefree. Then, on his eighteenth birthday, he transmigrated into a novel called Chronicles of the Gods, becoming a profligate of the same name.
No computer! No phone! No internet!
Chou Bodeng nearly died on the spot.
Later, he discovered this profligate had a surprisingly high seniority. There was hardly anyone in the entire Taiyi Sect who didn’t have to bow to him, unlike before when a crowd of old men would wail and plead whenever he did anything. Recalling that the original character had raised hell throughout the plot yet still lived a good eight hundred years, Chou Bodeng decided against taking a “leap from North Star Mountain to end all sorrows.”
The original character was no saint, and Chou Bodeng was even worse.
He didn’t even have to act to be a first-rate profligate.
Thus, no one in the Taiyi Sect noticed that their “Little Martial Ancestor” had a new soul inside.
In the days without internet, Chou Bodeng turned the sect upside down.
One day, while looking for miscellaneous books in the library pavilion, he read that the Taiyi Sect possessed a “Taiyi Sword” capable of revealing all demons and ghosts. Because this ancient sword guarded the mountain, for over ten thousand years, there had never been an incident of an evil spirit possessing a disciple and infiltrating the sect.
Chou Bodeng read this with utter disdain.
Wasn’t his transmigration into the original body a form of “body seizure” too? If this Taiyi Sword was so miraculous, it should have struck him down. Since it hadn’t done anything, it was clear the ancients loved to boast, just like the old men in his family from his past life who would drone on about how the Chou family had once received “Heaven’s Mandate.”
As it turned out, no sooner had he laughed at the Taiyi Sword during the day than he heard a swoosh that night. A white streak broke through his window and shot straight for his face.
It was an ancient sword, its light chillingly sharp!
The sword’s light flared.
Before being engulfed by the light, Chou Bodeng’s first thought was: Does the Taiyi Sword have a delay in identifying evil spirits?
His second thought was: I hope I can transmigrate back.
When he woke up again, he was lying in a deserted alley.
Beside him was the Taiyi Sword, now battered and broken. Above him, the thick canopy of ancient trees intertwined, allowing only slivers of the sky and sunlight to leak through the gaps between branches and feather-like compound leaves. As far as the eye could see, all the houses were shrouded in the shade of the trees.
At that moment, Chou Bodeng was even more bewildered than when he had first transmigrated.
He asked a passerby and learned he was in Fu City, in the Qing Province.
Qing Province was far from the East Continent where the Taiyi Sect was located, and Fu City was a small town. As for anyone recognizing the face of Taiyi’s Little Martial Ancestor? He hadn’t met a single one yet. Chou Bodeng was also used to being waited on hand and foot. He had never needed to trouble his own esteemed hands with such matters as paying for things.
So, money?
Naturally, he didn’t have a single coin.
In both his past and present lives, Chou Bodeng had never been so destitute and wretched.
Without a second thought, he took the Taiyi Sword straight to a pawnshop.
After a full day, the sword remained unsold, and he was on the verge of starving to death.
Ordinarily, a cultivator shouldn’t be in such a sorry state. Unfortunately, the original owner of his body was an unlearned good-for-nothing, and his cultivation was still at the lowest “Mind Illumination” stage, far from the level required for Grain Abstinence.
“So this is what hunger feels like.”
Chou Bodeng pressed a hand to his stomach wistfully, feeling that he had acquired yet another piece of useless knowledge.
Before transmigrating, his three daily meals were handled by his family’s hundred-plus chefs, perfect in both taste and nutrition. If he ever ate a little less, the responsible chef would weep so bitterly they were practically ready to die to atone. This led a young Chou Bodeng to firmly believe his family’s business was pig farming. After transmigrating, his diet expanded to include dragons that flew in the sky and Kun that swam in the water. The pig-rearing skills of the Taiyi Sect were even more impressive than his family’s.
As hunger gnawed at him, Chou Bodeng couldn’t be bothered to waste his energy on the broken sword and started to ponder his next move.
First, he needed to eat something. Then, he would return to Taiyi, tell those white-haired old men about the Taiyi Sword, and let them decide whether to kill him or spare him. A top-tier profligate should possess such a fearless and nonchalant attitude towards life and death. The plan was perfect.
The problem lay in the first step.
Young Master Chou, who viewed life and death with indifference, had no idea how to make money.
The concept of “earning money” didn’t even exist in Chou Bodeng’s mind.
He had rarely even touched something as vulgar as money with his own hands. In the past, he never needed to ask for what he wanted; if Young Master Chou’s gaze lingered on something for more than three seconds, someone would immediately present it to him.
The fact that he even thought of pawning the Taiyi Sword was already quite remarkable.
Chou Bodeng racked his brains to no avail, only gaining another piece of useless knowledge: “When you’re hungry, you have no strength.”
He tossed the stick in his hand aside and noticed that he had unconsciously written “Fu City” all over the ground.
Staring at the two characters for “Fu City,” Chou Bodeng felt a vague sense of familiarity. A flash of inspiration crossed his mind, but he failed to grasp it in time.
He was displeased and muttered to himself, “Maybe I should sell the sword to a blacksmith? It might be worth a few coins if it’s melted down.”
The Taiyi Sword stopped playing dead.
It hooked his sleeve and tugged him forward, looking like it was ready to mend its ways.
Chou Bodeng followed it out of the small alley. He saw it stop and point its tip toward a spot.
By the side of the long street, a beggar in tattered clothes held a broken bowl. Passersby would occasionally stop to toss him some small silver pieces or leftover food. The beggar would grab half a pastry with his grimy hands while kowtowing and offering profuse thanks. The Taiyi Sword seemed to think this was a brilliant idea. It quietly slipped its hilt into Chou Bodeng’s hand and rubbed against his palm, clearly seeking praise.
He was a master of all the prodigal arts, from cockfighting to dog racing, but knew nothing of the practical skills needed to earn a living.
What else could he do but beg?
Chou Bodeng’s expression was unreadable.
He forced a sound through his gritted teeth. “You might as well just ask me to die. After all, eighteen years from now, I’ll be a hero again.”
He shook the Taiyi Sword so hard its loose scabbard skin flaked off. The sword frantically tried to pull itself free. But Chou Bodeng refused to let go, his grip so tight his knuckles cracked.
As man and sword were locked in a tug-of-war, a commotion suddenly broke out on the street.
A steward in green robes was tearing down an old notice from a wall and posting a new one.
A crowd gathered to look, whispering among themselves. “Looks like they failed again. There are too few high-level cultivators in Fu City.” “Look, look, the price is even higher now! A whole thousand taels of gold.” “A thousand taels? Of gold? Only the Liu Clan could offer such a sum.” “If it weren’t for the Miasma Moon, they could probably hire an elder from the Mountain Sea Pavilion!” “…It also says that whatever the Liu Clan can provide, they will.”
The speakers were casual, but the listener was attentive.
Chou Bodeng glanced over. The notice read:
“To all High Immortals and Benevolent Heroes:
The young lady of the Liu Clan has been possessed by a specter. If there is one who can perform an exorcism, the Liu Clan will spare no effort to provide whatever is required and will offer a reward of one thousand taels of gold. We will not go back on our word.
Hereby posted.”
If it were just an ordinary ghost, a common cultivator at the Soul-Fixing Stage could handle it. But from the looks of it, the possession of the Liu family’s young lady was no simple matter.
“Looks like they’ll have to wait until the Miasma Moon passes and the four wilds open up to hire an elder from the Mountain Sea Pavilion. I just don’t know if the Liu family’s young lady can hold on until next month.”
“Are you kidding? If she could wait, would the Liu family be in such a hurry, raising the reward twice in three days?”
“…”
Chou Bodeng looked away, a strange smile playing on his lips as he addressed the Taiyi Sword.
“You probably don’t know what kind of person I am, do you?” he said, his tone suddenly pleasant. “Want to find out?”
The Taiyi Sword first stopped struggling, then, as if sensing impending doom, tried to pull him away from the spot.
“Make way.”
Chou Bodeng held the Taiyi Sword tightly and walked forward, his voice raised. The crowd of onlookers, seeing his brilliant red robes and noble bearing, subconsciously parted to let him through. Without wasting words, he strode forward and, with a swift motion, tore the notice from the wall.
Just then, someone recognized Chou Bodeng and cried out, “Hey! Isn’t that the one who tried to pawn the Taiyi Sect’s ultimate treasure… that… that…”
Weirdo.
The person didn’t dare say the last word to his face, but when the others looked down and saw the tattered sword in his hand, they understood.
—This was the very person from the joke!
The green-robed steward was stunned, watching blankly as Chou Bodeng walked up to him.
The Taiyi Sword, its struggle futile, felt deeply ashamed.
It played dead.
“Th-this…” The poor steward stammered for a long time, barely able to speak. “What are you doing?”
“Accepting the notice to perform an exorcism,” Chou Bodeng glanced at him. “Weren’t you the one who posted it?”
His features were striking. He usually spoke and acted with the spoiled arrogance of a clan disciple. But the corners of his eyes were long, his irises deep. When the daylight reflected in them and he glanced over nonchalantly, it was strangely like a longsword being drawn from the shadows, its blade flashing with a thin, cold light.
“Yes, yes, yes,” the steward nodded subconsciously.
“Then what are you waiting for? Lead the way.”
The steward, dazed, led him two steps forward before remembering. “May I ask your esteemed name, sir?”
The surrounding onlookers all strained their ears.
The red-robed youth held his sword, his voice lazy.
“Taiyi Sect, Chou Bodeng.”