Chapter Seventy-Seven: Transforming a Family into a Nation

A person’s destiny determines their lower limit. With a golden destiny, this Chen Wu is destined for great things; barring any unforeseen cataclysmic shifts in fate, he will, at the very least, become a commandery governor or an inspector in the future.

How could this Chen Wu, merely a servant of the Chen family of Hedong, possess the destiny of a provincial or commandery official?

This matter is highly suspicious!

Could it be that the Chen family of Hecheng truly has a chance to transform from a mere clan into a sovereign state? Unless they could truly topple the dynasty and make the Chen clan the masters of the world, how could a servant like Chen Wu possess the destiny and fortune of a high-ranking official?

No, I must find an opportunity to examine the fortunes of the other members of the Chen family later. But that is not the most crucial or important thing right now. The most important thing is that my only path to survival today likely rests with this Chen Wu!

Wang Zhenling had examined his own fortune; while his external luck was decent, his innate destiny was quite ordinary. Being able to serve as a minor official with a yellow ribbon and a copper seal, earning two hundred to four hundred shi of grain, would already be quite an achievement. Of course, destiny determines the lower limit, but if the lower limit is too low, reaching a high upper limit becomes extremely difficult.

Regardless, the key is that at this moment, only Chen Wu possesses this golden destiny. His fate is exceptionally noble; he is destined for high office and will not easily die here. In other words, the only way to survive this ordeal is to follow him!

Thinking this, Wang Zhenling spoke up: "Brother Chen Wu, you lead the way, and we shall follow you to break through!"

Chen Wu was slightly taken aback, not expecting Wang Zhenling to address him in such a manner. Stunned for a moment, he drew the long sword from his waist and said, "Very well!"

The swords used at this time were battlefield weapons, similar to Han swords, and certainly not the decorative, scholarly swords seen in films and television. In truth, the sword shapes most commonly seen in media are merely ornaments worn by ancient scholars; they have no practical application and are often not even sharpened.

However, the sword in Chen Wu's hand was different—heavy, narrow, and long, incredibly sharp, and designed for hacking and slashing. Especially as Chen Wu moved, a layer of gangqi (internal energy) extended three feet from the blade, greatly enhancing its lethality. Even against soldiers in heavy armor, this energy could slice through steel and inflict fatal wounds. Even Wang Zhenling could not help but marvel; Chen Wu’s swordsmanship was already masterful, and with such profound internal energy, it was truly formidable.

At this moment, it was equally effective against ghosts. As the energy swept past, the ghosts were transformed into mere clouds of mist without even needing to be struck directly. Of course, this was partly because these wild spirits were not very strong—at most, they were resentful ghosts, and many were merely wandering souls in the process of dissipating.

Chen Wu advanced with every strike of his blade. No matter how many ghosts stood in his path, or how powerful they seemed, they were shattered by his sword. Three particularly ferocious ghosts, using other spirits as cover, roared as they charged toward him. Chen Wu’s expression remained unchanged; he merely adjusted the rhythm of his strikes by a fraction.

It was as if the tempo of his swordplay had suddenly quickened by the slightest margin. That tiny increase in speed was enough: before the three ghosts could reach him, they were struck and burst apart like punctured balloons. Before they could reform, another swift strike shattered them again. After three such blows, the three ghosts could no longer endure; their souls scattered and faded away into the world.

From beginning to end, aside from the change in rhythm, Chen Wu’s actual sword techniques remained identical, without the slightest variation. Wang Zhenling watched with admiration: "Fine swordsmanship, truly fine swordsmanship!"

In his heart, he sighed at his own inferiority. Among all the sword masters he had encountered, this Chen Wu was the greatest—even the swordsmanship of Zhen Yunzi could not compare to his.

However, while Chen Wu possessed such ability, the local militia did not. With wild ghosts swarming from all directions, the militia’s morale was crushed, and their courage had vanished. Facing these evil spirits, they were terrified. Even when they swung their weapons wildly, their lack of vital energy meant their attacks carried no force, and ordinary steel posed little threat to the supernatural entities.

Several militiamen were overwhelmed by the ghosts, suddenly falling into a trance. They stood motionless, their faces twisting in strange expressions—half-laughing, half-crying—which was deeply unsettling. Moments later, the possessed soldiers would wear eerie smiles, raise their own blades, and slit their own throats, blood spraying everywhere. Others, with savage looks in their eyes, turned their weapons upon their comrades, wounding several.

The other militiamen finally realized the danger and began to fight back, but even when they pierced the bodies of the possessed, the victims felt no fear and continued to attack relentlessly.

The impact of this on the morale of the troop was devastating. With the entire militia’s fortune suppressed, the whole unit was on the verge of total collapse. It was easy to imagine what fate awaited them if the formation broke in such a place.

At this critical juncture, Wang Zhenling decided to act. He could not reveal his true cultivation methods in front of Chen Wu, so he drew his own sword. His strikes were like a whirlwind, cutting down the wild ghosts behind them. As soon as Wang Zhenling made his move, Chen Wu could not help but glance back, his eyes filled with astonishment.

Chen Wu’s swordsmanship might not have reached the pinnacle of a grandmaster, but it was certainly at an accomplished level. In this regard, Wang Zhenling’s technique was far inferior. However, Wang Zhenling’s sword had greater lethality. His cultivation was not as deep, and his released internal energy was only an inch long, appearing as a faint blue light clinging to the blade.

Yet, within Wang Zhenling’s sword energy was the power of the Solar Ghost-Slaying Sword. Once struck by his blade, any ghost would have its soul completely shattered, making it impossible to recover!

"What kind of sword technique is this? How is it so powerful?" A strange look flickered in Chen Wu’s eyes.

Ghosts have no physical form, being composed entirely of yin energy. Therefore, physical attacks cause them little damage; even tempered internal energy struggles to deliver a fatal blow, requiring multiple strikes to exhaust the ghost’s energy and disperse its soul. But Wang Zhenling’s sword could instantly destroy a ghost’s soul entirely—it was truly extraordinary!

However, the situation was dire, and Chen Wu had no time to ask. In fact, after only two glances, he turned his attention back to the fray and continued to fight.