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The Wanderer (Xianxia)
31. A Dead Man Walking

31. A Dead Man Walking

Chapter 31

A Dead Man Walking

Xue Feng's chest heaved with exertion, every ragged breath feeling like blades in his lungs. He raised his gaze towards the serene oldster, eyes burning with equal parts fury and disbelief.

This frail ancient had effortlessly danced through his most devastating techniques as though they were a nursery game! Just who...what in the hells was this man?!

Old man Han simply met his stare with a paternal quirk of those bushy brows, seemingly oblivious to the killing intent still smoldering in Xue's eyes.

"So then, young man… won’t you answer this old man’s question?" He stroked his wispy beard contemplatively.

Xue swallowed hard, nostrils flaring as he shot another furtive glance over his shoulder. Damn this meddling geezer - every moment wasted here put him at greater risk of capture.

But something in those ancient, glinting eyes gave him pause. A sense of...weighty curiosity. As if the old man had already deduced far more about Xue's plight than he let on.

Squaring his jaw, Xue met that penetrating stare head on.

"I..." He hesitated, giving one last futile scan of their surroundings before pressing on in a low growl. "I stole the formula for the Celestial Ascendance Pill. From Southern Edge's inner sanctum vaults."

He waited for the inevitable recoil of shock or disgust. But instead, Han's expression remained utterly impassive, almost...intrigued. As if he'd been expecting such an answer all along.

"A curious deed indeed," the old man murmured at last. His tone took on a deceptively mild lilt as he cocked his head. "Might I ask what madness possessed you to attempt such a brazen theft, young man? That guarded formula is sacrosanct - its secrets are the birthright of none save Southern Edge's most exalted Inner Disciples."

A muscle jumped in Xue's jaw as he forced the words out through gritted teeth.

"That...formula belonged to my ancestors first. I am one of the last surviving disciples of the White Soul Sect." He spat out the words like a venom. "Its techniques and legacies are my birthright - not those thieving cultists who leech from our forgotten ways!"

For the first time, Han's serene countenance finally cracked - eyes going wide with genuine shock.

"The...White Soul?" He breathed the words like a sacred oath, suddenly looking decades older in an instant. "Impossible...their lineage was shattered, their teachings eradicated over twenty six centuries ago! How could any have survived..."

Xue's own eyes narrowed to slits as he watched the cogs visibly turning behind that ancient brow. He could practically see the oldster's mind rapidly reassessing him through this new, weighty context.

Finally, after what felt like an agonizing eternity, Han seemed to reach some unspoken decision. Settling back with an inscrutable expression, he refocused that piercing gaze on Xue with undisguised solemnity.

"Regardless of your...humble origins, you must understand the folly of this errand." A weary sigh, heavy with something like...regret? "You cannot outrun their hunt forever, young disciple. Not with the pawns they've set in relentless pursuit."

Xue felt his throat constrict as realization set in like a torrent of ice water. The old man...he knew. He knew about the pursuit - about the methodical forces arrayed against him at this very moment!

Panic warred with a sudden, bone-deep dread as the implications sank in. His fingers instinctively inched towards the dagger sheathed at his belt. This crafty ancient might be his only chance to slip their net!

But Han clearly read the desperation in his eyes. Raising a placating hand, he simply shook his head - projecting a strange, almost...pitying calm.

"Be at peace, my son. I am not your danger here - nor do I seek to bar your path any further." His tone remained gentle...fatherly, even. "But you must realize the truth of your predicament. You have run far, but their spirit-tracking talisman will not release its hold so easily. Not for one of your talents."

Spirit talisman...? Xue's eyes blew wide, pieces slamming together with jarring inevitability. When? How? The questions lingered in his mind for a few seconds before it clicked. When he saw Xi Jianyu descending from the heavens earlier, he noticed the ever annoying smile the young man always wore even during Xue's time as an infiltrated agent in the Southern Edge sect's walls.

Xue felt the sweat gliding down from his forehead, and before the drop could touch the ground, it clicked. His smile... he saw me running away. Xue concluded.

If what this old man was saying was the truth, then the Rising dragon must have affixed some insidious lock to his very essence during his escape from the festival.

Which meant...

Swallowing hard, Xue felt the fight bleed out of him like a sieve. His shoulders slumped - years of desperate exertion in the enemy's base and narrow brushes with death finally crashing down in a smothering wave.

Sinking to his knees, he stared up at the master with hollow, resigned acceptance.

Han regarded him with a solemn nod, something unreadable flickering behind those ancient eyes.

There was a reason Xue Feng lost his fighting spirit.

Talismans - those deceptively potent tools of the cultivator's trade. To the uninitiated, they might seem like mere slips of inscribed paper or intricately carved tokens. But any seasoned practitioner knows the fearsome potential bound within those intricate etchings and runes.

You see, talismans are more than just inert artifacts - they are precise matrices channeled and encoded by a cultivator's spiritual essence. Conduits through which their very soul-force can be projected and manifested into powerful, lingering effects.

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And in the hands of a true master talismanist? Well, those arcane glyphs could become chains as unbreakable as any forged of steel. Bindings that can ensnare an opponent's spirit itself with insidious, invisible tendrils.

The spirit-tracking talisman was one such fearsome working. Created with consummate subtlety, it attached itself to the very essence of its target, burrowing deep like a malignant seed.

Most poor souls never even sense the tendril taking root unless they've transcended the higher realms. Once that binding is set, it becomes part of their spiritual DNA - an unshakable anchor point through which the caster can eternally track their quarry, no matter the distance.

The true insidiousness, however, lied in how stubbornly that karmic link persisted.

One might flee to the ends of the earth, but unless they gained enlightenment and sever the talisman's grip through heroic convergence of mind and soul, or, if they were lucky to notice it soon enough… they would have to sever the limb that had been touched, that ghostly chain will remain, twined about their spirit until the end of their days.

Xue Feng knew all too well the horrific implications of this dire working. To be the recipient of such an indelible tracking lock...

Hanging his head, the words escaped his lips in a ragged exhalation. "Where...where has it taken root, Venerable master? If I am to have any chance of evading my hunters..."

The ancient master's expression was unreadable, yet full of quiet remorse. As if the very question pained him.

"Upon your neck, I fear."

Han's words were low, filled with grim finality. "The major sects’ talismanists are diligent, if nothing else. They've ensured their binding can only be removed...by the most extreme of measures."

Xue closed his eyes, fists clenched until the knuckles shown pale as stone in the moonlight. So it was to be like this - he had eluded the pursuit for so long, only to have his hopes dashed upon these unforgiving rocks at the last.

Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the old cultivator, mouth set in a resigned rictus smile.

"I see..." Every battered syllable carried the weight of a death knell. "Then I am already a dead man walking."

Xue closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddering breath, fingers unconsciously tracing the hilt of his blade.

Well...when the choice was death or submission, at least this path allowed him to retain a sliver of his honor intact.

As the weight of his predicament threatened to drown Xue in hopeless resignation, Han's voice cut through the stillness.

"Before any rash actions..." The old man settled cross-legged on the loamy earth, motioning Xue to face him. "Indulge an old man's curiosity."

Xue lifted his gaze, finding Han's expression inscrutable yet intense.

"Tell me of your White Soul Sect. How did their lineage endure after the Purge?"

Xue blinked, thrown by the apparent non-sequitur. But something in those piercing, ageless eyes rooted him to the spot. Slowly, almost unconsciously, his posture softened as the story spilled forth in a weary rasp.

"During the war, we were scattered - broken..." Bitterness laced every word, contorting his features. "After the mad demon’s massacre, when we were at our lowest, they turned on us without warning. Our closest allies rent our sanctuary asunder and stole our most guarded techniques!"

His fists clenched, tendons straining against weather-beaten knuckles.

"One Elder and two Senior Disciples were all that remained after the slaughter. Forced into the shadows, they nurtured our dying spark for decades - rebuilding our traditions from ruin through shadowed visions..."

Gradually, the tension bled from Xue's frame as that impassioned recounting washed over the mountain path. He stared unseeing at the mossy boulders underfoot, lips trembling around the ancient names and legends.

"It was my ancestor, Xue Shang, who finally restored our lineage - piecing together the unbroken methods from his master's dying breaths. Generation after generation, we have carried that sacred torch while the usurpers squandered our hard-won gifts in ignorance..."

Finally, the words faded into silence - only the ambient night chorus remained. Blinking away the shroud of bitter memory, Xue refocused on the old man across from him.

...Only to find Han regarding him with an expression of stunned disbelief. Those craggy features had fallen utterly slack, bushy brows practically up to his hairline.

"You..." The old cultivator's voice emerged a strangled rasp. "Xue Shang was your ancestor? He survived the Purge?"

Belatedly sensing Han's profound reaction, Xue felt his hackles rise with wariness. "You...you knew of him, Venerable? Of my White Soul lineage?"

For a long, drawn moment, silence reigned between them - thick and impregnable as ancient bedrock. Then at last, that wizened countenance seemed to...settle, Han's eyes drifting closed with a weary exhalation.

"I knew Xue Shang well, yes." His words were soft...almost inaudible over the rustling pines. "We were not friends, but he was a good man. Too good for this world."

Xue could only stare, struggling to comprehend this revelation.

"Who...who are you, Venerable One? You speak as if you walked amongst the founding Elders themselves."

His next words emerged as little more than a breathless rasp.

"Just...what manner of being are you?"

Han regarded him for a long moment. Then, with deceptive gentleness, he simply shook his greying head.

"One who should not still draw breath, child." A weary, fond smile pulled at ancient lips.

Exhaling a low rumble, Han refocused his gaze out towards the moon's soft glow.

"But...regrets and bygones are a waste of precious time." One gnarled hand waved in a shooing motion. "You mentioned your Sect's survival - tell me, are there others still carrying the White Soul's sacred flame? Aside from you, of course."

Xue met Han's piercing gaze, feeling an inexplicable trust. "There are. Before leaving the village, I anticipated this and made preparations."

His voice hardened with resolve. "I sent our core formula to my fellow disciples via messenger pigeon, as a safeguard. The original transcripts remain with me, so the Southern Edge Sect cannot suspect any leaks immediately."

A somber expression crossed Han's weathered features. "You did well preparing."

He sighed deeply. "I wish I could offer more aid, but engaging a disciple like the rising Dragon would put this entire village at risk from the major sects. And the attention of the emperor. That, I cannot allow."

Xue nodded solemnly. "I understand. With this spirit-tracking talisman, there is little to be done regardless."

He scanned their surroundings warily, sensing for pursuers.

"Do not worry, they have not begun their pursuit yet," Han reassured him.

Surprise flitted across Xue's face before he let out a loud, rueful laugh. "You've been here, in the village markets this entire time? I saw you but never imagined a cultivator of your power resided here."

"Hmm. It's a quiet life. One I would have never imagined I would enjoy so much myself." Han said, his face somewhat conveying sadness.

A cultivator who prefers life among mortals, huh... Xue thought. In that case, if it's such a man, maybe...

Relaxing, Xue eyed the old master. "Venerable elder. Do you have any wine left from the festival? I would share a final drink with you, share some information with you... I think you should know that, if you wish for this place to remain safe." His voice trailed off.

Han looked at him curiously at first, understanding Xue's words not as a threat, but a warning.

He then reached into his robe and produced an ornate ceramic bottle. "Plum wine, aged a century by my own hand. I intended to enjoy it under tonight's moon." A wistful smile played across his weathered features. "But sharing it with a descendant of an old ally would make it all the sweeter."

They settled more comfortably, Han pouring two cups of the rich amber vintage. As the wine's heady bouquet wafted between them, the tension bled from Xue's shoulders. He sipped slowly, savoring the mellow sweetness.

"During my short time here, I never heard of any other powerful cultivators besides Chief Zhen Wu." Xue's brow furrowed contemplatively. "I would not have guessed one of your prowess could really make this remote village their home. Among so many mundanes"

Han's eyes danced with mirth over the rim of his cup. "Ah, but there is one other peculiar being residing here. A most singular existence, the likes of which I've never encountered before."

Intrigue shone through Xue's wariness as he leaned forward unconsciously. " There was another? Who is this person you speak of?"

Han looked at Xue Feng and said. "That newcomer, Jon Li."