Fusang Sword Heart Diagram

Chapter 93 Ghost Market
He Zhan scoffed coldly, and his spirit blade attacked from all directions.

Before Ning Fusang, a vast spiritual energy condensed into a light blue barrier. With a wave of her sleeve, the barrier instantly shattered into countless fragments, disintegrating He Zhan's spiritual blade attack.

The longsword suddenly thrust out, bringing with it gusts of wind.

The sky full of red leaves were crushed into dust by the sword energy. He Qu looked at his father with worry. He Zhan looked solemn and raised his right hand in a circular motion, pushing out a black palm print three zhang high.

The palm print exuded a sinister aura that made people very uncomfortable.

Ning Fusang's eyes darkened, but her heart remained largely unmoved. Most rogue cultivators practiced demonic techniques.

Because the orthodox Taoist scriptures and techniques are kept by the major sects, unless one becomes a disciple of a sect, there is no opportunity to come into contact with these techniques.

However, the inheritance of demonic cultivation is scattered throughout the world. Anyone who encounters it can learn it; there are no barriers. Rogue cultivators usually enter the path by accidentally discovering some kind of demonic inheritance and agreeing to the other party's demands in order to obtain the cultivation method.

Most demonic cultivators are cruel and bloodthirsty, so their demands are nothing more than for the successor to kill a certain number of mortals and bring them to the place of inheritance.

Some demonic cultivators, having had mortal enemies in life whom they could no longer avenge themselves, would require their inheritors to swear a blood oath that, after mastering their techniques, they would seek revenge against their nemesis. If the nemesis was already dead, they would then seek revenge against the nemesis's descendants.

Therefore, the demonic cultivators fought amongst themselves, becoming a disorganized mess that could never unite as one. Naturally, they were suppressed by the righteous path and could only survive in the cracks where the righteous forces could not reach them.

Of course, righteous sects generally wouldn't go to great lengths to send people to eradicate these demonic forces.

Demonic cultivators are scattered throughout the world, and their numbers are endless. Sect disciples also need to travel in the world. If no space is left for demonic cultivators to survive, these sect disciples traveling in the world will probably never return.

Over time, no disciple dared to go down the mountain to gain experience.

Seeing his father unleash the Black Mountain Handprint, He Qu felt slightly more at ease. This was his father's ultimate move, incomparably domineering, and no cultivator of the same realm had ever survived it.

The black palm print, towering like a mountain, hurtled towards Ning Fusang. She gripped her sword with both hands, slashed downwards, and shouted, "Break!"

Winds rose from all sides, sword energy surged like a rainbow, and fiercely tore through the black mountain shadows.

He Zhan staggered back a few steps. The weakened sword energy was aimed straight at his face. He pressed his thumb against his middle finger and held it in front of him, forming a spiritual energy armor.

The sword energy struck the armor and dispersed in all directions, only stirring up a gentle breeze.

He Zhan breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, his spiritual armor suddenly dissolved, and a long sword emerged from his dantian.

Blood gushed forth like a fountain.

"Father!" He Qu cried out, scrambling to his feet and running over.

He Zhan gripped the sword tip with his bare hands and shouted at her, "Stop!"

In the blink of an eye, He Zhan had already realized what was happening. It was a Spirit-Breaking Needle! Only a third-tier Spirit-Breaking Needle could instantly pierce through the spiritual energy armor of a cultivator at the third level of the cultivation realm.

He had been careless; he had been hunting geese all day, only to have his eye pecked by one. He Zhan hadn't expected the girl to possess something like the Spirit-Breaking Needle.

“Father…” He Qu’s body froze, and he called out in a sob.

She kept looking back, her mind in turmoil.

"Why hasn't Brother Rongshan returned yet? Father was struck by a sword, and I'm just a first-level cultivator; I can't help him at all."

He Qu prayed silently that Rong Shan would return as soon as possible. At the same time, her hand, hidden behind her back, picked up a talisman and silently chanted an incantation: "Thunder roars, fire spirit rises, listen to my decree—"

"hack!"

As the last word fell, He Qu's eyes gleamed, and he unleashed a third-tier talisman, the Thunderfire Talisman!

In the instant the light of the talisman flashed, Ning Fusang drew his longsword, rolled up the talisman, and stirred it. The bright yellow talisman paper scattered and fluttered like falling leaves.

He Qu was dumbfounded. How could there be such a fast sword!
boom!
The remaining power of the talisman still took effect; a thunderous roar echoed through the sky as three bolts of fire lightning crashed down towards Ning Fusang. She raised her sword and slashed, sparks flying everywhere, and trees around her fell one after another. The forest fire spread for dozens of miles.

At that moment, a dark figure flashed out from the firelight, its eyes filled with a strange light.

"Brother Rongshan!"

He Qu saw his savior and shouted loudly.

The young man looked in the direction of the sound, his pupils dilated, and he asked in a hoarse voice, "Master is injured? Was it that girl who did it?"

"I'm going to avenge my master!"

Rong Shan was furious and immediately summoned his magic weapon, intending to enter the fire and thunder formation. He Zhan called out to him, "Come back! Don't act rashly."

"You can't kill her."

Even he himself had fallen. What use was Rong Shan, a mere second-level cultivator? He Zhan could see the situation clearly.

He Qu covered He Zhan's wound, her hands covered in blood, and said bitterly, "Yes, Brother Rongshan, we can't beat her. I've used up our only third-tier Thunderfire Talisman. The most urgent thing is to find a healer to treat Father's wounds."

Rong Shan glanced into the firelight, gritted his teeth and nodded, put away his magical artifact, and helped He Zhan leave the place.

*
Three days later.

The once breathtaking Danxia-colored forests were now shrouded in smog. Beneath the lightning-struck tree, a white figure slowly exhaled a breath of foul air and opened its eyes.

Ning Fusang brushed the soot off her clothes and stood up. This outfit was ruined again.

The cuffs and hem of the skirt were riddled with holes from sparks. Even after using a dust-removing technique to clean the stains off the clothes, the holes would still be there.

Ning Fusang changed into the clothes prepared in her storage bag. With a slight twist of her hand, a surge of spiritual energy swirled up the dust and transformed into a gray-white cloak, which fell into her palm.

Before coming, Ning Fusang had inquired and learned that there was a market nearby that was only open on the 15th of each month, also known as the Ghost Market.

The Ghost Market is a chaotic and disorderly place, filled with rogue cultivators, demonic cultivators, and even ghost cultivators. Disciples of sects like Ning Fusang are not welcome there.

Therefore, it is necessary to disguise oneself and act discreetly.

Ning Fusang did not travel by sword, but instead used a Swift Light Talisman. She stood on the barren mountaintop and looked into the distance.

The black mountains, like a ferocious dragon coiled up, occasionally reveal white things exposed—human bones.

Dark clouds obscured the moon, and the ghost market opened wide.

A chilling aura spread outwards, and the howling wind whipped Ning Fusang's cloak, making it flutter loudly.

One after another, cultivators rushed towards the ghost market.

Ning Fusang jumped down the hill and naturally blended into the crowd. As she passed the village entrance, she slightly raised her eyes; on the decaying wooden plaque, a few words were indistinctly carved.

It seems to be the Moon Festival Village.

On either side of the half-zhang-wide wooden door hung sheep heads and various animal bones and hides, and a strong smell of blood wafted through the air.

Ning Fusang had only taken a few steps when she stepped on paper money used for offerings to the dead. She pressed her palm down, and a small whirlwind swept away the bright yellow, round paper stuck to the sole of her shoe.

Looking around, the houses here are all built of mud, with broken walls and weathered walls. All kinds of banners are hung high.

Unlike ordinary markets, the vendors here don't hawk their wares. Even when they want to trade, they communicate through telepathy, making the entire ghost market deathly silent.

(End of this chapter)