Xue Cuo’s behaviour—at best, one might call it provocative; at worst, it was like offering incense to a Daoist priest in a Buddhist temple. If things went badly, it could only end in trouble.
He asked, “Do you know which gods dwell in the Realm of Ten Thousand Gods?”
Zhu Xiaoyou, born a commoner, had no way of knowing such things. The only one who might was Xi Tao. Xi Tao said, “In Wendao Palace, there are many secret realms like this one, created to train disciples. My family keeps a private secret realm as well. This is my first time here.”
The implication was clear: he didn’t know either. Zhu Xiaoyou only felt the depth of his own ignorance. “A private secret realm?!”
Xi Tao nodded. “Yes. They differ by Daoist lineage. There are many kinds.”
Zhu Xiaoyou gave a disgruntled snort, and Xue Cuo quickly cut in: “Alright, alright, this secret realm is formidable too. Shidi, you’ll grasp it in time.”
“Shixiong,” Zhu Xiaoyou pressed, “does your family also have a secret realm?”
Xue Cuo shook his head, then hesitated and nodded. “Does the Sword Tomb count?”
“It counts,” Xi Tao replied. “I heard that the Dragon Might Swordmaster transplanted an entire fragment of heaven and earth from an ancient battlefield. Countless sword wills and techniques are sealed within. For a sword cultivator, it’s the most coveted place of tempering. To comprehend the Dao of the Sword there is to advance a thousand li in a single day.”
Xue Cuo blinked. “A thousand li in a day? That incredible? But what if one comprehends nothing at all?”
Xi Tao paused. “Then… most likely, you lack talent.”
Zhu Xiaoyou listened, utterly enthralled, and for a moment even forgot that the two before him were detestable second-generation immortals.
Xue Cuo fell silent, somewhat deflated. Xi Tao glanced around, especially at the nebulae above. “Still, I recall… in the secret realm guarded by the Mad Daoist, most of the remnants came from Fengtian City. The Xianghuo-worshipped gods there were mainly water deities, called the Dragon-Bearing Giant Spirits.”
“Unrelated to the Golden Crow then?” asked Xue Cuo.
Xi Tao gave a quiet assent. “The Golden Crow’s divine kingdom lies in the east, named the Feather Kingdom. It is one of only two surviving ancient gods.”
Relief washed over Xue Cuo. He had feared entangling karmic cause and effect. But then he reasoned: the sun still hangs in the sky, unfallen; noble families like Renshu-gege’s follow the Xianghuo Divine Dao and use the Golden Crow to comprehend the Dao. Surely then, his own actions were not excessive.
Having reassured himself, Xue Cuo—cheerful by nature—soon recovered his spirits. Squatting by a muddy puddle, he began to mould a clay figure.
Xi Tao thought to himself, This boy is supposed to surpass Bai Luoluo, and yet he’s playing with mud balls? Aloud, he asked, “Aren’t you supposed to be seeking enlightenment?”
Zhu Xiaoyou craned his neck for a look. “Shixiong, did you just mould a cow pat?”
Xue Cuo answered with solemn sincerity: “…This is my friend. It’ll have its use later.”
Zhu Xiaoyou gave him a thumbs-up.
Naturally, Xi Tao would never sully himself with mud. Most children of immortals lived pampered lives, their feet never touching dust. Xue Cuo, too, was from the exalted Tianyi Sect. How could he stoop to such play?
And yet curiosity overcame him. He squatted down to watch. Xue Cuo tore off a lump of mud and asked, “Want to try?”
Zhu Xiaoyou interjected: “He doesn’t look like someone who knows how.”
Xi Tao bristled, but staring at Xue Cuo’s neatly rounded mud ball, he found himself utterly at a loss.
“I……really don’t.”
It was hard to imagine that the son of the Sword Immortal and the Dragon Might Swordmaster should favour such rustic amusements. Don’t they study their lessons or cultivate spells? Xi Tao thought, but he did not press the matter.
Zhu Xiaoyou, Deputy Chief of the Beggars’ Sect, had plenty of experience in such things. He eagerly shared with Xue Cuo tips on hardening mud balls for use against dogs.
Xue Cuo listened with rapt attention. Zhu Xiaoyou, puffed up with pride, boasted: “Back when officials came to my house to collect taxes, I lost my temper and cursed them. The master set seventeen vicious dogs on me, and I killed seven on my own!”
Xue Cuo blinked. “And the other ten?”
Zhu Xiaoyou hissed through his teeth, rubbing his arms. “The other ten bit me half to death.”
Xi Tao felt his chest tighten. Zhu Xiaoyou’s path to Wendao Palace had clearly been far from smooth. Why was it so bitterly hard for mortal swordsmen to train?
He looked up with a sigh, then suddenly said, “Did the nebulae shift?”
Xue Cuo tucked the clay doll into his robe. “They did indeed.”
Zhu Xiaoyou frowned. “No. It looks the same to me.”
Xi Tao and Xue Cuo turned to stare at him in unison.
Zhu Xiaoyou faltered. “……”
Fine. Call me blind then.
The three decided to leave the place for now.
One of the dragons that had fallen from the clouds writhed on the ground, then slowly transformed into a three-headed stone dragon.
Zhu Xiaoyou clicked his tongue. “Stone dragon?”
Xue Cuo was unsurprised. From the first, when he saw the dragons regularly return to the rain clouds, he suspected they were not true dragons and thus, unable to leave the mist for long. Most likely, they were the same stone dragons that stood in the hall.
The three followed the trail of footprints. Many overlapped, messy and numerous. Clearly, other disciples had passed this way.
That in itself was strange. To comprehend divine powers, one should seek solitude and quiet contemplation. Why would they gather in numbers?
Doubt gnawed at Xue Cuo, mixed with unease. With time still to spare, he led the way along the trail.
The rain clouds above had yet to clear, instead thickening to release another downpour.
From the heavens rolled the low, oppressive roars of dragons.
They came to a mountain hollow. From within came faint sounds of combat. The three exchanged a look, then simultaneously poked their heads over the slope.
The loose soil around the hollow had been scoured clean, leaving a swathe of dark, sodden mud, as though blasted by fierce winds.
A battle had clearly just taken place. Yet Xue Cuo was certain: none of those standing within could have wielded spiritual energy with such mastery.
It must have been a treasure.
Two groups faced one another in the hollow. On the right stood sword cultivators from the great Daoist sects, dressed in splendour, robes glittering with treasure light.
On the left, the assembly was a ragtag mix of different heights, varied garb, some wielding spears, others clubs, knives, or swords. Disorderly and uneven, they were plainly drawn from minor sects and scattered lineages.
The two groups were quarrelling. A Daoist disciple sneered: “Don’t know what’s good for you. We’ve given you face but you refuse it*!”
(*TN: “给脸不要脸” meaning refusing to show respect when treated politely; being shameless or ungrateful.)
The small-sect cultivators, many of them wounded, had no clear leader. One of them warned: “We’re not the same path. You practice your way, we practice ours. Don’t interfere.”
Another added, coldly: “We don’t know you. We accept your ‘kindness,’ but please step aside.”
The young Daoist at the front crossed his arms, lips curling: “What a coincidence. We bring you fortune, and you spit in our faces. What, no master to teach you manners?”
“You!”
Another Daoist cut in impatiently: “Enough talk. I still need over ten souls. Delay any longer and the chance will slip! Remember, leave no survivors.”
A third muttered irritably: “Troublesome. My clan’s secret realm is far better than this one anyway.”
The small-sect disciples burned with fury. The two sides were on the verge of clashing. Then, Xue Cuo suddenly called out: “Look at the sky!”
Xi Tao and Zhu Xiaoyou raised their heads. Sure enough, stone dragons were swimming through the clouds, blind to the disciples below.
Zhu Xiaoyou scowled, disdain thick in his voice: “Some trick of a magic treasure, no doubt. These so-called ‘second generation immortals’ are nothing but schemers who bully the weak. Vile! Disgusting! Pei! Pei!”
Xi Tao, himself a second generation immortal, fell silent for a moment before saying: “You can’t condemn all of them. Some may have hidden reasons.”
“I’ll condemn them all!” Zhu Xiaoyou snapped.
Xi Tao was about to retort when Xue Cuo interjected: “Enough. They’re about to fight.”
The Daoist cultivators clearly held the advantage. Their magic weapons flashed, driving the ordinary disciples into panicked retreat.
Zhu Xiaoyou slapped the ground and leapt up, furious: “What kind of sword cultivator bullies the weak!” He charged out of hiding without hesitation.
Xi Tao sighed: “Idiot.”
He followed Zhu Xiaoyou down the slope.
Bringing up the rear, Xue Cuo with his robes dusty, cheeks smeared with mud, pulled several clay figurines from his sleeve and scattered them. Talisman paper glowed on their backs as the little figures stretched out their arms and dashed into the melee.
“Where did these sword cultivators come from?!”
“Bold! You dare harm my shidi!”
Zhu Xiaoyou plunged straight into the fray, sword flashing left and right. In the heat of it, a sudden pain stabbed his skull, his vision swam, and he dropped to one knee.
A blade thrust from the side, aiming for his face.
Xi Tao’s gaze sharpened. His sword clashed out, deflecting the strike. The attacker stumbled back, anger flashing across his face.
Xi Tao’s voice was icy: “Whose disciple are you, that you dare kill in the secret realm?”
The youth knew he was in the wrong, but only smirked. Sheathing his weapon, he said coolly: “Forget it. They don’t want it, why force them?”
His fellow disciples withdrew their treasures at once, following him away.
Zhu Xiaoyou searched among the fallen, growing frantic: “No good… Where’s Lin Yin? Where did that brat run off to?”
Misfortune piled on misfortune. With the treasures put away, the stone dragons overhead sensed the gathering of people and dove down from the clouds.
“Not good! Hurry and run!”
Xue Cuo thrust a clay man into Zhu Xiaoyou’s hands: “Shidi quick, say something into it!”
Though skeptical, Zhu Xiaoyou trusted him. He muttered nonsense into the figurine. At Xue Cuo’s seal, the clay men gathered, each holding a tiny mud trumpet.
Soon they were scampering in four directions, trumpets blaring vulgar nonsense at each other.
Xi Tao was dumbstruck. “Talismans can be used like this?”
The stone dragons were drawn immediately, not by the qi, but by the sheer obscenity of the sound. If other dragons heard it, they would laugh their teeth loose!
Zhu Xiaoyou still turned over every fallen disciple, but Lin Yin was nowhere to be found. Around them, cultivators scattered in terror of the dragons’ might.
“Strange. That boy always rushed to uphold justice. Why isn’t he here?”
Xue Cuo urged: “We need to run. Clay men last longer than paper charms, but not forever.”
Xi Tao and Zhu Xiaoyou we aware of this. The three fled as the dragons sprayed clouds thick enough to drown the valley in rain.
Xi Tao muttered: “This isn’t right. Four hours should’ve passed. Why hasn’t the secret realm closed?”
Xue Cuo frowned beneath his rain hat: “It may be tied to time and space… perhaps a god is sealed here.”
“Ah? What are you two talking about?” Zhu Xiaoyou huffed as they ran.
The three of them ran furiously through the rain, turning around several dirt slopes.
Suddenly, Xue Cuo stopped, and Xi Tao also paused.
A delicate young man in a blue shirt appeared in the misty rain. He was soaked, and he walked slowly, head bowed.
Zhu Xiaoyou’s eyes lit up, and he strode forward, braving the wind and rain: “Lin Yin!”
The young man looked up, his eyes blank. Zhu Xiaoyou: “Where have you been? I had such a hard time finding you!”
He was about to put his arm around Lin Yin’s shoulder when Xi Tao suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Zhu Xiaoyou, braving the rain, was puzzled: “What are you doing?”
Xi Tao frowned delicately: “Come here first.”
Zhu Xiaoyou thought Xi Tao’s expression was a bit too grim. He said: “You don’t know him? His name is Lin Yin, my good friend.”
Xue Cuo looked up, raindrops dripping across his cheek. A talisman rested on his fingertips.
The wind stirred, and Lin Yin’s figure flickered. His eyes finally seemed to recognise Zhu Xiaoyou. He opened his mouth.
Zhu Xiaoyou’s pupils suddenly shrank. There was nothing in Lin Yin’s mouth, a dark hole, as if it were empty.
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