Volume One: Youths Meet in Their Humble Days Chapter Twenty-Seven: Each Has Their Own Path Home
On the other side, Lu Ming and his two companions pursued the Skyborne Drought Demon. Originally, with their combined strength, destroying it should not have been difficult. Yet, as they were about to deliver a fatal blow, a force descended from the heavens, abruptly blocking their attack.
A man in a black robe and cloak, his face concealed by a mask, appeared before them. He wielded a black staff adorned with a jet-black gem, from which emanated a poisonous, repulsive aura that stirred Lu Ming’s killing intent, sharpened by his sword embryo.
The masked man noticed Lu Ming’s change in demeanor, casting him a cold glance. With a slight twist of his staff, a burst of black light shot forth, catching Lu Ming off guard. The black radiance enveloped him, rendering him immobile. In an instant, Lu Ming’s eyes dulled, his expression vacant as if transformed into a wooden puppet. At that critical moment, a sword shadow emerged from Lu Ming’s spiritual platform, crying out, “Who dares to seize my disciple’s soul?”
A flash of light dispelled the black shroud, freeing Lu Ming from his trance. Cold sweat poured down his face; that brief instant was the most perilous he had ever faced. Had his master not intervened, he would have become a thrall to the masked stranger.
Lie Yan and Kong hastily sent him a message, “Are you alright? What just happened?”
Lu Ming exhaled heavily, replying, “Nothing much. I was nearly soul-stripped, turned into a puppet.”
The two were deeply shocked. Even Lu Ming, a sword cultivator with an immortal sword embryo—whose mind was among the strongest of all cultivators—had nearly succumbed. To seize the soul of such a sword cultivator usually required overwhelming force, and even then, the sword embryo might retaliate to protect its master. Yet this masked man had silently blocked Lu Ming’s senses; if not for his master’s lingering spiritual sense, Lu Ming would no longer be himself.
The three watched the distant clash between the sword shadow and the masked man with complicated expressions, feeling a sense of inadequacy. If only they were stronger, they would not be so easily thwarted.
Elsewhere, the sword shadow transformed into a colossal phantom blade, slashing down at the masked man. For the first time, a hint of expression crossed the stranger’s face. He looked up with interest and murmured, “Is this the current strength of Sword Nine Heavens?”
Raising his black staff high, he conjured a dark barrier in the sky. The sword shadow struck the shield, unleashing a massive ripple before both vanished without a trace.
Turning to Lu Ming, the masked man said, “Go back and tell Sword Nine Heavens to ready his neck for me.”
With that, he departed with the Skyborne Drought Demon, vanishing into the void.
Lie Yan and Kong exchanged bewildered glances. “Sword Nine Heavens has truly made countless enemies—first the Demon of Illusions, now this enigmatic masked man,” Kong said with a wry smile to Lu Ming.
Shui Linglong asked, “Do you have any idea who he might be?”
Lu Ming replied, “My master has never mentioned anyone who uses a black staff.”
Lie Yan added, “Though the Imperial Extreme Hall has countless cultivators, embracing myriad paths, I’ve never heard of anyone whose cultivation is so venomous. If we deduce further, he likely belongs to the line of the Grandmaster.”
Shui Linglong mused, “Who would have thought that a small village like Hongquan would draw the attention of the Grandmaster’s faction?”
Lie Yan responded, “I fear it’s more than that. If the Grandmaster’s people are meddling here, do you think the Imperial Extreme Hall wouldn’t act as well?”
Shui Linglong asked in confusion, “What do you mean, Brother Lie?”
“I believe the Skyborne Drought Demon is merely a catalyst. The two great powers must have reached some tacit agreement or contest. The Imperial Extreme Hall hasn’t openly deployed its subordinates, and as for the masked man, we’re only guessing his affiliation. In truth, we have no idea to which side he belongs. Yet, all immortal cultivation factions are nominally under the Imperial Extreme Hall. Huangquan Sect’s inaction can only be due to orders from above. If the Imperial Extreme Hall intervenes, surely the Grandmaster will as well. Now that the masked man has taken the Drought Demon, if he is truly of the Grandmaster’s faction, perhaps neither side realizes Huangquan Sect is entangled with both.”
Shui Linglong regarded Lie Yan as if seeing him for the first time, curiosity in her gaze. “How do you know so much, Brother Lie?”
Lie Yan smiled ruefully. “If you’d grown up as I did, constantly strategizing and scheming, you’d understand these machinations.”
Lu Ming interjected, “Why tell us all this?”
Indeed, though they’d faced life and death together, they had rarely discussed such matters in their time together. Shui Linglong watched Lie Yan, awaiting his explanation.
Lie Yan laughed expansively. “You’ve seen it yourselves—our abilities are decent, but to the powerful and influential, we’re insignificant. I have no wish to be a pawn, used when needed and discarded when not, my fate not my own. So, I seek cooperation—an alliance, if you will.”
Shui Linglong was surprised by his words and asked tentatively, “You trust us so easily?”
Lie Yan smiled helplessly. “To be frank, I am not among the core disciples of Huoyang Sect, let alone heir to the sect leader. I have ambition and talent, lacking only opportunity, luck, and support. On this journey, luck has favored me—the guidance of that elder has been extraordinary, perhaps opening a new path of fire for me. Now, I’ve met you both. You are the support I need, talented and promising. If we support each other, we can rise higher in our sects, gaining remarkable status.”
Shui Linglong grew silent. Like Lie Yan, she was not destined to inherit her sect’s legacy, only to serve as a guardian elder. Yet, she too had received the elder’s guidance, opening new horizons for her path. Given this, why not strive for more?
Yes, she was moved—truly moved.
Lu Ming, the only one unmoved, was born with extraordinary talent in Great Sword Green Mountain. Even without striving, its future would fall to him. Whether or not he became its leader, he would always be its sharpest blade. Lie Yan’s proposal meant little to him, for his heart sought only the Way of the Sword.
Lie Yan and Shui Linglong exchanged a silent understanding, both looking to Lu Ming. He paused, then said, “I seek nothing. So long as your actions do not harm my sect or betray the human path’s principles, I will lend my aid.”
His words clarified his stance: he sought nothing, yet would help when needed. For Shui Linglong and Lie Yan, it was a bargain with no downside.
Thus, the three forged an agreement, deepening their bond. Unbeknownst to them, this simple alliance would have far-reaching consequences in the future.
They parted ways, returning to their respective sects, exchanging tokens and means to keep in touch.
Elsewhere, the masked man, having taken the Drought Demon, entered a mansion. Passing unimpeded, he reached the rear garden and stood beside a pond. Forming an intricate seal, he waved it over the water, which parted to reveal a hidden passage below.
It was a realm within a realm.
He leaped into the passage, and once his form disappeared, the waters closed, concealing the entrance. Such methods spoke of meticulous care. The realm within a realm is a type of barrier—a passage carved within the world leading to a pre-arranged pocket dimension, unaffected by the destruction of its external entrance. This is a high-level application of barriers, requiring not only the ability to create a small world but also profound mastery of barriers and spatial arts.
No lamps lit the passage; instead, luminous stones embedded in the walls illuminated the path, making the once pitch-black tunnel clear.
He walked a distance, arriving at his destination—a vast underground square, or perhaps a cavernous domain, self-contained and expansive. In its center lay a small lake, with a massive circular stone platform rising from its heart. Four stone pillars stood at the cardinal points, each engraved with unknown beasts, forming a protective or suppressive stance around the platform.
Above the platform rose a long stone staircase, built from the same luminous stones. Initially dark, they illuminated one by one as the masked man bowed in respect. Atop the stairs stood a wordless stone stele, a hundred feet tall, glowing gently and faintly translucent. Soon, a figure appeared within, and a deep, aged male voice echoed, “Is the task accomplished?”
The masked man bowed, “Your subordinate was unable, and only brought back the Drought Demon. The Demon of Illusions is missing.”
The figure within the stele spoke without anger or joy, “It matters not. Our alliance with the Demon of Illusions was always one of mutual convenience. He has always guarded against me. Let him go.”
The masked man wished to speak, but hesitated. The figure said, “Chang Ye, speak plainly. You know I dislike dithering.”
“Your subordinate does not understand. This scheme yielded nothing. We lured the Daoist into Huangquan Sect’s domain, hoping he’d eliminate them, but their power remains, and the Demon of Illusions vanished. Why does Your Excellency remain unconcerned?”
The figure replied, “That Daoist’s actions are beyond mortal comprehension. He acts solely as he wills. That he did not destroy Huangquan Sect is expected. As for the Demon of Illusions, a mere clown—his escape is inconsequential.”
Then, with a mysterious smile, he added, “As for gains—who says we truly gained nothing? Not long ago, the Imperial Extreme Hall’s spies reported that the Pope received a jade slip from the Daoist. From this, it seems there is much to ponder about the relationship between those two brothers. Moreover, haven’t we learned he took a disciple?”
Chang Ye asked, “Is there something special about the child?”
The figure answered, “I cannot discern much from your transmitted images. But to be chosen by the Daoist, the child must be extraordinary.”
“Should I send someone to investigate?”
The figure replied, “No need. Even if talented, the child is still young; growth takes time. Along the way, there are countless chances for untimely death.”
He paused, then continued, “More importantly, I am curious why the Daoist would take a disciple.”
Chang Ye was puzzled, but the figure explained, “How long do you think the Daoist has left to live?”
Chang Ye trembled, his pupils contracting in disbelief. “Does Your Excellency mean the Daoist is about to face the tribulation of the Five Decays?”
The figure within the stele sighed, “If my guess is correct, his end is near.”
Chang Ye said, “His aura and vitality remain strong—how could he be so close to the Dao dissolution?”
“He must have passed the threshold none of us dare cross.”
Chang Ye understood. In the world of cultivators, there are fifteen realms. The first ten are the domains of ordinary practitioners. Only by surpassing these can one enter the eleventh realm and be called a true cultivator.
The eleventh is the Realm of Enlightenment, twelfth is the Realm of Unity—where man and Dao become one, thirteenth is the Realm of Integration—where Dao merges with heaven, and fourteenth is the Realm of Treading the Dao.
Legend speaks of a fifteenth realm—the Realm of Ascension—but none have ever achieved it. The concept exists only among the strongest of the thirteenth realm and is rooted in ancient lore, with no known method of attainment.
Yet all know: if one attempts to cross into the fifteenth realm without the proper path, becoming a “half-step” ascendant, one becomes a false immortal. Though powerful, one must then face the tribulation of the Five Decays.
“Your strength is inferior to the Daoist, yet even he cannot see through your Concealment Art, meaning his tribulation has begun—his senses are diminished. Otherwise, do you think your art and my Shrouding Garment could have escaped his detection?”
Chang Ye asked urgently, “What should we do next?”
The figure replied, “Wait.”
Wait for what?
Perhaps for a person, perhaps an event—but ultimately, for time.
The figure continued, “Remain here and refine the Drought Demon. She is still useful. Leave the rest.”
Chang Ye acknowledged, and the figure vanished. The underground square dimmed, as if it had never been illuminated.
Upon returning to their sects, Lu Ming and his companions entered seclusion to cultivate. Changlin City, aided by the Grandmaster’s envoys, began to recover. The Grandmaster had intended to hold Huangquan Sect accountable for its inaction, but the Imperial Extreme Hall suppressed the matter, and it was left unresolved.
This outcome affirmed Lie Yan’s suspicions, though the specifics likely centered on Huangquan Sect’s former elder, Mu Huan.
Nothing seemed to have changed here, yet all that transpired on Red Spring Mountain signaled transformation.
One mountain vanished, a village disappeared, the mountain god was replaced, and the child’s whereabouts remain unknown.
It echoed the old saying: whenever power shifts and factions vie, it is the common folk who suffer. And when those factions possess the ability to move mountains and fill seas, the life and death of ordinary people—mere ants in their eyes—become ever more insignificant.