Chapter 20: The Old Sword Immortal of Chinatown

Following Charles into the Master Chef’s Specialty Shop, Ou Xiaolu realized it was indeed a place that sold knives. The shopkeeper was an elderly man with snow-white hair. Upon seeing Charles, the old man greeted him with excitement, “Hey there, young man! How’s that knife you bought yesterday? Didn’t I tell you that one was perfect for you?”

Charles replied, “The knife’s great. Just as you said—it doesn’t stain with blood. But my friend Xi Hu here isn’t satisfied.”

As Charles spoke, he stepped aside, allowing Ou Xiaolu to face the old man directly. The moment their eyes met, both were momentarily stunned.

To Ou Xiaolu, it was as if the old man’s body was covered in countless light bulbs, radiating white, green, and blue hues.

The old man muttered under his breath, “Not a bad swordsman at all—doesn’t look like the combative type either. How did you get your hand cut?”

Sensing the situation, Ou Xiaolu respectfully saluted the old man. “I am Ou Xiaolu. I’ve just arrived in Newtown and didn’t know a senior like you was here. Please forgive me for not coming to pay my respects sooner.”

This drew a surprised sound from the old man. “Interesting kid. I’ve been here for years, and you’re the first one to notice I practice martial arts.”

Ou Xiaolu thought to himself, “It’s rare to see someone glowing all over like you.” Aloud, he said, “Ah, isn’t this the traditional etiquette when meeting elders in Chinatown? I read up on it quite a bit to make sure I said the right thing.”

The old man burst out laughing. “You’re even more entertaining than the black kid. Tell me what you need—I have every kind of blade for sale.”

“Just an ordinary sharpened longsword will do.”

The old man hesitated. “Don’t you have any longswords here, sir?” Ou Xiaolu asked.

“It’s not that,” the old man replied, “but your request is, well, a bit in-between. For the black kid, a regular kitchen knife is enough. If you were stronger, we’d talk high-end weaponry. But with a request like yours, I honestly don’t know what to offer you.”

Ou Xiaolu’s face showed his disappointment, and he was about to leave when the old man said, “Wait, I think I do have a longsword somewhere.” With that, he disappeared into the back room.

Moments later, he returned holding a longsword, no longer than a meter, wrapped in a gray cloth, unremarkable in appearance.

Ou Xiaolu took the sword, smoothly drawing it from its scabbard. He channeled his internal energy and sent forth a subtle thrust—a flash of sword light burst from the blade.

“Impressive skill,” the old man exclaimed.

“Thank you, it’s nothing,” Ou Xiaolu replied modestly. “This sword is just what I need.”

“If you like it, take it. Fifteen thousand dollars,” the old man said bluntly.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say, ‘A famous sword deserves a hero. I’ll give it to you as a gift,’” Ou Xiaolu joked as he counted out the money.

“You read too many novels—you want this for free, that for free. How’s an old man supposed to make a living?” the old man retorted.

They laughed and chatted for a while. Ou Xiaolu learned the old man’s name was Li Qinghao, quite a renowned figure in Chinatown. His fame, however, didn’t stem from exceptional craftsmanship but from his self-proclaimed title: Sword Immortal. Before the “Legend of the Shu Mountain Swordsman” became popular, he called himself a Sword Immortal of the Kunlun Sect; after the novel’s fame, he claimed to be from Emei Sect. Coupled with his knife shop, people in Chinatown called him Li the Sword Immortal.

Li was never pleased with the nickname. “Those people just can’t see my true strength. Someone like me, who can fly and vanish at will, has no need to perform for them,” he always said.

Ou Xiaolu could find no answer to that, so after a bit more small talk, he and Charles prepared to leave.

They had just reached the door when the old man suddenly called out, “Before your swordsmanship reaches its peak, best not to meddle with things of the supernatural.”

Ou Xiaolu turned and saw the old man’s gaze fixed on the bag in his hand—the very one containing the ghost-catching fan of Zhong Kui he had just bought at auction.

Ou Xiaolu nodded in understanding. The old man added with satisfaction, “If you ever run into trouble, come see me. I’ll give you a twenty percent discount.”

Once outside, Charles asked, “Xi Hu, is that old man really powerful?”

“He could probably handle seven or eight guys like you without breaking a sweat.”

Because of Li the Sword Immortal, Ou Xiaolu found himself intrigued by Chinatown. He wandered around, hoping to encounter other extraordinary figures.

But even as the city’s lights came on, he found nothing out of the ordinary. From the Master Chef’s Specialty Shop, the only things glowing were the street lamps flickering to life one by one.

After a simple dinner, Ou Xiaolu returned to campus with Charles. Once at Stony Brook, he hesitated, then chose not to return to his dormitory. Instead, he made his way back to the small inn.

Seeing Charles trailing behind Ou Xiaolu, the chubby clerk at the front desk joked, “Hey, kid, your tastes getting bolder these days?”

Ou Xiaolu rolled his eyes. “Is room 301 available?”

“Just cleaned it up. You want to stay? The hole in the wall isn’t patched yet, though.”

“Yes, I’ll stay one more night,” Ou Xiaolu replied, handing over the money.

Seeing Ou Xiaolu staying again, Charles asked excitedly, “Xi Hu, are you going ghost-hunting again?”

“Ghosts, my foot. I just bought a few things at the auction and need to study them. Not so convenient in the dorm.”

Satisfied with the explanation, Charles left to amuse himself.

Ou Xiaolu took the key, climbed to the third floor, and opened the door to room 301. He couldn’t help but sigh, “Now this is a room!”

All the clutter had been cleared away, the floor swept clean, and every last scrap of leftover food and debris removed. The window stood open, letting in a refreshing breeze that made the room feel bright and airy.

The green threads hidden in the void of the room remained unaffected by the tidiness, still diligently protecting the space.

Nodding in satisfaction, Ou Xiaolu entered, glanced at the hole in the wall, and found a spot out of sight to sit down.

He set the newly acquired sword by his feet and took out the ghost-catching fan of Zhong Kui. Now that the fan had been converted into a system item, unlike the members of the Holy Blood Council, he no longer needed to perform a blood sacrifice to use it.

He clicked the folding fan lightly, and a gust of ghostly wind swept in from the window. Strange whispers began to sound in his ears, so eerie that his hair stood on end and he instinctively reached for the sword at his side.