Chapter 85 — They Came Knocking

By the time Zuo Yan finished wrestling with the spirit field he had just rented and dragged his exhausted body back to the West Wind Courtyard, the sight of the little pink paper crane arriving almost in the same instant as himself made him want to roll his eyes back and simply faint dead away.

Could he help but wrestle with it?

Zuo Yan wept inside. But this matter did not yield to his will in the least; he could only be yielded.

"Master, I'm so bored. Let's play a game!"

Zuo Yan very much wanted to reply, "Brother really, truly, absolutely is not bored." But recalling the other's peculiar fondness for setting off "fireworks," he replied with the utmost calm and reason: "I don't know how to play games."

He did not think he had deceived her. He truly did not know how to play games. The word "game" was so alien to him that he might as well never have known it. From the very first moment he opened his eyes, his life had been doomed to forbid him the leisure of playing games and living easy.

But the other party, magnanimous and friendly and not in the least disdainful, said: "It's all right. This slave will teach Master."

Zuo Yan made a final struggle: "I'm a fool. I can't be taught."

Yet as countless times before, the other gave him no room to resist whatsoever. And so Zuo Yan was confronted with a continuous stretch of game rules some eight thousand characters long. This time, Zuo Yan truly did faint. Such difficulty, for one who was no lover of games, was a task utterly impossible to complete. He scanned it twice and decided to give up, saying earnestly and with all his heart: "I really am a fool!"

Still, considering the great likelihood of provoking the other, he weakly added: "Or else, why don't you find the simplest game?"

This time, what reached his hands was a set of game rules about two hundred characters long.

Eh? Zuo Yan's spirits could not help but lift. Was this not a formation problem? He read it over carefully once more and at last confirmed that it was indeed a formation problem.

Formations were a systematic discipline, and Zuo Yan, coming from a small sect, naturally had little experience of them. But in the Yijin Micro Sect, disciples studied formations from the simplest single-spirit formation to the Two Principles Formation and the Twin Origin Formation, growing gradually more complex. It was a rather lengthy course of study, and to aid the disciples, certain cultivators deeply versed in formations had compiled a whole system of study methods. Among these were various formation problems.

For instance, correction, for instance, filling gaps, for instance, optimization, and so on—names beyond counting, emerging one after another. In time, some cultivators became so enamored of this pursuit that they grew thoroughly addicted, creating formation problems of extreme difficulty. And among many disciples, these too often served as a game.

But to Zuo Yan, who had never played, it felt quite novel. The formation involved was not complex, and Zuo Yan had studied it before, yet the question posed was exceedingly tricky. For a time he could not help but sink into thought. The other seemed to know he was pondering and did not press him.

He thought for a long while and gained nothing.

Zuo Yan shook his head hard before he recovered a measure of clarity. In his heart he could not help but click his tongue. Was this what those Yijin Micro Sect disciples played at? He could not help but feel a touch of envy. No wonder they were so formidable—even their games were formidable things.

Still, he decided to set the thing aside for now; he had much else to do. Games—he could play a while in his spare time. In any case, that damned woman was not urging him now.

Zuo Yan entered the stone chamber to cultivate the Embryonic Breathing Spirit Refining and the gravestone version of The Diamond Subtle Words.

After cultivating, he drew the Dripping Water Sword from the spirit spring. Nourished by the spring, its luster was a shade more limpid than before. Zuo Yan stroked the Dripping Water Sword lovingly, reluctant to let it go, and began to refine it.

A flying sword requires a long time to refine before it can be wielded as though it were one's own arm, and to reach the point of following one's every whim takes even longer. A flying sword is like a sword cultivator's companion; the longer the time, the greater the rapport. Sword cultivators seldom switch flying swords lightly, and this becomes all the more evident after reaching the Golden Core stage.

Day after day of refining had not been wasted; by now Zuo Yan could wield the Dripping Water Sword like his own arm. It was of a higher grade than the Ice Crystal Sword and possessed greater spirituality.

At a thought from Zuo Yan, the Dripping Water Sword in his hand shot abruptly into midair. At the same moment he gave a clear cry, sprang off the ground, and rose.

The sword light flickered, roaming like a dragon.

In midair, a flame as though composed of water shed a faint radiance. Wherever the sword light went, a trail of water-shaped flame followed, light and silent.

Zuo Yan was drunk with it. Cultivating the Parting Water Sword Formula with the Dripping Water Sword was an enjoyment beyond compare. As he practiced, his excitement mounting, he no longer confined himself to the formula; a pointing finger, a drawing gesture, and it was nearly impossible to trace. And amid the sword light, the cold, secluded Parting Water Sword Intent, faintly bearing a touch of violence, rippled outward like tranquil water.

Gradually, the sword intent that rippled like water lost its lightness of flavor and gained a measure of weight and oppressiveness. With each ripple and swell, the force was full, and the violence that before had been latent now burned fiercely, as wind feeds fire.

Cold and secluded as ever, shot through with a fierce savagery, the two utterly contradictory sensations blended together, yet Zuo Yan seemed unaware of it, without the slightest discomfort.

Instead, on the Dripping Water Sword, that wisp of flame-like, nimble sword radiance gradually drew inward.

When Zuo Yan came back to himself from his state of sudden enlightenment, he realized that his Parting Water Sword Formula had unwittingly climbed another step.

Without much surprise, he stood silently and savored it in fine detail.

He could not now say just what layer his Parting Water Sword Formula had reached. The Parting Water Sword Formula was never a profound formula to begin with; even its creator was no formidable sword cultivator. That Zuo Yan could cultivate such a formula to this level might be called an anomaly. But the road beyond this he would have to grope out for himself, for his practice of the Parting Water Sword Formula ended here. Though the creator had written down some of his own speculations and conceptions afterward, many of them had been shot down by the Cattail Demon.

In terms of profundity, the Parting Water Sword Intent was far inferior to the Tide Sword Intent Zuo Yan had stolen and learned, yet this one he had comprehended himself, and it was also the sword intent he grasped most deeply! His understanding of the Parting Water Sword Intent far surpassed the Tide Sword Intent.

Perhaps he might also refer to the Tide Sword Intent to improve the Parting Water Sword Formula—a sudden stirring came to Zuo Yan's heart.

But it was only a thought. He was not so conceited as to think he could improve a sword formula. And his understanding of the Tide Sword Intent was mere skin and surface.

Just then, he suddenly sensed someone outside the valley. But the visitor was honest and did not trigger the restrictions.

At the mouth of the West Wind Valley.

"Senior Brother, the Xuanyao Sect people have come again!" The one bringing word was the same outer sect disciple as last time, but there was not a trace of last time's panic on his face; instead he wore a look of excitement.

"Again?" Zuo Yan was stunned.