Zhou Chun stumbled back, the dizziness growing worse. The dart was poisoned—Maotai had planned this, using Zhang Liang as bait to lure him into a trap. He gripped his sword tightly, trying to stay upright, his eyes fixed on Maotai. The one-armed monk stood in the shadows, his eight fingers curling into a fist, a sneer on his scarred face.?

  “You thought you could outsmart me?” Maotai said, stepping into the moonlight. His robes were black, his head shaven, and his left arm was missing, replaced by a metal hook that glinted in the light. “I knew you would come to Chengdu. I knew you would look for me. And I knew you would fall for my trap. You are still the same foolish man you were ten years ago—too proud, too reckless.”?

  Zhang Liang laughed from the ground, his shoulder still bleeding. “Master, kill him! Tear him apart!”?

  Maotai ignored him, his eyes locked on Zhou Chun. “Ten years ago, you defeated me. You took my arm, you humiliated me, you left me for dead. But I survived. I found the Wutai Sect, I learned dark magic, I became a Sword Immortal. And now, I will have my revenge. I will kill you, and then I will find your daughter, and then I will find that little disciple of yours—Zhao Yan'er. I will make you suffer, just as you made me suffer.”?

  Zhou Chun fought the poison, his mind clearing for a moment. He knew he could not fight Maotai now—not while poisoned, not while injured. He needed to escape, to find a place to heal, to gather his strength. He glanced at the River-Viewing Tower's stairs—if he could reach the roof, he could jump to the next building, lose Maotai in the alleys. Roofs—Maotai's sword can't turn fast in tight alleys. I can use the narrow gaps between buildings to shake him off. He's one-armed, his balance is off—he'll struggle to keep up with my light-body skill.?

  “You talk too much,” Zhou Chun said, his voice gritty. He charged forward, feinting to the left, then spinning to the right, heading for the stairs. Maotai roared, unleashing his flying sword—a yellow beam of light that shot toward Zhou Chun's back.?

  Zhou Chun ducked, the sword flying over his head, cutting through the railing of the stairs. He leaped up the stairs, his legs burning with effort, the poison making his muscles ache. He reached the roof, then jumped to the next building, his light-body skill saving him. He ran across the rooftops, Maotai's voice echoing behind him, his flying sword chasing close.?

  He ran for what felt like an hour, until he could no longer hear Maotai's roar. He collapsed on the roof of a small inn, his shoulder throbbing, his vision blurring. He pulled the dart from his shoulder, then took the red pill Master White Cloud had given him. He swallowed it, and within moments, the dizziness began to fade, the pain in his shoulder easing.?

  He lay there for a while, catching his breath, his mind racing. Maotai was in Chengdu, allied with the Wutai Sect, and he was hunting him. Zhang Liang was injured, but alive—and he would report back to Maotai. He needed to find a safe place to hide, to plan his next move.?

  As he stood up, he noticed a figure standing on the next roof, a large red gourd on his back. The figure turned, and Zhou Chun's heart leaped—it was the Drunken Taoist, the immortal he had met at Mount Emei, the one he had been searching for.?

  “You're a hard man to find, Zhou Chun,” the Drunken Taoist said, grinning. He jumped to Zhou Chun's roof, his movements light as a feather, despite the gourd on his back. “You've gotten yourself into quite a mess—provoking Maotai, sneaking around Ciyun Temple, getting poisoned. Not your smartest move.”?

  Zhou Chun bowed deeply, relief flooding him. “Elder Taoist, I beg you—teach me. I need to become stronger. Maotai is a Sword Immortal, and he is going to kill me, my daughter, and my disciple. I need your help.”?

  The Drunken Taoist laughed, taking a sip from his gourd. “Calm down, boy. I'm not here to teach you—not yet. But I am here to help you. Maotai and the Wutai Sect are planning something big—they're gathering allies, they're hoarding dark magic, and they're looking for a powerful artifact hidden in Chengdu. If they find it, they will be unstoppable.”?

  “What artifact?” Zhou Chun asked, his interest piqued.?

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “A ancient sword, said to have been forged by the gods,” the Drunken Taoist said, his tone serious. “It's hidden in the Wuhou Shrine, a temple in the south of the city. The Wutai Sect wants it—they believe it will make their magic stronger. Maotai plans to steal it tonight, under the cover of darkness.”?

  Zhou Chun's eyes widened. The Wuhou Shrine—he had heard of it, a historic temple dedicated to an ancient general. He had no idea it held such a powerful artifact. “We have to stop him. We have to get there before he steals the sword.”?

  The Drunken Taoist nodded, finishing his drink. “That's the spirit. But you're still injured, and Maotai has his disciples with him. We can't fight them head-on. We need to sneak into the shrine, stop Maotai from stealing the sword, and escape before he realizes we're there. Are you ready?”?

  Zhou Chun stood up, his sword in hand, his resolve firm. “I'm ready. Let's go.”?

  The two jumped from roof to roof, moving silently through the night. The Wuhou Shrine was not far, and soon they could see its grand gates, its walls lit by torches. Several Wutai monks stood guard at the entrance, their robes black, their eyes alert. Maotai was nowhere to be seen—he was already inside, searching for the sword.?

  “You distract the guards,” the Drunken Taoist whispered. “I'll sneak inside and find Maotai. Meet me at the main hall—if I'm not there in ten minutes, leave. Don't risk your life for me.”?

  Zhou Chun nodded. He took a deep breath, then jumped down from the roof, landing quietly behind one of the guards. He clamped a hand over the guard's mouth, pulling him into the shadows, and knocked him out. The other guard noticed, shouting and drawing his blade. Zhou Chun charged, his sword ready, engaging the guard in a fight.?

  As he fought, he heard a loud crash from inside the shrine, followed by Maotai's roar. He knew the Drunken Taoist had found him. He quickly dispatched the guard, then ran inside the shrine, heading for the main hall. When he arrived, he saw the Drunken Taoist and Maotai fighting, their flying swords clashing in the air—green light against yellow light, the room shaking with their power.?

  In the center of the hall, on a stone pedestal, lay a sword—its blade silver, its hilt encrusted with jewels and carved with a coiled dragon, glowing faintly. The dragon's scales shimmered in the torchlight, as if alive, its eyes inlaid with red gems that matched the sword's soft glow. Maotai was trying to grab it, but the Drunken Taoist was blocking him.?

  “Give me the sword, old man!” Maotai roared, his flying sword pressing the Drunken Taoist's back. “It belongs to the Wutai Sect! It belongs to me!”?

  The Drunken Taoist nodded, finishing his drink. “That's the spirit. But you're still injured, and Maotai has his disciples with him. We can't fight them head-on. We need to sneak into the shrine, stop Maotai from stealing the sword, and escape before he realizes we're there. Are you ready?”?

  Zhou Chun stood up, his sword in hand, his resolve firm. “I'm ready. Let's go.”?

  The two jumped from roof to roof, moving silently through the night. The Wuhou Shrine was not far, and soon they could see its grand gates, its walls lit by torches. Several Wutai monks stood guard at the entrance, their robes black, their eyes alert. Maotai was nowhere to be seen—he was already inside, searching for the sword.?

  “You distract the guards,” the Drunken Taoist whispered. “I'll sneak inside and find Maotai. Meet me at the main hall—if I'm not there in ten minutes, leave. Don't risk your life for me.”?

  Zhou Chun nodded. He took a deep breath, then jumped down from the roof, landing quietly behind one of the guards. He clamped a hand over the guard's mouth, pulling him into the shadows, and knocked him out. The other guard noticed, shouting and drawing his blade. Zhou Chun charged, his sword ready, engaging the guard in a fight.?

  As he fought, he heard a loud crash from inside the shrine, followed by Maotai's roar. He knew the Drunken Taoist had found him. He quickly dispatched the guard, then ran inside the shrine, heading for the main hall. When he arrived, he saw the Drunken Taoist and Maotai fighting, their flying swords clashing in the air—green light against yellow light, the room shaking with their power.?

  In the center of the hall, on a stone pedestal, lay a sword—its blade silver, its hilt encrusted with jewels and carved with a coiled dragon, glowing faintly. The dragon's scales shimmered in the torchlight, as if alive, its eyes inlaid with red gems that matched the sword's soft glow. Maotai was trying to grab it, but the Drunken Taoist was blocking him.?

  “Give me the sword, old man!” Maotai roared, his flying sword pressing the Drunken Taoist's back. “It belongs to the Wutai Sect! It belongs to me!”?

  The Drunken Taoist laughed, dodging the sword. “It belongs to no one, Maotai. It is a weapon of justice, and you are not worthy to wield it.”?

  Zhou Chun saw his chance. He charged toward the pedestal, determined to grab the sword before Maotai could. But as his hand touched the hilt, a cold voice echoed behind him: “Not so fast, Zhou Chun.”?

  He spun around, and saw Zhang Liang standing there, his shoulder bandaged, a blade in his hand. Behind him were several more Wutai monks, their swords drawn. He was trapped. Zhang Liang's face twisted into a pained sneer, and for a split second, his eyes flickered with doubt. “Master promised… I'd be immortal…” he muttered under his breath, so quiet only Zhou Chun could hear, before his malice returned. “Now you die, Zhou Chun—for good.”