Chapter 123

Boom!

The next moment, Zhang Sanfeng waved his hand, and everyone felt the world spin wildly before being flung away.

"Ouch!"

"So painful!"

"My arm's broken!"

"My leg—ouch, my leg!"

In an instant, people and horses were thrown everywhere.

Kongwen steadied himself, suppressed his injuries, and looked around—he saw a massive boulder standing not far off: it was the Wudang Jiejian Rock.

"This…"

The Wudang Jiejian Rock was more than a thousand meters from the summit's Zhenwu Grand Hall—yet they'd been flung there in an instant; it was utterly terrifying.

As he pondered, Mei Jue and other experts approached, staring blankly at the Jiejian Rock.

Long silence.

Kongwen sighed deeply: "Zhang Sanfeng has become a true dragon of this world—beyond our reach. As for Xie Xun's matter, our Shaolin can do nothing."

Mei Jue snorted coldly, saying nothing.

If Shaolin cannot help, no other sect can either.

Just as they were about to leave, a synchronized thunder of hooves rang out.

Kongwen's face changed: "It's Tartar cavalry—hurry, go!"

"Go where?" Mei Jue's expression shifted rapidly.

Even if we weren't injured, facing a large cavalry force, we could only flee into forests or mountains—we couldn't stand and fight.

Now we're wounded, the situation is even more dangerous—we can't even run properly.

Kongwen's expression hardened: "Run up the mountain. Against the Tartars, Zhang Zhenren may not care if we retreat. Go!"

Saying this, he led the way, sprinting ahead.

The other martial artists saw this and immediately ran as well.

Only those with broken legs could not escape—they cursed loudly, while others stubbornly crawled on their hands or walked upside-down.

In an instant, the scene was utterly tragic.

Zhenwu Grand Hall.

Zhang Sanfeng was about to announce the feast when his expression suddenly changed.

"It seems today's banquet won't be a quiet one!"

Xiongba laughed heartily: "Just some iron cavalry—easily crushed. Let the old man handle them."

"Why bother?" Zhang Taixuan smiled. "Today's main event is Zhang Zhenren's birthday banquet—fighting and killing is bad luck. Let me send them to the far western lands instead."

He rose to his feet and walked straight out of the Zhenwu Grand Hall.

Zhang Sanfeng and the others, curious, followed him outside.

Looking down the mountain, they saw tens of thousands of cavalry standing in a dark, endless sea.

Once numbers exceed ten thousand, it becomes a sea of people.

Tens of thousands of iron cavalry standing together instantly sent a chilling aura rolling upward.

"Truly elite troops!" Zhang Taixuan praised. "Zhang Zhenren, it seems the Yuan Dynasty holds you in high regard."

Speaking calmly, he suddenly reached out through the air—and the cavalry on the ground vanished.

Some sharp-eyed observers watched Zhang Taixuan closely; seeing this, they turned to him and saw a dense swarm of black dots falling into his sleeve.

The next moment, he shook his sleeve—and the black dots vanished into empty space.

"Is this… the Sleeve of Heaven and Earth?" Lin Fengjiao gasped in shock.

Some Wudang disciples were so awestruck they couldn't speak, staring at Zhang Taixuan as if he were a god.

The Sleeve of Heaven and Earth—who among those familiar with Daoist myths doesn't know this divine art?

"Correct," Zhang Taixuan nodded. "It's a divine art—and I owe it to Uncle Jiu's *Huzhong Tiandi* (a world within a gourd)."

He swept his hand across empty air, and a landscape tens of thousands of miles away in the far west appeared in the sky like a live broadcast—this was Spatial Folding Technique.

At that moment, tens of thousands of Yuan cavalry lay sprawled everywhere.

The general stood alone in the vast snow, questioning his own existence.

After their pain subsided, the soldiers rose from the snow, grabbed handfuls of it, watched it drift down, and wore expressions of utter shock.

"General, where are we?"

"How would I know!" the general's face turned cold, yet his heart was filled with despair. "We were told we were fighting martial artists—how did we end up in this absurd situation?"

Mount Wudang.

Kongwen and the others ran up the mountain; before they could speak, they saw the Taoist wave his hand—and the tens of thousands of cavalry vanished without a trace. Their minds began to doubt reality again.

"Is this a god?"

"Does Mount Wudang really have gods?"

They stared at Zhang Taixuan's group, eyes wide, trying to discern the identity of these divine beings.

"Today is Zhang Zhenren's birthday banquet. Since I've intervened, I might as well see it through," Zhang Taixuan mused, then said aloud: "Consider this my gift to Zhang Zhenren."

He reached out through the air and snatched a massive mountain from thousands of miles away, then used the Qiankun Cauldron to refine it, merging it into Mount Wudang.

Instantly, Mount Wudang rose higher.

Seeing the massive, bluish-golden cauldron that seemed capable of holding heaven and earth, Shaolin and Emei were plunged into disbelief.

"Thank you, Daojun Taixuan, for this gift—I humbly accept it."

Zhang Sanfeng, sensing the increasingly dense spiritual energy, quickly expressed his gratitude.

Integrating into the mountains did not merely increase Mount Wudang's height; Zhang Taixuan also embedded within it array patterns for gathering Qi, defense, and soul-testing.

One could say that Mount Wudang had now become a replica of Taixuan Mountain.

After a moment, when Mount Wudang had grown to over nine thousand meters, Zhang Taixuan retracted the Qiankun Cauldron and stopped.

For every hundred meters the mountain rose, the temperature dropped by 0.6 degrees.

At this point, Mount Wudang stood over nine thousand meters high; the temperature should be terribly cold, unsuitable for ordinary people to live in.

But with the array patterns in place, these were no longer problems.

Now, the peak of Mount Wudang remained warm as spring, its environment pleasant.

Birds, aware of Mount Wudang's benefits, landed in flocks among its forests, singing joyfully, creating a picture of harmony between man and nature.

"The methods of the Immortal are indeed formidable," Zhang Sanfeng snapped back to himself, marveling endlessly.

The younger disciples of Mount Wudang had long been overjoyed beyond measure; Zhang Wuji, Song Qingshu, and the young monks dashed into the woods to play.

"Flattery, flattery," Zhang Taixuan smiled faintly, then waved his hand and forged a token from black iron, tossing it over. "This token contains Mount Wudang's array patterns; True Person, if you have time, you may contemplate them—you'll then be able to control the arrays yourself. For now, however, Mount Wudang's arrays remain inactive."

"Thank you."

"No need to thank me—aren't we ready to begin the feast?" Zhang Taixuan chuckled.

Zhang Sanfeng smiled. "Naturally. Gentlemen, please."

He glanced once more at the still-stunned monks of Shaolin and others, gave no instruction, and turned away directly.

A moment passed.

Now only the great sects—Shaolin, Emei, and others—remained.

"Abbot Kongwen, what do you suggest we do?"

"You ask me, but how should I know?"

As he spoke, his gaze involuntarily drifted toward the nearby Zhenwu Hall, burning with intensity.

An Immortal stands before us—if we do not pay homage, we waste this opportunity.

As for his belonging to the Fomen, that is no issue at all.

The Buddha is Dao!

If the Immortal favors him, he would immediately renounce his vows and switch to the Daoist path.

"Should we wait here? After the feast ends, if the Immortal emerges, we approach and pay our respects?"

Miejue whispered the suggestion.

Kongwen's eyes lit up: "Abbess, your words are most wise."

Saying this, he found an open patch of ground, sat cross-legged to heal his wounds, and waited.

Zhenwu Hall.

The feast began, lively and bustling.