Slag Shou Cultivating Manual - Chapter 49

The Demon Doctor had a flamboyant personality. Perhaps due to his own unfulfilled ambitions in middle age, he loved to talk about his youthful vigor and repeatedly regaled He Lang with stories of his past glories, leaving him with a hint of melancholy.

He Lang’s injuries were a mix of old and new ones, requiring daily visits to the Demon Doctor. Occasionally, he would encounter the doctor researching poisonous herbs and flowers.

The Demon Doctor, engrossed in his specialty, was eager to show off and teach He Lang a few things.

“This poison,” he said, “Don’t always think about how to detoxify it or what herbs can counteract it! Don’t fret about it. You only need to use poison to counter poison!”

The Demon Doctor held up a handful of toxic herbs. “Look here, this Magpie Tail Grass is highly poisonous, and this Bone-Eating Flower is also deadly. But when combined, they neutralize each other. There’s no harm at all. Once, that Prince Jing was poisoned by an assassin, and I tested it with just a bit of effort and cured him in no time—really, in less than half a tea session!”

He Lang found this intriguing and asked many questions.

Seeing that He Lang was quite perceptive, the Demon Doctor’s eyes lit up. “By the way, you’re going to the arena, right? I can give you a helping hand.”

At first, He Lang didn’t understand what the Demon Doctor meant, but he obediently handed over his sword.

The Demon Doctor carefully examined the sword, his eyes shining with admiration, and then carefully immersed it in a potion.

He Lang felt uneasy and quickly asked about his intentions.

The Demon Doctor, holding him down, grinned with his eyes narrowed into slits, and said proudly, “Heh heh, this is a good thing. I’ve collected poisons for over ten years to create this poison king—”

Poison? He Lang finally realized that the Demon Doctor intended to poison his sword. He hesitated but couldn’t refuse, though he remained uneasy. He asked, “Isn’t this too treacherous, too despicable?”

The Demon Doctor shrugged dismissively. “But aren’t people in our sect despicable?”

That answer was somewhat correct. He Lang was at a loss for words, pondered for a long time, and then asked him to use a different poison, one that wouldn’t be fatal.

The Demon Doctor, mumbling a few words, still coated the sword with a toxin that would immobilize rather than kill.

The Virtuous Spirit Sword, now surrounded by a faint black aura and intertwined with the Genuine Martial Sword Energy, shone brightly. Even the Demon Doctor, who had lived half a lifetime, couldn’t help but praise how rare this sword was.

He Lang took the sword and thanked him repeatedly.

“If you succeed and become a protector, don’t forget the favor I’ve done you,” the Demon Doctor laughed heartily.

Though he said this casually, he didn’t really expect much, thinking it would be a good thing if He Lang could simply survive the arena.

He didn’t try to dissuade He Lang, knowing that young people, with their blood and ambitions, would not rest until they had tried. He merely shook his head, considering how he might exploit him for more herbal costs the next time he came.

…

One day before the arena match, He Lang heard that a peculiar man known for using poison had defeated the previous champion and become the final day’s opponent.

So tomorrow, he would be competing against this person?

He Lang made his preparations and went to the arena. To his surprise, the current champion was the long-haired man he had encountered when he first arrived. The man, named Wu Zheng, had changed significantly. His skin had a bluish tint, his back was hunched, and his weapon, glinting silver, resembled claws or rakes.

It was said that Wu Zheng had previously clashed with He Lang and, after a temporary setback, had vented his frustrations in the sect’s back mountain. There, he stumbled upon a discarded manual on poison techniques.

Not obtaining his preferred copy and with the sect’s lenient rules, he was tempted to practice it.

Such techniques were discarded for a reason. During his practice, Wu Zheng discovered that prolonged exposure to toxins could cause skin abscesses or wrinkling. Although it wasn’t extremely painful, the resulting appearance was quite repulsive.

However, many in the sect had altered appearances due to their training, and as long as one had real power, it was not a significant issue.

Moreover, the poison techniques were indeed deadly, capable of causing death in an instant, unlike other methods that required arduous practice.

When He Lang took the stage amidst the crowd’s astonished murmurs, Wu Zheng’s face twisted in hatred upon seeing him. Old and new grievances surged within him.

Wu Zheng’s malicious gaze made He Lang feel extremely displeased, and a small flame of anger began to kindle within his usually calm demeanor.

He Lang’s mild and gentle appearance drew laughter from the audience, who joked about the various types of “white faces” making it to the arena. However, some women, unaccustomed to seeing such a clean-cut man, cheered for him.

The elder referee, usually a detached observer of the arena battles, took an interest in He Lang’s incongruity with the sect’s norms and asked them, “Why do you both want to be protectors?”

Wu Zheng, brushing his long hair aside confidently, declared, “Naturally, to help the sect leader eliminate the righteous and unify the martial world!”

The audience erupted in support, with many shouting along.

Amidst the chaos, He Lang remained composed, standing with his hands behind his back, and simply said, “To protect the sect leader.”

The scene fell silent for a moment, then erupted into laughter as people shouted at him from the stands.

“Hey, kid! Do you know how powerful the sect leader is?! He could probably kill you with a single finger! How can you speak of protection?”

Similar voices rang out continuously.

In the attic, there was a secret room with a clear view of the arena.

Upon hearing He Lang’s response, the person behind the curtain slowly opened their eyes, observing the figure below for a while before speaking with a hint of sarcasm, “Overestimating oneself.”

The short-haired man beside him continuously agreed, slightly irritated by the words of the person on the stage.

He was the only protector by the sect leader’s side, and this unknown disciple daring to boast upon arrival and trying to sit at the same level as himself was quite audacious.

“This low-skilled disciple dares to speak so arrogantly! In my opinion, it won’t take a few moves before he is knocked down. Wu Zheng’s techniques are brutish and unreasonable. If he faces him, that kid’s heart and liver might be crushed!”

The silent person, annoyed by this chatter, frowned and ordered, “Be quiet.”

…

The arena battles continued at a fast pace, and Wu Zheng, not wanting to waste words, took the initiative with an attack.

Dark green powder scattered with his silver claws. He Lang knew it was poison and made a precise swing with his sword, gently dispersing the toxic powder.

Having effortlessly neutralized an attack, He Lang made Wu Zheng snort. Wu Zheng continued to use poison powder but increased his attack speed significantly. Soon, the arena was shrouded in a cloud of toxic powder. Amidst it, silver light flashed, and his iron hook silver claws shot out fiercely.

He Lang dodged slightly, maintaining a steady stance and not allowing himself to be forced back. He swiftly twirled his sword, creating a series of sword blossoms that formed a secretive defensive array, making it hard for Wu Zheng to counterattack while also launching a counteroffensive.

The layers of sword shadows were extremely sharp. Even though Wu Zheng had distanced himself, the powerful sword energy forced him to evade, causing numerous tears in his clothes.

Gritting his teeth, Wu Zheng spun to He Lang’s side, suddenly lowering himself to find a vulnerable spot to strike.

He Lang leaped up to evade Wu Zheng’s sweeping leg.

Before He Lang could land, Wu Zheng lunged at him, attempting to find an opportunity for close combat.

His skin was also poisoned. As long as he could touch He Lang, it would cause immense harm, rendering him powerless and at his mercy.

He Lang, aware of this, began playing a game of hide and seek with him, dodging skillfully.

After dozens of exchanges, neither side seemed to gain an upper hand, and the audience watched intently.

Ge Rulan took a deep breath and remarked to the person next to him, “Second Brother, that poison user started with poison right away. I thought Little Lang would surely be hit, but he managed to avoid it…”

Ge Wenjing nodded, “Wu Zheng’s own skills are not extraordinary; he has relied on his poisons to achieve victories. But Brother Zhuo doesn’t seem afraid of poison… Maybe someone has taught him? He appears quite adept at dealing with these toxins.”

He Lang had made considerable progress by holding his own against Wu Zheng, but Wu Zheng’s unpredictable and sudden moves kept him on edge.

Fearing that Wu Zheng might use more tricks, He Lang took a deep breath, concentrating his inner energy in his dantian, preparing to use his profound internal power.

Finding a brief opening, He Lang bent his right hand, retracting the sword behind his back, and struck out with his left hand.

This strike was straightforward yet powerful. Although Wu Zheng had anticipated it, he was still overwhelmed by the pressure. His legs weakened, giving He Lang an opportunity to draw his sword.

However, instead of delivering a fatal blow, He Lang created a storm of sword shadows a foot away from Wu Zheng. This attack had limited lethality, and even if it hit, it wouldn’t cause a fatal injury. The audience sighed in disappointment, calling him foolish for wasting the opportunity.

Unmoved, He Lang remained calm, sticking to his strategy.

Under the barrage of sword shadows and silver light, his black hair was swept high, and his pure white robes fluttered. His calm demeanor made him seem less like a combatant in the Demon Sect’s arena and more like a refined gentleman performing a beautiful display.

Indeed, though his attack was not highly lethal, its wide coverage made even Wu Zheng’s strong evasion skills falter, leaving a small cut on his shoulder.

Such a minor wound didn’t seem to affect the fight, which Wu Zheng believed.

But as He Lang immediately withdrew, seemingly satisfied and composed, the audience sensed something was amiss.

Moments later, Wu Zheng’s expression changed drastically as he realized something was wrong with He Lang’s sword. His body suddenly lost strength, and he couldn’t even circulate his inner energy.

With just a sliver of strength left, he weakly pounded the ground and cursed, “You actually used poison? Despicable…”

Although it was clear that the person in front had used underhanded tactics, Wu Zheng tried to shift the blame, calling him despicable. He Lang shook his head and smiled, “After all, I am a member of the Demon Sect.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and the people in the stands finally reacted.

“Sect Leader, do you wish to accept this person as your protector?” the Left Protector asked cautiously.

The leader hesitated for a moment but eventually shook his head.

Nevertheless, he took another look at the arena.

The defeated long-haired man lay sprawled on the ground, shouting at the person in white, “I told you! Don’t think that beating me means you can become a protector! The sect leader won’t want you!”

The remark was clearly heard, and the previously decided stance suddenly shifted. “I… want him.”

Author’s Note: The sect leader is actually a bit of a sweetheart… (not really)

By the way, has everyone seen “The Rap of China”? The CP “Ears Are Adorable” is so sweet… I want to write fanfiction qwq. Feel free to leave a comment??