Chapter 21 — One Breath

He did not know whether the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement was genuine. Though he was loath to admit it, with Pu Yi's methods, if the demon had wanted his miserable life, a crook of a finger would have sufficed—there was no need to fob him off with a half-true, half-false cultivation method. But given Pu Yi's perversity and twisted tastes, inventing ways to torment him was almost a certainty.

And yet, the demon Pu was usually quiet enough. Apart from forcing Zuo Yan to practice the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement, he did nothing else—no sign of torment at all. Zuo Yan could not read the demon, and still less could he fathom what Pu Yi's purpose actually was.

The demon Pu must have some purpose.

Sometimes this thought surfaced in his mind with perfect clarity and certainty. But whenever he racked his brains over it, he found himself facing a vast, boundless ocean—you never knew what lay hidden on the sea floor.

Perhaps Pu truly did want to help him. Zuo Yan knew how difficult it was to heal an injured consciousness. Were it not for the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement, whether his little life could still limp along was itself a question.

To blame the demon Pu, then, seemed utterly unreasonable.

One could only say that Pu's uncanny strangeness and perversity made him instinctively wary.

The most pitiful thing was that, either way, he had not the slightest room to struggle. Whether the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement was real or not, whatever purpose the demon Pu harbored, he had no means of resistance. Before a powerful existence as advanced as Pu, he was pitifully weak. The only thing he could do was grit his teeth and charge forward, hoping to glimpse a sliver of light.

If it truly was torment, then—already caught in the trap—he could either sink into Pu Yi's torment, or endure through it.

Damn it! How had he ever crossed paths with such a plague star?

Time trickled by, and with the intense suffocation came fear, surging up beyond all restraint.

His consciousness began to blur. He was fully aware that his legs were kicking frantically by instinct, trying to surface. But he had been sinking all along, and the distance to the water's surface was now far too great.

Am I going to die?

Even that thought seemed unable to complete itself. He drifted numbly, powerlessly, through the boundless sea.

No!

I cannot die!

He tried to struggle, tried to rouse his own consciousness.

But it was all in vain. Wrapped in suffocation, his consciousness slowly dispersed and dimmed.

Am I really going to die...

In his haze, he seemed to hear someone shouting.

"Do not forget!"

...

"Even in death, you must not forget!"

...

For some reason, these two lines—echoes he had always regarded as a nightmare—now acted like an invisible giant hand, abruptly dragging him back from his state of wandering spirit.

I cannot die!

With the last strength left in his entire body, Zuo Yan screamed soundlessly and madly within his heart! His body shook violently like a sieve; the veins beneath his skin swelled at a rate visible to the naked eye—black and thick, twisting like earthworms, covering his whole body, unspeakably horrifying.

The breath in his chest had grown exceedingly faint, then suddenly transformed into a candle flame—a flame that might be snuffed out at any moment.

Yet this faint candle flame became a spark that set the prairie ablaze, igniting his sea of consciousness—as if setting fire to firewood long cracked and soaked through with oil. Deep crimson flames, licking out their tongues, rolled forward across the ground of his consciousness. Grass and trees turned to drifting smoke in an instant; nothing could stop it.

In the blink of an eye, the sea of consciousness was like a burning hell, endless deep-red flames dancing in every corner.

The vivid, scorching red sea of fire danced wantonly. Upon the mysterious bluestone tombstone wreathed in dark clouds sat a strange, coldly sinister, handsome man—a stunning, ghostly image no one could forget.

The yin-gui rested on his knee, and the dense zither notes came like a violent storm, leaving one breathless!

The red sea of fire burned soundlessly. Beneath the hair that covered half his face, Pu's lips—thin as a knife's edge—curled imperceptibly to one side, as eerie and cold as ever.

Zuo Yan examined his surroundings with curiosity. Having broken through one breath, his perception of everything around him had changed considerably. It was hard to describe precisely, but it was as if his surroundings had been washed clean and made new. The sensation was most peculiar, and it took him quite a while to grow accustomed to it. Another change was his sea of consciousness, which had now become a vast, boundless sea of fire—no telling when it might go out.

Beyond that, he discovered nothing else. As for whether the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement held any wondrous secrets, he had never harbored such hopes to begin with. He was a fellow determined to become a spirit-planter—what did he need such a powerful consciousness for? So long as he passed this hurdle and kept his little life, he would be satisfied.

The game's too dangerous—this brother's not playing.

Recalling yesterday's peril, his heart still palpitated with lingering fear.

Still, now that the sword hanging over his head had vanished, he could finally breathe easy. He had firmly resolved that whatever the demon Pu gave him next time, he would not take it even if beaten to death. This bitter experience had taught him a profound lesson: trying to take advantage of the demon Pu was a sure way to court death.

Zuo Yan treasured his little life quite dearly.

The demon Pu did not seem to care whether he practiced the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement either, and spent every day guarding his newly bought yin-gui, playing with it in endless delight.

Though every time he saw that brand-new yin-gui—finer than the one in his own hands—his heart would ache with a dull pain. Ten second-grade crystal stones, gone down the drain just like that, and he could only gnash his teeth in hatred, his heart sour and his eyes brimming with tears, as he took back the old yin-gui the demon Pu was about to throw away—the very one that had been snatched from him before.

Favoring the new and discarding the old—that was another bad habit he had discovered in the demon Pu.

Then again, did the demon Pu have any good habits at all?

The Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement was like a small interlude in his life, and the demon Pu seemed to have put away his perverse quirks as well, quiet as a maiden—which left Zuo Yan rather unaccustomed. Of course, poisonous silent curses like "A monster's a monster—you think just because you keep quiet you'll turn into a woman?" were naturally indispensable.

What delighted him was his rapid progress in the five methods. He did not know whether it was because of breaking through one breath, but many places that had once been murky were now extraordinarily clear, easily accomplished.

He grew ever more diligent.

As for bizarre things like the Embryonic Breathing and Spirit Refinement, he had not the slightest interest. Methods like the Geng Metal Art, which could bring in solid crystal stones—those were his true favorites!

Like an ascetic, he lived an exceedingly dull life each day. He cultivated the Tenfold Righteous Heart Method to accumulate spiritual power. He practiced the various methods and finger techniques over and over without tiring—just as he had once cultivated the Lesser Cloud-Rain Art, he trained with mad fervor.

The greatest progress was in the Geng Metal Art. His Geng Metal qi-light was now the color of dark gold, its radiance restrained, and it could transform at will. Moreover, the Geng Metal qi-light had gained an air of austere majesty—faint though it was, in practical use its effect was doubled, which delighted Zuo Yan beyond measure.