Chapter 488: Within the Scroll
The old boatman continued to pole along the riverbed, the ferryboat like a fish swimming straight downstream, swift as the wind and fast as lightning.
In the murky water that appeared turbid to the eyes of mortal men, the old boatman could see as clearly as if observing a fire in the dark, and the scattered specks of water-essence were especially pleasing to the eye.
Along this water route leading to the River God's shrine, the occasional wandering lonely spirits and wild ghosts would drift by. Upon seeing the old boatman, they would all voluntarily kneel and kowtow.
The swaying currents were rich in water essence, and since the River God did not greedily seize it all for the shrine, many wronged souls who had drowned here were far less likely to become mindless fierce ghosts. This too was a meritorious deed. However, the price the Swaying River Shrine paid for this was slowing the speed at which incense essence could be nurtured. Day by day, month by month, one pound less this year, half a catty less the next. The incense essence that should have been used to shape and refine the rank of the golden body was missing a considerable share. In the eyes of other river gods, this would probably seem like the River God had water in his head.
A mountain or river deity that relied on the incense of the mortal world was not a cultivator. Crucially, the Swaying River Shrine considered the Skeleton Beach its foundation and was not listed in any dynasty’s register of mountains and rivers. For this reason, the emperors and feudal lords of the dynasties through which the upper reaches of the Swaying River passed had a very subtle attitude toward the shrine built outside their borders. They neither officially recognized it nor banned it, neither supported the common people traveling south to burn incense nor stopped them at the various passes along the way. Thus, the River God Xue Yuansheng was an unorthodox water deity who did not belong to any continental ritual system. Yet he was pursuing the ethereal and illusory concept of hidden merit. Drawing water with a bamboo basket—could it be retained? What was the point in planting trees here only for the flowers to bloom elsewhere?
Merit was the most difficult thing to fathom by heavenly will. If one was registered in the divine registry, everything could be verified. As long as the qi of a region’s mountains and rivers remained stable, the court’s Ministry of Rites would follow the proper procedures, inspect and verify, then bestow rewards according to the rules. Many of the consequences and karmic obstacles would be unconsciously mitigated by the imperial court. This was the benefit of guaranteed harvests, drought or flood. But without that status, it was hard to say. Once a mortal’s wish was granted, who could guarantee that there wouldn’t be a tangled mess of cause and effect?
The goddess who had stepped out of the mural was in a bad mood, her expression gloomy.
Involving their respective great paths, the old boatman, as an old neighbor, found it hard to say much. At a time like this, words of comfort might just be like adding salt to a wound.
The eight murals of goddesses and celestial officials in the Mural City had existed for a long time, even older than the Sack-Cloth Sect. When the ancestors of the Sack-Cloth Sect had crossed continents to reach the Northern Julu Continent, it had been extremely arduous. Choosing to settle at the southernmost tip of the continent had been a last resort. At the time, they had offended several overbearing sword immortals from the north and could not establish a foothold. Beyond the consideration of staying away from trouble, the unintentional discovery of these ancient murals, which could not be clearly explained, and the belief that the Skeleton Beach was a place with excellent feng shui, were also important reasons. But the hardships and difficulties involved were not to be told to outsiders. The old boatman had watched the Sack-Cloth Sect be built up bit by bit. Just dealing with the ancient battlefield ghost generals who claimed territory as their own had cost the Sack-Cloth Sect no fewer than twenty earthly immortals, and even two Jade Pure realm cultivators had died in battle. If they had not been pushed aside and had been able to establish their sect in the central part of the Northern Julu Continent, the Sack-Cloth Sect of today would most likely be among the top five great sects. And that was assuming the Sack-Cloth Sect had never had any sword immortals nor ever invited sword immortals to serve as mountain gate patrons.
The old boatman was actually seeing the goddess’s true form for the first time. In the past, among the eight celestial official goddesses, one called the “Spring Official” could travel far away in dreams, similar to a great cultivator’s yin spirit leaving the body, completely ignoring many restrictions. Through this, she could briefly communicate with mortal cultivators. In the early years, this goddess had visited the Swaying River Shrine, but shortly after, the Spring Official goddess, like the Long Taper and the Judgment goddesses, had chosen a service target that caught her eye and left the Skeleton Beach. At that time, a secret agreement was made: the old boatman would help them set up one or two symbolic trials, and in return, they would be willing to lend a hand three times in the future when the Swaying River Shrine faced danger. After that, the Canopy and Ganoderma goddesses also left the Mural City one after another. Then, for a full five hundred years, the three murals fell silent. The Swaying River had already used up two of those opportunities to tide over crises. That was why the old boatman was so attentive now, hoping that new opportunities would fall upon ordinary people or cultivators. He was happy to see it happen.
Over the past thousand years, amidst shifting winds and clouds, among the goddesses of the five murals, one had died fighting for her master, two had chosen to dissolve together with their masters through weapon dissolution, leaving only the Judgment goddess, commonly known as the “Immortal Staff,” and the Spring Official goddess, who had vanished for unknown reasons. The first had chosen a shabby scholar, who was now a mountaintop cultivator at the Immortal realm in that continent, and was also one of the few non-sword cultivators among the righteous path cultivators who had journeyed to the Inverted Mountain earlier.
The goddess currently riding on the ferry was not accompanied by the multicolored deer from the scroll.
Probably that was why the mural had not faded. Otherwise, the old boatman would have had to share the goddess’s embarrassment until they wished the ground would swallow them.
After a long wait, she had finally chosen a service companion to follow through life and death, but that person had no discernment at all. Not only had they failed the tiny test, but they had also directly slipped away and run off.
If the Mural City side were to turn into a blank line-drawing scroll again, wouldn’t that leave this celestial official goddess homeless? How would that be any different from those wandering drowning ghosts in the Swaying River or the lingering yin spirits in the ghost valley of Skeleton Beach?
As for the true origins of these eight goddesses, even the old boatman, despite being the River God of this place, was completely in the dark.
If nothing unexpected happened, the cultivators of the Sack-Cloth Sect also knew very little. It was highly possible that the three surviving old ancestors only knew fragments and scraps.
The strangest part was that back then, the Spring Official goddess had had a frank and honest secret meeting with the old boatman, admitting that they themselves had lost their memories. They did not know how long they had slept until the Sack-Cloth Sect cultivators opened up the cave dwelling and activated the formations, awakening them. The eight murals, though appearing to each occupy a corner of the Mural City, were actually connected as one. According to the cultivators at the time, it was a broken secret realm. They had also tried to deduce their identities by using the mountains, rivers, buildings, vegetation, ancient trees, books, and other relics within, attempting to follow the clues, but it was as if an unbridgeable chasm lay before them, with layers of mist, impossible to solve.
Approaching the River God’s shrine, the old boatman couldn’t help but let out a sigh.
The goddess standing at the other end of the ferry also sighed softly, her voice especially lingering and sentimental, like a heavenly sound not found in the mortal world.
The old boatman couldn’t help but silently complain about that young man. What was he thinking? From his earlier covert observation, he seemed like a clever person who valued rules, not a petty one. So why, when a blessing came his way, did he start acting foolish? Was it simply not in his fate, even if it came to hand he couldn’t grasp it? But that didn’t fit—for the goddess to favor him, for her to leave the scroll, this golden body of ten thousand gold value, that in itself said a lot.
The goddess turned her head to look. “That male cultivator who was standing by the riverbank earlier—he’s not one of the three Sack-Cloth Sect ancestors, is he?”
The old boatman shook his head. “I know all three ancestors on the mountain. Even when they come down the mountain and show themselves, they’re not the type to enjoy playing with illusion techniques.”
The goddess thought for a moment. “Judging by his bearing, it reminds me of someone an elder sister once took a liking to long ago. He was a young outer-region Golden Core cultivator. She almost became interested in him, but his nature was simply too heartless. Staying by his side wouldn’t involve suffering hardship or anger—it would just be boring.”
The old boatman was stunned for a moment and asked for the approximate time.
After receiving the answer, the old boatman felt a headache coming on and muttered to himself, “It wouldn’t be that lecher surnamed Jiang, would it? That’s a bad seed that’s rotten to the core.”
Unexpectedly, the goddess nodded. “It seems he was indeed surnamed Jiang. At the time, the young man had a rather big mouth, saying that one day, even if the immortal sisters none of them fancied him, whether at home or not, he would take all eight scrolls away and enshrine them properly, so he could eat and drink facing the scrolls every day. But although his words were frivolous, his state of mind was not ordinary.”
The old boatman asked doubtfully, “That fellow was a romantic who left love everywhere back then. How could he be heartless and boring?”
The goddess shook her head. “Our method of observing people goes straight to the nature. Not only is it quite different from cultivators, but it also seems different from you mountain and river deities. This is an innate divine power of ours. In fact, we don’t entirely see it as a good thing. At a single glance, we see only murky heart-lakes, filthy thoughts, or caves crawling with vipers and scorpions, or piles of seductive things with human heads and beast bodies tangled together—many ugly images, unbearable to behold. So we often deliberately fall asleep, turning a blind eye and saving ourselves the trouble. That way, if we suddenly wake up one day, we roughly know that an opportunity has come, and we open our eyes to look.”
The old boatman sighed in admiration. “The great world is full of wonders and marvels.”
The goddess who rode the deer suddenly turned her head and stared toward the Mural City, narrowing her eyes with a stern expression. “This scoundrel dares to trespass into my residence!”
The old boatman’s face was expressionless.
He thought to himself, No need to guess. It must be the infamous Jiang Shangzhen.
---
Over at the Mural City, a large area of specially crafted mountain lanterns suddenly went out. These lanterns were supposed to burn forever, only needing replacement once every hundred years. Their failure naturally caused panic. If a great cultivator were to engage in a fierce battle here, damaging the foundations of the Sack-Cloth Sect’s mountain and river formation, then the collapse of the Mural City would lead to unimaginable consequences. Therefore, several direct disciples of the Sack-Cloth Sect’s ancestral hall, who were responsible for watching over the three murals, flew through the air on the wind, looking toward the area of commotion and chaos, trying to find the culprit. If they determined that a cultivator had damaged the Mural City with the intention of stealing the paintings, they had the authority to execute that person on the spot, striking first and reporting later.
Near one of the walls bearing the goddess mural, as the guarding cultivator was momentarily distracted by the distant view, a wisp of green smoke first clung to the wall, slithering like a spirit snake, then instantly shot into the mural. Using some unknown method, it directly broke through the immortal-art restrictions of the mural itself and flashed out of sight, like a raindrop falling into a lake. The movement was subtle, but it still made the nearby Sack-Cloth Sect earthly immortal cultivator frown. He turned to look but couldn’t discern anything unusual. Still uneasy, he apologized to the goddess in the mural, flew through the wind, and came to stand one zhang away from the mural. Activating the unique divine ability of the Sack-Cloth Sect, his eyes took on a pale golden hue as he scanned the entire mural, careful not to miss any trace. But after checking twice, he still found nothing unusual.
This ancient mural in front of him, one of the only three remaining opportunities in the Mural City, was a very important piece among the eight celestial court lady-official paintings. In the secret archives of the Sack-Cloth Sect, the goddess depicted in the painting rode a multicolored deer and carried a wooden sword on her back, one side of which was inscribed with the characters “Kuai Zai Feng” (Joyous Wind). Her status was honored, ranking second, but her importance surpassed even the goddess known as the “Immortal Staff,” whom the Sack-Cloth Sect named “Judgment.” So the Sack-Cloth Sect had assigned a Golden Core earthly immortal who had hopes of breaking into the upper five realms to supervise here.
The middle-aged cultivator couldn’t find the answer, but still dared not let down his guard. After hesitating for a moment, he directed his heart-lake ripples toward the area of the “Lightning” goddess mural in the Mural City, where a young man was at a shop. He told the youth to immediately return to the Sack-Cloth Sect’s ancestral mountain and inform the ancestral hall that there was something unusual about the deer-riding goddess mural, and that an ancestor must be invited to come and inspect personally.
Although the young man had previously come down the mountain to help a girl he grew up with run her business, he wasn’t very savvy about matters of the heart. But when faced with a major event, his state of mind was extremely stable. He bid farewell to the girl, walked out of the shop with a solemn expression, formed a hand seal with two fingers, and lightly stamped his foot. Immediately, a land spirit within the Sack-Cloth Sect’s jurisdiction burst out of the ground. It turned out to be a graceful young girl at the age of budding adolescence. She raised both arms high, holding an unsheathed ancient sword with a fierce sword aura. From the moment she left the mountain-root underground palace deep within the Sack-Cloth Sect, all the way to presenting herself bearing the sword, she had respectfully handed over the ancient sword, which had to be sharpened underground year-round, while using an illusion technique. Below the earthly immortal level, no one could see her.
The young man thanked her, pressed two fingers together, and lightly brushed the blade. The ancient sword hummed and shot into the air. The youth stepped onto the sword, its tip pointing straight toward the top of the Mural City. He shot upward in an almost vertical line. The thick earth layers reinforced by the mountain and river formation did not hinder his sword flight at all. Man and sword, he shot into the sky, breaking through the sea of clouds that was like a “jade belt” around the Sack-Cloth Sect’s ancestral mountain, and swiftly headed for the ancestral hall.
The middle-aged cultivator landed back on the ground, stroking his beard and smiling. Although this junior apprentice uncle was not from the same branch of the ancestral hall, everyone in the sect valued and liked him.
The Sack-Cloth Sect had many rigid rules. For example, except for a handful of people, all cultivators had to start hiking from the Sword-Hanging Pavilion halfway up the mountain, no matter how urgent the situation—they had to walk obediently. And this young man, who had been secretly recognized by that half-immortal-ranked sword since childhood, was one of the exceptions. The middle-aged cultivator could have sent a flying sword message back to the ancestral hall, but there were many layers of hidden meaning here. Even the youth himself was unaware of this, which was one of the subtleties of cultivation on the mountain: “Knowing is not knowing.” If someone else points it out, even if one seems to know, the opportunity that might have been grasped could slip away.
So it was best to let the youth report the matter, allowing him to bear more of the cause and effect. It might not necessarily lead to success, but at least it wasn’t harmful.
Although the Sack-Cloth Sect was extremely generous and did not mind outsiders taking away the fortunes of the eight goddess murals, this young man was the one most likely, since the founding of the sect, to grasp a major opportunity from the Mural City on his own. Back when the sect built the mountain and river grand formation, the groundbreaking had mobilized hundreds of founding golem laborers, over a dozen mountain-moving apes, and mountain-chasing dogs, almost turning the ground more than ten li beneath the Mural City upside down. Countless great cultivators who had left their names on the Sack-Cloth Sect’s lineage had failed to find the ancient sword left behind by the founding patriarch. And that half-immortal sword was said to be inextricably linked to the deer-riding goddess. So the Sack-Cloth Sect was determined to fight for the opportunity of this mural. If heaven offers and one does not take, one will suffer the consequences.
Above the sea of clouds, the young man flew straight toward the ancestral hall.
Among the three ancestors of the Sack-Cloth Sect, one was in seclusion, one was stationed in the Ghost Valley, continuing to expand the territory.
The only ancestor responsible for guarding the mountain stood at the entrance of the ancestral hall, asking with a smile, “Lanxi, what’s the rush? Something wrong in the Mural City?”
The sword-wielding youth repeated what the Golden Core senior brother had said.
The ancestral master frowned. “The deer-riding goddess mural?”
The youth nodded.
The ancestral master grabbed the youth by the shoulder, shrinking the earth and shortening the distance. In an instant, they arrived at the Mural City. He first sent the youth to the shop, then came alone to stand beneath the mural. The old man’s expression was grave.
The middle-aged Golden Core cultivator then realized that the seriousness of the situation exceeded his imagination.
The ancestral master sneered. “Impressive—to be able to silently break through the dual restrictions of both sides and enter the secret realm.”
The middle-aged cultivator’s face changed color slightly.
The old man waved his hand. “Be careful—it might be a diversion. You go protect Lanxi. No need to be too tense; after all, this is our own territory. I need to return to the ancestral hall and, according to the rules, burn incense and knock on the door.”
The middle-aged cultivator nodded and went to the shop.
At the shop.
The girl quietly asked, “What happened?”
The youth smiled. “I made a trip to the ancestral hall.”
The middle-aged cultivator entered the shop, and the youth asked in confusion, “Senior Brother Yang, why are you here?”
The middle-aged cultivator smiled. “Just looking around.”
The youth before him, though only at the Cave Dwelling realm now, was his little junior brother, named Pang Lanxi. The youth’s grandfather was a guest elder of the Sack-Cloth Sect and the main painter of all the goddess mural replicas in the shop. Pang Lanxi, with his excellent talent, was a sword immortal seed the Sack-Cloth Sect had never seen before. He was also the first and, simultaneously, the last disciple of one of the three Sack-Cloth Sect ancestors. This ancestor, a Jade Pure realm elder known as one of the top ten in killing power in the southern part of the Northern Julu Continent, had once sworn in the ancestral hall that he would take only one disciple in his lifetime. So when the ancestor took the young child Pang Lanxi as his personal disciple, it should have been a joyous event. However, the eccentric old ancestor told the sect not to publicize it, saying only a single sentence that perfectly matched his temperament: “No rush. Wait until my disciple reaches the Golden Core realm before inviting guests from all directions. It won’t take many years anyway.”
The middle-aged cultivator looked at the carefree Pang Lanxi and smiled bitterly in his heart. Little junior brother, this is a critical period for your great path.
---
Inside a secret realm that resembled an immortal palace, a middle-aged man suddenly appeared. He stumbled, shook his sleeves, and laughed. “Finally got my wish—come here to see the peerless grace of the immortal sisters.”
He called out softly, “Hey, is anyone here?”
He strolled slowly, looking around, admiring the celestial scenery, then abruptly raised his hand to cover his eyes, muttering, “This is the boudoir of the immortal sisters. I mustn’t see anything I shouldn’t.”
---
North of the Skeleton Beach, a young female Daoist left the sect mountain that was just beginning to take shape. As the youngest sect master in the history of the Northern Julu Continent, she piloted a celestial ferry gifted by her heavenly sovereign senior brother. This celestial treasure, the Flowing Sunset Boat, was faster even than cross-continental ferries, able to flash silently between clouds hundreds or thousands of li apart, like a cultivator using the technique of shrinking the earth.
At the border of the Skeleton Beach’s Ghost Valley, a young sword-wielding traveler wearing a bamboo hat purchased a thick book explaining matters to be aware of in the Ghost Valley from a shop run by the local stationed cultivators. The book detailed many taboos and dangerous locations. He sat in the sun, slowly flipping through the book, in no hurry to pay the toll and enter the Ghost Valley for training. Sharpening the axe won’t delay the cutting of wood.
On a warm winter day, the young man looked up at the sky. It was cloudless—really fine weather.
Let’s set a small goal first, like remembering: book lovers gather.