Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 371: Ritual (1)

Jeong Yeon-shin narrowed his eyes.

"Is this truly the Nine Sects?"

The Tang siblings lay buried on the mountaintop. This was no place for idle talk of a duel invitation. Whatever the reason may be.

He suddenly noticed the faint, prolonged exhale of Tang Unhwang beside him.

The internal breathing of Inverse Primal Three Yang Technique, a technique that allows the practitioner to contain three types of poison within their body. Though it was an unusual courtesy toward him, the Tang Clan was known for its exclusivity and cold disposition.

"The head of the Emei Sect... With this, Eminence has now truly joined the ranks of those who lead entire factions."

Tang Unhwang offered a faint smile, his gaunt face betraying no warmth. Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head slightly.

Then, he listened.

His senses were exceptionally keen—innate talent, Jeongga Donggong, and rebirth through reformation.

He could exert a degree of Thousand-League Earth Listening Technique, the sensory ability cultivated by assassins in elite pursuit squads.

A minute flow of Nengbeop Gwangryun Energy was always coiled around the Ear Gate Acupoint, making it possible.

From below, he heard murmurs—conversations among the followers of the Nine Sects.

"I was wondering what they were talking about, but their behavior is excessive."

"Pardon?"

"It's not as if the Daoist Code forbids worldly etiquette. Have they been training in the mountains for too long?"

"What do you mean?"

"They’re acting presumptuous. It would have been far better to make a quiet request."

"They were simply expressing their urgency. And what about you, Little Sword Queen? You’ve done nothing at all..."

"Enough. Don't speak any further."

With that, the gap between the two groups shrank, and before long, Jeong Yeon-shin met the gazes of three individuals staring up at him from below.

Two of them were familiar—the young Daoist and the noble nun. Jeok Un-ryong of the Qingcheng Sect and the Golden-Clad Saintess of the Emei Sect.

In the center stood a woman with a jet-black sword at her waist. A swordswoman clad in a crimson silk Gyeongjang, its finely pleated fabric complementing her graceful movements.

Her long, obsidian hair cascaded past her waist, the strands meticulously arranged as if forged like a blade. She carried an air of refined precision throughout her entire being—befitting the foremost disciple of Wudang Sect, one of the Nine Sects.

"I greet Lord Tang and Lord Bright Wing. I am Chui So-ok of the Wudang Sect."

Her hands came together in a disciplined salute.

Her downturned eyes bore a gentle, kind expression, but few in the martial world would underestimate her despite that.

Unlike other regions, Sichuan paid less heed to the imperial court’s influence, and within its borders, Chui So-ok was openly regarded as a future Duke of the Sword.

"It has been quite some time since we last met at the Martial Alliance Assembly in Hanzhong, hasn't it?"

Retracting her salute, Chui So-ok asked.

Jeong Yeon-shin gave a slight nod.

Something felt off.

He was already acquainted with Little Sword Queen Chui So-ok, yet her demeanor today was far more deferential than during their first meeting.

She showed no difference in how she addressed Lord Tang and himself.

"She’s young. Has she matured?"

Jeong Yeon-shin thought little of it.

Then, unexpectedly, Chui So-ok bowed her head.

"I had no intention of speaking of a duel invitation in the midst of mourning. First, I apologize to the members of the Tang Clan. And, of course, to Lord Bright Wing, who must have held the departed in great regard..."

"There must be a grave matter at hand."

Tang Unhwang muttered briefly.

To Jeong Yeon-shin, his voice carried no discernible intent, yet in an instant, fleeting tremors crossed the faces of the three Nine Sects followers.

A testament to the overwhelming martial prowess and renown of the Eight Family Heads.

Only then did Jeok Un-ryong realize his mistake. Cold sweat formed on his nape, but the attention of the gathering had already shifted far from him.

"Does Eminence have business with me?"

"It’s a matter I’d like Lord Tang to hear as well. Of course, the words of the Emei Sect’s Abbess are meant for Lord Bright Wing alone."

Jeong Yeon-shin inwardly tilted his head.

"You’re quite meddlesome. Isn’t the nun behind you also a disciple of the Emei Sect?"

He remarked, his gaze briefly flicking toward the Golden-Clad Saintess, who stood silently behind Chui So-ok.

A faint curve formed in Chui So-ok’s eyes—a fleeting hint of mirth.

"The Hanzhong Martial Alliance has long since collapsed due to the death of Zhuge Gaju. It has been in shambles for some time now. I’ve been working with those I’m connected to, drawing a different picture. Gaining the trust of Qingcheng and Emei was no easy feat. The only real obstacle was Hu Gae of the Beggars’ Sect..."

"Not interested."

Jeong Yeon-shin cut her off flatly.

Swoosh.

As if she had expected that response, the Little Sword Queen unhesitatingly nodded and retrieved a document from her robes.

It was an ancient text, bound in fine silk.

"If I had my way, I would also take my time and pay my respects to the deceased. But right now, Sichuan is in chaos. Every moment you two let slip is worth a fortune to many."

Chui So-ok alternated her gaze between Jeong Yeon-shin and Lord Tang before continuing.

"The Tang Clan isn’t the only one that has been attacked. It’s been confirmed that, aside from the three Thirteen Heavens factions originally based in Sichuan, two or three more have moved in. If you count their subordinate sects and other minor factions, the total exceeds over a hundred. And they’re all scrambling to sow disorder."

"Disorder?"

Jeong Yeon-shin echoed.

"The famine has reached even this valley. It’s obvious what the demonic sects would do. Pillaging is a given, but they also raid rival sects, join the Thirteen Heavens in attacking orthodox sects, and treat the nearby commoners as nothing more than livestock to be harvested whenever they please."

The turbulent air of chaos.

Even as he had just emerged from the Dragon Constellation Formation, Jeong Yeon-shin had sensed it—there were few places untouched by conflict.

Then, Chui So-ok lightly tapped her palm with the rolled-up document. A gesture betraying her emotions.

"Lately, reports of such incidents have strangely dwindled, but who knows? It could very well be the calm before the storm."

The conversation continued, detailing how armed factions—Blade Sect, Yeo Ryeong, and yet another Thirteen Heavens force—were clashing all over Sichuan.

As turmoil deepened, even warriors from outside the province were inevitably being drawn in.

"And so, I’ve devised a small but significant plan."

Chui So-ok spoke.

"The two of you are the most esteemed warriors among the more temperate figures in Sichuan. Lord Bright Wing, revered as the Sword of the People, whose martial prowess is second only to the Little Invincible. And the Emei Sect’s Abbess, hailed as the incarnation of Maitreya. I propose that you both publicly display your martial strength before the world."

That was the purpose of the duel invitation.

Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head.

"Weak."

"...Pardon?"

"Can you even write properly?"

Even if she possessed only half the literary skill of the Divine Scholar of Ipwang, it would have been preferable. He muttered to himself internally.

***

Sichuan, Mount Emei

Under the sunlight cascading over the lush blue-green ridges, a thick plume of acrid smoke drifted from the peak of the mountain.

The characteristic clarity of the sacred mountain had long since faded.

All that remained was the occasional crackling of embers, spitting out blackened ashes.

Deep within the peak, even the temple had been reduced to ruins. Both its inner and outer courtyards lay in devastation.

At the temple entrance—

Dozens of warriors exuded a formidable presence, armed with swords, staffs, spears, and exotic weapons.

Some stood atop the temple’s eaves, while others sat cross-legged on the ground, regulating their breath.

A man missing an arm, a woman with shattered ribs, an old man coughing up blood... Not one among them was unscathed, yet the energy radiating from their bodies was fierce and untamed.

They carried the air of hardened hunters.

"Where is the Left Guardian?"

"You mean the Left Guardian of Guimun, that is, the Golden Dawn Sect?"

"Would I be referring to another? That man has irritated me ever since he first stood idly at the gates. And you—you're far too slow-witted to be a messenger of Yeo Ryeong."

"I only asked because you spoke so assuredly. Lately, it is the Left Guardian of the Blade Sect who has been making his name known across the world."

"Don’t make me laugh. Your Yeo Ryeong disapproves of my sect’s actions, do they not? Do they take us for their puppets?"

"If ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) I have offended, I apologize."

"Hah!"

An old man with a great saber strapped to his back scoffed. He was Cheoljoo Shindo (Godblade of Iron Helm) Geum Hwi-cheol, the Right Guardian of the Golden Dawn Sect.

Before him stood a nondescript man in yellow robes.

Yet, the messenger of Yeo Ryeong was more preoccupied with scanning the surroundings than making eye contact with the Right Guardian. His words were directed at Geum Hwi-cheol, but his gaze wandered elsewhere.

Whooong—! Whooong!

The shattered inner courtyard of Emei Sect.

A golden Buddha statue flickered through the air, tumbling, twisting—dancing as if guided by unseen strings.

An exquisite display of telekinetic control.

It stemmed from a petite woman clad in crimson robes. With every subtle movement of her gaze, the sacred relic of the Emei Sect twirled and spun.

Beneath it, the temple's wooden signboard, engraved with the characters for Emei, lay split in two upon the ground.

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The air above it wavered translucently, heat radiating from the obsidian-black hair of the Golden Dawn Sect’s Master, which barely reached the nape of her neck.

From the jade horai flask in her hand, an intoxicating fragrance of aged wine wafted through the air.

"She slipped away."

The sect master muttered to herself. It was a remark directed at the missing head of the Emei Sect.

Without even glancing back, she gave an order to the messenger of Yeo Ryeong, who held a piece of parchment.

"Read it."

"...Y-Yes, of course."

The messenger, who had been staring at the Golden Dawn Sect’s Master in a daze, unfolded the document with both hands.

"The land has long since withered. The trees and grass are dying. Even though the times have changed and scythes are now more precious than swords, those who claim to possess great martial skills use their strength to steal the very food from the mouths of the common folk."

"Steal? Does my sect not own farmland?"

The Golden Dawn Sect’s Master tilted her head slightly as she asked.

The Right Guardian, Geum Hwi-cheol, who had been glaring at the messenger of Yeo Ryeong, spoke up.

"That was acquired about twenty years ago when we raided a landowning family. Zhifu Wang Weixiu forged the property records, and we cleaved the throats of the entire household in their sleep. The matter was handled cleanly, so it's understandable if Sect Master has forgotten."

"Ah."

"I’ll continue reading."

The messenger continued, sneaking a glance at the Golden Dawn Sect’s Master as she lightly lifted her porcelain-white chin.

"Those who selfishly wield swords contribute nothing to the land. They do not know how to cultivate crops, nor do they pay tributes. Their ways are no different from the monkeys in the mountains."

"Monkeys?"

"Even their movements, flailing their limbs under the pretext of martial arts, resemble those of apes."

"......."

The messenger did not stop reading.

"I am but a humble scholar of the martial world, a mere latecomer to its teachings. Yet, in my travels, I have found little worth learning. The so-called ‘Windswept Jianghu,’ where eccentric geniuses are said to be as numerous as grains of sand, has proven to be nothing more than a barren wasteland of dust."

"He sounds like one of those pretentious scholars from Ipwang Fortress."

Geum Hwi-cheol let out a mirthless laugh. Meanwhile, the messenger’s voice carried on.

"Lately, the demonic factions of the Thirteen Heavens have been stirring up trouble. They have defiled the Sichuan Tang Clan, known for its dutiful tributes, and desecrated the Emei Sect, which has long upheld its Buddhist vow to protect the people. And yet, they dare to seek reverence and fame."

"Hand it over."

Rip—

At the curt command of the Golden Dawn Sect’s Master, the parchment fluttered into the air.

The sunlight gleamed across the hastily written standard script, its casual strokes betraying a sense of boredom.

[Thus, I ask—

What meaning does your existence hold?

You all leech off the common people while masquerading as warriors. If your martial prowess is as grand as you claim, then let it be known. For if not, then you should all be deeply ashamed.

However, martial skill is not something to be determined by mere words. It must be tested directly.

Therefore, I declare to all the vagabonds and mongrels of the demonic path who see this message—

On the coming full moon, a Life-and-Death Duel Tournament will be held.

The Sect Masters of Qingcheng and Emei shall stand by my side.

Ascend to the highest peak of Mount Emei in Sichuan.

The leaders of the Ten Gates, Sunmaryeon, the Golden Dawn Sect, and all others privy to the affairs of the martial world shall do the same.

Ipwang Fortress.

Bright Wing Lord shall see you there.]