Chapter 37: Transmission

Because he was disliked by his mother, he nearly missed lunch.

His mother had already entered her furious mode, so to avoid bad luck, Shen Siyuan didn’t dare stay home long after lunch—he hopped on his father’s motorcycle and headed straight for Tingfeng Guan.

But the motorcycle couldn’t climb Xiao Feng Ling, so Shen Siyuan parked near some shade, planning to sit there until it was time to leave—by then, his butt would be roasted like iron.

He picked up the iron shovel from behind the bike, slung it over his shoulder, pushed aside the weeds, and headed toward Xiao Feng Ling.

From afar, he saw the old Daoist waiting at the crossroads.

“Master, have you been waiting long?” Shen Siyuan walked up to him.

“Not at all, I just arrived,” the old Daoist said with a smile.

Beneath the afternoon sun, his wide sleeves fluttered, making him appear even more ethereal and transcendent.

“Where’s my uncle? Didn’t he come with you?” Shen Siyuan glanced around.

As he led Shen Siyuan up the mountain, the old Daoist spoke slowly: “He left last night.”

“Left?”

Shen Siyuan began to understand where he had gone.

The old Daoist didn’t elaborate on Yu Youcai.

Instead, he spoke of Tingfeng Guan.

“Tingfeng Guan was founded by Xuan Yuanzi, who originated from Longmen Sect. As a child, Xuan Yuanzi studied Confucianism; before turning twenty, he fell ill three times, nearly dying—through his illness, he gained insight, and thus became drawn to…”

“Later, Xuan Yuanzi listened to the wind and observed the moon on Longhu Mountain, eventually achieving enlightenment, and came here to establish Tingfeng Guan…”

“Wait… Longmen Sect achieved enlightenment on Zhengyi Sect’s territory?”

“Haha, don’t dwell on that. Whether Longmen Sect or Zhengyi Sect, though their philosophies differ, they are all Daoist companions—walking the same path of cultivation, seeking the Dao.”

As they spoke, the old Daoist led Shen Siyuan to a massive bodhi tree.

It wasn’t just Buddhist temples that planted bodhi trees—in Qionghai, they were common, so having one in front of a Daoist shrine wasn’t unusual.

Behind the bodhi tree lay piles of broken walls and ruins—that was Tingfeng Guan. Judging by its size, the shrine had never been large, yet even so, apart from the main hall, everything else seemed collapsed, with weeds and thorns growing wildly through the cracks in the bricks and stones.

Standing behind Shen Siyuan, the old Daoist sighed deeply as he watched him survey the ruins.

“Though Tingfeng Guan isn’t a famous mountain shrine, its lineage spans centuries—but I never imagined it would be destroyed under my hands, its transmission severed…”

“It’s not your fault. In the past century, the great ones forged an unprecedented golden age for Huaxia—during this era of fading divine ways and flourishing human ways, how many temples could preserve themselves?” Shen Siyuan offered comfort.

Though he hadn’t lived through that era, even from scattered passages in books, he understood: this was the tide of history, rolling forward, crushing all ghosts and demons.

“Enough of that,” the old Daoist pointed toward the side hall.

“There’s a well there. Walk ten steps east from the well’s mouth—you’ll find a stone slab. Lift it and dig down…”

Shen Siyuan stepped through the weeds, used his shovel to clear the thorns, entered the ruins, and saw the Three Pure Ones statues inside the main hall. He paused, set down his shovel, and bowed several times to the broken statues.

The old Daoist, following behind, showed a hint of satisfaction.

After paying his respects, Shen Siyuan picked up the iron shovel again and went to the spot the old Daoist had indicated.

He saw a dry well, its rim lined with rope grooves; peering inside, the walls had long since collapsed.

Shen Siyuan walked ten steps east from the well’s mouth—this was the direction toward the side hall, where the ground was paved with blue stone slabs.

“Here?” Shen Siyuan stamped his foot and asked.

“Yes, right here,” the old Daoist said.

Hearing this, Shen Siyuan didn’t hesitate—he used the shovel to pry up the stone slab, moved it aside, then began digging downward.

But—

Several hours later, sweating profusely, Shen Siyuan looked up and asked the old Daoist standing outside the pit: “Master, how deep did you bury this? How much longer?”

“Almost there, almost there—if I hadn’t buried it deep, wouldn’t someone else dig it up?” the old Daoist chuckled.

Shen Siyuan sighed helplessly. “Since you first said ‘almost there,’ I’ve been digging for nearly an hour.”

“Look, there it is!” the old Daoist suddenly said.

Shen Siyuan quickly followed his gaze and saw a dark, black object protruding from the soil.

He hurriedly cleared the dirt around it with his shovel, revealing its full form—a dark brown wine jar.

He pulled the jar out of the pit and immediately tried to open it, but found not only a lid, but also a layer of deer-skin paper wrapped around it, and over that, a thick coating of wax.

“No need for all that trouble—just smash the jar open,” the old Daoist said.

“Aren’t you worried this jar’s an antique?”

“It’s just an ordinary wine vessel—nothing like an antique.”

Hearing this, Shen Siyuan didn’t hesitate—he smashed the jar open with his shovel, and everything inside spilled out.

Shen Siyuan glanced at the contents: a small booklet, a broken jade seal, a jade tablet the length of a finger, and a chain—iron chain?

He first picked up the jade seal, since such objects held great significance in ancient times.

Unfortunately, the seal was badly damaged; only seven characters remained: 【Imperial Edict, Enfeoffed Guardian of the Mountain】—the rest was missing, so the full meaning was unknown.

“You can read these characters?”

The old Daoist, hearing Shen Siyuan silently recite them, was greatly surprised—these were Yun script, nearly impossible for ordinary people to recognize.

Shen Siyuan didn’t explain—he didn’t recognize them himself; it was the Nine You Demon Lord who did. Because the Dahuang civilization’s legacy bore many similarities to Huaxia’s, Shen Siyuan even suspected some connection between the two worlds—this was also why the Ten Thousand Souls Banner had carried the Nine You Demon Lord’s fragmented soul to this realm.

Shen Siyuan picked up the jade tablet next; it too bore several characters.

【Chi Shui River Decree】

Around the edges were water patterns.

He set it down and picked up the booklet beside it.

It was titled 【Bao Feng Mian】—but these characters were no longer Yun script.

“These are the transmission relics of Tingfeng Guan. Now I entrust them to you. If you gain insight, I hope you will carry on the lineage. If not, then Tingfeng Guan’s transmission ends here—fate has spoken.”

After speaking, the old Daoist bowed deeply to Shen Siyuan, with utmost seriousness.

“Don’t worry, Master,” Shen Siyuan replied casually.

Shen Siyuan opened 【Bao Feng Mian】. The opening passages described wind and clouds, followed by illustrations of cultivation postures, red arrows marking qi flow, and detailed annotations for each position.

The movements resembled Tai Chi—holding something imaginary in the arms, focusing the mind.

This was likely the origin of 【Bao Feng Mian】—but from the preceding descriptions, Shen Siyuan thought 【Wind and Cloud】 would be a more fitting name.

This cultivation method was exquisite, and entering it wasn’t difficult—but today, with no spiritual energy left, there was no way in, leaving it merely a form of Tai Chi-like exercise.

“Then I entrust it to you, young friend. I hope your cultivation advances, that you attain the Great Dao and unveil the mysteries of heaven and earth… Hahaha…”

As Shen Siyuan flipped through 【Bao Feng Mian】, he suddenly sensed something wrong—he turned and saw the old Daoist’s lower body had already dissolved into nothingness. Yet his face bore a smile, free of fear or panic, filled with serenity.

“Master…”

Shen Siyuan instinctively reached for the Ten Thousand Souls Banner, intending to draw the old Daoist into it and halt his dissolution.

But his movement was too slow—the old Daoist vanished completely into the air.

His wish had never been immortality—he only hoped Tingfeng Guan’s transmission would endure.

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