Chapter 455: This Is Immortal

Chapter 455: This Is What an Immortal Is

Li Jun’s face was a waxen yellow, his eye sockets sunken deep. The tight-fitting battle armor he wore now hung strangely loose on his frame; the knuckles of his ten fingers protruded sharply, his flesh seeming to cling directly to his bones.

Essence and qi depleted, the Five Spirits wounded. This was the sequela of overusing explosive techniques like the Dragon-Tiger Devouring Art.

Though the battle just past had taken place within Baimo’s Ground Buddha Kingdom, the instant Li Jun’s consciousness returned to his body, the myriad methods he had employed within the kingdom erupted all at once, uncontrolled, like a breached dam releasing a flood.

Boiling, searing blood washed over Li Jun’s body again and again. On the heels of that clamor came a crushing weakness and exhaustion that seized his heart, making him want nothing more than to collapse and sleep.

First, he beheaded Zhang Qinglu; then, he slew Baimo.

The entire process of the battle in the Buddha Kingdom seemed effortless, crushing dry weeds and smashing rotten wood, presenting no great difficulty. But in truth, Li Jun had played nearly every trump card he possessed.

Had Zhang Qinglu, who fell into the Buddha Kingdom, not been left with barely a tenth of his abilities, or had Baimo abandoned her notion of subduing Li Jun sooner, the fight would likely not have ended so easily.

Leaving aside other factors, if Baimo alone had steeled her killing intent from the start, choosing to join forces with Zhang Qinglu, using the Buddha Kingdom’s illusions to conceal his figure and prevent Li Jun from closing in for the kill...

Relying on that vast host of Buddhist deities composed of karmic computational power, plus Zhang Qinglu’s Dragon-Tiger Talismans, Li Jun would have had his hands full.

If he truly fell into such swarm tactics, Li Jun would likely have had no choice but to wait slowly for Chen Qisheng and the others to breach the Buddha Kingdom from the outside.

But if that happened, Zhang Qinglu would have returned to reality as well. At that point, the Dao Sequences of Dragon Tiger Mountain, no matter how unwilling, would have pursued Baimo relentlessly to save face.

Even Zhang Qinglu himself would never let her go.

It concerned the sect’s reputation. If they couldn’t kill Baimo, Yang Long and the others, even upon returning to Dragon Tiger Mountain, would inevitably face the Heavenly Master’s investigation.

Baimo clearly understood this. So she deliberately let Zhang Qinglu die by Li Jun’s hand, hoping to borrow the deterrent of the Heavenly Master’s vengeance to force Li Jun into submitting to Sangyan Temple in exchange for protection.

Yet, this little scheme of hers—Li Jun, who had dealt with countless old foxes—had guessed eight or nine parts out of ten the moment he saw Zhang Qinglu dragged into the Buddha Kingdom.

So he simply went with the flow, seizing the chance while the Buddha Kingdom could not perform "Bingjie" (corpse liberation/escape), and slaughtered Zhang Qinglu in one stroke.

Regardless of killing or not, the blood feud between him and the Zhang clan of Dragon Tiger Mountain was already settled.

Cut the grass, pull the roots; otherwise, the grass grows again on the grave come next year.

A smile can erase kindness, but it cannot erase hatred.

This was a truth Li Jun had understood back when he was a muddle-headed Paoge (gang member) on Jiulong Street in Chengdu County.

For him, the purpose of drawing his blade had only ever been one thing: kill until they are dead.

As for those other ghostly, scheming thoughts—they are merely the seeds of one’s own destruction.

"Huu."

Li Jun slowly exhaled a breath of turbid air. Though his body and mind were utterly exhausted, there was not a trace of dejection between his brows. His form was withered, yet his bones stood firm; a cold, grim light burned in his eyes, sending a chill through Yang Long standing before him.

This man’s strength is even more formidable than I anticipated.

Yang Long felt not shock, but joy. The stronger Li Jun, the more correct his wager this time, the greater the harvest to come.

The self-satisfied thought had barely risen before Yang Long crushed it deep into his heart.

His opportunity had only just shown its first signs; it was far from the time to reap.

The pressing matter now was how to see this play through to the end, and to perform it brilliantly, flawlessly, without a single leak!

Thinking thus, Yang Long raised his head to glance at the dark, heavy firmament, cupped his fists toward Li Jun, and said: "Constable Yan, our entry into Osaka City this time was born of helplessness, not a deliberate intent to cause trouble for your side. I hope you can understand this, Constable."

"Under a low eave, one must bow their head; indeed, you cannot be blamed. But your Dragon Tiger Mountain isn't playing fair either—have you truly become a one-man show for that Zhang clan?"

Hearing this, Yang Long’s heart trembled; he dared not answer, only managing a bitter smile: "Now that the matter is concluded, I wonder if Constable Yan could let us brothers depart?"

"I’ve killed many Daoist Followers—some greedy and insatiable, some sinister and cunning, but most were posturing fools who thought themselves superior. One like you, who discerns right from wrong and dares speak up for a fellow disciple... this is the first I’ve ever seen."

Li Jun looked the bearded Daoist up and down with great interest, smiling: "The guest clerk of my Inuyama City Constable Office, Chen, is also a disciple of your Dragon Tiger Mountain. By rights, we should be family. Reaching this point of blades drawn... was not my intention either."

Yang chimed in agreement: "The Constable speaks true. In truth, we harbor no private grudges; we merely acted for the public good."

"Public good? Daoist, those words miss the mark."

Li Jun’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice devoid of courtesy: "The public good of our Brocade Guard is the Great Ming Empire. I wonder what your public good is? The Three Pure Ones, or that Zhang Heavenly Master?"

The moment the words left his mouth, the faces of everyone from Dragon Tiger Mountain darkened, and even Yang Long knitted his brows tight.

"We serve the public good of all under heaven, but you scheme for private gain—these two cannot be conflated!"

Everyone knows the so-called 'Empire' has long since become a mere facade, a gaming table where the great Sequences vie for profit.

What 'public good of all under heaven' is even more a joke.

Beneath the Sequences, all are ants; what do ants know of the public good?

But now Li Jun was forcibly draping this tiger skin over himself, and Yang Long and the others found absolutely no words to refute it.

"You wielded authority to commit violence in Osaka City, disrupted order, and caused massive innocent casualties. By the standard of public good, you all belong in the Brocade Guard’s interrogation rooms. For the gravest crimes, I fear a trip to the Imperial Prison awaits."

A single Brocade Guard Constable berating the Dao Sequences of Dragon Tiger Mountain in the street—and direct lineage disciples of the Nine Departments at that.

Even at the peak of the Brocade Guard’s blazing authority, such a thing would have been nearly impossible.

The Dragon Tiger Mountain crowd behind Yang Long felt a stifling humiliation; in all their years of cultivation, this was the first time they had suffered such an insult.

"How about it? Judging by your expressions, do you think this official speaks in error?"

Li Jun’s voice held shards of ice. The ever-competent Fan Wujue instantly understood, raising the Huben musket in his hand and roaring with a savage grin: "Brothers!"

*Clatter-clatter!*

The sound of bolts sliding home merged into a single roar. Behind the black, gaping muzzles were faces wild and arrogant.

"Who was it just now saying they’d kill us all to a man?"

From the crowd of Brocade Guards, the towering figure of Bo Gui lifted a hand to prop up the round helmet on his head, his bulging eyes locking dead onto Yang Gu.

"Was it you?"

In an instant, countless gazes converged. Yang Gu, who had long lost all sense of bodily temperature, suddenly felt the surrounding air grow several degrees colder.

The silent, shuffling steps of his fellow disciples moving away from him chilled his heart to the bone.

"I never said that!"

"Knew you’d deny it. Good thing I recorded it all."

Bo Gui flicked out a projection. The image showed the scene after Yang Ji’s death, where Yang Gu had uttered his vicious threats against the Inuyama Brocade Guards.

*Clang!*

Li Jun took the Embroidered Spring Saber from Fan Wujue’s hand and flicked a finger against the blade.

The crisp ring of the sword was like a death-knell tolling for a soul; Yang Gu’s face couldn't help but turn ashen.

*Pu-chi!*

A sudden, sharp sound of a weapon piercing flesh rang out.

Everyone turned their heads—only to see a flying sword buried hilt-deep in Yang Long’s abdomen!

"Junior Brother!"

Yang Gu’s pupils trembled violently. He instinctively moved to step forward, but was stopped by Yang Long’s raised hand.

"Constable Yan, my Senior Brother has lingered in the Yellow Millet Dream for years, rarely walking the mortal world. He knows nothing of worldly affairs, which is why he spoke nonsense."

Yang Long reached out and pulled the flying sword free. A spray of white blood splashed onto the ground just before Li Jun’s feet.

He clutched the wound in his abdomen, the searing pain of Dao‑Ji’s injury sending his vision into black spirals. “Consider this sword my apology to him. I wonder, Hundred‑House, might you grant us a chance?”

“Damn it, even a Taoist plays the gangster’s game? This fellow must be more afraid of Guan Er‑Ye than of the True Martial Emperor!”

Fan Wujou stared, his face a mask of astonishment, rooted to the spot. He longed to ask what world the other had traversed in the dream of the Yellow Beam, and, if possible, he too was curious.

It wasn’t only Fan Wujou; even Li Jun looked bewildered. He knew this was a staged act—Chen Qisheng had already sent him word. Yet he hadn’t expected Yang Long to fall so deep into the role, to the point of stabbing Dao‑Ji with a single strike.

“Anciently there were the Three Pure Ones as patrons; now a Daoist brother stands as my elder. I am humbled!”

Li Jun’s expression turned bold. “Though you Daoist masters erred at first, you have turned back from the path, ceased further crimes, and thus I may temper my judgment.”

Yang Long’s voice was hoarse. “Thank you, Hundred‑House.”

“Hold your thanks; I have not finished speaking.”

Li Jun waved a hand. “The death penalty may be spared, but a life sentence cannot be escaped.”

“Understood, I know the rules.”

From his sleeve, Yang Long drew a thin golden card, laid it upon a carved talisman, and sent it drifting toward Li Jun.

“The Dao‑Sequence Heaven‑and‑Earth Bank’s anonymous card can draw fifty million in treasure notes from the Yellow Beam at any time.”

A cluster of Long‑Hu‑Shan Dao‑Sequence followers stared, mouths agape at the spectacle.

“This is the Embroidered Guard? By God’s name, they’re nothing but marauding bandits!”

“The Daoist master’s future is boundless!”

Li Jun smiled and nodded, signaling Fan Wujou to keep the bank card safe.

“But you many of you, this sum alone will not suffice!”

“Of course not. It is merely travel money for the other Embroidered Guard brothers. I also carry a token of apology for the elder.”

Another carved talisman floated, slowly approaching Li Jun.

With a soft click it split, revealing a hollow interior that cradled an injection device.

“This was not plundered from my camp; it was a gift given to my master long ago.”

Yang Long’s face bore a perfect, fleeting grimace of pain. “Will this be enough to secure our departure?”

A belt of gold for murder and arson, a bridge repaired without a single corpse.

A fifth‑rank martial injection device—something Li Jun could never purchase, not even with all his martial points. Yet when a blade is pressed to another’s throat, the item appears in his hand.

The world is absurd, yet undeniably real.

Chen Qisheng had not concealed from Li Jun the tale of Yang Long’s destiny, so this injector was both a favor to the Long‑Hu‑Shan brothers and a greeting gift to Li Jun.

Li Jun had no reason to refuse; he needed the device, and a tool like Yang Long’s could become a clever stratagem against Long‑Hu‑Shan in the future.

The Daoist foundations—wealth, law, companion, earth—Yang Long seemed to have mastered the very notion of “companion.”

Li Jun cast a complex glance at Yang Long, then turned to Fan Wujou. “We’ll see you Daoist masters off.”

Upon hearing this, the faces of the Long‑Hu‑Shan crowd finally brightened.

Yang Gu, quick as a flash, seized Yang Long’s trembling form, lowered his voice. “Junior brother, I shall forever remember this kindness.”

“Enough talk; this place is no place to linger. Let us depart.”

“Is that all?”

Zou Si‑Jiu, arms crossed, watched for a long moment, his lips smacking in lingering satisfaction.

“So this is what they call a deity!”

Zou’s tone was flamboyant, his head shaking with delighted glee. Though he bore no grudge against Long‑Hu‑Shan, seeing the proud Dao‑Sequence men humbled was a private thrill.

“It seems your Yin‑Yang Sequence has not fared well these years; even a glimpse of spectacle brings you such joy?”

Yuan Ming‑Fei’s voice drifted in, soft and distant.

“What do you mean by ‘spectacle’? Did I not contribute to today’s outcome?”

Zou brushed his temples, smoothing his disheveled hair into a neat crest. “Besides, aren’t you pleased, Sister Yuan? The Sang‑Yan Temple lost a genuine bodhisattva this time, its main Buddha‑state machine.”

Yuan Ming‑Fei smiled wryly.

“But a true Buddha just perished like that?”

Zou’s tone tinged with worry. “It won’t be another ‘Li replaces Tao’ or a ‘golden cicada shedding its shell’ trick, will it?”

“The Horse King has already recovered her corpse.”

Yuan sneered. “And bodhisattvas rank in threes, sixes, nines. Sang‑Yan is neither Great Illumination nor Shaolin. A band of nuns who can earn money by simply lying on the ground—what grand tactics could they possibly wield? If they truly possessed such, Sang‑Yan would never have fallen into the martial order’s debauched revelry.”

“How dare she enter the Japanese district?” Zou asked, bewildered.

“Not because the tangled karmic calculations clouded her mind, but because she was foolish enough to be used as a gun without realizing it!”

Whenever Sang‑Yan was mentioned, Yuan’s resentment flared, her teeth clenched, and Zou felt a chill crawl over his skin.

At that moment, both looked up without provocation, eyes fixed on the heavens.

The night sky, heavy with cloud, had split open somewhere, revealing a brilliant star blazing within the rift.

Simultaneously, a carved talisman rose from Zhang Qinglu’s corpse, its dragon‑like script blazing, casting a radiant screen of light.

From it emerged a figure cloaked in a scarlet Daoist robe; his features were blurred, yet his eyes shone with a cold, indifferent gleam.

Yang Long, who had been arranging men to retrieve Zhang Qinglu’s body, froze in place, a bitter smile curling his lips.

Indeed, the sight was as foretold.