Chapter Seventy-Two: Departure

Chen Jin stood where he was, and the other disciples also cast strange looks at the fallen Master Liao Xin.

“Move him to the back mountain, do not damage his body. Let him sit as he is, in due time he will awaken.”

Suddenly, a voice echoed through the temple—it was Master Yunxiang.

“Master, where are you? And where has Master Liao Xin’s soul gone?” Chen Jin hurriedly asked.

“In this world, immortals do not appear among mortals. Do not seek me; I am departing for the Supreme Purity Heaven. As for Liao Xin, his soul has gone to the Lord of Mount Tai to confess his transgressions. In a few days, he will return,” Yunxiang replied.

“When I leave for the Supreme Purity Heaven, Zhengqing shall be the temple master. The others may disperse; do not linger in the temple. Do you remember?” Yunxiang continued.

This instruction from Yunxiang was truly odd, yet somehow felt perfectly reasonable—after all, he was Yunxiang, always eccentric, so such words were hardly surprising.

“Yes,” everyone responded without the slightest objection.

Who would dare oppose him? Their master had ascended to immortality, not passed away.

“In my meditation room, I have left nine talismans. Each of you may take one and use it in emergencies. Furthermore, every year on this day, if you wish to return to the temple, do so. I will also return on that day,” Yunxiang added.

“Yes,” they replied again.

After this affirmation, Yunxiang’s voice was heard no more.

In the hall, the nine disciples of Yunxiang showed no change in their expressions, as calm as ever.

Zhengqing, a middle-aged Daoist, had a lean face and body, as if a breeze could carry him away at any moment. Yet, he was now the most accomplished among them, having reached the Soul Gathering stage. It was only natural that Yunxiang would choose him as successor—the simplest path for such a lazy master.

None of Chen Jin’s senior brothers objected; their faces remained unchanged. None of them were ordinary men—who would truly covet the temple’s leadership?

Moreover, each year they could return for their master’s teachings, hear tales from Supreme Purity Heaven. Was that not wonderful?

So, naturally, no one disagreed.

They moved Master Liao Xin’s body to a small cabin in the back mountain, then went to Yunxiang’s meditation room—the very chamber Chen Jin had previously visited.

There, they found the nine talismans Yunxiang had mentioned.

Each talisman shared the same purpose—to ward off external forces. Of course, one could also study the profound meanings within, for every stroke and line was imbued with Yunxiang’s communion with the world’s primordial energy, possessing wondrous secrets. Observing them revealed endless cosmic mysteries.

Chen Jin took one and put it away, content with what he had gained from this journey. Now, he only needed to gather five streams of true energy, and he would be a practitioner of the Ancient Path at the Spirit Fixing stage—a leading figure in modern times. Yet, that was all; he was not truly invincible, for the power of the state was far beyond his imagination, capable even of orchestrating a nationwide reform in cultivation.

This was a revolution in the productivity of the cultivation world, advancing from the age of agriculture to the age of industry. Otherwise, how could the country sustain cultivation for all those with potential? Even if only one in ten thousand possessed the aptitude, there would still be millions of practitioners...

Thus, one must not underestimate the state. Moreover, Chen Jin could not forget the strange village at the foot of Mount Gehong. Though he knew its origins, who could say what a thousand years had brought? And how many such uncanny places existed across the country? So even as a Spirit Fixing stage practitioner, Chen Jin could not afford to be complacent.

“Enough, I shall not dwell on these matters. I am destined to go farther than they, so long as I do not become a guardian of corpses, everything shall be mine.”

Chen Jin murmured to himself, then set out once more, leaving the temple, descending Mount Lao, and journeying elsewhere.

...

When the moon wanes and the night deepens—

Clusters of wild grass, scattered feathers and straw, a bonfire rising amid the open ground, a faint aroma drifting across the fields.

A man in a gray Daoist robe sat cross-legged before the fire, gnawing incessantly at a golden, crispy wild mountain chicken.

Suddenly, a patch of tall wild grass shuddered violently.

The Daoist paid no heed, his attention fixed solely on the roasted chicken.

The grass parted, and a figure leapt out, vaulting past the Daoist and the fire, then darting farther ahead, leaping through seven or eight more clusters of wild grass.

A roar—

Then, another beast of massive size, reeking of blood, bounded through the grass, its whole body about to crash into the fire.

But before it could land, a sharp sound was heard, and it was flung backward.

A streak of light shot through its skull.

The beast instantly fell, landing on the ground.

Upon landing, it became a heap of charred coal.

“What was the point?” The Daoist laid down the chicken and sighed.

The Daoist was Chen Jin, though now his appearance was so altered that even acquaintances would need a long look to recognize him.

He wore a thick beard about his mouth, whether by choice or by circumstance, none could say.

With a sigh, Chen Jin resumed eating his chicken.

The man who had fled earlier came running back, stumbling and shouting, waving about a rotten wooden stick.

“What are you doing? Stop it!” Chen Jin frowned at the man’s wild, disorderly swinging, and barked.

The man, startled by Chen Jin’s shout, dropped his stick at once.

“Master Daoist... are you all right? Where... where is the monster?” The man scratched his head awkwardly and asked Chen Jin.

“You scared it off,” Chen Jin replied, spinning a casual lie.

Who would believe such a tale?

The man certainly did not, unless his own stick had struck his head moments ago.

“Was it you who drove the monster away, Master Daoist?” The man caught on quickly.

“You scared it away,” Chen Jin, sensing the man’s story—and the trouble it would bring—spoke brusquely, unwilling to engage further.

“Master Daoist, you saved—” The man, undeterred by Chen Jin’s words or tone, knelt abruptly.

“But I am a monster myself!” Chen Jin scoffed, eyeing him.

“I imagine you taste quite good!” As Chen Jin spoke, in the man’s eyes, he transformed into a mighty striped tiger, twice the height of a man.

The tiger roared.

The man, terrified, jumped up and ran again.

Chen Jin did not pursue; his transformation was merely an illusion.

Clearly, the man had been frightened by monsters before. Not fainting outright but running away—his courage must have been forged by many such encounters.

...