Chapter Eighty-Three: The Way Begins to Command Spirits

A deafening roar erupted a hundred yards before her, making Qin Menglan’s delicate frame tremble as she vanished once more into the frigid Azure Cavern.

Deep within the cave, an ancient beast opened its blood-red maw, revealing rows of razor-sharp fangs. Its emerald eyes glared with murderous intent at Lin Feng, while its body, sheathed in blue-black scales, shimmered with an eerie glow. Had its hind legs not been shackled by a chain engraved with golden sigils, the monstrous creature would have leapt upon them long ago.

It was a Spirit Nigi, a primordial beast. To think that such a supreme creature was imprisoned in the Azure Cavern.

No one knew what had provoked its fury. Within the cave, the air twisted and darkened; a tempest howled, sweeping streaks of blue light toward the unwelcome intruder. Crystal ice spears rained down, shattering against the rocky walls with thunderous force.

Lin Feng, battered and pale, stood defenseless. He could hardly retreat, and in desperation, he crushed the Heart-Link Flower to send a plea for help.

“Beast!” A sharp, feminine rebuke rang out as gossamer sleeves fluttered through the air—it was none other than Fairy Furong, Qin Menglan.

The ancient beast’s roar dropped to a low growl, its eyes burning even brighter as it backed away, the chains clattering against the stone floor.

Qin Menglan cast a surprised glance at Lin Feng before waving her hand—the two of them vanished from the cavern.

“Nephew, it seems your cultivation has made great strides. But tell me, what did you do to so enrage the Spirit Nigi?” On the Tide Sound Terrace, Qin Menglan’s voice was gentle.

“Master-Aunt, I do not know. I was simply curious and walked over, not expecting to anger it,” Lin Feng replied, puzzled. He could not fathom the cause, though he bore several unusual items. Which one had provoked the beast, he could not tell.

Qin Menglan studied him a moment longer. “Your master is no doubt waiting anxiously. Come with me up the mountain to see him.”

Lin Feng nodded promptly.

When they returned to Sky Pillar Peak, Yan Dongjue was already waiting upon the Cloud Platform, a barely perceptible smile on his lips. After bidding farewell to Qin Menglan, he gazed up at the starlit sky and spoke lightly, “Now that you have formed your foundation, tomorrow you shall accompany me to your Grand-Uncle’s to seek a fitting spirit weapon. This is our sect’s Spirit Commanding Art of Cultivation—a fourfold scripture. Study it well henceforth, and strive to surpass your senior brothers.”

The Spirit Commanding Art of the Hundred Flowers Sect was said to be first created by Patriarch Qianye and refined by generations of masters. It encompassed the four realms of Initial Essence, Purified Essence, Condensed Essence, and Returned Essence—a profound method to harness heaven and earth and ascend toward immortality.

Yan Dongjue handed the four-leaf scripture to Lin Feng, his face solemn. “Among all righteous sects, our Spirit Commanding Art is the most refined. Remember: keep it secret and destroy it once you have committed it to memory—never pass it to another. In your cultivation, guard against haste, greed, and ambition, lest you incur heaven’s wrath. Tomorrow I will teach you more methods, but it grows late. Rest now.”

“Yes, Master. I shall obey your teachings,” Lin Feng replied joyfully, clutching the scripture and bowing deeply.

With a wave, Yan Dongjue turned and strode toward the main hall atop the mountain.

---

Lin Feng watched his master’s retreating figure, his heart brimming with delight and excitement. Only after a long while did he suddenly come to his senses, dashing back to his quarters in great spirits. There, he opened the scripture and began to memorize it.

The Daoist arts, using spiritual power to commune with the heavens, comprehend the mysteries of creation, form the core, birth the spirit, divide and wander, and ultimately transcend the tribulation—all of these were described within the manual. The path was founded upon transforming spiritual energy, seeking perfection through the Dao, and overcoming tribulations to attain the Great Way.

Newly initiated, Lin Feng threw himself into his studies. By dawn, he had memorized the scripture dozens of times over, hardly realizing it had been days since he last slept—nor did he feel the least bit weary.

...

Dragon Auspice Peak, before the Pavilion of Hidden Treasures. Recalling the spectacle the last time the pavilion opened, Lin Feng’s heart surged with excitement. Now, accompanying his master, his emotions were even harder to contain.

“Dongjue, have you come to seek a spirit weapon for him this time?” The Guardian Elder Ji Wujian’s figure was unseen; his calm, unruffled voice echoed from all directions.

“Yes, Master-Uncle,” Yan Dongjue answered respectfully at the door.

“Enter,” came the tranquil reply. In a flash of golden light, splendor unfolded before them.

Hundreds upon hundreds of magical weapons and spirit artifacts dazzled with radiant light, either arrayed on shelves or floating in midair, each vying for attention so that the eye could hardly settle. Not far ahead, an old man in plain robes sat cross-legged on a mat, his expression serene, seeming one with the very space around him.

“Disciple greets Master-Uncle,” Yan Dongjue bowed, gently pulling Lin Feng to follow.

“Disciple Lin Feng pays his respects to Grand-Master Uncle,” Lin Feng stammered, bowing his head in haste.

“Very well. Among these spirit artifacts, select one. If in the future you wish to exchange it, you must wait for the pavilion to open again and use contribution points to trade. Go on.” Ji Wujian spoke with his eyes closed.

“Aren’t you going to thank him?” Yan Dongjue gave a cold huff. Lin Feng, who had been staring at the floor, finally understood and quickly expressed his gratitude.

Ji Wujian hummed softly in response and said no more.

Yan Dongjue gave a slight bow, then drew Lin Feng aside and whispered, “You have only one chance. Look carefully and choose wisely.”

Lin Feng nodded repeatedly, his emotions surging as he wandered the enclosed hall, gazing at the myriad treasures. For a moment, he was utterly at a loss.

The treasures seemed somewhat disorderly, as if not yet properly arranged. There were flying swords, spears, knives, and axes—offensive weapons; also Daoist robes, defensive capes, and suits of armor; as well as ropes, pagodas, golden seals—unusual artifacts; and even many spirit devices whose names he could not recognize.

---

Walking through the grand hall, he wished for ten pairs of eyes. Some spirit weapons were labeled: Azure Stream Sword, Waning Moon Blade, Purple Sash Cloud Robe, Beast-Binding Rope, Submerged Water Vase... There was also a heap of nameless, scattered spirit artifacts.

Having learned from past experience, he no longer paid attention to the unlabeled treasures. After circling the hall, he approached the rack holding the bladed weapons. The Eight-Treasure Gold-Carrying Spear and the Black Gold Armor-Piercing Spear he had previously admired were nowhere to be found. Then he realized: each item here was unique—no two were ever the same.

Suddenly, his eyes fell upon a Serpent Spear, long as eight feet. He was about to take it when a thought struck him—his master favored disciples skilled in swordsmanship, and his own Cloud-Phantom Sword Art had reached some proficiency. Why not choose a flying sword? There would be time to earn a treasured spear later.

Resolving thus, he turned his gaze to the row of swords, finally selecting a seven-foot black sword named “Mo Yan.” Cradling it in his hands, he approached the two elders.

Yan Dongjue’s eyes brightened, and he nodded approvingly.

Grand Elder Ji Wujian opened his eyes and spoke slowly, “This sword once belonged to our sect’s thirteenth leader, Xue Renchuan. Now that it is yours, you must bring glory to our name—do not disgrace us.”

Lin Feng nodded. “Yes, I understand.”

Ji Wujian nodded slightly, then said to Yan Dongjue, “Go to the Illusory Sea Pavilion and procure him a Mustard Seed Pouch.”

“Thank you, Master-Uncle. I was just about to request it,” Yan Dongjue replied, a rare smile touching his lips.

“Very well, go,” the elder said, and with a wave of his hand, the two vanished from the space.

Outside the Pavilion, Yan Dongjue glanced at the delighted Lin Feng and coughed lightly. “Spend some time here familiarizing yourself with the Object Control chapter of the Spirit Commanding Art. When you can ride your sword back to Sky Pillar Peak, come and find me.”

“Yes, Master,” Lin Feng replied absentmindedly. Only after Yan Dongjue departed did he realize what had just been said.

“Riding the sword?” He stared in awe at the ink-black Mo Yan Sword in his hand, utterly dumbfounded.