Chapter Fifty-Four: The Celestial Phenomenon of Qianzi

The young man’s hair was ashen gray, his face deathly pale, utterly devoid of color—it seemed as though every drop of blood had been drained from his body. A finely-crafted dagger was embedded in his chest, its blade pointed directly at his heart like a venomous serpent. As his complexion grew even paler, the dagger pulsed with a crimson glow, as if it were greedily devouring the last of his lifeblood.

A man dressed in purple frowned deeply, casting a wisp of violet energy from his fingertips toward the dagger. The violet aura entwined with the blade, locking the two in a stalemate, but the man’s expression betrayed his growing difficulty. Suddenly, a stream of gray mist shot forth, fiercely colliding with the dagger. The violet energy instantly dissipated, unable to resist. The dagger, no longer held in check, was expelled from the young man’s chest under the onslaught of the gray mist and hovered beside him. In a flash, the gray mist vanished from the young man’s chest.

The man in purple uttered a soft exclamation, his gaze sweeping over the young man as if to see through him completely. After a long moment, the man sighed in resignation. He drew his finger across his own wrist, a line of purple blood arcing toward the young man’s wound. The blood seemed to possess miraculous properties—the wound closed before the naked eye, healing with astonishing swiftness. The man expended much of his blood before the young man’s wound was fully mended. Yet, the young man remained ghostly pale, and the man in purple had grown just as pallid.

Panting heavily, the man in purple summoned several wisps of violet cloud from the horizon with a wave of his hand. The clouds swirled around the youth, then slowly streamed into his nostrils. Gradually, color returned to the young man’s cheeks. The man in purple sighed, then stepped out of the room.

Violet clouds drifted idly between the mountains. Fields of small purple flowers blossomed beautifully across the hillsides. Leaning against the railing, the man in purple watched the distant sky in silence, lost in thought. The garden lay desolate and still, devoid of life, yet in the corners and beneath the eaves, a few small purple flowers persisted.

Serenity is always vulnerable to disruption. A shrill cry broke the silence as a streak of red light descended into the garden, resolving into a man in scarlet robes. With a courteous smile, the man in red approached, cupping his fists in greeting. “Greetings, Master-Uncle. The Seven Divisions’ Grand Tournament is approaching in ten years’ time. May I ask if the Violet Division will participate?”

Though the man in red worked to conceal it, a proud arrogance still lingered on his face, which did not escape the eyes of the man in purple. Yet the man in purple merely smiled as if well accustomed to such attitudes. “You must be Hong Yuan?”

Seeing the man’s affable manner, Hong Yuan’s pride only became more pronounced, his demeanor entirely unlike that of a junior addressing a senior. “Indeed, I am Hong Yuan.”

The man in purple smiled lightly. “Truly, a talented youth, a hero among your peers.”

Pleased by the praise, Hong Yuan’s smile widened. The man in purple continued, “Please give my regards to the sect leader—tell him that the Violet Division will take part in this Seven Divisions’ Tournament.”

As he spoke, the man in purple cast a glance, seemingly unintentional, toward the room. Hong Yuan’s smile disappeared at once—he had clearly not expected this answer. For centuries, the Violet Division had always abstained; their participation now suggested some hidden confidence.

Of course, Hong Yuan did not press the matter. He merely smiled and said, “In that case, I shall take my leave.” The man in purple watched silently as the red light vanished into the distance.

Twilight had fallen, the sunlight tinting the violet clouds, threatening to turn them red. The man in purple waved his sleeve; at once, veils of violet cloud gathered from nowhere, shrouding the sky in layers of purple.

Suddenly, a fit of coughing sounded from within the house. The man in purple hurried inside.

The young man was already sitting up, looking around in confusion. The man in purple entered and greeted him with a gentle smile, “Su Fan.”

Su Fan exclaimed in surprise, “Daoist Liu?”

“You may call me the Elder in Purple,” the man replied.

“Elder in Purple? The head of the Violet Division of Tianyuan Sect?” Su Fan’s suspicion deepened.

The Elder in Purple smiled. “You are indeed in the Violet Division of Tianyuan Sect.”

Su Fan’s confusion only grew. The elder asked, “Would you be willing to join my Tianyuan Sect?”

Su Fan forced a bitter smile. “I have no wish to join any sect. I only want to return to an ordinary life.”

The Elder in Purple pressed, “Do you not wish for revenge?”

“How?” Su Fan asked quietly.

The Elder in Purple answered, “The so-called Grand Immortal of the Three Sovereigns is an empty title; at best, his cultivation is at the early Nascent Soul stage. If you join Tianyuan Sect, I am confident that with our strength, avenging you would be a trivial matter.”

Su Fan said nothing.

The elder continued, “That Grand Immortal harbors a deep hatred for you. Without the protection of Tianyuan Sect, you would likely be killed by him the moment you step outside.”

With a wry smile, Su Fan replied, “That sounds just like what Nameless said.”

The Elder in Purple looked helpless. “You are not yet healed. If you wish to leave, you may do so at any time. But if you want to survive, you must stay here and recover first.”

Su Fan gave another bitter smile, watching the elder depart.

The room was elegantly appointed, saturated with spiritual energy. Each breath Su Fan took filled his dantian with warmth and brought comfort to his entire body. He quickly sat cross-legged in meditation, drawing in the abundant energy around him. Since his cultivation had advanced, his body’s former resistance to spiritual energy had all but disappeared.

Meanwhile, the jade pendant continued to refine energy on its own, so it was as if Su Fan were cultivating with double the effort.

Unconsciously, Su Fan’s body began to emit a faint violet glow. With no lamp lit in the room, the light was all the more distinct.

Dawn broke, a streak of violet cloud rising on the horizon. Su Fan had long since opened his eyes. With the pendant’s healing and the elder’s earlier aid, his injuries were no longer a concern.

Stepping outside, Su Fan soared into the sky. Hovering in midair, he bowed deeply toward Violet Cloud Peak before slowly flying off into the distance.

Mount Tianyuan was vast; even after flying for a long time, Su Fan was still within its bounds. He finally landed and continued on foot. The birds in the mountains sang cheerful songs, as if serenading him, but Su Fan had no heart to listen. All he wanted was to return his father’s coffin to Longshi Village and bury him alongside his mother. His mood was heavy—perhaps he was incapable of feeling anything else.

His path was blocked by a man in yellow robes, reeking of powder and perfume, though his bushy beard made for a ridiculous appearance. But Su Fan could not laugh. The man’s eyes blazed with murderous intent, and without a word, he summoned a silver needle in his hand. Su Fan hurriedly asked, “What is the meaning of this, Senior?”

He recognized the man: years ago, when Su Fan visited the outer disciples’ cultivation cave, he had once seen this yellow-robed figure silently kill a low-level cultivator.

Now, seeing him again filled Su Fan with dread. He wanted to flee, but it was clear the yellow-robed man had come specifically for him. Su Fan was alarmed—could it be that the man knew of Er Gou’s death?

The yellow-robed man offered no explanation, instead hurling the silver needle at Su Fan. The needle was forged of condensed spiritual energy, and his cultivation far surpassed Su Fan’s. This strike would be fatal.

Yet Su Fan refused to die so senselessly. He slapped his storage pouch, summoning a golden crossbow. Pouring spiritual energy into it, a violet arrow formed. There was no time to ponder the change—he loosed the arrow in haste. The violet arrow shot toward the silver needle like lightning; at their collision, the needle shattered, and the arrow dimmed before dissipating as well.

The yellow-robed man’s rage deepened, his face twitching with fury, as if only Su Fan’s death could appease his wrath. He launched another salvo of silver needles.

In a flash, three needles hurtled toward Su Fan. He barely managed to conjure another arrow, but could not ready another in time. In desperation, Su Fan formed sand swords with incantations, sending them to intercept the needles.

Yet the needles seemed insubstantial—as if the sand swords struck only empty air. The three needles slipped past the attacks and streaked toward Su Fan’s chest.

With grim resolve, Su Fan hurled the sand swords at the yellow-robed man. Intent on controlling the needles, the man had not expected Su Fan’s reckless counterattack. The swords slashed his clothes to tatters, but the needles were halted, suspended in midair, enveloped in a red mist.

A voice, clear as silver bells, rang out: “A Nascent Soul cultivator, and yet you would attack a junior at the late Foundation Establishment stage, leaving yourself in such a sorry state? If word of this spread, Uncle, you’d be the laughingstock of all six divisions.”

At this, the yellow-robed man did not grow angry; instead, his face showed wariness. “Hong Ling.”

The woman replied, “Indeed, it is I. For my father’s sake, Uncle, will you not let this young man go?”

Su Fan immediately realized she must be from the Red Division of Tianyuan Sect—by her words, she was likely the daughter of the sect leader.

As she spoke, a woman in orange robes stepped from the void, a red sickle in one hand and several spirit herbs in the other—her glance told Su Fan at once that these were rare, precious plants.

The yellow-robed man hesitated, his face troubled. “This boy killed my disciple.”

“Er Gou, was it?” Hong Ling asked.

He nodded.

Hong Ling looked at Su Fan, then suddenly laughed. “So it was you.”

Su Fan met her gaze, puzzled.

“Do you remember the trial for outer disciples that year?” she asked.

Su Fan’s memory stirred—she was the woman who had disguised herself as a man and forfeited their match. He could not help but smile faintly. “Now I remember.”

She smiled at him, then turned to the yellow-robed man. “Your disciple was always troublesome, offending many of his peers in the sect. That Su Fan killed him—it was only a matter of time.”

The yellow-robed man’s expression grew cold. “Er Gou was my disciple. Even if he was at fault, it was up to me to discipline him, not some outsider. Hong Ling, you would side with an outsider against me?”

Hong Ling replied unhurriedly, “How is he an outsider? Can you not see the Heavenly Violet Aura on him? Clearly, he is now a disciple of the Elder in Purple.”

Su Fan was puzzled—what was this Heavenly Violet Aura?

The yellow-robed man scoffed, “Nothing but a bit of violet energy. The Elder in Purple has always favored aiding low-level cultivators. A trace of violet energy is nothing unusual.”

Hong Ling flared. “Uncle, I must save him. Will you let us go, or not?”

The yellow-robed man suddenly laughed. “Go, both of you.”