Sword God Supreme

Chapter 7: Demigod's Bearing

The robed elder, Xiao Yuanshan, drew a steadying breath. Decades of battlefield c*****e had forged nerves of steel—no mere surprise could unsettle him for long. He knew the world hid masters whose powers defied reason. This unassuming youth before him? Undoubtedly one such enigma.

"Did you stalk us through the woods?" Hong Ling’s violet eyes narrowed, suspicion sharp in her voice.

Before Chen Mo could respond, Xiao Yuanshan cut in with a reproving glance. "Silence, child! A master of his standing wouldn’t sully himself with petty surveillance." Turning to Chen Mo, the elder clasped his hands and bowed—a gesture so profound that Hong Ling’s breath caught. Her grandfather, whose name commanded reverence across Qinghe County’s nineteen cities, showing deference to a stranger barely older than herself?

Her gaze swept over Chen Mo: slender frame draped in simple linen, features carved with an almost ethereal calm. Yet his spiritual aura felt... absent. As if he moved through the world untouched by cultivation’s pulse. Unless—her blood chilled—unless he stood so far beyond her perception that his power became invisible. Family legends whispered of Land Deities who walked among mortals, their true might veiled beneath mundane facades. Was this "youth" an ancient who’d mastered the art of agelessness?

Chen Mo remained oblivious to her spiraling thoughts. At Xiao Yuanshan’s inquiry, his voice remained a blade sheathed in ice. "To speak plainly: even with Nine Yin Grass and Pure Yang Flowers, your third-layer Furnace Nurturing Realm cultivation cannot breach the next barrier." He paused, watching the elder’s pupils contract to pinpoints. "You’ve long known age and damaged foundations block conventional advancement. Hence this gambit—using opposing spiritual herbs to force a breakthrough. Am I mistaken?"

Xiao Yuanshan’s spine locked rigid. Cold dread seeped into his bones as if Chen Mo had peeled back his skin to examine his very marrow. Earlier deductions could be luck. This? This was omniscience.

"Grandfather! How—?" Hong Ling’s composure shattered, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.

To Chen Mo, it was arithmetic. The trembling in Xiao Yuanshan’s fingertips, the unnatural pallor beneath his weathered tan, the faint scent of grave soil clinging to his robes—all pointed to a single, brutal truth.

"Your vision pierces falsehoods like torchlight, Master Chen!" Xiao Yuanshan exhaled, bowing deeper. His address shifted irrevocably—from "young friend" to "Master," a title reserved for those who walked the clouds.

Chen Mo acknowledged this with a fractional nod. A Furnace Nurturing Realm cultivator—a Grandmaster—held power to sway dynasties in Great Xia. That such a titan would humble himself spoke volumes.

"Master Chen," Hong Ling pressed, hope fraying her voice, "if you see Grandfather’s wounds so clearly... surely you hold the cure?" Her knuckles whitened around her silk sash. A Grandmaster’s fall would cascade through their clan like a shattered pillar. Alliances would crumble. Enemies would swarm.

"This unworthy one is Xiao Yuanshan." The elder’s voice roughened with emotion. "Though my influence in Qinghe County is but a pebble, if you spare this life, my lineage’s gratitude will echo through generations!"

Chen Mo’s lips quirked. "If I couldn’t mend this scraped knee, why waste breath diagnosing it?"

Relief washed over them—Hong Ling’s shoulders sagging, Xiao Yuanshan’s stern face softening.

"Name your price, Master!" The elder’s voice hardened, bracing for impossible demands—rare artifacts, ancestral secrets, perhaps even Hong Ling’s hand in marriage. "Anything within my power is yours!"

Chen Mo waved a dismissive hand. "Consider it a roadside courtesy. A token consultation fee suffices."

Silence.

Hong Ling blinked. Xiao Yuanshan stared.

"I..." Hong Ling fumbled, cheeks flushing. "We never imagined... it would be so..."

Chen Mo nearly laughed. Must every act carry the weight of dynastic debt?

Xiao Yuanshan’s eyes cleared with dawning awe. "Foolish child," he murmured, "true masters swim in oceans deeper than gold. He offers us grace without chains."

Hong Ling’s breath hitched. Of course—transcendent beings disdained mortal obligations! She scrambled for her embroidered purse, extracting a slip of parchment. "Master, please accept this ten-thousand-tael silver note. A paltry sum, yet our hearts overflow—"

Chen Mo’s eyebrow arched. Ten thousand taels. To Wen Lingxue and Wen Lingxue—daughters of Guangling City’s mighty Wen Clan—it represented thirty-three years of combined allowances. This girl produced it like spare coin.

"Excessive," Chen Mo stated flatly.

Xiao Yuanshan stepped forward, his voice resonating with conviction. "To peasants, ten thousand taels is fortune. To me? Less than dust beneath your feet." He bowed again, Hong Ling mirroring him instantly. "Accept it, Master Chen. Or condemn us to lifetimes of unpayable debt."

Chen Mo sighed, pocketing the note. "Rise. Such reverence makes this fee burn my palm."

Joy illuminated Xiao Yuanshan’s face. "The cure, Master—seven days of herbs, then a secret art to purge corpse poison from the five viscera?"

"Gratitude for the prescription!" The elder committed the thirty common herbs to memory—nettle root, sun-dried ghostcap mushrooms, powdered moonbell—and the crucial catalyst: decade-old Jade Toad Slough, rarer than phoenix feathers.

"Decoct the herbs at dawn and dusk for seven days," Chen Mo instructed. "Return here then. I’ll scour the lingering poison." He turned, robes whispering against the grass. "Farewell."

Only when his silhouette melted into the forest’s embrace did Hong Ling exhale. "Grandfather... if he hadn’t unraveled your secrets like thread from a spool..."

Xiao Yuanshan snorted. "Remember this, girl: silver notes are pebbles to such beings. Observe his bearing—the stillness of deep waters, the certainty of mountains. A demigod walks among us!" His grip tightened on her shoulder. "Next we meet, kneel if he commands it."

Hong Ling nodded, solemn. "I understand."

"To think..." Xiao Yuanshan’s gaze drifted toward the mist-shrouded peaks of Ghost Mother Ridge. "I returned from that accursed place expecting a coffin... yet fate granted an audience with divinity." His voice thickened. "Master Chen’s diagnosis... his prescription..." Abruptly, he smacked his forehead. "Blind fool! I never asked his honored name!"

The forest swallowed his lament, leaving only the whisper of leaves and the echo of a demigod’s passing.