The Rat Cultivator

Chapter 102: Heavenly Demon Soul-Confusing Sound

The spirit runes on the Ancient Xun pulsed with a rhythmic, iridescent light, their patterns weaving together in a display of celestial geometry.

“The architecture of these runes is brilliant… every stroke interlocks with the next like clockwork,” Wu Yuan murmured, his eyes reflecting the shimmering glow. “Rare runes, too. If I can deconstruct these, the Book of Spirit Runes will see its most significant update yet.”

Wu Yuan was a man possessed by the hunger for knowledge. Though the Ancient Xun was currently a Middle Grade artifact boasting only six runes, his keen perception pierced through the superficial layers. This vessel was never meant to be Middle Grade; its original craftsmanship suggested a first-tier High Grade artifact, at the very least.

It was a classic smuggling ploy. A high-level master had meticulously erased the original runes to degrade the artifact’s rank, allowing it to bypass the restrictions of the Azure Spirit Mountain Range. Once the Two-Clawed Soul-Confusing Pei had reached the mid-stage of Qi Condensation, it had tried to re-inscribe the runes itself, dragging the artifact back up to Middle Grade.

“To scrub a vessel clean without damaging the spiritual marrow of the clay… that master’s attainment in artifact forging must be terrifying,” Wu Yuan sighed, a spark of genuine professional respect flickering in his eyes. “The demon race truly has hidden depths. I cannot afford to be arrogant.”

He immersed himself in the sea of runes, tracing the ghost-lines left by the unknown master. Through those faint impressions, he caught a hazy, tantalizing glimpse of a higher realm—the state of Transcendence.

However, as he shifted his focus to the Pei’s recent additions, his respect turned to cold disdain.

“The Pei’s technique was utter garbage,” Wu Yuan scoffed. “It simply memorized the shapes and copied them like a child tracing a masterpiece. It had no understanding of the variable depths, the pauses, or the weight of the turns. These runes weren’t carved; they were stamped. They’re superficial.”

Such amateurish work couldn’t hope to harness the Ancient Xun’s true power. It was likely why the Pei’s psychic attacks had barely tickled Wu Yuan’s consciousness.

Feeling the flow of inspiration at its peak, Wu Yuan decided to act. He extended a claw, condensing a vast surge of blood and Qi at the tip. With a slow, steady sweep, he ruthlessly scrubbed away the Pei’s “stamped” runes. They vanished like dry leaves in a storm.

Then, using his claw as a stylus and his demon power as ink, he began to carve into the artifact’s internal matrix.

The master who had originally degraded the item had been considerate; they had left “anchors” for future inscriptions, knowing that whoever inherited the tool would likely be a novice. This allowed Wu Yuan to carve directly without the need for spiritual fire to soften the material.

The process was a paradox. At first, the artifact’s high-quality structure resisted him, its complex internal lattice making his demon sense feel as though it were navigating a pitch-black labyrinth. But as he pushed deeper, a second sensation took over: a smooth, fluid grace. It felt as if an invisible teacher were guiding his hand, pulling his claw through the motions of divine inspiration.

His demon power flowed into the clay, merging with the artifact until the distinction between the two vanished.

In a trance-like state, Wu Yuan successfully linked the six runes. They hummed in unison, and the Ancient Xun settled back into its Middle Grade status—but this time, it was harmonious. It was perfect.

“This is my limit,” Wu Yuan panted, wiping sweat from his brow. “The master who designed this reached Transcendence. Compared to that peak, I am still a student standing at the foot of a mountain.”

Despite the low rune count, the artifact’s superior material and perfect harmony meant it would outperform any standard Middle Grade tool on the market. Wu Yuan looked at his work with a tired, proud smile. This was the ultimate test of his months of study.

Then, his eyes sparked with greed. “An artifact of this caliber… it might be ready.”

He activated his Spirit Awakening talent, tapping the Xun gently with a glowing claw.

Suddenly, a melodious note echoed through the mine tunnels. It was a sound of pure, crystalline beauty, an ethereal music that seemed to stop the hearts of every rat demon in the cavern. Even Wu Yuan felt himself drifting into a dreamlike world, his exhaustion and worries melting away like morning mist.

The music eventually faded, and Wu Yuan exhaled a shaky breath.

“Terrifying,” he whispered. “A direct attack on the soul. Even I could barely maintain my focus.”

He beckoned, and the Ancient Xun flew into his paw. He could feel it now—a tiny, nascent consciousness pulsing within the clay. It was weak, even more fragile than the Blood-Binding Spirit Mulberry had been at its birth, but it was alive.

The artifact and the master were now one. He no longer needed to divert his focus to play it; its consciousness was an extension of his own. Even at rest, a ghostly, haunting melody seemed to linger around the instrument.

As their minds merged, a vision flickered before Wu Yuan’s eyes. He saw the lower half of a face—lips as red as vermilion, teeth like white jade. It was a visage of haunting, antique beauty, a perfect work of art. As the Ancient Xun touched those lips, a song began.

The notes transformed into a canopy of stars, pulsing in the void to weave a dream of reality. The song spoke of the Eight Sufferings of existence: birth, aging, sickness, and death; the sorrow of parting from the loved, the bitterness of meeting the loathed, the agony of unfulfilled desire, and the burning of the five aggregates.

Countless phantasmal cultivators drifted through the vision, weeping and laughing as they lost themselves in the music, eventually dissolving into the dream itself.

The song ended, and Wu Yuan’s consciousness snapped back to reality. He stared blankly into the distance for a long time before sighing.

“The Heavenly Demon Soul-Confusing Sound… it truly lives up to its name.”

Legend spoke of the ancient Heavenly Sound Clan, a race that used music to carry their Dao and charm the souls of all living beings. This particular technique was one of their most feared “Human-Killers,” specifically designed to subvert the minds of human Cultivators.

It was a secret art of eight layers, a masterpiece comparable to his own Nine Spirits Seizing Origin. Unfortunately, Wu Yuan had only managed to recover the first four layers: Birth, Aging, Sickness, and Death.