The smell of new ink mingled with the musty odor of the Sword Pavilion. Chen Mo sat cross-legged on a straw mat, cheap xuan paper scattered all over the floor like a storm of ink snowflakes. Gripping a worn-out wolf-hair brush, he licked the tip against the inkstone over and over, his brows knitted tightly together as he wrestled with a hunchbacked, awkwardly bent stick figure on the page that looked as though it had sprained its lower back.
"Body following the sword... follow your head!" Chen Mo muttered curses under his breath, his wrist trembling like he was having a spasm. On the paper, one of the stick figure's limbs had been drawn like a thin straw, while the other was as thick as an elephant's leg. "Intent merging with spirit... merge my ass! The only thing this lord wants to merge right now is with the outhouse!" The scar on his ribs gave an occasional, faint itch, and though his left eye no longer burned, it still felt sore and bloated after looking at things for too long, as if half a catty of sand had been stuffed into it.
Irritated, he grabbed a handful of his hair, smearing ink across his forehead. Ever since that day of "sweeping dust" and gaining sudden enlightenment, he had thrown himself into the grand path of immortal cultivation like he was high on adrenaline. Yet enthusiasm was one thing; his hands simply refused to obey. The aloof and icy "purity" of the Jingyuan Sword, along with its true essence of cleansing the world and banishing demons, swirled in …
Chapter 79