Chapter 271: Dream Map (Part 1)

The courtyard of Bai Zhu.

In the quiet room, the candle flame flickered silently. The youth and the man sat at the same table.

Zi Huang rested the entire weight of his body against the back of the chair, his eyes staring blankly at empty space. Before him sat a cup of tea that had gone cold, yet his lips were chapped and peeling.

"I am very fond of ancient paintings, Young Hero Pei," he murmured. "That is something that began on the eleventh day of the seventh month."

The eleventh day of the seventh month, summer, the sound of rain pattering.

Late at night.

Zi Huang was leaning on a couch, flipping through a government gazette by candlelight, when suddenly, three knocks accompanied by the sound of water rang out at the door.

Xu Chuo rose to pull the door open. As the candlelight spilled out, there stood an old friend he had not been in contact with for a long time: Zhang Zijing, a famous painter from a neighboring prefecture.

At this moment, his clothes and hair were soaked, the only rain-cloth he had covered the book box on his back, and his face was pale from the cold, yet his eyes were bright, and a smile of excitement played on his lips.

Upon seeing Zi Huang, he couldn't even wait to enter the room before eagerly grabbing the man's sleeve: "Jian Zheng, the Immortal Painting scroll has a lead!"

"The matter of the 'Immortal Painting' is a legend from thirty years ago, difficult to distinguish between truth and falsehood."

With a creak, Zi Huang pushed back his chair and stood up. He scanned the bookshelf, took down a small booklet, and placed it before Pei Ye. It was unclear how many times he had read it; as soon as it was opened, it was that very page.

"Recorded in the 'Yinyang County Annals: Biographies of Local Worthies': Xi Wantian, a native of Yinyang. His father, Zaiyu, was a military officer of the prefecture. Tian did not like military affairs; from a young age, he loved painting, coating dozens of scrolls a day, the walls of his room colorful. Upon reaching adulthood, he traveled through various counties and toured mountains and rivers. His completed paintings were startling to the eye, and his name spread through the eleven counties of the prefecture."

Zi Huang paused: "This man's painting technique was extremely high, and his spiritual nature was eye-catching. His name did not go beyond three prefectures only because the location was remote. A few years ago, Zhang Zijing and I sought the man's posthumous works; every time we obtained a scroll, we treated it like a treasure. Later, we learned from a secret source that he actually had a final painting in his lifetime that was passed down as the 'Scroll of Approaching Immortals'."

Zi Huang's finger continued to slide down the page: "In the winter of the Ren Zi year of the Chi Long era, Tian entered Xincang to seek paintings. He returned after a month, his spirit deranged and his mind obsessed. He entered his room for three days, neither drinking nor eating. The villagers were worried and broke down his door together. They saw a painting scroll hanging in the hall, with Tian standing beneath it, his pupils shooting snake-like light, his appearance withered and gaunt. He fell to the ground and died. Those who saw this painting also went mad, so it was burned."

Pei Ye stared at the booklet without saying a word. The black cat had climbed onto his shoulder at some point, its green eyes drooping onto the pages.

"The records only say this much. Zhang Zijing and I visited a scholar who had compiled the county annals back then and learned that it was the Yinyang Police Inspector of the Immortal Platform who handled the matter. The final verdict was that Xi Wantian's spiritual nature was overflowing and had touched the Qi of the Spirit-Mystic, yet he had no cultivation constraints. Therefore, that painting was like spirit-brewed ink, stealing the souls of those who saw it. The villagers considered it demonic and regrettably burned it."

"After knowing it was indeed burned, Zhang Zijing and I both felt it was a great pity. However, the matter could not be saved, so we had to let it end without a cure."

"But... when we finally visited his home village, we actually saw a forgery." Zi Huang slowly closed his eyes.

After a long while, he opened them again and said: "Xi Wantian's disciple had copied his work while he was painting. His temperament had always been sluggish, and he only received the spirit and went mad after the painting was completed. Because it was his master's posthumous work, he instructed his wife to hide it well before he went mad, which is why it escaped being burned. By the time we went, he had been demented for thirty years, his house was bare, and it was his old wife who knew we were searching and wanted to sell this painting to us."

Zi Huang paused again: "She wanted four taels of silver. I gave her twenty. In reality, in my view... this painting would not be sold for a hundred."

"This disciple was skilled in controlling the brush and extreme in copying. The legendary spiritual nature was not seen in the slightest; he had merely branded a withered, old shadow of that masterpiece." Zi Huang said softly, "But even this layer of skin... was enough to make Zhang Zijing and me dazed and obsessed. Divine, secluded, magnificent, immortal, beautiful, and demonic—those colors and shapes should only exist above the Jade Pool."

"Obtaining this precious scroll was the most difficult gain in ten years of searching for paintings. But after seeing such a skin, we simply couldn't help but search for its blood and soul. However, after visiting all the old people in the village, we only received the same truth—that original masterpiece by Xi Wantian was indeed burned. After three days like this, we finally intended to return helplessly, but at the moment of parting, we heard this old wife talk about an interesting event from back then..."

Zi Huang looked at the youth before him and said softly: "She said... when Xi Wantian painted this painting, for three days and three nights, he kept his eyes closed."

"..."

"We have been wondering why this painting would be as different as clouds and mud from Xi Wantian's previous posthumous works? The style, technique, content... even the length, none of them were similar."

"Now we know."

"Because this painting was not his creation, but a memory copy." Zi Huang said softly, "He had seen this painting somewhere—that was the true masterpiece. And the scroll in our hands that startled mortal eyes was merely a forgery of a forgery."

Zi Huang leaned back in his chair, breathing lightly.

The room was quiet.

"I would rather we had never discovered this point," he said.

"Proceeding along this, we befriended the local Police Inspector of the Immortal Platform. He let us take a look at this minor, unimportant case, and thus we discovered another anomaly—all those who went mad upon seeing the painting back then had a common behavior, known as 'Mountain Running'." Zi Huang whispered, "The seven people who saw the painting, as soon as they fell asleep, would wake up in shock and run into the Xincang Mountains, lasting for a total of seven days. That inspector said he guessed there was some spiritual object in the mountains that Xi Wantian had accidentally glimpsed and left an image of, which affected these people."

"We knew that must be the true picture, or perhaps it was truly the brushwork of an ancient immortal." Zi Huang said, "However, when we truly intended to enter the mountains to search, we encountered an insurmountable difficulty again—the Xincang Mountains stretch for a thousand miles, and their depth is unfathomable. We were short of manpower, and the traces of the scroll were broken. How could we know where Xi Wantian's footsteps had reached thirty years ago?"

"The people who went mad back then are all dead now. The only survivor is this lonely disciple who sold the painting, and he is also old and frail. Asking his wife, she also said that in thirty years, he had never had another 'Mountain Running' episode." Zi Huang said softly, "Even though the scroll is hard to come by, we could not torment and stimulate an old, sick person again, so we searched the mountains aimlessly for two months and gained nothing, so we had to return with regrets."

"This happened two years ago." Zi Huang looked at the youth, "We thought it would become a lifelong regret."

"But after all, there was no such luck."

On the rainy night of the eleventh day of the seventh month, Zhang Zijing stood at the foot of the stairs looking at Zi Huang, his eyes in the rainy night shining scorchingly: "Jian Zheng, pack your luggage quickly and come with me!"

Zi Huang was dazed for a moment: "What is the matter... come inside first and then talk."

Zhang Zijing grabbed his arm: "That lonely disciple from back then, three nights ago, suddenly ran into the mountains again!"

"!"

——

When they arrived at that village again, the old man from back then was even more withered and was being tied to the bed. His old wife had passed away, and the neighbors were taking care of him.

Zi Huang saw the real projection of the word "mad" in the county annals for the first time. The old man, unable to move, appeared extremely painful, and his withered, weak body was actually able to loosen the hemp rope. He neither drank nor ate. He had been lucky enough to survive when he was young and strong, but how could he have this physique now?

It was still a rainy night when they arrived. The two of them discussed with the villagers that they would let the old man go to Xincang for a trip, and the two of them would follow behind, trying to find the source and do their best to cure him and bring him back.

When they heard that this imposing man in purple robes was an elder of Bai Zhu from a neighboring prefecture and a legendary Eighth Life expert, the villagers finally loosened their tongues.

"Actually, whether he can be brought back or not doesn't matter." The village chief, who was also of advanced age, said hoarsely, "Having been entangled by this demonic nightmare for half a life, muddled for thirty years, he didn't even know when his wife died... He should at least go take a look before he dies."

But to Zi Huang, the so-called "demonic nightmare" was often just caused by the weakness of ordinary people—the various magical artifacts stored by the Immortal Platform did not escape the category of the Qi of the Spirit-Mystic, but if placed on the body of an ordinary person, they were also demonic monsters that harmed lives.

Zi Huang and his companion released the old man, forcibly fed him clear water and dry rations, and entered the Xincang Mountains in the rain that very night.

This kind of confidence to drive straight in was what Zi Huang should have. No matter what kind of spiritual evil he faced, the Eighth Life was absolutely a strong enough power. Besides, Xi Wantian had no cultivation back then, didn't he also come out unscathed?

Half a month passed as soon as they entered the mountains.

The "Mountain Running" thirty years ago was said to have lasted only seven days, but now fifteen days had passed, and the old man still hadn't stopped his footsteps. His life seemed to have been forcibly extended by some power, and he had also resumed eating and drinking. When hungry, he would grab tree leaves and eat them; when thirsty, he would lie down in accumulated water and drink. Several times, the two of them didn't have time to stop him.

His appearance became more and more like a candle in the wind, as if he had squeezed out all his life to walk this stretch of road. And before this life was exhausted, in the scene of dense forests and deep cliffs day after day, something that did not belong to nature finally revealed itself.

Traces of a team of at least ten people walking.

It appeared before their eyes so suddenly and nakedly, leaving the two of them dazed for a long time.

This was the ancient deep ridge half a month after entering the mountains. Further ahead was not a way out, but a more remote and vast expanse. Gathering herbs, cutting firewood, hunting, and searching for beasts should not reach here. Except for people like them who held extremely special purposes, no one should have set foot here for a thousand years.

Yet it appeared.

And distinguishing the traces, there were actually men, women, old, and young.

The two of them had no way to identify their origins and even suspected for a moment that they were a hidden clan living in the mountains for generations. They didn't think for too long; the old man beside them had already walked forward madly for several feet.

The next day, Zi Huang, whose spirit had already become somewhat sluggish, gripped his sword hilt tightly. By nightfall, they encountered three similar traces again, and they were getting fresher.

That night, Zi Huang pressed his sword and did not sleep.

"The incident happened on this night." In the quiet room, the man before him looked at Pei Ye with a hoarse voice, "Young Hero Pei should be able to guess what happened."

"Fire talisman on the forehead... spirit received the summons."

"Yes." Zi Huang stared straight at the window, as if that incredible scene was emerging there again, "Perhaps, if I had disregarded everything to stop him at that time, and then turned around and left with the two of them, there might still have been a glimmer of survival."

Thick, pitch-black darkness shrouded everything, and the campfire dimmed. The nights in the deep mountains were always like this, a unique, vast silence, interspersed with some calls from near or far, embellishing its layers and vastness.

In such a night, the corner of Zi Huang's eye was suddenly illuminated by a faint light of another color.

He turned his head and looked in astonishment as Zhang Zijing slowly stood up. If it weren't for the faint blue fire talisman blooming slowly on his forehead, Zi Huang would have thought this was just a rare case of sleepwalking.

Zhang Zijing passed the two of them and the campfire with vacant eyes, turning a deaf ear to Zi Huang's shouts, dragging his stiff steps straight ahead.

Zi Huang pressed him to the ground, choked his throat and shouted, pouring in True Qi, but none of it was useful. The fire talisman on his forehead remained blazing, and Zhang Zijing only stared straight ahead, murmuring unintelligibly.

Zi Huang hesitated for a moment and let him go.

At this time, the matter of the immortal painting had already been put behind the man. The spiritual evil before his eyes had already climbed onto his friend's forehead. He guessed that he might have encountered some evil sect that manipulated the Spirit-Mystic to harm people, and Zi Huang never lacked courage in these matters. He pressed his sword hilt tightly and followed his friend.

This was the deep mountains where only foxes and wolves walked at night. Zi Huang hid in the tree shadows like a silent ghost, following his friend further and further away.

But in fact, he had only walked for half a quarter of an hour. When he looked back and couldn't see the campfire of the camp, several black shadows like falcon demons cut through the wind and arrived before Zhang Zijing.

The momentum revealed between their movements made Zi Huang suppress his figure abruptly, his breathing and Qi machine choked by himself.

One Eighth Life... and a full three Seventh Lives.

Zhang Zijing's sudden appearance obviously alarmed them, and the power sent to investigate was already enough to match a sect famous enough to open a mountain.

Zi Huang realized that something was wrong in the sudden contraction of his heart—this was not encountering peers while exploring the secrets of a spiritual painting, nor was it some obscure little evil sect bumping into his hands. This was a dangerous matter whose level was far higher than his vision.

Zi Huang soberly judged that the better choice at this time should be to turn back immediately, but his friend had already fallen into their hands.

Zi Huang lagged behind by several feet and carefully followed. Only half a quarter of an hour later, that scene he had never seen in his life came into view.

A huge, cold, and hard tree-shaped flame was drawn on the ground, and cold, faint blue was burning in the cauldron. Seven people with talismans on their foreheads stood stiffly before a bronze pole, and Zhang Zijing was one of them.

The prayer was solemn, and the sacrificial words were grand. Zi Huang almost thought he had arrived at some imperial hall. And when the presiding person turned around and picked up the bronze long pole, and Zhang Zijing stepped forward to hold the bronze goblet, he finally couldn't wait any longer and swept out.

The True Qi technique intent pressed in the scabbard exploded with overwhelming killing intent. Under the purple robe, a wild wind and blood light were brought up. Holding the highest attainment of the current generation's "Cutting Bamboo Sword" and True Qi technique "Folding Bamboo," the man broke the block of the Eighth Life before him with one sword and inserted the blade straight into his chest.

Since stepping into the Eighth Life, he had been advancing bravely and diligently without a moment's pause, only taking Meng Chuyuan as his target. And the battle record at this time proved that he was indeed an outstanding one among the Eighth Lives. In the blink of an eye, after more than ten bursts of offense and defense, tragic blood flowers burst out on his body, yet he still hadn't lost the advantage gained by the sneak attack. By the end, he had already firmly choked this person under him.

"Who are you people?! Remove the things on their heads!" He pressed the sword blade on this person's throat, forcing the question with a bloody throat.

Then his body stiffened, and the sound of tearing cloth and hoarse roars came from behind him.

In the room on an autumn night, it was quiet and silent.

The man telling all this seemed to have experienced such a nightmare again, appearing exhausted and weak.

"Zijing drank that cup of dragon saliva." He whispered, looking at Pei Ye in silence. The cold chill brought by that scene appeared in both people's memories at the same time.

"Afterward, the whole matter went bad."

Zi Huang slashed off the head of the black robe under him with one sword, watching his friend, who was like a ghost or snake demon, freeze in place.

He didn't know what to do, and in fact, there was no time for him to make a decision.

A purple-robed person who had detected the movement suddenly appeared before his eyes.

He first picked up the bronze pole and pierced through Zhang Zijing's alienated body. That ferocious, ghost-like appearance melted like a candle. Zi Huang shouted in horror and rushed up. The purple-robed person turned his head, and the eyes under the mask only looked at him once, and Zi Huang turned into a piece of tofu hit by a heavy hammer.

If it weren't for the binding of True Qi, the whole person would have scattered everywhere.

He smashed to the ground like a rag, his tough Eighth Life body fragile as paper at this moment. Bones broke, skin burst, flesh collapsed, and a large pool of blood and broken organs flowed out from under him.

He watched helplessly as the purple-robed person turned the remaining six people into viscous liquid droplets one by one, and then walked over holding the full, bright gourd pole upside down. The strange, secluded, and respectful mask looked down at him, and a pole pierced into his abdomen.

"I passed out." Zi Huang said, "I only felt that cold thing seem to enter my body and swallow my meridian tree."

"Seriously injured and hard to heal, True Qi completely lost, Qi and blood exhausted, and the eyes stuck by blood couldn't open. I felt like I had been thrown somewhere." Zi Huang picked up the tea for the first time and drank a sip with a slight tremor, "Young Hero Pei, I have had many life-and-death battles and suffered serious injuries that were almost impossible to heal, but that was the first time I felt complete despair, like a tied pig waiting to be used."

Then he slowly raised his head and looked at Pei Ye, dazed: "In this desperate coma, I seemed to have seen the true masterpiece of that scroll."

(End of chapter) ===== CHAPTER 272 =====