Chapter 33 — The Sword Core Shrieks Through the Air
The Herdsman of the Wasteland · Page 1 of 3
The village was flooded everywhere with water and strewn everywhere with sharp swords; there was scarcely room to set a foot, and the corpses, laid out one after another, gave off an eerie and hideous feeling. The village head looked around, frowned, and spoke: "Lame Elder, go and tidy things up and lay them properly in their coffins.
Don't leave them to lie exposed in the wilderness—send them down the river. Burn paper ingots, candles, paper boats and paper cranes for them as well. " The Lame Elder limped forward, shot a glance at the Blind Elder, and chuckled: "So sentimental, and still chanting poetry—chanting such utter nonsense.
" The Blind Elder flew into a rage, the whiskers at the corners of his mouth blowing upward: "As if you could chant if you wanted to—you can't read more than a few characters! " Granny Zhu said hastily: "Lame Elder, when you lay them out, keep the good things!
Don't put them into the coffins.
They're worth something, after all—next time we can sell them for a bit of oil, salt, soy sauce and vinegar! " "Right you are!
" In the Desolate Ruins, the most precious things were not gold, silver or jewels, but oil, salt, soy sauce, vinegar, fine silks and brocades.
Such things did not exist in the Ruins; only caravans could bring them from the outside world to Jianglong City, where the inhabitants of the Ruins bartered rare treasures and animal hides for them. One might well say that salt was dearer than gold. Every time, Granny Zhu would haul a cartload of treasures and drive a few head of livestock to Jianglong City, and only by selling the beasts and the treasures could she trade for a little oil, salt, soy sauce and vinegar.
The Pill Master came forward, applied medicine to Shen Mu and bound the wounds on his hands, shaking his head: "Catching swords bare-handed—your primal qi is not yet strong enough for that. Don't show off next time.
" Shen Mu felt only a cool numbness in his palms, with no pain at all, and said: "My sword-controlling art is no good. I cannot be as nimble as that man from the Lanjiang Sect.
I feel as though I have a whole body's worth of strength, yet I cannot strike it out. " "That is only natural. That fellow the Butcher is too poor at the sword-controlling art to teach you anything.
" The Pill Master said with a smile: "There is someone in our village who knows a profound sword-controlling art—a pity he does not wish to teach you.
" The village head's face darkened slightly, and he said stiffly: "Pill Master, there is too much water here.
Take me back to my room!
" The Pill Master laughed: "Then the village head will have to wait a moment.
I am still bandaging Shen'er's wounds. " When the bandaging was done, Shen Mu saw the smith, Silent Smith, picking up swords from the ground. He picked one up, gave it a light shake, and at once thousands upon thousands of flying swords came flying of their own accord, clashing with a jingling clang against the sword in his hand; and these swords all vanished, merging into a single blade, which made Shen Mu click his tongue in wonder. He too stepped forward, picked up a sword and gave it a light shake—but nothing happened at all.
Silent Smith grinned, his mouth tongueless; he uttered two sounds, "ah, ah," then rubbed the sword between his two hands, and the blade shrank smaller and smaller under his rubbing until, in the blink of an eye, it became a tiny silver pellet no bigger than a fingertip.
Shen Mu looked at the sword in his own hand and wanted to rub it too, to see whether he could rub it into a little silver pellet, but the Pill Master said hurriedly: "Don't rub it! The wound was just bandaged! Silent Smith, stop teasing him, or I'll poison you!
" Silent Smith laughed without stopping, snatched the flying sword from Shen Mu's hand, and then pressed the silver pellet into Shen Mu's hand. Crack. Shen Mu heard a faint sound from his own shoulder, and then his whole body was pressed flat to the ground by the silver pellet in his hand.