Chapter 936: I Am the Host (6)
Stepping out of the river of time, Qing Tong looked around and asked in confusion, "How come we didn't return directly to the Demon Suppression Tower? Is there another mountain god on Treasure Bottle Continent that needs to be seen?"
Chen Ping'an shook his head. "I've never been here either. Someone made a last-minute decision and asked me to act as a host and see a guest off for them here."
Qing Tong grew even more puzzled. Who could possibly order you around like this?
In the distance, they saw a shimmering expanse of water, with a cluster of pavilions and towers half-hidden among green shade. From the buildings came the faint, melodious sound of a few clear chimes.
Chen Ping'an said, "Let's go ahead and wait for our prey by the stump."
As they drew nearer, they found a sizable temple complex. The signboard read "Fen River God Temple." In front of the gate stood two ancient locust trees, and outside the door was a large pond lined with drooping willows. Several piebald horses were tied in the willow shade, and an embroidered-curtain carriage was parked by the corner of the temple wall—probably belonging to the womenfolk of a wealthy family. An old coachman in a thick padded robe sat with his hands tucked into his sleeves, dozing off in a daze.
Qing Tong followed Chen Ping'an into the temple. Since it was New Year's Eve, the incense offerings were naturally sparse. For the time being, no pious pilgrims could be seen. Only a few children dressed as young Daoist acolytes were squatting in the corridor outside the main hall, tossing copper coins in play. When they saw Chen Ping'an and his companion, they merely glanced up without greeting.
On either side were moon-gate passages, the only way to reach the rear halls. After standing on the threshold of the main hall for a moment, Chen Ping'an walked toward the moon gate. Before he saw anyone, he heard the crisp, pleasant sound of jade pendants. Two women emerged from the passage, both dressed in splendorous attire. One was a matron with a morning-cloud coiffure, two jade hairpins slanting from it, wearing a simple yet elegant silk gown. Beside her was a young maid, presumably her personal attendant, in a white lotus-blouse and onion-green skirt, with a pair of slightly worn embroidered shoes.
There was also an old woman in a bamboo-leaf patterned Daoist robe, holding a jade ruyi scepter. She was most likely the temple steward in charge of daily affairs at the Fen River God Temple.
Chen Ping'an immediately stepped aside to make way.
The lead woman walked past without a sideways glance. As the young maid brushed past the man in the blue gown, she couldn't help sneaking a sidelong look at him. This man wore a jade hairpin, a blue long gown, and cloth shoes. He appeared clean and neat, about thirty years old, but compared to the "extraordinary bearing and pure spirit" described in books, he fell rather short—not exactly a standout figure. If she weren't mistaken, he was probably a poor scholar from the county town, without any official rank yet, come to burn incense and pray for success in the imperial exams.
Qing Tong couldn't help asking softly, "Who are we waiting for?"
The three who had come through the moon gate were obviously ordinary mortals with ordinary eyes.
Chen Ping'an replied mentally, "Lu Chen."
Qing Tong's expression changed slightly.
He really didn't want any entanglement with that third leader of the White Jade Capital.
But given the current situation, it seemed hard to avoid meeting Lu Chen.
Within the Mengliang Kingdom of Treasure Bottle Continent, the Fen River God Temple was not far away.
A young Daoist, wearing a lotus-flower crown and carrying several local gazetteers he had taken without asking, walked along a wild mountain path. He looked up at a ferry boat speeding by like a flying bird.
Daoist magic had its depths, and eyesight had its levels. The Daoist on the ground could see the other party, but the ferry boat did not notice the young Daoist below.
The young Daoist moved lightly, skimming like a dragonfly over water, drifting far and wide. He had the feeling of "gliding on a windless water surface as smooth as glass, unaware of the boat's movement."
The young Daoist paused briefly, shook his sleeve as if it contained countless strands of silk thread stretching near and far—the "causes and effects" of the mundane world. He extended two fingers and gently tugged one of those threads. A faint response seemed to come from afar, so slight as to be almost negligible. But this young Daoist in the lotus-flower crown had sufficiently high Daoist skill. He raised his eyes and looked into the distance, fixing on a person, and followed a faint, heaven-sent Daoist affinity to this Mengliang Kingdom. Eventually, at the entrance of a remote mountain village, he spotted a solitary child. The young Daoist approached, stopped, bent down, and the child looked up. They stared at each other for a moment. The child, shy, lowered his head.
He had previously visited the Yuzhang Prefecture Logging Yard to bid farewell to Lin Zhengcheng. After that, he hadn't directly returned to the Azure World. After all, the White Jade Capital had Senior Brother Yu to manage things; there shouldn't be any problems. And now that the matter of suppressing the extradimensional demons beyond the heavens was being personally concluded by his master, Lu Chen could have stayed a few more years in the Grand World if the Confucian Academy hadn't been pressing him. Just now, while soaring through the sky toward the ascension canopy, Lu Chen suddenly felt a stirring in his Dao heart. Tracing its source, he found it was here in the Mengliang Kingdom—a person and an event had almost simultaneously touched his heartstrings. So he changed his plan and first went to nearby Cloud Mist Mountain, but this time he didn't appear in person. The Golden Core cultivator Huang Zhonghou of Plowing Cloud Peak would soon become the new mountain master of Cloud Mist Mountain. Having turned disaster into fortune, Cloud Mist Mountain now had the makings of a nascent sect. Everything was ready except a Jade Purity realm cultivator. The former mountain master, Cai Jinjian of Green Juniper Peak, and Huang Zhonghou both had hope; within a hundred years, the sect could be expected.
A man drowning his sorrows in drink—if deeply entangled with heavenly fortune, he might become a lovesick man.
Who knew when he'd next drink with the lovesick Mountain Lord Huang, ensnared in love's web?
Lu Chen looked down at the child, who had no aptitude for cultivation. He said, "You're not shy with strangers. Maybe it's because I have a kind face that makes women and children feel drawn to me? By the way, can you speak the Great Li official language? Or at least understand it?"
The child nodded. Although the Mengliang Kingdom and the Qingluan Kingdom had both ceased to be vassals of Great Li, the Great Li official language had become the continent's common tongue. The rulers and ministers of Mengliang promoted it with great effort, much to the annoyance of many old schoolteachers who had to become students of young county instructors despite their advanced age.
Lu Chen crouched down and said, "I can see you have an extraordinary bone structure, a dragon's roar and tiger's howl, a phoenix's soar and a simurgh's flight—the great aura of a mighty man."
The child looked blank.
Preaching to deaf ears.
Lu Chen smiled. "Cultivators are like tea plants on the mountain: wild ones are superior, garden ones inferior."
Clearly, in Lu Chen's eyes, registered cultivators like garden plants were less spirited than unregistered wild cultivators in the mountains and marshes.
Lu Chen asked, "Have you attended a village school?"
The child shook his head.
Lu Chen pointed at some "scrawls" on the ground near the child's feet. "Then who taught you those?"
The child answered honestly, "When I go up the mountain to herd cattle, there are markings on the rocks. I see them a lot."
Lu Chen asked with a smile, "You still have cattle to herd?"
The child said, "I help the villagers."
Lu Chen said knowingly, "So you work half a day and get a meal out of it?"
The child gave a shy smile. His dark, thin face and lean frame were wrapped in a worn-out padded jacket crudely mended with clumsy stitching to keep the cotton from spilling out.
Lu Chen shifted his buttocks, craned his neck, and looked toward that mountain peak. There was no mountain god there, nor any cliff carvings, but it was a blessed place. In the mountain was a clear spring that never dried up in long droughts and never overflowed in long rains.
A nameless Daoist had once cultivated there.
No wonder it had been spotted from afar by the desolate Peach Pavilion and sensed by himself from far-off Yuzhang Prefecture in Great Li. This mountain's Daoist aura had accumulated for a long time. Within it, a spiritual vein of immortal fate was gestating, on the verge of overflowing. Each time the Daoist aura stirred the mountain's root and water veins, the vibrations were like a heartbeat.
But this "heartbeat" of so-called "heaven-earth resonance" was extremely faint and widely spaced. It just happened to be noticed by the young Daoist who passed by on the boat. Otherwise, even an Ascension Realm cultivator could spend a year or two here and only see it as an ordinary Daoist site.
Lu Chen was slightly surprised. He calculated on his fingers and clicked his tongue in amazement. It was quite extraordinary. The person who "attained the Dao" here had a low cultivation level when he left; he was only a Golden Core earth immortal when he departed the mountain cave dwelling. But he had no teacher, no immortal opportunities—he achieved a clear, pure Golden Core purely through self-enlightenment. Such a person was called "favored by heaven and earth, enlightened without destiny." If he had even better fortune, his achievements would be staggering.
Not to mention the ratio of ordinary people, just considering the number of cultivators: they were as numerous as ox hairs. The path up the mountain was like a river full of fish swimming upstream.
Those who reached the summit and attained the Dao—coming and going—were ultimately a rare few. One party sang while another took the stage, each showing their brilliance, only to be scattered by wind and rain.
Lu Chen sighed, stood up, and facing the "cave dwelling" in the cliffs of that mountain, he made a Daoist bow.
Because he had already guessed the other's identity.
But Lu Chen's courtesy was not because of who the other was, but because of what the other had achieved.
When the sword of wisdom was drawn, demons were slain; ten thousand miles away, lightning circled as devils were vanquished.
Dimly visible in his mind's eye was a Daoist of middle age, named Lü Yan, with the Daoist name Pure Yang.
He had formed his Golden Core here and left behind a sword technique scripture that directly pointed to the Golden Core, waiting for a later destined person.
When he descended the mountain, he carried a purple bamboo staff, hung a large gourd ladle at his waist, wore a free-and-easy headwrap, carried a sword on his back and a whisk in his hand, and wore yellow clothes and hemp shoes. Thus he wandered the world.
This nameless Daoist left a prophecy: "In the future, a golden immortal will emerge from this place. When the sound of a bell is heard, then the secret of forging gold shall be obtained: refining the yang spirit, perfecting the jade refinement, and forming the Dao fruit."
At the foot of the mountain, he met a herb gatherer entering the mountains. The gatherer asked questions but received no answer. The Daoist only spoke four words: "Thank heaven and earth."
The child saw the young Daoist master's actions, hesitated, then faced the mountain and imitated him, doing a great bow in clumsy confusion.
Seeing this, Lu Chen sighed, "Connected to the Dao, and also to me. No wonder I was drawn here by a single thread."
Regarding cultivation, ordinary immortal sects valued practical aptitude. After all, myriad dharma were impermanent, and fate was too elusive to grasp. But for great cultivators who had long stood at the summit, they valued affinity more than aptitude.
This child had no cultivation aptitude but did have a root of wisdom—much like someone else's situation in the past. The latter's fate porcelain had shattered, meaning he had no bowl in hand to catch anything.
Lu Chen crouched down again and asked, "What's your name?"
The child answered, "I only have a surname, no given name. The surname is Ye, meaning 'leaf.'"
"A good surname. 'A single leaf drifts into the vast sea.' Indeed, the three of us have a connection."
Lu Chen smiled. "As for having a surname but no given name—there are pros and cons. Don't be too sad. I know a friend. His situation is truly miserable. He's handsome, learned, and a formidable cultivator. Daoist Sun is the steadfast number five in the world, but this person is the rock-bottom eleventh, conveniently never making the list. He's a close friend of the elegant minister Yao Qing. He gave himself a bunch of grandiose Daoist names, more than Wei She of the Baiai Continent. Can you guess his real name?"
The child shook his head.
Lu Chen burst into laughter. "It's Zhu Dazhuang."
The child watched the young Daoist laugh until he could barely breathe. He didn't see what was so funny. Wasn't having a name like that perfectly normal? Besides, at least he had a surname and a given name—how wonderful.
As for the incomprehensible parts, the child felt like he was listening to a celestial book.
Lu Chen finally stopped laughing, rubbing his stomach. "But nowadays, few people know that name. I happen to be one of them."
This man was originally a butcher from the marketplace. Before he took up cultivation, he had a catchphrase: "After living a hundred years, can I be slaughtered and eaten?" After he attained the Dao and rose to a high position, his fiery temper remained unchanged. When he encountered someone he disliked or something that displeased him, he'd just change the "hundred" to "thousand."
And his way of sparring in the Azure World was unique. Either you kill me or I kill you. He would first stand still and let the opponent bombard him with spells until their spiritual energy was exhausted and they had no tricks left. Only then would he act. And as long as the opponent didn't admit defeat, he wouldn't strike. So there was one fight that lasted a full three hundred years. The opponent started as a mere Immortal but, in the course of the duel, actually became an Ascension Realm cultivator. In the end, after three hundred years of daily companionship and unremitting pursuit, the opponent was driven insane.
To spare is not to be a fool; a fool does not know how to spare.
Lu Chen picked up a twig, twisted his wrist to draw a talisman in the air, the strokes like scattered pearls. His divine intent transcended the mundane, and strange spirits were born from the tip of his brush.
As he drew his "ghost-script," Lu Chen asked casually, "Do you know you're a fool?"
The child lowered his eyes, his expression somber.
The young Daoist comforted him, "How can a fool know he's a fool? Think about it—isn't that the truth?"
Someone had passed by here earlier and lightly patted the child's back, helping to disperse those unbearable "old debts," like turning a page of an old almanac.
The child seemed to have suddenly become enlightened.
Lu Chen threw away the twig, clapped his hands, and smiled. "There are roughly two kinds of fools, both can be called 'idiots.' First, let me clarify: this isn't a derogatory term or a complimentary one. You don't understand derogatory and complimentary? Well, simply put, it's not good words or bad words—just everyday speech."
"The first kind is the former you: muddled, as if dreaming alone. That dream is known only to you, and you know nothing of the people and affairs outside the dream—so those outside the dream see you as a fool."
"The second kind of idiot is the cultivator, what the books call the immortals on the mountains. To attain the Dao and pursue immortality, they have to discard the seven emotions and six desires we are born with. They communicate only with heaven and earth, only with the Dao, no longer with people. In my eyes, this is like the entire world sharing a dream, where everyone is dreaming the same dream. Since these emotions are innate, discarding them is 'rejecting what heaven bestows.' Of course, some see it as repaying a debt—only when the debt is cleared can one cleanly face the 'heavenly tribulation.' For them, the tribulations that accompany breakthrough are like the heavens having lent them something for years and now collecting interest."
So-called "Dao seeds" and "immortal embryos" almost all share a common trait: they are... inhumanly indifferent.
Many who ascend the mountain and cultivate from childhood carry this immortal aura to some degree. Their eyes are cold, their temperament cold, their bones cold.
Far from the mundane world, living in seclusion in a square foot of land or a small meditation hut, they cultivate "golden branches and jade leaves" and refine "entrails like snow."
To call all cultivators under heaven "idiots"—probably only Lu Chen would dare say such a thing.
And he never feared being beaten.
Lu Chen shifted his bottom, picked up the twig he had thrown away, and wrote a character on the ground: "Lang." After a moment's hesitation, he added another character: "Jue."
Lu Chen asked with a smile, "Which character feels more fateful to you?"
The child looked seriously at the two characters, unwilling to lie. After looking up, he said with embarrassment, "They both look good."
He had learned two more characters.
Lu Chen let out an "aiyowei" and laughed. "Very good, very good. Your name is Ye Lang. When you set foot on the cultivation path, you'll even have a Daoist name: 'Houjue' (After-Awakening)."
All are still dreamers in Huai'an—only see who wakes first from the great dream.
"Awakening as in sleep-awakening, awakening as in enlightenment. Different tones, same character, two meanings."
Lu Chen held the twig and pointed at the character "Jue," smiling. "Just for this character, we'd have to kowtow a thousand times to our ancestors."
Looking at this child, Lu Chen couldn't help but think of that youth from Mud Vase Alley.
For them, I imagine, tomb sweeping on Qingming, moon viewing at Mid-Autumn, and New Year's Eve dinner were all three major heart barriers.
Lu Chen sighed. "Rivers and mountains, wind and moon—no eternal master. There's no fixed rule for ancient and modern scenery. Only ancient trees, only big trees. When have we ever heard of 'ancient grass' or seen 'big grass'?"
"Grass and trees die in autumn; pines and cypresses endure. That is fate. Thoroughwort on the path, jade trees by the steps. That too is fate. Everyone has their own fate, drifting along like a leaf on the sea."
The child's eyes sparkled. He understood nothing, but it sounded profound, even more interesting than the village schoolteachers. So he admired the Daoist greatly and asked softly, "Master, you know so much. Have you ever been a schoolteacher?"
Lu Chen quickly waved his hand. "Couldn't do it, couldn't do it. I'm not much better than you. You just mooch meals in your hometown; I just con my way through strange lands. My Daoist skill is shallow—how dare I claim the title of teacher."
If it were just teaching and clarifying doubts, Lu Chen could certainly do it—but he simply disdained it.
The White Jade Capital had five cities and twelve towers, each with its master. Only the third leader, Lu Chen, almost never taught anyone. He preferred to visit other places and listen in.
There were occasional exceptions, but they were not to be spoken of—times when "wearing a lotus crown, facing the Big Dipper, I spoke of longevity to the Star Lord."
But Lu Chen had his own interpretation of the term "teacher." "Three flowers gathered atop the crown" only made one a True Man; "five vapors facing the court" made one a Celestial Immortal. "Teacher"? He was "born before heaven and earth."
The child asked, "What is the master's name? Can I come find you in the future?"
Receiving kindness, it must always be repaid, as much as possible—and never less.
Where this principle came from, the child had never thought about, nor might he ever.
Lu Chen gave a knowing smile.
What is the Dao? What is principle? It's the invisible path we walk beneath our feet, the things we practice without being able to speak.
That's why it's so hard to talk about the Dao and reason with others—because different paths lead to different goals.
Lu Chen smiled. "My names are many: the Zheng man who bought the casket and returned the pearl, the Nanguo man who played the flute in a crowd, Luo Qi of 'all silk-clad,' Xing You of 'worrying that the charcoal might not be sold because the day is warm,' and the potter of 'fingers never soiled, yet living in a grand mansion.' But today, my name is Xu Wugui. On New Year's Eve, we quickly bid farewell to the old and welcome the new. This name brings good omens—I wish for not a single lonely ghost under heaven, and nothing beyond the heavens. In life, there is something to rely on; in death, there is a path to follow. And this name Xu Wugui is a character from a book I compiled. He knows physiognomy, is skilled in judging horses, and excels at selecting thousand-li steeds. Farmers go to the fields, merchants earn money, Xu Wugui judges horses—all must rise early."
The child was thoroughly astonished by the young Daoist's words. "Master Xu, you've written a book and published it?!"
The village schoolteachers could only teach.
Lu Chen puffed up with pride, rubbed his chin, and said with a grin, "Well, well."
Thinking back to a similar look in the past: "So besides setting up a fortune-telling stall for money, you also write prescriptions?"
Perhaps every heart has a regretful Letter-Sword Lake, and every heart has a lingering Mud Vase Alley.
Only in places of hardship is there home: no ancients before, no later generations after. Facing peach blossoms, drunk with flushed cheeks, tears falling like rain.
"Thunder strikes—rumble rumble."
Lu Chen smiled. "Look up."
The words became reality—a sudden thunderclap sounded in the sky.
Startled, the child looked up blankly at the young Daoist.
Lu Chen brought his two fingers together and lightly tapped the child's brow, murmuring under his breath.
He opened the child's celestial eye.
From this moment on, this orphan surnamed Ye had officially set foot on the cultivation path.
After Lu Chen left, the child could study the talisman on the ground. Then his eyes would gain a kind of insight, allowing him to see the ancestral blessings and fortune of others—like the old saying that when a person's luck runs out, that's the principle; when fortune smiles on someone, it's the same. For example, those "people in green gauze" would enjoy promotion in officialdom.
Lu Chen twisted his wrist, rubbed his fingers together as if lighting a stick of incense, with the child's head as an incense burner—as if paying respect to the gods three feet above.
This was another protective talisman Lu Chen gave the child, a heavenly talisman, like granting the name "No Ghost."
Lu Chen crouched on the ground, hands tucked into his sleeves, rocking back and forth slightly. He smiled. "One day when you leave your hometown, go find a mountain called the Divine Proclamation Sect. When you see a Daoist named Qi Zhen, tell him that Lu Chen sent you to ascend the mountain and have him teach you immortal techniques."
The child nodded but then asked curiously, "Has the master changed his name again?"
Lu Chen stood up and laughed. "Three-day feasts, hundred-day feasts—in the end, no feast lasts forever. Farewell here; may we meet again."
The child seemed to have thousands of words stuck in his throat, not knowing what to say. In the end, he just remembered the previous courtesy and made another Daoist bow to the young Daoist, who had such great learning and had even published a book.
Lu Chen stood there, accepted the bow, then strode away without looking back, merely waving farewell to the child. The young Daoist looked around a few times, walked to the edge of the village, bent down, scooped up a chicken, stuffed it into his bosom, and ran off. In a few moments, he was gone.
Only the stunned child remained. The Daoist had stolen a chicken and run off—did that mean he himself had been an accomplice as lookout?
---
The Demon Suppression Tower, under the parasol tree.
Qing Tong's true form was handsome, difficult to distinguish as male or female.
His separated Yin spirit, the one accompanying Chen Ping'an, wore a broad-brimmed hat and a green dharma robe, with a graceful figure—no wonder he was often mistaken for a female cultivator.
His other Yang incarnation manifested as a sturdy old man with white hair.
Here, Qing Tong had drawn back his Yang spirit. His Yin spirit, which had traveled far, was enjoying itself, having just eaten a bowl of plain noodles at Sui Mountain. Yet for some reason, it had made an extra trip to the Fen River God Temple.
With nothing to do, Qing Tong repeatedly twisted a strand of hair at his temple. He noticed that Xiao Mo had maintained the same posture, looking up, his hands resting on the green bamboo staff placed across his knees. His gaze was fixed on the sky, his mind completely absorbed, as if his thoughts were stretching toward the sky and sinking deep into contemplation.
Qing Tong was self-aware enough not to think Xiao Mo regarded him as a friend, such that he would be so distracted and even his dharma form appeared somewhat dull.
This meant Xiao Mo was thinking about something very important.
But for Xiao Mo, currently serving as Chen Ping'an's guardian, was there anything more important than protecting the Dao at this moment?
Only two possibilities: outside the Demon Suppression Tower, a powerful enemy was trying to spy on them, waiting for an opportunity—an enemy so formidable that even Qing Tong couldn't detect the slightest clue.
The other possibility was that Xiao Mo had entered a kind of spiritual state akin to a breakthrough opportunity.
Xiao Mo was indeed wandering in spirit to boundless distances. This sword cultivator of the demon race, now in the human world after ten thousand years, recalled scenes from ten thousand years ago. Some were tragic and spectacular, some bizarre and mysterious, some divine and extraordinary. The images finally settled on the familiar Ascension Platform. As his mind traveled, Xiao Mo felt as if he were revisiting old grounds, walking along that path, his gaze rising ever higher until an irrepressible thought arose in his heart.
If I deliver one sword here, it will be like paving a road.
This sword light, in the end, will be a path to heaven.
In the ten thousand years of later times, when I slept in the bright moonlight, has there ever been such a length of sword energy?
Thus, this is the path for me to step into the Fourteenth Realm.
Once Xiao Mo had this thought, it grew increasingly firm. Within his personal microcosm, strange phenomena erupted.
Every bone was like a mountain, a thousand mountains bowing to a thatched hut. Every vein was like a great river, a hundred rivers surging into the sea.
The various energy apertures, meridians, sword qi, sword intent, "paths" —they were the sword path, the Great Dao. All began to show signs of resonance with heaven and earth.
A mustard seed of Xiao Mo's consciousness entered a realm of emptiness within his own microcosm. No longer in the garb of a yellow cap and green shoes, he held a sword like the dharma form outside.
Because once he set foot on this path, walking this Great Dao, it meant Xiao Mo had no turning back.
If he failed, the consequences would be severe. A single misstep would gravely wound his foundation, perhaps even cause a direct fall in realm.
This was precisely why Ascension Realm cultivators at the summit regarded the one-step-away Fourteenth Realm as a heavenly chasm.
It was also why some world-famous great cultivators who went into seclusion never emerged again.
Otherwise, like Wei She, if one failed to break through, the Dao heart would be tarnished, and they would sink into dejection.
None of these Ascension Realm cultivators lacked immense perseverance. Their Dao hearts were tougher than ordinary people could imagine.
But this path was different from ordinary mountain-climbing.
In the Azure World, the female cultivator with the Daoist name Fu Kan's given name was Zhaoge, and the female Daoist Chen Ping'an had once met at a riverside meeting, named Wu Zhou, with the Daoist name Taiyin.
Wu Zhou's method of merging with the Dao had been called "refining objects" by Wu Shuangjiang, and compared to "dismemberment" by Lu Chen. The danger level was known even to those who only heard of it.
People mistakenly thought they had already passed away because they had been in seclusion so long.
But at this moment, suddenly a voice rang in Xiao Mo's mind lake. It first called Xiao Mo's true name, then said, "Daoist Xizhu, it's too late. You'll have to choose another path."
The voice continued, "Actually, you are not much later than that sword immortal who went ahead. It's like dozing off in the mountains—a pity. Indeed, 'relying on the sky, ten thousand miles require a long sword.'"
Although Xiao Mo already knew the other's identity, he still asked two questions.
"Is this person already in the Fourteenth Realm, or not yet? And is this person a mountain friend of my young master?"
If not a friend of his young master.
If the other hadn't truly entered the Fourteenth Realm, Xiao Mo didn't care if he had one foot over the threshold.
Even if the other was already Fourteenth Realm—no matter. They would have a Dao dispute, effectively crossing swords from a distance.
The person laughed. "To tell you the truth, he is already Fourteenth Realm. But for now, only three people across several worlds know. And coincidentally, this person is a dear friend of Chen Ping'an, who likes to call him 'Young Friend Chen.'"
Xiao Mo certainly didn't think the other would jest about such matters. He sincerely thanked this being, who could be considered half an "old acquaintance."
Since the one who had first walked this path and succeeded was Daoist Sun of the Mystic Capital Temple, Xiao Mo had to change his path. Otherwise, it would be like a flood washing over Dragon King's temple—both sides would be hurt.
Xiao Mo sighed, forced himself to suppress that magnificent Daoist momentum, withdrew that particle of consciousness, and retreated from his microcosm.
Xiao Mo, in yellow cap and green shoes, his hands on the green bamboo staff across his knees, paled slightly. His throat moved as he forcibly swallowed the blood in his mouth.
Qing Tong was horrified, his Dao heart trembling. "What happened?!"
Had a powerful enemy been hiding in the Demon Suppression Tower all along, without him sensing it?
And this person had even injured Xiao Mo?
Xiao Mo originally didn't want to answer, but remembering that Qing Tong's Yin spirit was still traveling with his young master, he finally spoke. "The Supreme Sage is right here, watching us."
No wonder he had earlier felt something amiss but couldn't find any trace.
The entire world was one person's Dao field, and this scholar was at the Fifteenth Realm.
In the ancient Heavenly Court, the five Supremes were all considered Fifteenth Realm by later cultivators.
Then the conflict between Water and Fire led to cracks in the golden bodies of two of the supreme deities.
The Sword Bearer's defection left the Armor Bearer like a single pillar supporting a collapsing mansion.
But everyone who had personally experienced or witnessed that war—even as bystanders—knew that the one true variable was only one thing:
The Heavenly Court's common lord had vanished without a trace.
Throughout that "overturning heaven and earth, new replacing old" war, this supreme lord of heaven and earth never appeared.
And in the former world, there was a less widespread saying:
That existence's cultivation level might have been above the Fifteenth Realm.