I Ruined the Long Ao Tian Script
Chapter 109

A Glimmer of Hope

Xu Shulou lay quietly on the bed, her body stretched out flat. The man had promised before leaving that he would order the puppets to remove her shackles, but after half a day of waiting, no one came.

She wriggled under the restraints, wrapping herself in a cocoon of blankets before mustering the strength to roll off the bed. The chains binding her were long, and with one forceful motion, she nearly tumbled to the opposite side of the room, knocking over tables, chairs, and various utensils in the process. The deafening clatter finally drew someone’s attention.

The sound of steady footsteps approached from outside the door. Soon, it swung open, revealing Yu Qishuang’s snow-pale face. She looked down at Xu Shulou on the floor, her expression devoid of emotion—neither joy nor anger.

After being turned into a puppet, it seemed she could no longer use storage artifacts. Her Frostbloom Umbrella hung limply at her waist, its once-glorious sheen now dulled, a far cry from the legendary weapon that had once swept across the world with unparalleled elegance.

A pang of sorrow struck Xu Shulou’s heart. She tried speaking to Yu Qishuang, but the puppet gave no response.

After a moment’s thought, Xu Shulou struggled free from her blanket cocoon and showed Yu Qishuang her freshly reopened wounds.

Yu Qishuang stirred into motion. She retrieved a porcelain vial from a nearby shelf, placed it before Xu Shulou, and then unlocked her shackles. Watching as Xu Shulou began applying the medicine herself, she wordlessly retreated outside.

They must have been given some kind of directive—perhaps to ensure Xu Shulou didn’t die. If she was injured, they would provide medicine, but otherwise, they were to ignore her.

At least the shackles were temporarily removed. Xu Shulou carefully tended to her wounds, then tested the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She searched the room thoroughly—her sword, the Evil-Slaying Blade, was nowhere to be found. Her Qiankun Bracelet had also been confiscated, along with the Spirit-Gathering Pearl she once wore around her neck.

After a brief deliberation, she dragged her shackles over and began smashing the lock.

Two puppets were drawn by the noise, but they made no move to stop her, standing dumbly as she broke the lock open.

Xu Shulou cautiously stepped outside, still unchallenged. She tiptoed past Yu Qishuang, slipping out the door.

At this distance, she could even see the fine down on Yu Qishuang’s face. In the sunlight, she looked so vivid, so beautiful—as if she might draw breath at any moment. But Xu Shulou knew better. The person she once was had long since perished, and there would be no response.

Once outside, the two puppets still didn’t react.

They seemed… rather dull-witted. Xu Shulou couldn’t help but compare them to the more lifelike puppets in the Xuancang Academy. Was it because those had been crafted by her master, while these were the work of his disciple?

There was no time to dwell on it. Now that she was free of the room, she had to attempt an escape. In the blink of an eye, she had sprinted some distance away—and quickly understood why they hadn’t stopped her.

The building was perched on the edge of a sheer cliff. Without spiritual power, escape was impossible. Xu Shulou peered over the precipice, calculating the odds of surviving a fall into the waters below, like the protagonists in those popular mortal-world novels who stumbled upon secret legacies.

After a moment, she regretfully concluded the chances were less than half a percent.

She tried summoning her spiritual energy, only to feel a searing pain in her dantian, as if countless needles were stabbing her. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to channel what little power she could. Perhaps the man’s cultivation was too weak to fully seal a Transcendent Realm cultivator’s energy. But the trickle she managed to gather was barely enough—insufficient to fight the puppets or to fly.

Could she use it to send a message? Xu Shulou lowered her gaze, deep in thought. She condensed a wisp of spiritual energy and flicked a pebble into the air. It struck an invisible barrier and shattered into dust.

A barrier, of course.

With a sigh, she decided to take advantage of the puppets’ indifference. Since they wouldn’t stop her, she might as well explore.

The cliffside courtyard was exquisitely designed, complete with a small garden—though clearly long untended, now overgrown with weeds.

Xu Shulou doubted this place was the work of the man who had abducted her. It bore the mark of someone who knew how to savor life.

Amid the weeds, she soon discovered a lone grave. The tombstone bore no name, only the date it was erected and a single line: "Fool. Died after gouging out his golden core."

Xu Shulou fell silent, resisting the urge to speculate about the once-brilliant cultivator buried beneath. Judging by the date, it had been a very long time—even before Yu Qishuang’s time.

In quiet reverence, she cleared the weeds and dust from around the grave—then paused, her gaze sharpening as she noticed something.

A thorough search of the garden revealed two more graves. These tombstones bore no insults, leading Xu Shulou to suspect these were cases where the puppet-maker had failed due to his own mistakes.

Her theory was soon confirmed when the man returned. Xu Shulou posed the question outright.

His face twitched, and he avoided a direct answer—which told her everything she needed to know.

Before he entered, the two puppets had shackled her again. "You haven’t visited in twenty days," Xu Shulou remarked. "You must be busy."

The man sneered. "Don’t tell me you’ve been eagerly awaiting my return?"

"I was just wondering what kept you occupied."

He glanced at her. "I was repairing puppets for the Qingcheng Sect."

His expression darkened at the mention of it. Clearly, he took no pride in the work. Given how he disdained even his master’s wood-and-stone puppets as a waste of talent, it was no surprise he resented being reduced to such menial labor.

Xu Shulou studied him. This was the man who had moved unnoticed through the Qingcheng Sect, only to seize the chaos as an opportunity to murder their most brilliant disciple.

A memory surfaced—the Xuancang Academy’s puppets had once been damaged by disciples of the Xuanji Sect. "Have you ever repaired puppets at Xuancang?"

"I have. I even caught a glimpse of you from afar," he replied, handing her a bowl of medicine. "But it makes no difference. That wasn’t when I first noticed you. The name Xu Shulou has long echoed through the cultivation world. You were on my list from the start."

He seemed to expect a response. She raised a brow. "Were you hoping I’d say, 'What an honor'?"

"Tch. Drink your medicine."

As he leaned in to feed her, Xu Shulou suddenly lashed out, channeling every ounce of spiritual energy she could muster. Despite the heavy shackles, her hands shot up and clamped around his throat.

The man gagged, flailing wildly. "L-Let go! I can’t—I can’t breathe! Help! Someone—hahahaha!"

Xu Shulou stared at him, bewildered.

The man shouted a few words, then suddenly burst into laughter, doubling over with mirth. "Did I fool you? I thought you might be different. Did you really believe such meager spiritual power could kill me?"

"..."

"I deliberately gave you the illusion of freedom, letting you think you had a chance to resist or escape. I even left you a trace of usable spiritual energy just to watch your desperate struggles end in failure," the man wiped away tears of laughter. "This trick never fails to amuse me."

"..."

"Especially Yu Qishuang. Back when I followed my master to the Qingcheng Sect, she wouldn’t even glance at me—just swept past, surrounded by her entourage," the man sneered, allowing Xu Shulou’s hand to remain around his throat. "There’s a saying about the difference between clouds and mud, isn’t there? She was the cloud in the sky, and I was the mud beneath her feet. But look at us now. You so-called prodigies—I create a sliver of fairness, and you all collapse into the filth, becoming nothing more than worthless muck."

"Enough. I can’t stand listening to this anymore," Xu Shulou retorted coldly. "You’re not creating fairness—you’re just jealous of others’ talent. Don’t dress it up in noble words."

"Shut your mouth!"

Xu Shulou lifted her gaze to meet his. "You lack talent, with no hope of ascension. Instead of improving yourself, you drag others down to wallow with you..."

Perhaps it was the faint disdain in her eyes that provoked him. Before she could finish, the man swung his palm to strike her face.

Xu Shulou didn’t flinch. She simply tightened her grip around his throat. A brittle crunch echoed as bones shattered beneath her fingers.

"You still refuse to give up... Wait, no—this can’t be!" The man’s smug grin vanished, replaced by genuine panic as he struggled—no longer pretending. "How do you still have so much spiritual power?"

He tried to call for help, but earlier, to lure Xu Shulou into attacking, he had ordered his puppets to retreat. Now, only choked gurgles escaped his throat.

"You know, I’ve noticed something about those genius cultivators—the ones who reach the Tribulation Transcendence stage before three hundred years of age," Xu Shulou whispered in his ear. "They all possess admirable character."

In the small garden, while sweeping the lone grave, she had discovered something hidden among the overgrown weeds beside the tombstone—a golden core. A golden core that had been forcibly ripped from someone’s body.

The moment she held it, a single tear rolled down Xu Shulou’s cheek.

A cultivator’s spiritual energy flows between their meridians, golden core, and dantian. In battle, some compress all their power into their core to self-detonate, taking their enemies with them.

But this core’s owner must have had their spiritual power sealed, unable to detonate. So they chose to dig it out themselves, ending their life on their own terms.

Once extracted, a golden core could store spiritual energy, functioning like a spirit-gathering pearl.

The instant Xu Shulou touched it, she sensed the chaotic strands of energy within—each from a different cultivator.

She understood immediately where they came from.

Perhaps every person before her had also found this core. One by one, they poured every trace of spiritual power they could muster into it, then hid it again near the tombstone, waiting until the accumulated energy was enough to strike back.

Those who came before her—those who had died—had all forsaken their chance to use the core. They knew the stored power wasn’t enough yet. If they failed to kill their enemy in one blow, the core would be wasted. So they gave up their own hope of survival, adding only a wisp of their energy before passing it on.

They left the core for those who came after.

They left hope for those who came after.

They left the chance for justice to those who came after.

After obtaining the core, Xu Shulou endured excruciating pain every day, forcing every drop of her recoverable spiritual power into it. The next day, once a sliver of energy returned, she repeated the process. Over and over, for twenty days.

Countless faint wisps of energy, gathered into a single chance at life.

She ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‍bowed deeply toward Yu Qishuang and the nameless cultivator’s resting place, honoring them—for choosing death, if it meant leaving a spark of hope for those who followed.

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