Chapter 142: Hundred Demons (Part 2)
A terrible mood killer.
The sudden appearance of the white-clad youth was truly ill-timed.
The guests present were all quick-witted individuals. They swiftly glanced at the ashen-faced azure-robed man and understood the situation. Then, as they turned to look at the youth, their gazes became quite amused.
In the northern reaches of the Yellow Court Kingdom, where mountains and waters intertwine, who wouldn't show respect to the illustrious name of the Great Water Manor? Yet someone actually dared to cause trouble at the Cold Food River Water God's event, and furthermore strutted right into the Great Water Manor's territory. Was he an old birthday-star eating arsenic—tired of living?
The effeminate man sitting above the frail scholar, a water snake who had cultivated into a spirit, raised a wine cup with a delicate gesture. Facing the uninvited guest, his eyes burned with desire. Handsome young boys and girls were always his favorites, but he couldn't help feeling regret. The youth before him was most likely on a dead-end path. Offending the Water God's face meant he wouldn't dare to abduct the boy back to his residence for pleasure. He could only hope to take the corpse and make it tonight's midnight snack. His voice sharp, the man smiled, "This wine in the cup is the exclusive Gold and Jade Liquid of our Cold Food River Great Water Manor. A single cup for a cultivator equals ten days of bitter cultivation in a cave heaven. For a mortal, it dispels illness and calamity with ease. There's still half a cup left—would you like a taste?"
The white-clad youth stepped across the threshold but did not advance further. Standing in place, he looked around, completely ignoring this notoriously vicious water spirit.
The effeminate man laughed in fury, his unnaturally long tongue licking the corner of his mouth. Then he chuckled darkly, "Refusing a toast only to drink a forfeit—die!"
With a flick of his wrist, half a cup of golden liquid splashed out. The striking droplets first halted and floated in midair, then scattered, dozens of drops shooting toward the white-clad youth. They were faster than arrows within a hundred steps, emitting a buzzing roar, their momentum terrifying.
If he failed to dodge, the white-clad youth would surely be riddled with holes.
Just this display of water-manipulation divine ability made some of the younger qi refiners present feel genuine fear.
Nearly everyone thought the outcome was decided.
The white-haired elder was no exception. When he first saw the youth, a flicker of surprise appeared in his eyes, but he quickly shook his head. A newborn calf fears no tiger, but the Great Water Manor was a dragon pool and tiger den—not a place you could come and go as you pleased. What a pity to waste such fine bearing and presence.
In the north of the Bottle Gourd Continent, everyone knew that in the small temple of the Yellow Court Kingdom, Emperor Hong's civil service examinations prioritized the beauty of calligraphy before the quality of content. If both were good, then the most crucial matter came: His Majesty would look among the palace examination candidates to see who had the most dignified appearance and handsome charm!
The old man had long ago seen the white-clad youth and his study tour group on the city's main street. The elder was somewhat versed in Daoist physiognomy. Observing the white-clad youth's aura, he judged it was merely an excellent exterior, far inferior to another person standing beside the basket-carrying youth at the time. That calm-faced young man in azure robes was the true jade of cultivation.
The old man no longer looked at the youth whose fate was doomed. He turned his gaze to a young cultivator across from him, someone he knew well, his eyes full of gloom.
The latter, keenly aware of his senior's stare, shrank back slightly, but then quickly remembered he had found a real backing. Times had changed. He straightened his back and even raised a wine cup with a composed smile. The old man ignored him with a hollow grin.
The elder had good self-restraint, but the two young people beside him were immediately incensed. They glared angrily at the traitor from their sect who had become carried away with triumph.
The Lingyun Sect cultivator sitting alone across from them was the culprit behind the previous upheaval. At the end of the massacre that wiped out a whole family, he was spotted by a passing rogue cultivator. Among the inner disciples of Lingyun Sect, his aptitude was mediocre, and he was not skilled in combat. Facing that rogue cultivator, who excelled in one-on-one fights, he couldn't gain the upper hand, so he fled into the city. Then he even had the leisure to settle down at the Autumn Reed Inn, likely with the intention of using the inn and Lady Liu as a shield.
After the rogue cultivator tracked him down, this righteous rogue, even at the risk of becoming an enemy of Autumn Reed Inn, insisted on forcing his way in for another battle with the orthodox Lingyun Sect disciple.
The result was not only the destruction of the Moon Phase Spirit Wall, but the Lingyun Sect disciple deliberately led the fight into nearby alleys and streets, recklessly using magical treasures and techniques. He injured no fewer than twenty innocent civilians, giving the county's powerful clans a pretext to pressure the authorities. The rogue cultivator was deemed the instigator and was killed without further inquiry. As for the hidden truth, the man was dead, and no one spoke up. Even if there were rumors, they were just groundless gossip.
Rogue cultivators, who did not wish to be registered with the authorities, were never favored by nations. They weren't hunted like rats, but everyone hoped to keep them at arm's length and never let them cause trouble in their territories. These rootless drifters, once in conflict with local powers, would always find the local courts and martial forces siding with the familiar faces, unless the drifter was a dragon mighty enough to cross rivers.
The young cultivator, who had largely betrayed his sect, saw that his once deeply respected senior was unappreciative. He smiled faintly, tilted his head back, and downed most of a cup of wine. Wiping his mouth, he lowered his head and said with pleasure, "Even if I cultivated bitterly in Lingyun Sect for a hundred years, I'd never have hope of reaching the Middle Five Realms. Now, favored by the Water God, the Great Dao is within reach. So from the first moment I saw that strategist, I made up my mind to stand on my own. A once-in-a-thousand-years opportunity, not to be missed! Why care about that useless sect reputation? Can you eat it? Even if you could, so what? I never got the big pieces anyway—just the leftovers you lot tossed aside."
The young cultivator let out a belch and laughed to himself. No one saw the trace of helplessness in his eyes. He slowly picked up a piece of succulent fish, his peripheral vision brushing over the Great Water Manor's Confucian-robed strategist. He murmured, "Every man for himself. Besides, with such a huge opportunity right in front of me, how many lives does a lowly Fifth Realm cultivator have to refuse the Water God's bestowed favor?"
The white-haired elder opposite was the outer sect grand elder of Lingyun Sect. The sect was divided into inner and outer, and the elder managed the outer sect, along with many secular affairs of the inner sect. This time, he led the team down the mountain for the Cold Food River Water God's sacrificial ceremony, primarily to help several direct disciples temper their minds, understand worldly customs, and use the opportunity to contact other forces, hoping to form some good relationships.
The two young people who followed the elder to the banquet were both outstanding talents of Lingyun Sect. One had a two-zhang-long crimson giant snake coiled beside him, the other a huge black tiger lying prostrate on the ground.
Sitting close together, they gave off an impressive aura of dragons coiling and tigers crouching.
But just as almost everyone thought the youth's death was certain, the white-clad youth's performance astonished them.
He stood still, motionless, letting the droplets formed from the Gold and Jade Liquid shoot toward him.
But those fierce droplets, upon hitting the white-clad youth's clothes, vanished instantly like snowflakes plunging into a blazing furnace.
The azure-robed man nodded and muttered, "Water immunity—interesting. No wonder he dares to cause trouble."
He leaned forward slightly, looking at the scholar, and asked with a smile, "Is it the boy's robe that holds the secret, or something else?"
The Confucian-robed scholar below withdrew his gaze from the youth and answered, "Probably not the robe. I suspect he carries a high-grade Daoist water-avoidance talisman. Ordinary water techniques would struggle to break its innate prohibition."
The azure-robed man chuckled dryly, "Don't tell me he thinks that with this talisman on him, this little brat can run wild in my Great Water Manor?"
The Confucian-robed scholar smiled, "He likely has other support."
The azure-robed man, who had been languid and bored, straightened up slightly. "I can't wait."
Then he smiled and instructed the water snake spirit, with no hint of reproach, "You've disgraced yourself. I permit you to fight, but don't use that pair of iron clubs. I don't want to see heads exploding again. It's satisfying for you, but if you disgust the guests, you won't be able to bear the consequences."
The effeminate man stood up with a grin, "Thank you for the favor, Master."
The white-clad youth stepped back a few paces, intending to sit on the threshold and rest. After sitting down, he waved at the water snake spirit coming around the table, "Hold on, hold on—don't rush. Let me finish speaking first."
The literary scholar and the governor below exchanged glances.
The azure-robed man burst into laughter, raising his cup and drinking heartily.
Among the guests, two people sat conspicuously in the place of honor above the Lingyun Sect traitor. Both were around thirty years old, spirited and sharp-tongued.
Even after witnessing the white-clad youth's display, they still dismissed it.
One carried a sword on his back even while drinking, the other had a sword laid horizontally on his table, no more than a few inches from his right hand.
These two were clearly renowned sword cultivators. Though it was hard to tell if their respective life-bound flying swords had been nurtured to full maturity, sword cultivators were universally recognized as having the greatest killing power and the most accumulated cultivation among qi refiners. Even a Middle Five Realm cultivator would not underestimate any Lower Five Realm sword cultivator.
Because every time a sword cultivator advanced a realm, their flying sword's power multiplied, and their cultivation growth far surpassed that of ordinary qi refiners.
Especially in the Lower Five Realms, a fragile life-bound flying sword, once a sword cultivator successfully broke into the Middle Five Realms, would undergo earth-shattering changes.
Every sword cultivator who had already entered or had the potential to enter the Middle Five Realms, especially young sword cultivators, would be guests of honor for all powers. A popular saying circulated among the mountains: "In the Middle Five Realms, a sixty-year-old qi refiner is old; a hundred-year-old sword cultivator is young."
In other words, a sixty-year-old Middle Five Realm immortal was no longer considered a genius, but a hundred-year-old sword cultivator was still a dazzlingly talented qi refiner!
These two sword cultivators, who had come to the Great Water Manor together, were: one a rogue cultivator, rumored to have received true teachings from a wandering master of the Daoist lineage, who bestowed a divine weapon that could cut through iron like mud, inscribed with the pattern "Hand Blade."
The other was a closed-door disciple of the Fuluo Temple's temple master. The Fuluo Temple's lineage belonged to the Daoist Alchemy School's external alchemy branch, gathering heavenly materials and earthly treasures to build furnaces, refine pills, and take medicinal elixirs to aid cultivation.
Their mountain-protecting treasure was an ancient inkstone called the Old Dragon Inkstone, one of the ten famous inkstones of the Bottle Gourd Continent. On the edge of the inkstone, a tiny, ancient lean dragon coiled and slept, its snoring faint.
Legend has it that the ancient Shu Kingdom was a land where dragons lurked, stirring up trouble, with tales everywhere of immortals slaying evil dragons.
It was said that this little old dragon slumbering on the ancient inkstone was a surviving ancient species that had escaped disaster.
And the young sword cultivator with his sword laid across the table, as a disciple of the Fuluo Temple's temple master, had come here to secretly negotiate with the Cold Food River Water God, who had connections at court, in an attempt to upgrade the Fuluo Temple from a "Temple" to a "Palace."
For a Daoist immortal sect to obtain the suffix "Palace" was extremely difficult. It was like a ruler conferring the title of True Lord—there were fixed quotas, not something to be given out like weeds. It wasn't that a ruler could have as many True Lords as he wished. It certainly wasn't a case where any random Daoist, once recognized by the ruler, could obtain this honorific title. The Daoist sects of the Bottle Gourd Continent would send people to review and verify, determining whether that Real Person was qualified to serve as a True Lord for a nation.
The white-clad youth, whose behavior had been strange throughout, coughed and announced from his seat on the threshold, "I came here today to teach you how to be human. And, incidentally, to teach you how to be gods and ghosts. Sigh, it's a bit tiring."
As soon as he began, he looked weary and found it boring himself, so his next few sentences came out listless.
"As a human, hold a breath of righteous qi, stand tall as a true man."
"As a god, since you vie for that stick of incense, you must benefit all living beings. Even if the divine path has collapsed, I will prove that the incense never dies, that my way is not alone."
"As a ghost, if heaven and earth refuse me life, I will still seek eternal life amidst the gale wind and spring thunder."
What might have been somewhat thought-provoking declarations completely changed flavor coming from the white-clad youth's mouth, sounding thoroughly affected.
The white-clad youth sighed, pouted, and muttered to himself, "Brother A Liang, that line works for you, but it really doesn't for me."
He sighed again and stood up once more. "Forget it, I'm done playing. Let me get on with my own business."
Then he turned his head to look at an empty spot and said, "With such lousy skills, you try to play the hero? Think you're A Liang? Well, now you're scattered soul and drifting spirit, barely a flickering lamp. If it weren't for me, who's skilled in soul arts, you wouldn't even know where you'd be as a lonely ghost by now. Whether you'll see tomorrow's sun depends on whether your ancestors' graves smoke. Why bother?"
After his backside left the threshold, the youth pointed at everyone before him. "To be honest, in my eyes, every one of you is an ant."
Dead silence.
The youth asked, "Don't believe me?"
A moment later, the azure-robed man's wine cup shattered with a bang.
Throughout the entire Great Water Manor, only this River Water God saw behind the white-clad youth what seemed to be a saintly statue several zhang tall, its righteous qi filling heaven and earth. The statue stood upon an altar, looking down at the ants below.
The azure-robed man's lips trembled as he swallowed hard.
Eleventh realm?
Or twelfth realm?