My Journey to Immortality Begins with Hunting-Chapter 283 – The Weaponsmithing Contest, Masters Showing Their Flair - Part 2
Early summer.
A messenger galloped into Holy Tree Temple with grim news. The frontline had collapsed.
The reason was plain. The Lotus Cult’s upper ranks had suddenly grown stronger; new spirit artifacts littered the battlefield, many of which were surely Zhu Ban’s work. Worse, Peng Mi had broken through to fourth rank, tore open the defensive line, and turned the tide.
Word raced through the temple’s upper echelons, and Li Yuan, in his secret chamber, heard it too.
He glanced at Ping'an lying at his feet and wavered yet again.
If the Five Element Alliance truly crumbled, there would be no more hesitation. He would simply take his son and leave.
“Again!”
Flat on the floor like a wounded leopard, Ping'an should have been broken, his confidence smashed time and again by Li Yuan. Yet every time he clawed his way back up, laughing, sword in hand.
The sight reminded Li Yuan of those indomitable Bronze Saints from old tales.
“When will you win even once?” he taunted, lowering his eyes to the ring at his feet. “At least force your father to step outside the circle.”
But he knew the boy couldn’t. Ping'an’s just wasn’t strong enough; miracles belonged to Li Yuan himself. Yes, the boy had innate shadow blood, but that also came from his father.
“My ultimate move is almost finished, Dad! When it’s done I won’t lose, I won’t!” Panting and eyes blazing, Ping'an looked nothing like a normal teenager, more a tireless war‑machine.
As a natural-born inheritor of the Return-Willow Technique, Ping'an carried boundless fighting spirit in his marrow; where others chased intent and vision, he need only be himself to break through. It was the blessing—and the shackles—of innate shadow blood.
However, even a perfected ultimate skill would not close the chasm. Li Yuan himself had created several ultimate skills more than a decade ago. What he truly wanted was not victory or defeat but rather his son’s resolve.
“Keep going,” Li Yuan said.
Ping’an’s eyes blazed. He charged again, and Li Yuan flicked him away with a casual slash.
The boy skidded many meters and crashed into a wall. Yet still he laughed. “Dad, that slash used to scare me witless. Now? I’m not afraid! Not afraid at all! Hahaha!”
“Is that so?” Li Yuan raised an eyebrow. “Then, come.”
CRASH! Ping’an tumbled, cracked his head, fingers scrabbling, and rose yet again.
Father and son froze the training room in a perpetual tableau of relentless attacks and effortless counters.
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Nightfall.
Cui Huayin had hit a snag in her cultivation and stayed by the meat field; she did not return. Yao Jue, the long‑legged, quick‑witted maid, shared Li Yuan’s bed instead—so lively she nearly exposed the fact that her master was nowhere near as old as he pretended.
After the storm passed and breaths steadied, she teased, “Master, you’re hardly old.”
Li Yuan stroked her hair. “Yao Jue, what does your lady truly intend?”
“Are you thinking of leaving?” She giggled.
He tapped her forehead. “The frontline collapsed. Sooner or later every clan will send reinforcements. Aren’t you afraid you’ll be drafted?”
“People still respect my lady’s face, and the Holy Tree Temple is a fortress. Even if the enemy reaches the gate, breaking in is wishful thinking.”
Li Yuan sighed. “I just miss home. When a man ages he longs to fall where he grew, but my home is south, in the territory of the Lotus Cult, and I’m the weaponsmith here. I can’t walk away.”
She snuggled closer, shyly rubbing her numbed thighs against him. “My lady says you used life-span to smith your recent masterpiece; you shouldn’t do that! If you seek enlightenment, don’t our feelings matter?”
The half scolding and half pleading was oddly endearing. Li Yuan tightened his embrace on the maid. Cui Huayin would never leave. The proud Yin Consort would never retire to backwater borders. Even if Yao Jue would leave with him, circumstances wouldn’t let her.
Li Yuan exhaled softly and examined the board again. If things truly worsened, he might change plans once more. His first scheme had been simple. He’d pile up favors, make regular trips to a certain place until everyone relaxed. Then on a day his watchers grew lax, he’d vanish with his family.
He had already reached the regular trips stage, taking Ping'an to the Famous Toast. A few more outings and Gu Xuejian would be used to it. All that was left was to escape.
But Ping’an’s fiery growth had shelved that idea in favor of another. Now, should he switch back? How would the board shift next? 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶
˙·٠✧🐗➶➴🏹✧٠·˙
Several days later.
Another messenger raced past the Holy Tree Temple’s third gate while the higher-ups were debating their next move. He had good news and bad news.
The good news was that Elder Jing Ruyi had rallied the shattered troops and driven the Black Lotus Cult’s forces back. The bad news was that after forging Jing Ruyi a weapon, Master Gong had died out on the front line.
“Nonsense!” Cui Wuji exploded the moment he heard the report. “Since when does Jing Ruyi have the chops to rout the Black Lotus Cult? Even if Master Gong died forging him some miracle blade, Peng Mi’s quasi-domain blade is no less of a divine weapon. What exactly let him turn the tide?”
The same question simmered in everyone’s mind.
Soon, more details arrived.
Peng Mi, it turned out, hadn’t been defeated at all; in the very moment of triumph he simply withdrew, as if some whim had struck him.
Jing Ruyi, however, truly had grown stronger—absurdly stronger. Master Gong’s final creation defied belief.
Most shocking of all, Jing Ruyi had revived the fallen Elder Hua and Sacred Fire Palace elder, sending them back into battle at his side. They weren’t really alive—more like obedient puppets, skin chalk‑white, closer to ghost servants than living humans, and wounds healed only with difficulty.
His new blade also had two other quirks. It could devour its wielder’s life‑force for sudden bursts of power, and it bathed a whole area in the Evergreen‑Art’s healing aura, allowing allies to recover at breakneck speed.
A different messenger sought out Li Yuan and handed him a letter in Jing Ruyi’s own hand—an exhaustive rundown of every known ability, as though terrified Li Yuan might miss a single detail.
When Li Yuan finished reading, the messenger bowed and said, “Elder Jing asked me to pass on Master Gong’s last words.”
Li Yuan nodded. “Go ahead.”
The courier cleared his throat, imitating the weaponsmith’s flamboyant yet rough voice, “Jing Ruyi! Go ask that greenhorn Li Yuan how many points of panache this blade earns!”
Silence fell.
“How did Master Gong actually die?” Li Yuan asked at last.
“Elder Jing knew you’d ask,” the messenger said, and he recounted the entire story exactly as he’d been told it.
Li Yuan listened, feeling a little guilty. Did the story of me sacrificing my life-span to create that demonic blade provoke him? Yet Master Gong had proved himself a true weaponsmith.
It also gave Li Yuan a new idea.Maybe I can try forging inside Yan Yu’s black market ghost domain? The notion had never occurred to him before.
The messenger waited, head bowed, until Li Yuan finally murmured, “Not bad.”
The man looked up in disbelief.
Li Yuan repeated, calm and flat, “Master Gong’s final masterpiece, it’s not bad.”
Astonishment flashed into fury. The messenger wanted to defend Master Gong, to shout that such a miraculous weapon was far more than not bad. But he swallowed it, managed a curt ,“Very well, I’ll relay that.” Then, he left with a scowl.
