Unorthodox Wuxia: While Others Practice Martial Arts, I Cultivate Immortality - Chapter 36

Chapter 36: The Prayer Beads and the Mad Dog (Part 2)

They were strung on a black, unknown thread, holding 108 fingernail-sized white beads—cold to the touch, with a strange texture.

‘They could bind the Heaven’s Prison Blade without being cut,’ Yuan Zhao thought. ‘Definitely not ordinary.’

Then she noticed that each bead had a faint, intricate carving on its surface—tiny, mysterious symbols.

As she focused on them, the carved images suddenly came alive.

Dozens of luminous figures of meditating arhats shot out of the beads and into her eyes like streams of light.

In an instant, her head spun, her vision blurred and blood trickled from the corner of her lips. Startled, she shut her eyes at once.

After a long moment of steady breathing, she finally reopened them, her expression now solemn.

Those prayer beads… contained the complete inner-cultivation method of the Buddhist supreme art, “The Heart Sutra of Prajna.”

However, the technique demanded immense spiritual fortitude. Yuan Zhao had only glimpsed the opening section before the power within nearly shattered her mind.

Had she not closed her eyes in time, she might have suffered irreversible harm.

She sighed.

“What a pity… The greatest of techniques right before my eyes—and I can’t even read it.”

True, she already had her own martial arts. But a top-level method like this could have been an invaluable reference for her cultivation.

“Such a shame… truly a shame.”

With nothing else to do, Yuan Zhao continued to examine the beads, hoping to find a way to decipher them safely.

Soon, she discovered something surprising: not all of the 108 beads were dangerous.

Seventy-two of them contained the Heart Sutra of Prajna—those she couldn’t read at all.

Each time she tried, her mind would quake, pain splitting her skull as though her very soul were being torn apart.

Perhaps that was the very reason why Ci’an herself had never mastered the supreme art.

Among the remaining thirty-six prayer beads, four supreme martial arts were recorded.

Two of them were “Finger of the Blooming Flower” and “Steps of the Sumeru Mirage,” the very techniques Cian had once used. The other two were “Left-and-Right Flower-Piercing Hands” and “The Maha Dharma Robe”

All of these were techniques that Yuan Zhao could read.

Although she would feel dizzy when trying to read these advanced arts, she could endure it without too much trouble.

Of the four, the first three were useful only as references to her; she didn’t plan to study them in depth.

In martial arts, nothing is worse than being broad but shallow.

Almost every famous master in the martial world had only one or two perfected ultimate arts—three was already exceedingly rare.

Only “Maha Dharma Robe” caught Yuan Zhao’s genuine interest, because it was a defensive technique.

Without realizing it, Yuan Zhao spent the whole night studying the prayer beads.

When the first light appeared on the horizon, the old wolf groggily opened its eyes.

“Woof?”

It looked around, confused. Wasn’t there someone here last night? Where was that person?

Then Yuan Zhao’s voice sounded beside its ear.

“Finally awake?”

The old wolf stared blankly at its master. Seeing she acted as if nothing was unusual, it became even more puzzled—Had last night just been a dream?

“Awwooo~” it cried toward her, but unfortunately Yuan Zhao didn’t understand what it wanted to say.

“Still half asleep?” she laughed at its silly expression.

After washing up and preparing breakfast, the girl and the wolf each ate a bowl of porridge and then set off again on their journey.

The wolf still wore a confused look—was last night a dream or reality?

As they traveled north, Yuan Zhao began to notice more and more people of the martial world along the road—men and women, young and old, some in groups, some alone.

Seeing her so young and traveling by herself, quite a few people thought of taking advantage of her. But anyone who actually made a move ended up slain under her blade.

Besides martial wanderers, Yuan Zhao sometimes met nomads of the Great Xiao Empire, herders driving cattle and sheep from pasture to pasture, scattered across the vast grasslands.

Some shameless martial men, when meeting them, would simply seize their livestock to roast and eat, without paying—even beating or killing the herders.

A few days later, Yuan Zhao spotted a white tent in the distance, a typical dwelling of the grassland nomads. Living in tents made it easy for them to move at any time.

To be honest, after so many days of traveling, Yuan Zhao was craving meat. She had dried meat, but it was nothing like fresh roast.

“Old Wolf, how about we buy a sheep and roast it?” she asked.

“Awwooo~ Awwooo~” The wolf wagged its tail excitedly.

It had caught a few rabbits lately for snacks, but that was hardly enough to fill even a tooth gap.

“Then let’s hurry.” Yuan Zhao urged, and the two ran toward the tent.

But halfway there, Yuan Zhao suddenly stopped. Something was wrong.

“Old Wolf, do you smell blood?” she asked.

They were downwind, and the scent of blood was strong in the air.

“Woof~” The wolf nodded firmly.

“Let’s go check it out,” Yuan Zhao said, frowning.

“Awwooo~” The wolf agreed.

Together, they quickened their pace toward the tent. The closer they came, the heavier the metallic scent grew.

When they reached the tent area, both instinctively softened their steps.

From a distance, they saw a large herd of cattle and sheep quietly grazing.

Two restless horses were tied at the tent entrance. But there was no sign of any people.

“You wait here. I’ll go inside,” Yuan Zhao whispered.

The old wolf nodded.

Cautiously, Yuan Zhao lifted the tent flap and stepped in.

The next instant, she froze in shock.

Hanging neatly from the wooden beams at the top of the tent were thirteen corpses—one old man, two middle-aged men, seven young adults, and three children.

The elder, the adults, and the children were clearly nomads, while the seven youths were dressed as well-off martial wanderers.

As Yuan Zhao examined the bodies, she caught a flash of cold light at the edge of her vision.

Instinctively, she swung her blade across her left front side…

Clang! 

A shadow dropped down and landed lightly on a table inside the tent.

“Hehehe~~ another prey has come.”

Yuan Zhao looked up. On the table crouched a man dressed in black close-fitting clothes, his face below the nose covered by a strange mask.

His weapons were a pair of clawed hooks attached to both hands. The strike she had just blocked came from those very claws.

“Not bad, little girl,” he said with a grin. “You actually caught my first move.”

“Did you kill these people?” Yuan Zhao asked.

“That’s right,” he admitted casually.

“Are you here for the Bandit King’s treasure too?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, no, I couldn’t care less about that so-called treasure. I came here… simply because there are so many prey here.”

Pointing to the seven young corpses, he said, “See? They were all drawn here by the smell of blood—just like you. And you… will soon join them.”

“Kehehehe~” he burst into wild, manic laughter, arms crossed over his chest.

A lunatic! Yuan Zhao thought.

“Little girl, now… become one of my trophies!”

As soon as he spoke, he lunged at her.

So fast! Yuan Zhao was startled and swung her blade to parry.

Clang!

Steel met steel again. His claws slid along her blade, trying to rip into her chest.

Yuan Zhao pushed forward, forcing him back, but in an instant he vanished and reappeared behind her, claws slashing for her neck—every strike vicious and lethal, faster even than Ci’an’s.

She spun and blocked with the back of her blade, then flipped it and cut toward his wrist, but he was even quicker, disappearing once more and leaping to the top of the tent. With a kick, he dove down, both claws aimed straight at her skull.

At that moment, Yuan Zhao finally realized—this opponent was a First-Rank master, far stronger than Xiao Hong, Yang Fei, or Mo Guanshan.

But what she didn’t know was that her enemy was also secretly astonished by her strength.

Each time their weapons clashed, he felt his arms go numb.

‘What kind of monster-strength girl is this?’