The puppet blinked and shed tears!
Xu Cheng felt as if struck by lightning, his scalp tingling, his mind blank, a tingling sensation crawling up from the base of his spine.
The late night, the heavy rain, the ruined temple, the dead bodies, and the puppet that blinked and wept—these elements composed a bizarre and terrifying scene.
Have I encountered a ghost? Have I really encountered a ghost?
Just as Xu Cheng’s soul seemed to fly out of his body, a flicker of light appeared in his vision. A raindrop, reflecting the campfire, slid down the comical puppet and splashed onto the ground, merging seamlessly with the previous damp stains.
“It’s just that the old temple has fallen into disrepair, with slight leakage from the roof. A single drop of water happened to fall on the puppet, creating the illusion of blinking and weeping. I was just scaring myself…” Xu Cheng let out a deep breath, but suddenly froze. “Puppet? Puppet!”
The head escort Miao of the Four Seas Escort Agency was killed over the Sword Puppet… The comical puppet on the roof beam… One of the Four Marvelous Books…
Three thoughts surged in his mind, igniting a fireworks display in the darkness, illuminating it with dazzling colors.
Could it be that I’ve seen the legendary Sword Puppet? The very same one containing two sets of peerless sword techniques?
This deduction and conclusion were perfectly reasonable!
Thump, thump, thump! Xu Cheng’s heart raced, his mouth dry.
“Cheng’er, what’s wrong with you?” Shang Jiuming had opened six spiritual passages, his senses sharp, and he quickly noticed Xu Cheng’s abnormality.
Xu Cheng was about to speak of the Sword Puppet when suddenly his master’s previous words surfaced in his mind: every time the Sword Puppet appears, it brings with it bloodshed and horror, causing all sorts of hideous and terrifying events. Because of it, fathers kill sons, sons kill fathers, disciples slaughter each other, and even lifelong friends turn against one another. Moreover, he had only just opened his eye passage, still far from his master’s level. If he obtained the Sword Puppet, his master would certainly take possession of it, spending time meditating and studying it, leaving only scraps of time for him—or even worse, the master might change his teaching methods altogether. Perhaps…
Greed is like fire—just a spark can ignite the prairie. Xu Cheng’s thoughts swirled, and in the blink of an eye, he followed the voice from his heart:
“Master, aside from Chief Escort Miao, the other escort leaders had formed a semicircle, apparently trying to encircle and attack, but were all slain with a single sword stroke.”
“Just one sword strike, and six skilled martial artists lost their lives. Just thinking about it sends chills down the spine. What kind of sword technique is this? It’s like a ghost or a god!”
He attributed his strange behavior to this explanation.
Shang Jiuming understood Xu Cheng’s feelings and nodded slightly: “Even I, who have immersed myself in sword techniques for thirty years, feel a chill in my heart, unable to match such skill. Unfortunately, our sect’s sword techniques are incomplete, making it difficult to recreate the profound mysteries of the two legendary sword arts—Zhen Xie and Jing Shen. Otherwise, such techniques would be nothing extraordinary.”
“Exactly! Even such an incredible swordsman fights to the death over the Sword Puppet, clearly indicating that his sword techniques are still far from reaching the level of Zhen Xie and Jing Shen!” interjected Shang Lingxi, clearly proud after learning that their sword techniques originated from the Sword Puppet.
The sword techniques represented by the Sword Puppet were like legends to the current martial arts world… Xu Cheng swallowed hard, trying to calm his heart while deliberately averting his gaze from the comical puppet to avoid drawing his master’s attention.
By midnight, the rain gradually eased. Unwilling to invite trouble, Shang Jiuming urged his daughter and disciples to rise and leave the ruined temple that very night.
After about the time it takes to drink half a cup of tea, a figure suddenly appeared at the temple entrance—handsome, likable, and exuding laziness. It was clearly Xu Cheng returning after pretending to leave.
He had excused himself for diarrhea, hidden in a secret place, and hurried back, fearing the Sword Puppet might vanish.
Lifting his head, he saw the comically grinning puppet still lying quietly on the crossbeam. Xu Cheng exhaled in relief, joy surging through him. He lightly stepped forward, soaring like a swallow, and grabbed the puppet.
No sooner had he landed than a blur appeared before his eyes. A faintly purple hand swept toward him, snatching the puppet away.
“Master!” Xu Cheng blurted out, startled.
His master Shang Jiuming had actually been following him!
Shang Jiuming’s face lit up with delight as he chuckled: “I sensed something odd earlier, and then you suddenly had diarrhea halfway. I’ve raised you for nearly twenty years—how could I not have suspicions?”
The Sword Puppet! It really was the Sword Puppet! Never did I expect it to remain here!
His gaze fell upon a palm-sized puppet with a tall body and a comical grin. On its surface were numerous holes corresponding to different acupoints on the human body, with sword marks indicating the flow of true energy. But the most noticeable feature was the inscription of fourteen characters:
“Tomorrow at noon, atop Sunset Peak, shall we duel with swords? Will you come?”
Each character was simple and ancient, exuding a sense of strength. One couldn’t help but notice the basic strokes—horizontal and vertical—revealing the precise force used in swordplay. Yet, when the entire fourteen-character inscription was viewed as a whole, each stroke came alive, like chess pieces forming a grand dragon or stars composing the Milky Way. It formed an overwhelming, inescapable formation, exuding an aura that pierced the heavens.
Shang Jiuming suddenly felt as if he were trapped in a deadly situation, as if a long sword were thrusting toward him in an unavoidable manner. Cold sweat broke out on his back, and his right hand trembled slightly.
What an incredible sword technique! What a brilliant formation! After regaining his composure, Shang Jiuming almost cried out in admiration. All the doubts and constraints he had previously encountered in sword practice vanished like mist. So this is how one wields the sword! So this is another way to wield it!
Could this be the “Zhen Xie Sword Technique” of the Sword Emperor? Reflecting, Shang Jiuming flipped the puppet over. On its back, beneath the black hair, sixteen tiny characters were carved:
“Grateful for your guidance, I shall never forget. With sword as my pen, I record my path and seek the Dao together.”
The moment he saw these sixteen characters, Shang Jiuming’s mind buzzed as if every stroke had transformed into a sword beam slashing toward him—some as elusive as fragrance in the wind, others as swift as lightning, some rugged and ancient, others nimble and subtle, some heavy as mountains, others light as gossamer. Each stroke displayed its own charm, complex yet orderly, encompassing the vast sky, converging into a smooth and harmonious whole, as if crafted by divine hands, revealing indescribable brilliance and subtlety.
As the sword beams struck him, cold sweat poured like rain. If he were truly facing such a sword technique, Shang Jiuming felt he would have died nine times already. Yet now, he experienced an epiphany. All the sword techniques he had practiced before now surfaced in his mind, revealing previously unperceived subtleties, approaching a state of complete understanding.
Hearing his master’s words, Xu Cheng was drenched in cold sweat, nearly losing his soul. He hurriedly said: “Master, I was momentarily blinded by greed and not intentionally deceitful. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will gladly accept!”
Shang Jiuming gazed deeply at him: “A son’s failure is the father’s fault. Since your parents are gone, your master stands in their place. Therefore, it is my failure in teaching you. The Sword Puppet is not something that must be monopolized. Do you think I wouldn’t teach you after obtaining it?”
“Upon returning to the mountain, you will face the wall in penance for a year, and this incident must never be revealed.”
Xu Cheng’s face flushed with shame: “Your disciple humbly obeys your command.”
Looking at his bowed figure, Shang Jiuming’s eyes flickered between menace and affection. After a long struggle, he ultimately did not draw his sword.
Firstly, killing his disciple here would raise suspicion of some hidden treasure. Secondly, after raising him for so many years, their bond was deep, making it impossible to go through with it.
Meng Qi’s consciousness was trapped within the Sword Puppet, relying on faint senses to perceive the outside world. At this moment, thoughts surged in his mind, pondering what he should do next.
Although he had left a legend in this world, it was still vastly different from leaving a true imprint. How could he transform legend into an imprint? He had no idea yet and needed to keep experimenting rather than waiting idly to find the right path.
More importantly, his consciousness was slowly being assimilated by the puppet. If he didn’t sever the connection and choose to return, he might become lost forever in this realm. Therefore, time was pressing—he must experiment quickly.
First, he must ensure that the puppet’s wielder focuses on practicing his sword techniques, strengthening his own imprint!
…
Shang Jiuming sat alone in a room, intently gazing at the Sword Puppet in his palm.
For him, choosing which sword technique to focus on required no deliberation. The Sword Emperor had left behind a method for circulating true energy that complemented the “Zhen Xie Sword Technique,” offering both internal and external cultivation to elevate his cultivation. In contrast, the Jing Shen Sword Technique was merely a sword form.
After careful contemplation, Shang Jiuming placed the Sword Puppet on the table before him, continuing to contemplate and attempt cultivation.
As he closed his eyes and began circulating his blood energy, the comically grinning puppet suddenly trembled, laboriously flipping over to reveal the Jing Shen Sword Technique on its back.
After a while, Shang Jiuming opened his eyes: “Hmm, why is it facing backward?”
He had clearly been contemplating the Sword Emperor’s teachings on the front!
His gaze lingered on the sixteen characters symbolizing the Jing Shen Sword Technique before he flipped the puppet back over and resumed his previous practice.
Fifteen minutes later, he furrowed his brow, filled with confusion:
“Why is it facing backward again?”
How many times had this happened? He couldn’t possibly keep making the same mistake!
The doors and windows were closed, with no wind to cause it. Could the puppet have flipped itself?
Instinctively, Shang Jiuming closed his eyes, pretending to circulate his energy. After a few breaths, he suddenly opened them—but the Sword Puppet was still facing forward, showing no sign of having turned.
Perhaps I was too immersed earlier, imagining that I hadn’t turned the puppet?
Still puzzled, Shang Jiuming closed his eyes again, this time truly beginning cultivation. After a while, he gained some insight and opened his eyes.
The moment he did, his pupils constricted violently—because the Sword Puppet had flipped again, facing backward, drawing his attention to the sixteen-character inscription of the Jing Shen Sword Technique. Unconsciously, he began mimicking the sword movements.
Meng Qi lay still, secretly smiling to himself: Trying to trick me? Not a chance!
Shang Jiuming’s expression gradually turned serious as he muttered: “Every time the Sword Puppet appears, it brings with it struggle, slaughter, and bloodshed. Could it have absorbed resentment and malevolence, gaining some strange will of its own?”
A chill crept into his bones, unsettling his mind as he murmured: “Should I soak it in fecal water to drive away evil, or use incense and offerings to neutralize it…”
Fecal water… Meng Qi hesitated and decided to try a different approach.
After that, Shang Jiuming never again encountered the Sword Puppet mysteriously flipping over on its own.
In the deep silence of the night, his breathing was slow and steady, lost in dreams.
In a hazy vision, a white-robed figure appeared before him, standing proudly on a bridge, sword in hand, back turned to him. Instantly, it captured his entire attention, making him forget everything else, as if this figure were the sovereign of heaven and earth itself.
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