I Might Be a Big Shot — Chapter 43
Changkong Zhuoyu stared at Li Xinglun for a moment, then turned to glare coldly at Xuan Minglie.
Xuan Minglie had deliberately withheld critical instructions until Li Xinglun was already undergoing the ritual and his mind clouded from pain — and even then, he only mouthed the words. If Li Xinglun’s will had faltered even slightly, his heart would have stopped entirely, leaving him a corpse. Since awakening at the bottom of the Soul-Breaking Gorge, Changkong Zhuoyu had never truly been angry — until now. This time, Xuan Minglie had touched his reverse scale. His killing intent almost became tangible, like countless sharp daggers slashing toward Xuan Minglie.
Wrapped in Changkong Zhuoyu’s killing intent, Xuan Minglie felt as though he were plunged into an endless abyss, unable to find an exit in this vast ocean of murderous aura. What kind of mighty soul could generate such terrifying intent? For Li Xinglun to withstand the pain of the blood art without uttering a sound, his soul seemed to be as hard as the strongest essence stone in the world, impossible to be forged into an artifact. Yet Changkong Zhuoyu’s soul felt like the starry sky, like the sea, like the three thousand worlds — inconceivably vast.
Though no actual attack landed, it felt to Xuan Minglie as if he had walked through death itself. Each strand of killing intent cut across him like a blade. Without realizing it, blood streaks appeared on his body — though no blood flowed.
The wooden sword Changkong Zhuoyu used to lay the formation was still in his hand. He flicked it lightly, and a power wholly unlike true essence or spiritual energy surged into the blade and struck at Xuan Minglie.
This power was…
Li Xinglun’s eyes widened as he watched Changkong Zhuoyu plunge the sword into Xuan Minglie’s chest. The demonic sect master, paralyzed under the dreadful killing intent, could not even move, and could only let the sword pierce him. Fortunately, Xuan Minglie had cultivated the Blood-Severing Art — once the sword was withdrawn, his wound should immediately heal…
Yet when the sword came out, his wound did not heal. Instead, a strand of true essence leaked from the gash, and the true essence within him began dissipating endlessly.
A practitioner of the Blood-Severing Art was nearly impossible to injure. Even if someone forcefully separated his soul from his body and destroyed his flesh completely, his soul could still reshape a body — as long as true essence and soul remained…
But Changkong Zhuoyu’s strike left Xuan Minglie’s body as if riddled with holes, true essence spilling uncontrollably, and even his soul felt as though it would flee his body with that blow.
“This is…” Xuan Minglie stared dumbfounded at his chest, unable to believe it. “Divine power?”
Indeed. Li Xinglun saw it too. The reason Changkong Zhuoyu’s sword inflicted such an unhealable wound was that the power he used was identical to the divine power of the barrier at the Soul-Breaking Gorge.
Since leaving the gorge, Changkong Zhuoyu had rarely acted in earnest. The few times he had, he only pretended to be inscrutable, casually manipulating external spiritual energy without even using his own true essence. Back in the gorge, they had all been within the divine power barrier, unable to use true essence. Li Xinglun had assumed his master was merely borrowing the gorge’s own divine power to fight the barrier, causing mutual destruction. But now… could it be that the power which shattered the barrier back then was actually Changkong Zhuoyu’s own divine power?
He had first met Changkong Zhuoyu at the bottom of the Soul-Breaking Gorge — an ancient battlefield of gods. His master remembered nothing but stubbornly insisted he was someone important, that he had subordinates waiting for him. Could it be that Changkong Zhuoyu really was…
“My earlier words were a lie,” Changkong Zhuoyu interrupted his thoughts, slowly stepping before Xuan Minglie and saying, “In my eyes, this disciple I worked so hard to take in is more important than anything. If he dies, I’ll bury all of Heaven-Shaking Peak with him.”
Seeing his master like this, Li Xinglun quickly stepped into that terrifying killing intent, seized his master’s hand, and whispered in his ear: “Master, I’m fine.”
Changkong Zhuoyu turned back, his fingertips cool as he touched Li Xinglun’s face. That chill seemed to sober him slightly, and his killing intent gradually dissipated. His expression softened as he heard Li Xinglun continue in his ear: “Besides, Sect Master Xuan did perform the Blood-Severing Art for me — and succeeded. He’s half my master now. Even if I’ve joined the demonic path, I can’t let my heart fall into the abyss and commit patricide. That’s something we cannot do.”
“I’m your master,” Changkong Zhuoyu insisted stubbornly.
“Of course — I would never bow to another. But we can’t just slaughter him like a donkey that’s plowed our field, can we? Master, you’re the leader of the righteous sect. This isn’t something we can do.” Li Xinglun coaxed him.
At last, Changkong Zhuoyu slowly placed his hand over Xuan Minglie’s chest and withdrew the divine power he had left there. As the divine power dissipated, Xuan Minglie’s body began to heal, and his true essence stopped leaking.
The demonic sect master, unsteady, fell to one knee and panted heavily, as though escaping death.
While performing the ritual, Xuan Minglie had indeed maliciously hoped to see Changkong Zhuoyu’s face when the ritual failed. This man was too powerful — he had stormed Heaven-Shaking Peak, barely making a move, yet crushed the entire sect until everyone submitted to him. Though Xuan Minglie could endure humiliation and adapt, he had once held high position — a little sabotage was understandable. He had prepared himself for Changkong Zhuoyu’s wrath, confident that, with his skill, he wouldn’t die outright. And Changkong Zhuoyu, self-styled righteous, wouldn’t destroy Heaven-Shaking Peak over a mere Golden Core disciple. Surely he would be hurt, and would punish Xuan Minglie — but not kill him, as he still needed Xuan Minglie to control the Dark Yin Bloodthirst Formation, to help during the coming calamity.
But he never expected that when Li Xinglun’s life truly hung by a thread, Changkong Zhuoyu would grow so furious as to disregard all of humanity. He also never imagined this man to be even more terrifying than he thought — that it would take only a single sword stroke to break his Blood-Severing Art.
Divine power… Who exactly was this Changkong Zhuoyu?
Once calmed by Li Xinglun, Changkong Zhuoyu sat back in his chair, still a little angry, puffing his cheeks at Xuan Minglie like an indignant child.
Li Xinglun already knew his master had a childish streak. He no longer maintained his hard-won murderous demeanor and sat with him, patting his back soothingly: “Don’t be angry anymore. See? I’m fine. When the ritual succeeded just now, I reached the Nascent Soul stage — though for a blood cultivator it should be called ‘Bloodborne Soul.’ A twenty-one-year-old Nascent Soul disciple, advancing from Foundation Building in just one year — Master, I might even be ready for the tribulation soon.”
At these words, Changkong Zhuoyu gradually calmed. He pulled open Li Xinglun’s blood robe, saw no scars on his chest, and touched it, murmuring, “You didn’t cry out, but your breath changed from the pain.” {Payback time #2}
“It’s nothing,” Li Xinglun said, clutching the hand at his chest. Under his master’s concern, warmth seemed to flow through his body again, his temperature gradually returning to normal. “If you want it settled once and for all, this was the only way.”
In truth, Li Xinglun’s cousins might not have been refined into artifacts — perhaps they had simply died. But neither he nor Changkong Zhuoyu would gamble on the enemy being careless. They would rather pay a steep price than stake everything on that sliver of possibility.
Under Li Xinglun’s gentle coaxing, Changkong Zhuoyu’s anger ebbed. Yet he still glared at Xuan Minglie and barked, “Get out.”
Xuan Minglie, grateful to still be alive, clutched his chest and left the palace. Though his wound had healed, the truth was he was gravely hurt. Changkong Zhuoyu’s divine power had pierced his soul and scattered much of his true essence — he would need to seclude himself for a long time to recover.
As soon as he left, Changkong Zhuoyu reached out to touch Li Xinglun’s face, studying him for a long moment before finally sighing in relief: “Thankfully you don’t look like Xue Qianjie — or I’d really think you’re my reincarnation.”
Those words… Li Xinglun smiled wryly: “Master, I have a face-changing Gu on my face.”
Changkong Zhuoyu took a deep breath, clutched his chest, and looked at Li Xinglun with a pained expression: “Could it be you really are…”
“But even my true appearance is still quite different from Sect Master Xue’s.” Li Xinglun smiled. “Master, don’t you remember what I looked like? There are some similarities to this appearance.”
“Oh,” Changkong Zhuoyu nodded as if enlightened. “Of course I remember what you looked like — though it wasn’t as good-looking as my past self.”
Li Xinglun: “…”
He really wanted to shake his master by the shoulders. At a time like this, Master, you’re still clinging to this Xue Qianjie identity? You might very well be the ancient god who slept beneath the Soul-Breaking Gorge — the greatest under heaven — why are you still hung up on being the former demonic sect master?
But he didn’t say it. Seeing how much his master liked this identity, he swallowed his bitterness and softly comforted him: “Master, you’re the most beautiful person in the world.”
Only then did Changkong Zhuoyu nod in satisfaction, grabbing Li Xinglun’s collar to make him lower his head before ruffling his hair and saying, “And you’re the most obedient disciple in the world.”
That caress — who knew if it was to soothe Li Xinglun after the ritual, or because he really thought him well-behaved.
Afterward, Changkong Zhuoyu withdrew his hand and pouted. “How did you suddenly get taller?”
Li Xinglun: “…Maybe the pain reshaped me a little when I formed my Bloodborne Soul.”
In fact, when forming the Bloodborne Soul, he might have unwittingly changed his appearance as well — but with the face-changing Gu on his face, it had promptly reverted it. Now even he didn’t know what his own face looked like; he’d only know once the mother Gu reclaimed the child Gu.
The mother Gu would normally preserve his original appearance. No matter how he changed, when the face-changing Gu was removed, he’d return to his true face. But after becoming a blood cultivator, bound by the blood patterns connecting body and soul, the Gu’s effect was greatly diminished.
“I wonder if I could grow taller too,” Changkong Zhuoyu mused. “I must have changed like this when I awakened in the gorge — what did I even look like before?”
Seeing him reminiscing again, Li Xinglun’s heart clenched.
At first, he hadn’t believed this silly man was anyone important — he had even watched his master try to stitch random identities onto himself with some schadenfreude. Later, when feelings arose, Li Xinglun tried to please him, unwilling to see him sad over mismatched identities, helping him fabricate stories and pile on a jumble of personas from history. But now, he wished his master would stop clinging to his past.
If Master really was an ancient god, and if he recovered his memories and left this world for the god realm — what then?
He would try to follow in his footsteps, cultivate hard — but he didn’t know if he could reach such a height.
Most importantly, the path of cultivation was long and cold. Without his master, it would be too lonely.
He quickly said, “Master, did you forget about the Sacred Beast immortal artifact?”
Changkong Zhuoyu clapped his hands, eyes shining: “That’s right, I… I… I…”
But after struggling for a long time, he couldn’t come up with a coherent explanation to weave all his identities together. He could only blink pitifully at Li Xinglun.
Li Xinglun’s heart — no longer flowing with blood — melted like cotton candy. He secretly slipped an arm around his master’s waist, frowning as he tried to recall how he’d once woven together the stories of Xue Qianjie, Yin Changkong, the reincarnated Sword Immortal, Nüwa’s descendent, and a bodhisattva reborn. It had been absurd enough before — now with a Sacred Beast bloodline thrown in, he really couldn’t think of a plausible explanation.
Yet Changkong Zhuoyu’s intent was clear: he didn’t want to give up any of those identities.
Li Xinglun sighed deeply: “Master, my cultivation is too shallow to comprehend Heaven's Order. But at the very least, you can wield Xue Qianjie’s swordsmanship, know Elder Yin’s cultivation method weaknesses, wield the Twin Swords of Purple and Azure to restore the Mount Shu sword formation, carry a spiritual aura recognized by the Twin Serpents, manifest Buddha statues, and casually command the Sacred Beast immortal artifacts. I believe everything exists for a reason. Heaven's Order is too profound for us to fathom. Rather than wrack our brains, we should let things take their course — the truth will reveal itself in time. The one thing I believe without doubt is that no matter what you are — you are the greatest under heaven.”
With each word, Changkong Zhuoyu’s eyes brightened further, until they sparkled like the starry sky.
“You’re right!” Changkong Zhuoyu nodded vigorously. “No matter what others say or guess — these are facts! Even if I can’t explain them, these identities are real!”
In other words: never mind if it makes sense or not, whether it all fits — these identities, he claimed them all!
Li Xinglun took advantage of his master’s nodding to wipe his brow. By all rights, his current body should have transcended mortal frailties and no longer sweat — yet from nervousness, his forehead was beaded with a thin layer of true essence–formed sweat.
At last, with his master happy again, Li Xinglun breathed a sigh of relief.
No matter who Changkong Zhuoyu really was, at least for now, he hoped his master could stay this happy forever.
~ Chapter End ~
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