WJ Chapter 120

No Clothes (4)

Although Elder Xiao Yuanshan’s swordsmanship was formidable, and his sneak attack from behind had appeared desperately dangerous, since Yun Changliu had been on guard, that strike could not have wounded him. The Sect Leader did not believe that this Yin Ghost could fail to see as much. The moment for staking one’s life had not yet come — so why had this person struck with such a lethal trade-wound from the very first move?

Yun Changliu watched coldly as the reckless Yin Ghost endured his injuries, head bowed, breathing in shallow, restrained gasps. The Ghost reached up and pressed a spot somewhere on his black Yin Ghost armor. A faint click rang out, and the armor suddenly cinched tight around the wound on his abdomen, stanching the blood that had been gushing forth.

…It was Ghost Gate’s wound-locking technique. Built into the Yin Ghost armor were special mechanical clasps: if a fighter sustained a grievous wound in battle and could not stop the bleeding, activating the small mechanism would cause the iron armor to dig inward into flesh and skin, forcibly sealing off the blood vessels. It was an exceedingly brutal and crude method of stanching blood.

Trade-wound followed by wound-lock — it was a well-worn sequence among the Yin Ghosts.

The Yin Ghost’s entire body trembled with pain, yet he still rose to his feet, picked up his twin swords, walked over, and knelt again on one knee before the Sect Leader.

Yun Changliu felt deeply unsettled. The Sect Leader told himself he was not a man who could not bear to watch a Yin Ghost die. He knew the Yin Ghosts were death warriors — the very name “Ghost” carried within it an admonition: do not cling to life, do not fear death.

Yet at the same time, the Yin Ghosts were Zhuhuo Sect’s finest and most elite fighting force. Exceptional Yin Ghosts were especially rare, and every generation of Ghost Heads granted them the greatest privileges even within Ghost Gate. The one before him now, though merely a Broken Ghost, clearly possessed extraordinarily rare talent — how could he be squandered like this…

“…”

He could not help but want to rebuke him, yet could find no fitting words. Keeping his expression taut and saying nothing more, he turned away and gave the Dragon-Chasing Whip a sharp flick, striking a crack into the hard mountain stone.

The Sect Leader could not have known that at this very moment, the face hidden beneath Guan Wujue’s mask was consumed with guilt.

He had seen, of course, that Yun Changliu had deliberately shown an opening to lure Xiao Yuanshan into striking. He also knew that with the Sect Leader’s level of cultivation, killing Xiao Yuanshan in return would have been effortless — he should never have charged out…

But just now, he truly had not meant to steal the kill from the Sect Leader! It was entirely because he had been too agitated, his body moving on pure killing instinct without a single thought passing through his mind.

In truth, Guan Wujue felt that from the very first moment he laid eyes on Yun Changliu, his mind had stopped functioning properly.

He truly could not control himself. Five years of hell forged in blood and iron within Ghost Gate — he had endured it all by holding his Young Sect Leader in his heart. How many times, when his body was battered and his consciousness growing dim, had he quietly imagined what Yun Changliu would look like five years after surviving the Fengchun Sheng poison… He wanted to see it with his own eyes. He refused to die without having seen it.

Five years of longing, layer upon layer — he had traced within his heart the image of a flawless figure, godlike in perfection. Yet Guan Wujue was also a clear-headed man. He knew that imagination was, after all, only imagination. Before leaving Ghost Gate, he had warned himself countless times: perhaps Yun Changliu had changed too much, and was no longer the Young Sect Leader for whom he had been willing to pour out every drop of his blood.

Until he went forth, sword in hand, and at the foot of the city gate suddenly raised his head, his gaze drawn upward as if by some instinct, climbing the walls that rose several zhang high.

He saw with his own eyes the overcast clouds massing at the sky’s peak, a snow-white wide-sleeved robe blazing against roaring firelight, crimson-gold candle dragon patterns tossing in the mountain wind that swept across them.

The young Sect Leader of Zhuhuo Sect leapt from the pitch-black city battlements, silver whip arcing upward in a heaven-shaking strike, and through the billowing mist of blood there shone a pair of long eyes, cold and clear as ice and snow.

In that single instant, wind and moon alike withered away, and all the world fell silent.

Save for that one white robe, nothing else in the world retained any color.

As if worlds apart, as if falling into a dream.

He was consumed, entranced — one glance was all it took for his heart to bow and submit.

Fate had always been unkind to him, and even with Guan Wujue’s strength of character, there had been moments when he had been pushed to the brink of emotional collapse. But none of those moments were like this one — this time he was genuinely, thoroughly bewildered, his entire being thrown out of order.

Later, Yun Changliu would ask him: what on earth were you thinking at that moment?

The Protector racked his brains trying to remember, then answered with honest candor: At that moment, Wujue was so bewitched by you, so utterly lost to his desires, that he truly did not know what he was thinking.

And that was the truth. He was no longer the Young Sect Leader’s medicine — yet he could still kill for the Sect Leader, still block blades for the Sect Leader. That feeling crashed through reason like a wave of burning madness. To say nothing of the fact that Yun Changliu had suddenly called him forth and spoken to him directly.

…Worth dying for. Even death felt worth it.

Since even death felt worth it, Guan Wujue had not a single reservation left. Seeing that Yun Changliu intended to press on alone and deeper in, he naturally fell into step behind him — but the Sect Leader had only taken two steps when he turned back, frowning, and said, “You… protecting this lord to this point is enough. Return to Ghost Gate.”

The chaotic battle had not ceased, and more disciples from other sects were gradually making their way over. Firelight and sword-shadows intermingled across Guan Wujue’s pitch-black mask as he knelt on one knee. “This subordinate can still follow.”

Yun Changliu said, “You are already gravely wounded. Why throw your life away here… go back at once.”

But Guan Wujue was in no state to heed him at this moment — in truth he almost longed to actually die here for it to feel complete. Yet his voice remained perfectly calm and steady, without a trace of anything amiss. “Yin Ghosts do not fear death.”

The Sect Leader said, “Yin Ghosts should die where their deaths mean something.”

Guan Wujue replied at once, “To have the fortune of dying beside the Sect Leader is a blessing no Yin Ghost could ever pray for.”

Yun Changliu’s heart flickered with a faint irritation. He said coldly, “You are seeking death?”

Guan Wujue replied with perfect composure. “As a Broken Ghost, I selfishly wish to choose a somewhat more glorious place to die.”

The night grew deeper. Beyond Xifeng City, the fierce battle still raged without pause. Just the two of them — one standing, one kneeling — exchanged words in this scene that was, in truth, utterly bizarre. Yet both the Twin Poles Daoist and the Elder of Xuanyang Sect lay dead ahead, and for the moment not one person dared step forward to court death.

Yun Changliu stood his ground and would not move; Guan Wujue knelt and would not leave. Disciples of three sects and five orders encircled them ring by ring, yet did not dare to act, waiting only for their own leaders to arrive.

Yun Changliu surveyed the shape of the encirclement. The truly formidable fighters had not yet arrived, and given the skill this Yin Ghost had just displayed, breaking through ought to be no problem. The Sect Leader added weight to his tone and pointed toward the outer perimeter, addressing the black-clad figure before him. “Go.”

Guan Wujue bowed his head low, his voice respectful, lying through his teeth with utmost propriety. “This Sect Leader, please forgive this subordinate. The encirclement is complete, their numbers great… this subordinate is without the ability to break out.”

Yun Changliu said, “You can break out. Go.”

Guan Wujue said, “This subordinate truly cannot break out.”

The two of them spoke as though no one else existed, trading one line for another, while the disciples of the three sects and five orders all around were practically seething with rage, humiliated and furious — yet could do nothing about them whatsoever.

Just then, several long battle-cries rang out, and several figures flew across the vast night sky on lightness technique, landing with a swish inside the encirclement — the high-level masters of the various sects had all arrived at once!

Guan Wujue finally stopped kneeling. He lifted his sword and rose, turning naturally to take position at Yun Changliu’s back. The eyes beneath his mask — the only part of him not covered — held a soft, barely perceptible light. He said in a low voice, “Sect Leader, be careful. Do not worry about this subordinate.”

Yun Changliu’s expression darkened somewhat, his face as cold as frost.

This scene was precisely what he had wanted — by drawing all the high-level masters to himself, the pressure on the rest of the Zhuhuo Guards would surely ease considerably. But now an unexpected variable had appeared: the Yin Ghost at his side… one moment of inattention, and there was a real chance he might not be able to preserve him.

But before the Sect Leader had finished thinking, the opposing side had already moved. Yun Changliu’s expression sharpened, and he raised his hand to meet them with the cracking whip — in the blink of an eye he had already traded five or six moves. Attacks of wildly different styles from every faction came surging in from all directions, and in an instant it erupted into a full melee!

The cold wind grew sharper. The Sect Leader’s footwork shifted ceaselessly as he threaded his way through the combined assault of the various masters, the white robe that had once been spotless now long since dyed with blood.

Suddenly a scream rang out behind him. Yun Changliu’s heart clenched; he turned to look, and saw that the Blood Hand Sect’s “Devil Hand” Lu Sang had collapsed, clutching at his spurting, severed throat. The Yin Ghost pulled his twin swords back and stepped away — his chest gaping with five bloody holes where Lu Sang had clawed through him.

— Trade-wound again!

Yun Changliu felt a surge of irritation.

This Yin Ghost — was trade-wound the only fighting style he knew?!

Guan Wujue staggered back two steps. The face beneath the mask was white as paper. That last trade-wound had struck directly at the heart meridians he had already damaged before, and the sensation could only be described as a pain that made one wish for death.

The Blood Hand Sect’s “Demon Hand” Peng Ke, of the same sect as the slain Lu Sang, roared in rage and charged. Guan Wujue swallowed the blood rising in his throat, steadied himself though he tottered on the verge of collapse, and managed to raise his arms to parry the blade.

But a flash of silver-white light swept past his eyes — the Dragon-Chasing Whip swept through the air in a rolling arc, its tail like a living serpent, hooking “Demon Hand” Peng Ke to the side and flinging him away. Peng Ke cried out in pain as he crashed heavily to the ground, rolling twice and unable to rise.

Guan Wujue was briefly startled. Before he could recover, Yun Changliu had already flashed to his side. He felt a tightening at his waist — the Sect Leader had pulled him forcefully into his arms. Whether it was his imagination or not, Yun Changliu’s voice seemed very urgent. “Sheathe your swords! Don’t move…”

Guan Wujue instinctively obeyed and withdrew his swords.

Wind howled past his ears, the whip rang out like a thunderclap, and Yun Changliu seized his moment — holding the Yin Ghost close — and took to the air. In the span of a single breath, he had pulled them clear of the encirclement of the several great masters.

“Sect Leader!” Guan Wujue was shaken to his core. He could see plainly that Yun Changliu had still been entirely capable of continuing the fight — this withdrawal, which amounted almost to fleeing the battle mid-engagement, was clearly on account of him. “Why did you—”

Only a few moments later, Yun Changliu’s lightness technique stopped and he landed. Dark mountain rock surrounded them on all sides. The Sect Leader glanced around to confirm they were alone, caught his breath lightly, and gave the Yin Ghost a push to the ground. “Silence.”

Guan Wujue’s footing was unsteady; one push from the Sect Leader sent him sitting on the ground. He was about to scramble up and kneel properly when Yun Changliu suddenly reached out a hand, and fingers white as jade touched the black mask that was streaked with blood and mud.

“Sect Leader, you must not!” Guan Wujue trembled in shock and began to shrink back. “This subordinate is filled with dread — I am filthy beyond…”

Yun Changliu set the Dragon-Chasing Whip on the ground. With his left hand he grasped the Yin Ghost’s jaw, tilted Guan Wujue’s face upward, and fixed him with a focused, earnest gaze. “Don’t move.”

The Sect Leader bent slightly toward him, eyes fixed on the scratch across the mask that had been needling him — was it because he was a Broken Ghost, that he held his life so cheap?

Guan Wujue was more startled than ever. Then he heard Yun Changliu suddenly ask, “Do you have a name?”

Guan Wujue stared blankly. “…Wujue.”

“This lord has noted you.”

The Sect Leader said it with a faint sigh. He pressed his right hand to the left side of Guan Wujue’s mask, as though only gently stroking it — yet Yun Changliu’s internal energy ran unfathomably deep, and the scratch on the mask, that mark which designated him a Broken Ghost, began inch by inch to smooth away beneath the movement of his thumb.

Yun Changliu released his hand, and fine black dust scattered away on the wind. The Sect Leader rose abruptly to his feet, his expression composed and distant. He said softly, “You are no longer a Broken Ghost. Go back quickly.”