Chapter Seven: The Sword Immortal Hidden in the Rejected Manuscripts!

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The raw materials were ready—what should he paint? Zhang Rui stared at the half-bucket of ghostly blood, caught in a dilemma. The life-protection lamp that Master Qian had given him wouldn’t last long; he had to use it quickly. Otherwise, once the market closed, he would become a dry corpse, and the only way to change his fate would be to use the Fate-Altering Brush. But the side effects of directly altering one’s destiny were immense; who knew if this time, the consequences might be even worse? Unless absolutely necessary, he truly didn’t want to use it.

The blood of the painted-skin ghost could be used to paint anything, but what exactly to paint was a matter of great subtlety...

First, weapons could be painted. Weapons drawn with ghost ink were neither metal nor iron, yet could be imagined as any divine weapon. For example, if he painted a Dragon-Slaying Saber and wrote a story beside it about the saber’s exploits, it would become a divine weapon. As long as there was enough ink, it could wield the power he described.

Sounds exaggerated, doesn’t it?

But there were conditions. The more powerful and complex the weapon, the higher the quality of ink required. If the demand was too high and the ink quality insufficient, the result would be a semi-finished product or even a worthless one.

For instance, he could choose to use this half-bucket of ink to paint a Dragon-Slaying Saber from a martial arts novel or a divine weapon from an immortal fantasy story, like the Heaven’s Cleaver from the novel “Jade Dynasty,” or even the “Jade Dynasty” Sword itself. But the result would be that choosing the Dragon-Slaying Saber might yield a weapon with half the effectiveness, while choosing the divine weapon from an immortal fantasy might barely have one-thousandth of the effect before the ink dried up, leaving him with nothing.

So the choice was critical. It was like applying to colleges with a weighted scoring system: aiming too high would cause you to fall short; aiming too low would waste points. How to use your score wisely was key.

This amount of ink could probably only paint a Heaven-Relying Sword or a Dragon-Slaying Saber, he reckoned.

But what use would it be? Given his current physique and skills, not to mention the Heaven-Relying Sword, even wielding a Moon-Cutting Blade wouldn’t help.

The safest approach would be to paint a weapon and take it to the market to sell, exchanging it for enough essence and blood to improve himself later.

But to Zhang Rui, that was the worst possible plan.

First, frequently bringing valuable items to the market for sale without sufficient strength would attract unwanted attention. Those who survived in the painting market were not kind souls. And just now, he had been too conspicuous; at least in this painting market, he had already been noticed. No matter how good the items he sold, the price would be suppressed because everyone knew he hadn’t earned two taels of essence and blood and would die when the market closed—they would take the opportunity to drive down the price.

Painting weapons or artifacts... could be done in the future, but not now!

Then what should he paint?

Zhang Rui’s mind kept recalling the rules and intelligence about this painting market. Among the memories, there was one method that was most cost-effective but carried great risk; if the gamble failed, all his precious ink would be lost.

Taking a deep breath, Zhang Rui finally decided to take the chance. His hand reached into the bucket, and the ink, as if alive, gathered on his fingers. Then, with the stench of the ink filling the air, Zhang Rui began to write in the air.

The world inside the painting was the largest canvas, and this ink could take effect at any time.

Mu, Rong, Yun, Ji!

Zhang Rui did not paint any weapons, nor write the names of treasures, but wrote a person’s name.

In the next moment, the surrounding space began to tremble, and a sharp, piercing aura surged forth. Zhang Rui felt as if the aura was slicing everything around him in half. Before he could even react, the scene around him changed.

No longer a dark alley, it was an incredibly bright space. The ground beneath him was like a mirror, reflecting the sky and the inverted world, everything silent. Such a view could empty a person’s mind with just one glance.

Zhang Rui took a long moment to recover and then saw, kneeling in the center of the mirrored ground, an exquisitely beautiful woman in white. She was half-kneeling, holding a silver longsword still sheathed. Her left hand supported the scabbard, her right hand grasped the hilt, poised to draw the blade, but she had maintained this posture for how many years, no one knew.

Looking at her, Zhang Rui understood—this sword... would never be drawn until she died. She was trapped by her own doubt, unable to take the final step, forever imprisoned.

Mu Rong Yun Ji!

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She was a legendary figure from a failed immortal fantasy draft novel he had written—a life devoted to the sword, only hoping to surpass her master, to reach the boundless realm of swordsmanship, to ascend as a sword immortal who appeared once in a millennium.

This person had died within the painted world.

In his aborted novel, the sword immortal was cursed. Not only did she die under heavenly thunder, her soul extinguished, but anyone associated with her—her sect, even her nation—would suffer calamity. Therefore, few sects in her world were willing to support the sword immortal.

Yet her master’s sect spared no cost to nurture her, and she, unwilling to bring ruin upon them, chose to enter the painted world.

Here, she used ghost ink to paint a new realm, hoping to undergo a tribulation.

It was a good idea, but at the critical moment, she couldn’t muster the strength to strike that fateful sword. Ultimately, she was trapped in this state, the greatest candidate for sword immortality lost to the world for a thousand years.

Zhang Rui slowly approached, but the woman was like a statue, utterly motionless.

Though unmoving, Zhang Rui sensed a will of rejection. He strongly felt he had only one chance to speak. If he failed to move her, all his efforts would be in vain!

Aside from weapons, ghost ink could also be used to paint people, but painting people was different. Only those who had been to this place and whose aura was remembered by the painted world could be faithfully reproduced with ghost blood. This explained why painted-skin ghosts could imitate others—they were formed from ink and could naturally copy those remembered by the painted world.

He was gambling!

Mu Rong Yun Ji was a character from that book. Her story existed only in that failed draft. The existence of the painting market here did not guarantee that the characters from his draft would appear here. Yet now, it seemed his gamble was correct—the setting existed, the person existed, and this painting market was indeed the same one from his failed draft!

“This is wrong!” Zhang Rui stepped forward, determined to make an impact, “With your mindset, even if you wait another ten thousand years, you’ll only remain where you are!”

Radical words might not be accepted but would certainly attract attention. As expected, the statue-like woman opened her eyes.

Those eyes were as beautiful as a bright moon, but the coldness radiating from them made Zhang Rui feel his blood freeze instantly.

“You are too obsessed with breaking all methods with a single sword. You fail to see that the universe is a cycle—destruction is the beginning of rebirth, severance is the source of the next connection. Breaking all methods with one sword and creating all methods with one sword are the same thing. Without experiencing the process of creating methods, how can one break them? Your excessive attachment to ‘purity’ is the greatest detour of your life!”

After saying this, Zhang Rui closed his eyes. Life or death now depended on this moment!

“Who taught you that?” she asked.

Zhang Rui opened his eyes again. She had moved right in front of him. Her stunning beauty stirred no desire in his heart; the coldness truly froze all passion. This was what a true ice beauty meant.

“Who taught me is unimportant!” Zhang Rui’s heart surged with excitement.

Sure enough, what he had written in his novel—his nonsensical realm theories—actually worked in this world!

“The key is, don’t you want to try?”

“I am already dead...” Mu Rong Yun Ji’s eyes flickered with emotion for the first time—a trace of deep regret. After all these years, why hadn’t she realized this truth?

“Let me paint you!” Zhang Rui hurriedly said. “Starting over, you should be able to do it!”

“As a painted-skin ghost?”

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“Does it matter?” Zhang Rui stared intently. “When pursuing the highest realm, does identity really matter?”

She said nothing more, but looked at him deeply. In the next instant... the heavens shattered!

After a dizzying moment, Zhang Rui opened his eyes to find himself back in the familiar dark alley. The protective lamp flickered weakly, and the dense cluster of green eyes drew closer, their breaths almost tangible...

Damn... did it fail?

Zhang Rui gritted his teeth and was about to reach for the Fate-Altering Brush when a childish voice coldly spoke, “You’re young, but you’re quite good at manipulating people!”

Did it succeed?

Zhang Rui’s heart leapt. He recognized the voice—it was Mu Rong Yun Ji’s. But... why did it sound so soft and fluffy?

What the hell!?

Turning around, he saw that behind him stood a small girl no older than four—a little dough ball of a child.

“What kind of look is that?” The little dough ball glared at Zhang Rui. “With this little ink, painting a four-year-old me is already pushing it!”

Zhang Rui: “.........”

He had to escape!

He had been far too confident. How could he not have anticipated this?

He quickly looked toward the alley exit. At that moment, to avoid being noticed, he had gone too deep. The life-protection lamp was now so faint it could go out at any second. He had to flee before the lamp died.

Thinking this, he hurriedly reached out to grab the little dough ball and run.

Smack!

His hand was disdainfully slapped away.

“You...” Zhang Rui widened his eyes. Did this little girl not understand the situation?

“When you reached out just now, I sensed danger,” the little dough ball said, pointing to a spot just ahead of Zhang Rui. “Was it just an illusion?”

Zhang Rui was stunned. The little dough ball pointed exactly at where the Fate-Altering Brush lay!

Was her intuition really that sharp?

“Judging by how foolish you look, it’s probably just an illusion...” The little dough ball sighed and then pointed at the ink remaining in the bucket, saying calmly, “Paint me a sword!”