Chapter 704: Dragon Raises Its Head, Opening the Heavenly Eye

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Huang Qing’s Great Half-Sword, Sixteen Meditations on the Living Buddha.

With Defending the Wind and Waves fully sheathed, Huang Qing gripped his sword in a reverse grip.

The young man, struck in the chest by the pommel of the sword, developed a gushing, bloody hole. Though no bones were exposed, the penetrating sword energy had already damaged his heart and lungs.

Even Huang Qing, whose qi flow was as vast and continuous as a river, needed to take several deep breaths to calm the frantic, chaotic qi within him after executing this move. Martial arts moves typically emphasize a seamless flow where acupoints open, aiming for an unyielding, unstoppable momentum. However, Huang Qing's Sixteen Meditations was exceptionally strange: after a single burst of energy was generated, he forcefully 'closed the gates' at specific acupoints, causing that torrent of qi to repeatedly impact the 'dam' sixteen times, thereby building immense power. Each of the Sixteen Meditations involved a pause, mirroring the 'one step, one lotus' described in Buddhist scriptures.

Although his sword strike was successful, Huang Qing still felt a slight sense of regret. It was rumored that the Prince of Northern Liang had spared no effort to help his younger brother, Xu Longxiang, resurrect a 'Red Talisman Armor'. Huang Qing had hoped the young man he was fighting would be wearing that armor, which was said to be as impenetrable as a fortress.

Suddenly, Huang Qing, known throughout Northern Mang for his unshakeable composure, smiled inappropriately, finding the scene before him utterly absurd.

The young man looked down at his chest, then raised his head to stare at Huang Qing. He opened his mouth, and a stream of faint green light swirled between his teeth—it was the scattered sword energy Huang Qing had previously embedded in his heart and lungs. Instead of spitting it out to alleviate his injuries, the young man swallowed the sword energy back. "Not full yet. Is there more?"

Huang Qing tightened his grip on his renowned sword and smiled faintly. "Nothing else, but plenty of sword energy."

Xu Longxiang, his eyes glinting golden, turned his head to glance back, unsure if he was looking at Qingcang or Liangzhou.

After turning back, the young man twisted his neck, and every joint in his body emitted a series of sharp cracking sounds like bursting soybeans. He raised both fists, then stomped his foot down with a thunderous impact!

Huang Qing, secretly and rapidly building his momentum, narrowed his eyes. He saw streams of qi, condensed like rainbows, continuously surging from the young man's body, only to shatter and dissipate.

Huang Qing, who was only a step away from Deng Tai'a in terms of swordsmanship mastery, found this utterly incomprehensible.

Dissipating his own qi?

The young man, who had already reached an impressive cultivation level hovering at the threshold of the Finger-Mystic Realm, plummeted all the way back to the Vajra Realm!

Old Celestial Master Zhao Xituo of Longhu Mountain had once taught his disciple, Xu Longxiang, the 'Great Dream of Spring and Autumn'. This was no secret in the Celestial Master's Residence. Those high-ranking nobles from prestigious families, adorned in yellow and purple robes, mistakenly believed that the old man had lost his mind and was acting as an accomplice to Rentu, helping Xu Rentu's younger son advance further in his martial arts cultivation. In truth, Zhao Xituo did act out of personal affection for his beloved disciple, Xu Longxiang. However, the true purpose of the 'Great Dream of Spring and Autumn' was something no one in the world could have guessed, no matter how hard they tried. It was not meant to enhance Xu Longxiang's power, but rather a Daoist method of suppression and averting misfortune!

In this world, an ordinary man carrying a treasure might die for it, but that death would be due to human envy. If Zhao Xituo had not painstakingly created a 'box' to hide Xu Longxiang's 'treasure,' Xu Longxiang would have faced divine envy!

Wasn't Xu Fengnian's forging of the talisman armor for Xu Longxiang also for this reason?

Previously, during Huang Qing's overwhelming sword attack, the young man seemed like a cornered beast fighting desperately at the end of its rope.

In reality, the talisman armor covering him and the Daoist qi flow cultivated by the 'Great Dream of Spring and Autumn' were the true 'confined beasts'!

Huang Qing felt as if he were facing a formidable enemy, lowering his head to glance at Defending the Wind and Waves.

Finally, he could unleash a complete sword strike.

Xu Longxiang, too, lowered his head, smiling with a simple, childlike innocence.

"Brother, I'm going to fight now."

A light snowfall in Jiangnan.

Mount Hui was bustling with crowds day after day. Forget a light snowfall, even if heavy snow fell, the Xuanyuan family wouldn't need to clear it; the paths would be trampled clean by foot traffic. Those shoulder-to-shoulder tourists were all heading to admire the Missing Moon Tower on Great Snow Plain. Mount Guniu was certainly off-limits, but even a distant glimpse was enough to make them feel satisfied and return home. Afterward, they could boast to their fellow villagers and martial arts friends. Anyone seeing a woman in purple dared to boast they had met the female martial arts alliance leader. But nowadays, which female knight-errant travels the jianghu without a set of purple clothes in her travel bag? Otherwise, how could she have the nerve to call herself a 'fairy' when venturing out? Not long ago, the Martial Arts Conference was grandly convened, a collaborative event where 'many hands make light work,' further elevating the prestige of Mount Hui's 'purple-clad ones.' Especially since even Northern Liang's Tide-Listening Pavilion sent so many boxes of martial arts manuals from a thousand miles away, it was undoubtedly equivalent to the foremost person in the world today acknowledging Xuanyuan Qingfeng's position as alliance leader. Who would dare to gossip or criticize? Moreover, her demeanor was so magnificent; she generously distributed the old martial arts manuals from Great Snow Plain as if handing out a few copper coins. Many experienced and respected martial arts veterans broke into wide smiles on their old faces.

The liveliness of Mount Hui only made Longhu Mountain appear even more desolate in comparison.

Furthermore, with the increasing incense offerings at distant Wudang Mountain, and the 'King of Qingcheng' surnamed Wu taking away the Celestial Master's Residence's authority over northern Daoist affairs, if it weren't for the 'White Lotus Master' barely holding things together, this winter would indeed be incredibly bleak for Longhu Mountain. The weather wasn't cold, but their hearts were.

Fortunately, for the old Daoist priest who cherished tranquility in the small temple at the foot of Longhu Mountain, all of this was, ironically, a good thing.

The old Daoist priest, Zhao, had always been an eccentric and incomprehensible person. Born into the direct lineage of the Celestial Master's Residence, he was exceptionally talented: capable of debating Dao with Qi Xuanzhen, competing in swordsmanship with Li Chungang, and matching strength with Xuanyuan Dapan. His talent was clearly superior to that of Zhao Xiyi, the Longhu Mountain Sect Leader who had already ascended. Yet, to avoid the unparalleled honor of becoming a 'Feather-Robed Minister,' he stubbornly fled down the mountain, adopting an assumed name and wandering the jianghu for many years. After returning to the mountain, he didn't reside in the Celestial Master's Residence but instead just idled away his days in a dilapidated temple at the foot of the mountain. A few years prior, he even committed the grave offense of taking Rentu's younger son as a disciple, defying all societal norms. If Longhu Mountain's status as the ancestral home of Daoism had not been unshakeable at the time, the criticisms from both court and commoners would have drowned this confused old Daoist.

Zhao Xituo wandered inside and outside the temple, which he had finally managed to have repaired. He spaced out for a while by the Green Dragon Stream, then seemed to remember something, ran over, bent down to tighten the ropes of a bamboo raft, and then squatted to watch the stream, looking quite forlorn. Rising, he shook his robes and returned to the temple. He went to the boy's room and sat by the bed for a while. After half a day, still unsure what to do, with truly nothing left, he went to sit by the well. He had once tricked his disciple, telling him the well led to Northern Liang, connecting to his home. As a result, whenever the simple-minded boy could pick hawthorns, he would stick his rear end up and drop them into the well, not even eating them himself, effectively sending them all to his brother. As his master, he couldn't even manage to secretly take a few or trick him out of any to taste.

Zhao Xituo sat by the well, lost in thought.

The old man, of course, didn't like Rentu, who had almost overrun Longhu Mountain with his cavalry. But that didn't prevent the old Daoist from genuinely liking Rentu's two sons.

There's no need to mention his disciple, Huang Man'er; it was almost as if he had gained a son in his old age, treating him even better than a real son.

His impression of the Prince remained good. His first visit to the Northern Liang Prince's Residence, where he 'fought' with that cunning little fox, was very interesting. But even then, he only didn't dislike him; his true affection began later when the young prince came to Longhu Mountain and offered him a solemn bow.

In this world, with noble families aplenty, there's no shortage of young masters from esteemed households. Yet, the more privileged and smooth-sailing a 'favored son of heaven' is, the harder it is for them to understand guilt and gratitude, and they are unwilling to utter the words 'I'm sorry' and 'thank you.' Compared to casually spending a fortune, the former is infinitely more difficult. Weren't the younger generations in the Celestial Master's Residence on the mountain exactly like this? Relying on the status their fathers had earned, living on the mountain since childhood, how could they know the hardships of making a living below? Little did they know that all high positions, including even the Dragon Throne, were, without exception, founded by ancestors who started from humble beginnings.

The old Daoist sighed.

Suddenly, the old man's eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably, and his chest quivered violently!

The old man's expression drastically changed. He quickly performed a divination, his face growing paler and paler. He abruptly stood up, then slumped back down.

Zhao Xituo, trying to steel himself, roared at the well opening, "Xu Fengnian, if you can't protect Huang Man'er this time, then for the few remaining days I have left to live, I'll stand at your doorstep and curse at you!"

As the old Daoist cursed, he inexplicably began to laugh.

In his laughter, there was a sense of desolation for never having reached the peak in his life and failing his ancestors' expectations, yet also an indescribable feeling of broad-mindedness and detachment.

Zhao Xituo slowly stood up and walked towards his room.

In a secluded small building in Xijing, Southern Dynasty, which housed a large vat where a flood dragon lay dormant, the reclusive masters within, accustomed to the world's most peculiar phenomena, were utterly astounded.

Soon, the old woman and the Northern Mang Imperial Tutor were alerted and rushed to the small building immediately.

In the old woman's sight, at the location within the vat symbolizing Northern Liang's territory, the mirror-smooth water surface appeared as if a permanent 'water channel' had been cut through it by a sharp instrument.

After the initial shock, the old woman's lips curled into a cold sneer. "One hook, catching two fish?"

The old woman stared at the water, softly asking, "Besides Jian Qijin and Grandmaster Bronze Man, can we dispatch any other experts there? Even those slightly less skilled would be acceptable."

Taiping Ling shook his head regretfully. "Impossible. Even Hong Jingyan, who is closest, won't make it in time. As for those significantly weaker, even fifteen or twenty of them would be useless. Moreover, we can't spare anyone from the Southern Dynasty's borders; most are already with the Southern Court King."

The old woman asked, "Is there a chance we might fail to steal the chicken and lose the bait instead?"

Taiping Ling calmly replied, "It would be difficult for Bronze Man to completely stop Xu Fengnian. But delaying him, buying Huang Qing the time needed to force Xu Longxiang to face divine punishment, should not be hard. All qi practitioners in the Southern Dynasty are ready; they will add fuel to the fire when the time comes."

The old woman nodded.

"That will be enough."

The old woman suddenly took a step back, but then quickly stepped back forward.

In the vat, something broke through the water surface.

The Dragon Raises Its Head!

It stared fixedly at that line.

Snow again falls on Jiangnan.

An old Daoist priest began to ascend the mountain, heading towards the Celestial Master's Residence.

The old man found a yellow-and-purple Daoist robe at the bottom of a chest, one he hadn't worn for too many years. He also neatly combed his hair and beard, drawing countless stares from the younger generation of the Celestial Master's Residence, as if they had seen a ghost in broad daylight.

The old Daoist walked towards the Ancestral Hall, bowing to each and every portrait of the patriarchs hanging on the wall.

After leaving the Ancestral Hall, this old Master of the 'Xi' generation, the sole remaining one from Longhu Mountain, arrived at the mountaintop.

In the wind and snow, the old man sat cross-legged and chuckled softly, "They say there are swords on the battlefield, so one shouldn't fear dying on horseback. They say there's wine in the jianghu, so one shouldn't fear dying drunk. This poor Daoist has never dared to kill, nor have I ever drunk to my heart's content. I've never lived a life of grand spirit, but on this final journey..."

The old Daoist seemed to be speaking to the heavens and earth, shouting, "Let me live it to the fullest!"

The old man extended his fingers and stabbed directly into his own eyes.

Then, this yellow-and-purple clad old Master tremblingly raised his bloodied right index finger and traced a mark on his forehead.

As if opening a heavenly eye.

The old man lowered his arms, gently resting them on his knees, forming a hand seal with each hand, and said peacefully, "Huang Man'er, your master's abilities are limited. I cannot learn to open the Heavenly Gate, and even opening the Heavenly Eye is such a struggle."

"If I still cannot block this heavenly tribulation for you, do not blame your master."

The world envies longevity; Daoists cultivate tranquility.

In his final moments, the old man recalled the sound of his disciple snoring in the temple at the foot of the mountain a few years prior.

Not tranquil at all, yet it was what the old man missed the most.

Late winter of the Xiangfu Era, Year One.

The highest purple-gold lotus in the Celestial Master's Residence pond withered and died.

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