SS CH92

Duanqing’s Qishuang Courtyard was so sparse it didn’t even have a guest hall, making it naturally unsuitable for conversation. After Ye Fusheng gave Xie Li a few instructions, the young boy obediently stayed behind to practice; he followed Duanqing and Xuansu toward the peak of the mountain.

The main hall of the Taishang Palace was situated at the summit of Wangchen Peak. Ye Fusheng followed the two up the stone steps winding through the forest. Although it was already past the hour of Mao, the mountain mist hadn’t yet dissipated. Walking through it felt ethereal, like wandering through a fairyland. Occasionally, faint voices drifted down from the summit; it seemed the morning chanting session was underway.

At the end of the stone steps stood a stone stele engraved with two simple characters: Wang Chen (Forgetting the Mortal World).

The sharp edges of the characters were completely concealed, seemingly leaving behind all impulsive emotions and leaving only the tranquil indifference of having witnessed the vicissitudes of time.

However, with Ye Fusheng’s sharp eyes, he naturally saw more than just the character and meaning of the words; he focused on the engravings themselves. The top and bottom characters were clearly written by two different people, yet both were smooth and rounded, with no trace of cracks on the surrounding stone.

Whether carved by saber, sword, axe, or chisel, any metal weapon naturally carries a fierce, murderous aura. Even when carved by a craftsman with no martial arts training, a sharp edge is inevitably left behind. Yet these two characters before him were excessively peaceful.

“This… does not look like the work of a sharp weapon.”

Xuansu smiled faintly and explained, “The first character was carved by my master before his passing. The second was added by Martial Uncle Duanqing when he emerged from seclusion earlier this year.”

Startled, Ye Fusheng looked closer and indeed noticed a slight difference in the thickness of the strokes between the two characters, though neither was wider than a human finger. But what kind of terrifying finger strength would it take to carve characters into solid stone?

He cultivated the Jinghong Art, and his blade techniques had achieved a certain level of mastery. By focusing his energy into his palm, he could shatter ordinary weapons. But asking him to use a single finger to carve stone was tantamount to a fairy tale.

Sensing his thoughts, Duanqing said plainly, “You practice the blade, which emphasizes momentum and power, inevitably lacking in intricate precision. My shixiong and I practiced sword arts, gathering power to a single point and condensing qi into a thrust. Over the years, our sword-fingers simply naturally formed.”

Awe welled up in Ye Fusheng’s heart. He bowed respectfully to the stone stele before the three of them continued onward.

Passing the Martial Testing Pavilion and crossing the Sword Listening Lake, he finally reached the summit. He had expected a magnificent, sprawling immortal abode, but upon arriving, he found it to be surprisingly ordinary.

There were no carved railings, painted walls, soaring towers, or lofty pavilions. There was only a martial arts training ground and three Daoist temples.

The temples were built according to the Three Talents (Heaven, Earth, Humanity) formation. All were two stories high with Tai Chi mirrors hanging above the doors. The architecture was ancient and unadorned, exuding an aura of weathered antiquity rather than splendid beauty.

A hundred disciples were practicing on the training ground. Having no intention of disturbing them, Xuansu led Duanqing and Ye Fusheng down a long corridor into the temple on the right. Glancing up at the plaque, Ye Fusheng read the words: Ruoshui (Like Water).

The furnishings inside the Ruoshui Hall were ordinary, no different from a typical Daoist temple. Duanqing first led Ye Fusheng to the back hall, lit three incense sticks, and handed them to him.

From Li Xuanying, Daoist Lingwei, who founded Taishang Palace over a century ago, to Ji Qingyan, Daoist Duanya, the Eastern Daoist who passed away from an old illness five years ago, the spirit tablets of all five generations of Taishang Palace’s Sect Masters were enshrined here.

Facing the predecessors and ancestors, Ye Fusheng bowed respectfully. Only then did Duanqing lead him back to the front hall.

Xuansu had already brewed tea and was sitting behind a small sandalwood table. After Duanqing and Ye Fusheng sat down and took a sip, he pulled out a letter, handed it to Duanqing, and said, “The Wuxiang Temple sent someone to deliver an invitation. I have already arranged for him to stay in the guest rooms. However, I dare not arbitrarily decide on the matters in the letter and ask Martial Uncle to make the decision.”

Wuxiang Temple? Ye Fusheng paused for a moment. In the Jianghu, the saying “Eastern Daoist, Western Buddha” referred not only to Daoist Duanya and Zen Master Sekong, but also to the Taishang Palace and Wuxiang Temple behind them. Unlike the Taishang Palace, which had seen a decline in talent over the years and retreated from the world to cultivate in peace, the Wuxiang Temple enjoyed flourishing incense offerings and rising fame. Whether direct disciples or laymen, talents emerged continuously. Furthermore, because their previous abbot had assisted the founding emperor of the Great Chu dynasty sixty-eight years ago, their reputation was known throughout the world. Let alone the Jianghu, even the imperial court had to give them a face.

Although both Buddhists and Daoists were people outside the secular world, their doctrines and methods differed. Over the years, while the Taishang Palace and Wuxiang Temple weren’t completely estranged, their relationship was indeed lukewarm at best, with little deep connection. As far as the intelligence Ye Fusheng possessed went, only Daoist Duanya and Zen Master Sekong had developed mutual respect during three separate debates on the Dao in their youth, and had advanced and retreated together in Jianghu affairs several times, making them close friends. Aside from that, there was no other significant relationship between the sects.

However, with Daoist Duanya passing away on a crane five years ago, and Zen Master Sekong closing his doors to cultivate and ignoring mortal affairs, logically, there shouldn’t be any further interaction.

While he was pondering this, Duanqing had finished reading the letter and pushed it over. “You take a look as well.”

Although Ye Fusheng was Gu Qifang’s disciple, Duanqing and Gu Qifang were husband and wife, and Duanqing had always treated him as his own. Therefore, he counted as half a member of the Supreme Palace.

Seeing that Xuansu had no objections, Ye Fusheng took the letter, opened it, and realized it was personally written by Master Sejian, the current abbot of Wuxiang Temple.

“Wuxiang Temple wants to hold a Martial Arts Assembly… Heh, quite impressive, though it doesn’t really seem like something monks should be doing.” Ye Fusheng set the letter down, holding his teacup with one hand. “Zhao Qing, the Right Protector of the Burial Soul Palace, has fallen into their hands. The Wuxiang Temple is convening a Martial Arts Assembly, claiming they dare not make an arbitrary decision, but in reality, they’re using this opportunity to invite all the prominent sect leaders of the martial world. In my view, punishing a sinner is merely the secondary goal; joining forces for a grand endeavor is the primary one.”

“What grand endeavor?” Xuansu asked.

Glancing at Duanqing, Ye Fusheng held up two fingers. “Joining forces to eradicate evil, and electing an Alliance Leader.”

In the current martial world, the orthodox and unorthodox paths stood in opposition. But while the unorthodox path had the Burial Soul Palace as its undisputed head, the various orthodox sects were fragmented and leaderless, making it difficult to twist them into a single rope. Consequently, in recent years, the righteous path had waned while the demonic path flourished, and the power of the Burial Soul Palace was like the noonday sun.

The Wuxiang Temple held a lofty position among the orthodox sects. Although they were monks, they were martial artists first. They had long been dissatisfied with this situation where the righteous could not suppress the wicked. They had long wanted to re-establish the Martial Arts Alliance and elect a new leader to command the orthodox factions against the demonic and unorthodox paths. Previously, they suffered from lacking a justified reason. Now that they had captured the Right Protector of the Burial Soul Palace, how could they not strike while the iron was hot?

However, the Right Protector of the Burial Soul Palace…

Thinking for a moment, Ye Fusheng asked, “Is it the one known as the ‘Blood King of Hell’, Zhao Qing?”

Xuansu was quite surprised by his grasp of intelligence. After all, unlike the four Hall Masters, the twin protectors of the Burial Soul Palace spent most of their time managing affairs in their main stronghold at Mizong Ridge and rarely appeared before the public. As for Zhao Qing, it was a bloody massacre in the martial world eight years ago that made him famous. But as time passed and the victims of that year were all gone, not many people still remembered the incident.

“Exactly. Eight years ago, Zhao Qing went out to gain experience and clashed with disciples of the Mount Huang Sect. He slaughtered all twenty disciples and sent their heads back to the sect to flaunt his power.” Pausing, anger flickered in Xuansu’s eyes. “The Mount Huang Sect sought revenge against him, but relying on the power of the Burial Soul Palace, he actually washed Mount Huang in blood. The entire sect of one hundred and forty-three people—not a single one survived. From then on, he gained the moniker ‘Blood King of Hell’.”

Zhao Qing was only twenty-eight years old. He had only appeared in the Jianghu once, yet he had committed such a horrific massacre. Although not many people knew the full truth anymore, with the old matter brought up again, coupled with his identity as the Right Protector of the Burial Soul Palace, who knows how many people wanted to slice him into a thousand pieces and use his blood to sacrifice to the Heroes’ Platform, dyeing the path to the Alliance Leader’s throne red.

Duanqing spoke up. “Do you think the Taishang Palace should go?”

Raising an eyebrow, Ye Fusheng shifted his gaze to Xuansu. “Logically, we should go… Emotionally, Xuansu-shixiong likely wants to go as well.”

Xuansu looked young, but he was actually only a year or two younger than Ye Fusheng. Because he had formally entered the Taishang Palace twenty years ago, making him far more senior than an outsider like Ye Fusheng who had only recently established a connection, calling him “Shixiong” was entirely appropriate.

He was the Young Palace Master of the Taishang Palace and would become the sixth Sect Master. Logically, he should have succeeded the position after Ji Qingyan passed away five years ago. However, feeling his experience and cultivation were insufficient to govern the Taishang Palace, Xuansu requested to postpone his succession with the assistance of the other two elders. Over the past five years, he had dedicated himself to martial arts, and his realm had advanced by leaps and bounds. Yet, he had never truly set foot in the Jianghu, meaning his vision and mindset were still lacking.

Looking at the sky from the bottom of a well only makes one a frog in a well. For Xuansu, what he lacked most right now wasn’t martial arts, but the vision and methods required of a Sect Master—things he could never learn just by staying in the Taishang Palace.

The Taishang Palace had avoided the world for years. This invitation was likely more of a superficial courtesy than anything of practical significance. Even an outsider like Ye Fusheng could see this, so there was no reason for Xuansu to hesitate. If he didn’t want to go, he only needed to dismiss the messenger and that would be the end of it. Yet, not only did he let the messenger stay, but he also specifically sought out Martial Uncle Duanqing to discuss it, which already revealed his true intentions.

Being exposed by Ye Fusheng, he wasn’t angry. He merely smiled apologetically at Duanqing. “Xuansu knows the Taishang Palace no longer has the desire to compete for fame. But to maintain a foothold in the martial world, some things must be done. Furthermore, my master passed away five years ago, yet I have still not grown into the person he wished me to be, truly failing his expectations. This time, I have entertained presumptuous thoughts.”

Setting down his teacup, Duanqing said, “Then go.”

Xuansu was stunned.

Although he sought out Duanqing when matters arose, he wasn’t actually very close or familiar with this Martial Uncle. They had only conversed a handful of times, and two of those instances involved him being reprimanded and forbidden from using certain techniques.

Although Duanya only had Duanqing as his martial brother, the latter had left the Taishang Palace many years ago. Though he returned to Wangchen Peak thirteen years ago, for some unknown reason, he took up permanent residence at the Wall of Repentance. In Xuansu’s memory, he only knew that Duanqing had gone down the mountain ten years ago to look for someone, then returned and entered seclusion. He emerged five years ago when Duanya passed away from illness to handle the funeral arrangements and suppress elders and disciples harboring treacherous intentions, then immediately returned to the Wall of Repentance. Even the Qishuang Courtyard had remained locked and empty until the seventh month of this year, when he moved in and stayed for a few days.

Xuansu hadn’t interacted much with Duanqing, but every time they met, he found him cold and unapproachable. Though his nature was pure and kind and he treated his elders with utmost respect, he tactfully avoided disturbing Duanqing too much. He originally thought he would be rejected this time, and never expected it to be so easy.

He didn’t understand, but Ye Fusheng knew him perfectly well.

When it came to Duanqing’s temper, if you said it was bad, it was truly bad. If you said it was good, it was truly good.

It was bad because he had a cold face and spoke few words. If he could resolve something with one word, he would never give you a second. He handled matters decisively and cleanly. If you were truly in the wrong, he absolutely wouldn’t give you face. If you fell into his hands, there was basically only one word for it: miserable.

It was good because, despite looking cold and hard, his heart was soft. He could listen to reason and understand human feelings. He wasn’t blindly stubborn and was quite open-minded and adaptable.

Back then, although Gu Xiao always acted cowardly in front of him, he knew crystal clearly that if he needed to discuss serious matters, going to his Shiniang was much more reliable than going to his Shifu.

Smiling, Ye Fusheng picked up the teapot and refilled Xuansu’s cup. “Since that is the case, Shixiong better prepare his luggage.”

Unexpectedly, Duanqing had no intention of letting him off easy either. Turning his head, he looked over and said, “You are going with him.”