Chapter Seventy-Five: The First Taste of Thunder Qi

“Take these two as well, as a token of my regard,” Elder Jing Si said, first handing Cheng Xinzhan a carving pen.
“This is the pen I use most often, called ‘Mountain Opener’. Its shaft is made of warm jade from the Southern Wilds—there’s not much to say about that, it fits comfortably in the hand. But the blade is crafted from the shed foreclaw of a Third-Realm pangolin, unmatched in sharpness, able to slice iron as if it were mud. Without a good pen, you cannot hope to engrave runes onto ‘High Truth’.”
Cheng Xinzhan stepped back, hands folded in salute. “Elder, we agreed—elixir for sword. I have ‘High Truth’, and that is enough. I dare not accept your beloved pen.”
Elder Jing Si forced the pen into his hand, saying:
“‘High Truth’ is not my private possession, but belongs to Sword Casting Mountain. I am permitted to grant it, but a sword embryo of this caliber requires the master of the mountain’s approval. Today, the master gave his assent, which means Sword Casting Mountain has shared in this favor with me.
“It may be all the same to you, but for me, it is different. For Sword Casting Mountain, words are unnecessary—I would give my very life. But as for you, Xinzhan, I must offer my own sincerity.”
He spoke earnestly, not only pressing the pen into Cheng Xinzhan’s hand, but also producing a golden book and handing it to him.
“This ‘Book of Summoning Spirits and Commanding Ten Thousand Runes’ was first found in the ruins of a blessed land. Later, I added my own insights and runes. Now I gift it to you, hoping it might add brilliance to ‘High Truth’.
“No need to refuse hastily—consider it a loan. You can add your own understanding to it as you study. If I survive the tribulation, return it to me then; if not, return it to the master of the mountain. What do you say?”
What else could Cheng Xinzhan do? Elder Jing Si’s hand pressed firmly against his own, as if he would never let go unless he accepted.
Taking the pen and the rune book, Cheng Xinzhan bowed deeply.
Elder Jing Si laughed heartily, “Go, go, cultivate! Don’t waste a moment! When you become immortal, you can squander time as you please!”
Cheng Xinzhan solemnly agreed, taking his leave from the Sword Repository.

———

He returned to Mingzhi Mountain, Water Tears Forest.
Today had brought much fortune.
He laid out his acquisitions and examined them one by one.
The vessel for the Thunder Path, also a sword gourd and wine vessel, ‘Manifestation’;
A diagram for circulating thunder energy, ‘Thunder Chariot and Fire Banner Conveyance Technique’;
The guiding instrument for the Thunder Path, a sword embryo, ‘High Truth’;
The carving pen, ‘Mountain Opener’;
The rune book, ‘Book of Summoning Spirits and Commanding Ten Thousand Runes’.
He realized that both the Thunder Path and Sword Path were extravagant pursuits!
Without a master who is lord of a mountain, he could never have managed both.
He picked up ‘Manifestation’ first, a gourd he was especially fond of—not too large or small, fitting perfectly in his hand. But why had its previous owner named it ‘Manifestation’? Was it because the flying sword within revealed the true forms of slain monsters, or because one could drink freely, and upon drunkenness, reveal their own form?
Truly amusing.
He took the white knife gift from the Miao village, poured in a jar of wine, then chopped up some sword-grass plucked from Sword Casting Mountain and stuffed it in, tilting his head back for a drink.
“Hah—”
He burped, then summoned ‘Peach Capital’.
‘Peach Capital’ appeared, transforming into a vast peach tree, its canopy covering Cheng Xinzhan. He also saw the white rooster on the branches, its crimson crown raised high like a phoenix.
The peach tree extended a branch to nudge ‘High Truth’ lying on the bamboo couch.
At the touch, ‘High Truth’ flared up, transforming into a silver-violet radiance, shooting at the white rooster.
The rooster’s feathers exploded, and it leapt into the air. Its golden talons grasped the silver-violet light, which struggled but could not break free.
“All right, all right, Peach Capital, release High Truth. Peach Capital is the most powerful—I specially picked a sword gourd for it; now Peach Capital can have a good bath.”
Cheng Xinzhan hurriedly opened the gourd’s mouth toward ‘Peach Capital’.
The white rooster crowed triumphantly, and together with the peach tree, transformed into a sword light, diving into the gourd.
The silver-violet glow dropped to the ground, reverting to the sword embryo, emitting a mournful cry.
Cheng Xinzhan sealed the gourd, quickly picked up ‘High Truth’, holding the sword and saying, “High Truth, you are only a sword embryo now, so you cannot match Peach Capital. When I engrave runes and turn you into a true magic sword, you'll naturally surpass Peach Capital!”
At his words, the sword embryo joyfully let out a clear sword song, trembling as if urging its master to hurry.
Once he had soothed ‘High Truth’, Cheng Xinzhan turned to the ‘Thunder Chariot and Fire Banner Conveyance Technique’.
He skimmed through it and found the method for circulating energy was most ingenious.
It had been created by a Shenxiao sect Daoist in early Song, during the height of thunder magic, when strange and novel methods abounded.
This technique was among them. It first described the various points in the body where thunder could be stored, then detailed routes for circulating energy based on how many thunder points were opened: one chariot, two chariots, three chariots, and so on. With one chariot, thunder slurry emerges from the thunder point, circulates a full cycle, and returns, transforming into thunder energy.
With two chariots, the mind splits into two streams, driving thunder slurry from two points in opposite directions; each completes half a cycle and reaches the other thunder point, becoming thunder energy. The cycle time is halved.
Many chariots follow the same principle.
The compiler of this technique had somehow managed to map out the shortest meridian routes for multi-chariot conveyance, matching the natural flow of blood and energy, and even allowing for reverse travel—a difficult feat.
Another distinctive feature, highlighting the challenge of thunder chariot conveyance, is that regardless of the cycle, the thunder chariot must always pass through the heart palace.
When thunder chariot meets heart fire, sparks fly like banners—thus, the ‘fire banner’.
Heart fire and thunder slurry refine each other; as more thunder palaces are opened, thunder chariots race back and forth, with the heart palace as the hub, igniting countless sparks. So it is called the Thunder Chariot and Fire Banner Conveyance Technique.
Cheng Xinzhan’s heart palace was already opened, guarded by his internal spirit—perfect conditions for cultivating this method. Soon, he would open the nose point, then the gallbladder point, and with two chariot conveyance and the aid of heart fire, thunder energy would surge forth. Perhaps he could dissolve the true evil in less than two years.
His mood improved as he examined the carving pen.
‘Mountain Opener’—what a bold name. The pen itself was exquisitely crafted, shaped as a dragon swallowing a blade. The shaft was carved to resemble bamboo joints, with a dragon coiled around it, its head reaching out to bite the blade.
The blade was yellow-brown, neither quite gold nor jade. He drew the pen across a stone by his feet—it sliced through like water, leaving a long gash without resistance.
“Truly sharp!”
He marveled.
Finally, he picked up the ‘Book of Summoning Spirits and Commanding Ten Thousand Runes’. The golden book shone brilliantly, its pages thick and weighty; some toward the back remained blank, but the first dozens were densely covered in runes, each accompanied by tiny annotations.
It seemed less like a supreme tome of runes and more like a diary of a rune cultivator’s journey.
But for Cheng Xinzhan in this moment, such a book was far more valuable than any profound scripture.
He had always been fascinated by rune magic, and now, thrilled, he began reading intently.
Yet even as he read, he did not neglect his proper duties, applying cooling ointment to the nose point of his physical body. Afterward, his soul returned to his flesh for a moment; the nose point tingled, making him want to sneeze.
He did not linger, sampling the sensation before returning to his bamboo staff form and resuming his study of the rune book.
Each time he applied the ointment, he would return to his physical body to feel the nose point—three times a day.
After just a day and a half, he suddenly found his nose no longer itched, but felt a wave of coolness. He knew the time had come.
And in that day and a half, he had discovered and learned a thunder rune from the book, perfect for engraving onto ‘High Truth’—the Inspiration Thunder-Attracting Rune.
The rune’s head was a variant of the thunder character, resembling a thunder serpent brewing in the clouds. The foot was the command character, shaped like a flag. The rune’s aperture was the phrase ‘Nine Heavens Venerable Deity’, but these four characters branched out like lightning bolts; without the annotation, he wouldn’t have recognized them.
Cradling the ‘High Truth’ sword embryo, Cheng Xinzhan sat by a small pool with his left hand steadying the blade and his right wielding the carving pen, beginning to engrave at the upper center of the sword edge.
He etched the rune tiny as a tadpole, but though minuscule, the strokes were not muddled. When finished, the thunder rune flashed with violet light—signifying the rune’s aperture was open and imbued with true spirit. Anyone witnessing it would think their eyes deceived them: a man who had never trained thunder magic, learning a thunder rune in a day and a half, and inscribing it in half an hour—this was beyond mere cultivation level.
Cheng Xinzhan gently blew away the fine dust from the sword embryo, scarcely visible as it drifted into the pool. Then, he dipped his hands in the water, washing the sword.
Satisfied, he nodded, found two cords—one short, one long. The short cord tied the gourd to his back; the long cord wrapped the sword embryo several times until it was less conspicuous, then hung it at his waist beside ‘Autumn Water’.
He tightened his belt, feeling its weight. Ready at last, he mounted a cloud, heading straight for Pivot Mountain.
He returned to Daoist Jianxian’s small tower; the Daoist still sat on his meditation mat, as if he had never moved for days.
Seeing Cheng Xinzhan arrive, Daoist Jianxian beckoned him to sit.
Cheng Xinzhan took the seat opposite.
“Is your nose point healed?”
Cheng Xinzhan nodded, returning the cooling ointment to the Daoist.
But the Daoist shook his head. “It’s nothing precious. Keep it. If the thunder slurry causes pain when opening points in the future, you can use it again.”
He thanked him and accepted.
“That sword at your waist—is it your guiding instrument?”
Cheng Xinzhan replied yes.
The Daoist flicked his finger, sending a spark of thunder onto ‘High Truth’. The sword embryo simply absorbed it, showing no reaction.
“Excellent, excellent—very attuned to thunder, a fine guiding tool. You’ll want to engrave more thunder runes as you forge your magic sword. I have some runes as well—I’ll write them for you before you leave, both common ones and a few I discovered myself. Keep them, and rest assured.”
Cheng Xinzhan thanked him profusely.
“And your vessel must be that gourd?”
Cheng Xinzhan nodded, and took off the gourd.
The Daoist then produced his own vessel: an inkstone.
It was jet-black, seemingly made of stone, with a small fisherman carved on the side. The ink pool contained silvery slurry, glowing with violet lightning, occasionally streaked by silver serpents of thunder, crackling fiercely.
He asked Cheng Xinzhan to open the gourd’s mouth; Cheng Xinzhan complied.

Then, the Daoist scooped up his inkstone and poured some of his hard-earned thunder slurry into it.
“Master, this—”
“No matter. When you accumulate more, and I run low, you can share some with me. Right now, you need it urgently to open your thunder palace.”
The Daoist chuckled warmly.
Cheng Xinzhan could only agree.
“Do you have a suitable thunder energy circuit diagram?”
Cheng Xinzhan nodded.
The Daoist produced a small wooden spoon, its head charred black from exposure to thunder slurry.
“Here—you try.”
He handed it to Cheng Xinzhan.
Cheng Xinzhan took it.
“Scoop a small spoonful from the ink pool.”
He did so.
“Wrap the thunder slurry with your magic power.”
He began, using his familiar fire-aligned magic.
“Crack!”
As soon as his magic touched the thunder slurry, it exploded, lightning snakes flying everywhere.
“Again—keep at it until your magic wears away the explosive force in the thunder. This small drop shouldn’t cost you much magic.”
Cheng Xinzhan tried several times, and by the sixth attempt, the thunder slurry settled, resting quietly on the spoon.
He knew he had only stripped away the most superficial wildness; the creative vitality and evil-banishing intent still lay hidden, waiting to be summoned.
“Now you can wrap it with your magic directly, no need for the spoon.”
The Daoist advised, surprised and pleased at how swiftly Cheng Xinzhan had refined the thunder slurry. This meant he might finish his task ahead of the two-year deadline.
Cheng Xinzhan removed the spoon, wrapping the silvery thunder slurry directly with his magic, like a drop of mercury.
“Wrap it, then touch your nose point with it. Endure the pain.”
Cheng Xinzhan guided the thunder slurry into his nose. But since his bamboo form’s thunder palace was already open, he felt no pain; the thunder slurry simply entered the thunder point.
“Now, use your mind to gather the scattered thunder slurry, assemble it, and run your circuit.”
Cheng Xinzhan closed his eyes, directing the thunder slurry through the one-chariot route: from the thunder palace into the welcoming fragrance point, up to the seal hall, over the crown, then down from wind pool, through the twelve towers, along the center line to the jade hall, then into the heart palace.
“Boom!”
Within his inner world, the thunder chariot crashed into the river of blood, sending waves surging, heart-fire blazing, the inner spirit seated calmly in the palace of light.
After crossing the blood river, the thunder chariot shone brighter, exited the heart palace, entered the lunar spleen meridian, climbed the twelve towers again, now transforming from slurry to energy, returning to the thunder palace.
Cheng Xinzhan opened his eyes, finding the process far smoother than expected.
Daoist Jianxian stroked his beard, somewhat surprised.
“So quick?”
Cheng Xinzhan nodded.
“How much thunder slurry was lost?”
Cheng Xinzhan paused—was there loss when thunder slurry changed to thunder energy?
He wasn’t sure whether it was his own nature, the bamboo form, or the conveyance method, but he hadn’t noticed any loss. Not wanting to appear too unusual, he estimated:
“Thirty percent.”
Daoist Jianxian smiled and nodded. “Very good, a fine candidate for thunder magic. Come, let’s continue, until the pain becomes unbearable.”
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