I Ruined the Long Ao Tian Script
Chapter 110

"Where is my sword?"

The man looked at her, his eyes already bloodshot and bulging from suffocation, yet the corners of his lips curled into a sickening grin as he forced out two silent words: "Beg me."

From his gaze, Xu Shulou understood his meaning—threatening his life was useless. If she wanted to know the whereabouts of her sword, she would have to beg. If she killed him, she would be left trapped on this mountain by his two puppets.

Begging while she held the upper hand was not a habit Xu Shulou had. Besides, she didn’t believe he would spare her even if she did.

The spiritual energy in her golden core was nearly depleted. She had no retreat. Stopping now to interrogate him would only invite complications, and he had already made it clear that coercion wouldn’t work. Even if she forced him to order the puppets to release her, who knew what twisted commands his unpredictable nature might give them?

This was an opportunity bought with a senior’s life. Xu Shulou wasn’t willing to gamble. Even if she couldn’t escape, she couldn’t let him harm anyone else. She couldn’t allow him to see the puppets again, to give them any more orders. To kill or not to kill? Xu Shulou smiled. "Let fate decide."

Her right hand tightened around the man’s throat while her left, clutching the golden core, struck like lightning, sealing his spiritual energy by striking key meridians.

Holding the core made it awkward to use her fingers, so she mostly hammered at him with her fist.

The man coughed up blood from the blows, but Xu Shulou continued channeling the core’s energy. The resistance in his neck weakened under her grip. She watched him calmly. If he survived until the core’s energy was exhausted, he would face the judgment of the world—the Qingcheng Sect would surely give him a warm welcome. If he died, she wouldn’t mourn. The nameless bones in the garden would just have to remain restless spirits.

The golden core’s energy was meager, soon spent. Xu Shulou released her grip, letting the man collapse to the ground.

She checked his breathing—still alive. What a shame.

While the two puppets were still dismissed, Xu Shulou wrapped him in a quilt and dragged him to the garden.

She had broken free of her shackles earlier, and now she fastened them onto him.

Xu Shulou dug a deep pit in the garden, bound his limbs, gagged him, and threw him inside before filling it back in, leaving only a small airhole.

She couldn’t risk him contacting the puppets, so she hid him here.

If he stayed unconscious, he was lucky. If he woke up, he’d get a taste of being buried alive.

With the man dealt with, Xu Shulou observed the puppets. Without their master, they didn’t search for him, merely carrying out their previous orders to guard her.

Now, the problem was escaping.

The mountain’s barrier was intricate. With her weakened spiritual energy, she couldn’t break through. The only way down seemed to be past the puppets guarding the gate.

She tried disguising herself in the man’s clothes and hairstyle, but the puppets weren’t that foolish.

She took his storage ring, suspecting her sword, Quexie, was inside. But the ring bore his spiritual imprint, and his paranoia—likely from stealing his master’s belongings—had led him to add multiple traps, making it impossible to crack.

What else could she do?

She tested her boundaries. The puppets ignored her on the mountain but attacked if she stepped beyond.

Trapped. No artifacts, no Quexie, no strength, no allies.

But despair was far off. Xu Shulou steadied herself. Though she could only muster a trickle of spiritual energy now, that didn’t mean she couldn’t recover. She stored energy in her golden core daily and forced herself to cultivate despite the agony in her dantian.

If her current power matched a Qi Refining cultivator, she’d start over—Qi Refining, Foundation Building, Golden Core, Nascent Soul… step by step.

She scoured the manor but found no weapons, settling for a rusted kitchen cleaver she sharpened herself.

She missed Quexie, but she wasn’t the type to give up without it.

A small waterfall within her range became her training ground.

Seasons passed. Spring, summer, autumn, winter—another year gone.

Each time her energy grew, she challenged the puppets. They stopped at beating her bloody, leaving a bottle of medicine before walking away—their orders were to guard, not kill.

When the medicine ran out, they still placed empty bottles before her.

Xu Shulou rarely endured such beatings, yet she sought them out time and again.

But the pain wasn’t wasted. She learned their patterns, memorized their rhythms.

Soon, she didn’t need full strength—just the right moves to counter them.

Once her golden core held enough energy and her body had a usable reserve, she attacked.

After a year of injuries, she could dodge Yu Qishuang’s umbrella sword blindfolded. Puppets were no match for living reflexes.

The mixed-element hammer would come from the left, the umbrella tip would flick upward. Xu Shulou recited the sequence—next, the sword aimed for her heart. She’d leap, but the following hammer strike was unavoidable.

She blocked with the cleaver, barely slowing the hammer before it shattered her left arm again.

She hissed. Broken bones were nothing new. Sacrificing her left arm kept her right intact for offense.

Seizing the moment, she lunged at Yu Qishuang. The puppet’s Cold Plum Umbrella unfurled, its painted blossoms blooming midair—a beautiful contrast to her crude cleaver.

Xu Shulou didn’t pause to admire it. She pivoted behind the puppet, her movements instinct after countless drills.

The next strike came as a diagonal thrust. Xu Shulou gritted her teeth and deliberately positioned herself to meet it, allowing the slender sword to pierce her body and lodge between her ribs. Yu Qishuang, unable to recall her weapon in time, had no choice but to release the sword and retract her umbrella, thrusting its pointed tip toward Xu Shulou. Meanwhile, the next hammer swing was already arcing toward her legs—a blow she could dodge by leaping.

But Xu Shulou’s jump wasn’t for evasion. Instead, she vaulted directly onto Yu Qishuang’s body the moment the latter retracted her umbrella.

The puppets seemed to have no qualms about harming one another. Seeing Xu Shulou clinging to Yu Qishuang, the other puppet swung its hammer at both of them without hesitation.

Naturally, Yu Qishuang dodged. The puppets appeared capable of focusing on only one task at a time—so while she evaded, she momentarily forgot about Xu Shulou.

Seizing the instant, Xu Shulou wrapped her uninjured right arm around the puppet’s head—their weak spot.

She didn’t hesitate when she twisted it off. The situation left no room for hesitation. Yu Qishuang was already gone; this puppet was nothing but an empty shell. There was no reason for mercy.

With a sharp, decisive twist, the headless puppet instantly froze, its body stiffening into an unmoving statue.

Xu Shulou then turned her attention to the remaining puppet—the one wielding the hammer, whose name she still didn’t know. With Yu Qishuang gone, the pressure eased. She yanked the slender sword from between her ribs—far more effective than a kitchen knife—and spent the next half-hour locked in combat before finally finding an opening to wrench off its head as well.

When the fight ended, she collapsed to the ground, every breath sending waves of pain through her. Glancing at the motionless puppets, she finally allowed herself to pass out.

She ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‍woke to rain—cold droplets splashing against her face, pulling her back to consciousness. A puddle had formed on the ground, tinged red with her blood.

Beside her stood the two headless bodies, rigid as pine trees, seemingly incapable of toppling. Xu Shulou dragged herself up, gathered their bodies and the fallen heads, and arranged them neatly under the eaves to shelter from the rain. Then, limping, she made her way to the small garden.

She dug the man out of the soil. He had been awake for some time, but the experience of being buried alive had clearly left him traumatized. His expression was vacant, and when Xu Shulou spoke to him, it took him a long while to respond.

She waited patiently for half a day before he regained some semblance of coherence. After cursing her violently—only to be silenced by her threatening to rebury him—he finally managed to speak normally again.

“You dealt with the puppets? Did you get the Spirit-Gathering Pearl? No… no, that can’t be,” the man muttered, glancing at the seal on his storage ring with misplaced confidence. “Did you… cultivate back to this level? What kind of monster are you?”

Xu Shulou looked down at him. “You once accused us of advancing effortlessly, boasting about your own diligence. But is that so rare? Do you think talent and hard work can’t coexist? What makes you assume the gifted don’t understand perseverance?”

“…”

Suddenly curious, she asked, “How far did you cultivate in this past year?”

“I—I only woke up recently! And I was bound, my spiritual power sealed! How could I possibly cultivate under those conditions?”

Xu Shulou smiled mockingly. “Then tell me—in what way are you superior to those ‘favored by heaven’ you envy so much?”

The man fell silent, visibly stung.

Xu Shulou raised her hand, ready to knock him out.

“Wait!” he blurted. “Back then… I only left you a sliver of spiritual power. How did you resist me?”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

“You said it was because of your temperament, but what does that have to do with anything?” His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Can temperament be converted into cultivation?”

“…” The absurdity of the question left her momentarily speechless.

“Ah! So that’s it! No wonder the cultivation world says ‘cultivate the heart before cultivating immortality.’ The major sects must have discovered a way to convert temperament into power—and they’re hoarding it, keeping it from lesser cultivators like us!”

Xu Shulou stared at him, stunned, before bursting into laughter. “You’ll never guess the truth. Because they’re the kind of people you’ll never understand—and never reach.”