Chapter 61: Chapter 61
Month four of absolute house arrest.
Yan Shuo sat perfectly upright on his heated jade cushion, his face an impenetrable mask of serene, dignified calm. In his right hand, he held a calligraphy brush.
It was not a normal brush. The handle was carved from hollowed-out spirit-bamboo to ensure it weighed absolutely nothing. The bristles were made from the tail hairs of a newborn cloud-mink, so soft they couldn’t even scratch the surface of a peach.
On the low wooden table in front of him sat a jade inkstone. The ink inside wasn’t black; it was a glowing, translucent emerald green. It was a liquid mixture of crushed spiritual healing herbs and thousand-year ginseng essence.
"Very good, Husband! Your posture is flawless!"
Tantai Zhi sat kneeling exactly two feet away, her hands clasped tightly under her chin, her golden eyes practically sparkling with stars. She watched his every movement with the rapt, breathless attention of a mortal witnessing a divine miracle.
"Calligraphy is the perfect hobby to pass the time," Tantai Zhi beamed, her sweet voice filling the quiet courtyard. "It calms the mind, it requires absolutely no Qi circulation, and the herbal ink will passively nourish your lungs as you breathe it in! You are so talented, Husband. Your brushstrokes are so elegant!"
Yan Shuo looked down at the rice paper.
He had drawn a single, wobbly line.
Because the brush had no weight and the herbal ink was the consistency of thick syrup, writing anything coherent was practically impossible. But the Nightmare of the Ancient Era, the sovereign who had once carved his edicts into the sides of mountains with a heavy iron sword, simply smiled.
"Thank you, Zhi’er," Yan Shuo murmured, dipping the impossibly soft brush back into the glowing green sludge. "It is deeply relaxing."
It is deeply humiliating, his pragmatic mind corrected. If my old demonic generals could see me painting with ginseng soup, they would resurrect themselves just to laugh at me.
But this was the price of peace. Since the mutton skewer incident, Tantai Zhi had doubled her vigilance. This "safe hobby" was the only thing keeping her from wrapping him in a literal cocoon of cloud-silk and feeding him via a silver spoon for the rest of the year.
Just as Yan Shuo prepared to paint a second wobbly green line, a loud, thunderous BOOM echoed across the sky.
The ground beneath the master courtyard vibrated slightly. The teacups on the stone table rattled.
Tantai Zhi’s starry-eyed smile vanished in a fraction of a microsecond.
The warm, encouraging wife disappeared. The Goddess of Slaughter took her place. The air in the courtyard instantly plummeted to freezing, and the green herbal ink in Yan Shuo’s inkstone crystallized into solid emerald ice.
She slowly turned her head toward the towering mountain gates in the distance.
"Someone is hitting the outer barrier," Tantai Zhi whispered. Her voice was devoid of all emotion, which was far more terrifying than when she yelled. "Someone is making loud noises while my husband is practicing his art."
Before she could even summon her crimson sword, the shattered courtyard doors were thrown open.
Sect Master Zhao stumbled inside, his robes covered in dust, completely out of breath.
"Lord Yan! Saintess!" Zhao gasped, dropping to one knee. "Forgive the intrusion! But we have a situation at the base of the mountain!"
Yan Shuo casually set down his feather-light brush. "Breathe, Sect Master. Who is foolish enough to attack our gates?"
"It is Patriarch Iron-Bone of the Soaring Tiger Sect!" Zhao reported, his face pale with anxiety. "He has brought three thousand elite disciples and two massive siege-beasts! He claims that since the Azure Sword Sect has closed its doors during the Central Continent’s chaos, we must be hiding the Righteous Alliance’s looted treasury out of cowardice!"
Yan Shuo raised an eyebrow. The Soaring Tiger Sect was a mid-tier orthodox faction known for their arrogant, physically imposing cultivators. With the Faceless Scholar dead, the hyenas were finally getting bold enough to test the lion’s den.
"He says if we do not open the gates and hand over half of our treasury as tribute," Zhao swallowed hard, "he will smash the defensive array and take it all by force!"
Tantai Zhi slowly stood up.
She didn’t say a word. She simply reached out, and her majestic crimson sword materialized in her palm. The blade hummed with such a concentrated, apocalyptic thirst for blood that the sky above the courtyard visibly darkened.
"I will be back in two minutes, Husband," Tantai Zhi said smoothly, giving Yan Shuo a brief, doting smile. "I am going to turn his bones into wind chimes and hang them from the outer gates as a warning. Cover your ears, it might be a bit loud."
She bent her knees, preparing to launch herself off the mountain and completely eradicate three thousand people.
"Wait, Zhi’er," Yan Shuo called out softly.
Tantai Zhi froze instantly, turning back to him with wide, attentive eyes. "Yes, Husband? Is the wind too cold? Do you need your cloak?"
"No, my warmth is fine," Yan Shuo smiled gently. He looked at the herbal inkstone, then up at his fiercely protective wife. "But you said it yourself. The sect is closed. Bloodshed right on our doorstep is bad for the feng shui. It might disturb my healing process."
Tantai Zhi gasped softly, realizing her error. "You are right! The stench of blood could carry over the walls! I should drag them fifty miles away before I slaughter them!"
"Or," Yan Shuo interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes gleaming with a sudden, deeply entertained light, "we could simply ask them to leave."
Sect Master Zhao stared at the fifteen-year-old youth as if he had grown a second head. Ask Patriarch Iron-Bone to leave? The man is a Late Core Formation brute! He only understands violence!
Tantai Zhi looked confused, but she sheathed her sword immediately. "Ask them, Husband? But they are banging on the door."
"Allow me to handle this, Wife," Yan Shuo said, picking up his cloud-silk brush once more. "I promise, I will not circulate a single drop of Qi. I will not use my Nascent Soul. I will simply use my new hobby."
Tantai Zhi watched closely, her Yin Qi ready to suppress his meridians the moment she felt his gravity flare. But Yan Shuo stayed true to his word. His dantian remained perfectly, utterly still.
Instead, Yan Shuo closed his eyes.
He didn’t draw upon his Qi. He drew upon his intent.
In the cultivation world, martial intent was the raw, unadulterated willpower of a sovereign. It was the absolute, crushing arrogance of a man who had stood at the peak of the mortal realm for a century. It had no weight, no magical energy, and no elemental form. It was purely psychological.
Yan Shuo opened his eyes. They were completely dark, bottomless abysses of absolute authority.
He dipped the soft brush into the green sludge. With a single, fluid motion of his wrist, he painted one large, imposing character onto the center of the rice paper.
滚 (Roll / Scram).
The brush stroke wasn’t wobbly anymore. It was sharp, aggressive, and carried an invisible, suffocating mental weight that made Sect Master Zhao instinctively take a step back, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest with inexplicable terror.
Yan Shuo gently blew on the green herbal ink to dry it.
"Miss Su," Yan Shuo called out lazily.
From behind the koi pond, Su Mei peeked out.
"Take this piece of paper," Yan Shuo instructed, handing the rice paper to the trembling fox maid. "Walk down to the front gates. Do not open the barrier. Simply hold this paper up so Patriarch Iron-Bone can see it. Then come back."
Su Mei looked at the paper. It was just a word written in glowing green soup.
"J-Just show it to him?" Su Mei squeaked.
"That is all," Yan Shuo smiled.
Tantai Zhi looked at her husband, her golden eyes completely captivated. She could feel the martial intent radiating from the paper. It was so incredibly arrogant, so flawlessly domineering. My husband is so handsome when he tells people to scramble, she thought, her cheeks flushing a brilliant pink.
Su Mei swallowed her fear, took the paper, and sprinted down the mountain path.
