Chương 63: The Market of No Return (2/3)

Then, he didn't channel a single ounce of Qi—which obviously he couldn't.

He merely engaged his [55 Might] and [55 Physique]. His muscles hardened like carbon fiber beneath rain-soaked cloth, the sheer physical density of his flesh generating terrifying mechanical torque through tendon and bone. The sensation was familiar—controlled, surgical. He pressed his thumb forward against the blade's edge with methodical precision.

With a sharp, agonizing SNAP, the jian fractured down the middle, a hairline crack spiderwebbing across the perfectly tempered steel like lightning frozen in metal. The sound rang out in the enclosed space—high-pitched, wrong, the death-cry of a masterwork blade never meant to break.

Ah?

This time even the personal attendant, Ruo'er, gasped—a sharp intake of breath that punctured her carefully maintained composure. Her eyes widened before she could stop them, one hand lifting slightly as though to reach out, then catching herself mid-motion.

Meanwhile, Su Yin's pupils dilated, obsidian depths suddenly vast, then narrowed to pinpricks; the smile on her lips froze for a heartbeat, delicate porcelain features locked in disbelief. Could… even body cultivators do that?

She was bewildered.

Unlike Shi Yan, who was completely oblivious to the true value of what he held, she knew the jian in his grip was actually Relic-grade—a treasure that lesser cultivators would slaughter entire families to possess.

He is breaking a Relic-grade weapon with bare flesh, without channeling a single defensive or offensive technique! That was… monstrous.

"My path is not the orthodox path of Qi," Shi Yan continued smoothly, tossing the ruined, priceless sword back onto the mahogany desk like discarded garbage. The broken blade clattered against polished wood with a hollow, insulting finality, metal fragments scattering across the surface beside spirit stone towers and silk robes.

"Nor the demonic one. Instead, I walk the path of body refinement." His voice remained level, matter-of-fact, as though he'd done nothing more remarkable than snap a dry twig.

"What I rely on is not subtle technique, but force."

His pale gaze did not shift from Su Yin's face, reading her reaction through the gaps in his woven veil.

"When I strike, I do so with the strength of flesh and bone. Ordinary spirit swords are too light, too brittle, and many cannot endure my power. If I use them, they will break before the enemy does." The words carried the weight of experience—lessons learned through shattered weapons and near-death failures.

He pointed toward the severed demonic arm resting on the floor—or was it the desk? The massive limb lay there regardless, obsidian scales gleaming dully in amber lamplight, grave-cold radiating from mottled purple-grey flesh.

"So I do not need some flying sword, nor a weapon meant for strange arts.

"What I need is weight.

"What I need is hardness.

"I need a heavy weapon that can withstand my strength, one fit to smash apart beasts and cultivators alike without breaking." Each requirement was delivered like a mission briefing—clear, specific, non-negotiable.

Shi Yan stopped speaking, and this time, to convince them beyond doubt, he spread his arms wide in a gesture of openness—rainwater dripping from the edges of his sodden dark cloak onto the carpet below.

"But it's not like I have a problem with my Qi."

As he spoke, the pressure of Late Stage Tier-1 cultivation rolled off his body like heat from forge-fire, spreading wide rather than directed—a demonstration, not a threat. The spiritual weight pressed against the air itself, disturbing the smoke-trails of cassia incense, making the amber lamplight flicker as though touched by an invisible wind.

On the other hand, Su Yin stared at the cracked sword lying broken on her desk, the pieces of his alibi falling perfectly into place in her mind like jade tiles completing an intricate puzzle.

As I expected—an extreme Body Cultivator. Her pulse gradually steadied, though her breathing remained shallow, controlled. Everything fits. The resistance to spiritual pressure. The monstrous physical strength. The complete disregard for orthodox treasures.

"I understand," Su Yin said softly, her voice regaining its former silk-smooth quality. She took her seat once more with fluid grace, settling into the chair across from Shi Yan as though the fractured Relic-blade between them were nothing more than a broken teacup.

Her dark eyes fell upon the demonic beast arm—whether on floor or desk, it commanded attention regardless—from which dark, corrosive blood still dripped with a faint, venomous hiss where it ate into wood grain, shallow divots spreading like disease.

"If you seek a weapon of such heavy and violent nature, then the standard forges of the Flesh-Forge Pavilion will not serve you," she said, folding her hands before her with deliberate calm. Her nose wrinkled almost imperceptibly as another wave of sulfurous stench rolled across the desk. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Those who refine orthodox weapons would ask too many questions about the origin of this thing." She gestured vaguely toward the severed limb without touching it, maintaining careful distance from its toxic presence.

"And with the Yin aura within it being so heavy—so deeply saturated with demonic essence—ordinary refining flames may not even be able to temper it. Most mortal smiths would die simply attempting the work."

She paused, letting the weight of that reality settle between them like a stone dropped into dark water.

"But there is one place that does not ask questions."

Reaching beneath the table, Su Yin's slender fingers sought out a hidden compartment—there was a soft click of mechanism, wood sliding against wood with well-oiled precision. From within, she drew out a heavy black-jade token, its surface carved with characters that seemed to drink in light rather than reflect it.

The token was rectangular in shape, dark as the deepest night, cold to the touch even through her sleeve. The moment it appeared above the desk's edge, the light in the room seemed to dim perceptibly, amber lampglow retreating as though the flame itself recoiled. A chill spread through the air like winter's first breath, cold enough that a thin layer of frost began to gather upon the nearby mahogany, crystalline patterns crawling outward from where her hand would set it down.

"This is a Shadow Writ," Su Yin said, placing the black-jade token upon the table with reverent care, avoiding the pools of corrosive demonic blood with practiced precision. Frost spread from beneath it in delicate, branching patterns.

"And a Black-Ops Proxy Contract. If you accept it, then I will tell you how to enter the sealed ground beneath Cloud-Mirror Sect's back mountain." Her obsidian eyes fixed on his veiled face, gauging, measuring.

"I will also provide what aid I can from the shadows—spirit stones, medicine, talismans, and any preparations needed for your journey into that cursed place."

Her voice remained steady, business-like, though her fingers traced the edge of the frost spreading from the token.

"When the time comes, I can further arrange for others to create disorder outside the mountain. Whether they live or die is not your concern. Their purpose will only be to draw away the eyes of Cloud-Mirror Sect—to bleed their attention outward while you move within." She spoke of lives as though they were currency, spent without hesitation for strategic advantage.

She looked directly at Shi Yan, leaning forward slightly so the amber light caught the sharp angles of her porcelain features.

"In return, you will enter the Shattered Realm before their Sect Master succeeds in refining another Crimson Pearl. You will find that so-called Celestial Marrow—the treasure they guard more fiercely than their own disciples' lives."

Her voice lowered, dropping to barely above a whisper, intimate and dangerous.

"If it can be taken, then bring it out.

"If it cannot, then destroy it."

The room seemed to grow heavier, air thickening as though the walls themselves pressed inward. Even the sound of rain against paper windows felt muted, distant. Ruo'er stood motionless in the background, hardly daring to breathe.

"So long as that thing does not fall into the hands of Cloud-Mirror Sect, their hopes of rising further—of challenging the City Lord's authority—will be broken like shattered porcelain." Su Yin's lips curved in something too cold to be called a smile.

"As long as they remain beneath the City Lord's suppression, the Vermilion Pavilion will also remain safe. Our position, secured."

She let those words settle for a long moment, watching them sink into Shi Yan's awareness like stones into deep water before speaking again.

"But this must also be made clear." Her expression turned cold, all warmth draining from her features until she resembled a beautiful statue carved from ice.

"If you fail, if you are seized by their formation masters, or if someone searches your soul and extracts the truth from your spiritual sea, then my Pavilion—and the Silk & Ash Chamber—has no connection to you whatsoever."

Her dark eyes did not waver, holding his pale gaze through the veil with predatory directness.

"From beginning to end, you will be nothing more than a wandering cultivator who trespassed into forbidden ground and died there. Your name will be forgotten. Your fate, unremarked. The world will never know you carried our banner, even in shadow."

The black-jade token sat between them, frost spreading across mahogany like creeping death.

Shi Yan listened in absolute silence, his breathing steady and controlled beneath the sodden weight of his dark cloak.

An autonomous black-ops mission. Zero extraction plan. Deniable asset status. Massive hostile military presence with unknown capability assessment. His mind categorized the parameters automatically, years of tactical training parsing threat vectors and operational constraints. Extremely high probability of KIA.

It was a suicide mission by any standard military metric—the kind of op that got redacted from after-action reports and left families with closed coffins and lies.

But unlike in his past life as a soldier, bound by oaths and chain of command and the grinding machinery of war, this time it was a choice. He could refuse. Or accept.

And a Celestial Marrow...

One of his eyebrows rose with interest beneath the shadow of his bamboo hat, rainwater still dripping slowly from the woven brim.

Is that perhaps… like a walking bag of [Dao Embers]? Perhaps the system can absorb it? Convert it? If it's truly a treasure of that caliber, the return could be— He cut the thought short, forcing discipline. First came capability assessment. Then mission acceptance.

But regardless of his internal calculations, the offer was already sufficient for his needs. From the start, he had intended to accept some version of this arrangement—but with much more profit extracted, better terms negotiated, higher compensation secured.

Of course, at his core, he was still a soldier.

And a seasoned soldier never signed a deployment roster without rigorously checking his gear first—verifying equipment functionality, confirming supply lines, ensuring every contingency had redundancy built in.

"A reasonable arrangement," Shi Yan replied, his tone infuriatingly calm, devoid of the righteous indignation or terrified hesitation Su Yin usually saw flash across cultivators' faces when confronting probable death. His voice carried neither eagerness nor fear—only cool professional assessment.

"However, I do not give my word before I have seen the weapon with my own eyes."

He looked down at the dark, frost-covered black-jade token resting on corroded mahogany, its surface now rimed with ice crystals that caught amber lamplight like captured stars. He made no move to take it, hands remaining still, deliberate.

"I will not answer you now. Once the weapon is forged, and I have tested whether it suits my hand—whether it can withstand my strength without shattering—I will decide whether to accept this matter." The words were delivered with the flat finality of military protocol: no commitment without confirmed capability.

Su Yin let out a soft, exasperated sigh that stirred the poisoned air between them, one slender hand rising to press fingers briefly against her temple as though warding off a headache. But then, the more she looked at him—this rain-soaked figure in sodden cloak and woven veil, unmoved by treasure or threat alike—the more she felt she could predict his answer.

He really is not a native of this land. Something fundamental separated him from every other cultivator she'd manipulated, bargained with, or destroyed. And even beyond my understanding regarding body cultivators—his behavior defies every pattern I know. Interesting.

In many cases, most rogue cultivators would have snatched the Shadow Writ immediately, eyes gleaming with greed, salivating at the vast financial backing of the Chamber, intoxicated by the promise of glory and advancement. They would have kowtowed, sworn oaths, proclaimed undying loyalty—anything to secure such backing.

Yet this man remained utterly unmoved, caring only for the tools and preparations that might keep him alive, as though all the great schemes and hidden storms of the cultivation world—sect politics, ancient grudges, territorial wars—had nothing whatsoever to do with him.

It was deeply infuriating that he did not act as she wished or predicted, refusing to follow the script she'd written in her mind.

But it was also exactly why she found him curious, compelling in a way that defied easy explanation. How far would he change as time moved on? What would break him—or would anything?

"Very well, Daoist Shi. I expected nothing less from a man of your profound caution." She picked up the black-jade token with careful fingers, frost crackling softly as she lifted it, and slid it across the mahogany surface—pushing it closer to him, the carved rectangle leaving a trail of melting ice in its wake.

"Take it anyway. This black-jade token is not merely a contract; it acts as a map engraved with spiritual essence, and more importantly, a ferryman's token"