Chapter 104: When the Dao Heart Stirs, Demonic Forms Arise

"Jin Maorì!?"

Zhang Fan chewed over the name, then said: "Old Man Jin, your name’s quite unusual."

"My master gave it to me."

"Master!? Do fruit sellers even have masters?" Zhang Fan blinked in surprise.

"I wasn’t born selling fruit..." Jin Maorì smiled. "Back when I was young, I roamed the rivers and lakes, scraping by from place to place."

"That must’ve been hard," Zhang Fan said softly. "Old Man Jin, what about your family and friends?"

"Family and friends..." Jin Maorì’s hands paused slightly, then he smiled faintly. "I’ve been alone too long..."

"There was a brother, many years ago... too bad..."

"Life’s paths twist north and south..."

"He’s gone too."

The atmosphere grew heavy. Jin Maorì picked out oranges for Zhang Fan, weighed them—exactly two jin.

"Twelve yuan and sixty fen. I’ll knock off the change—thirteen yuan."

"Got it... huh?"

"Twelve yuan!" Jin Maorì grinned and handed over the oranges.

"Young man, got a girlfriend? Want to buy some durian for her? Just arrived—sweet and sticky."

Zhang Fan had just scanned the code and paid.

"Durian... for her?"

"For a girlfriend, durian’s best—binds you for life, loves you for eternity," Jin Maorì grinned.

"Old Man Jin, you’re into wordplay now!?" Zhang Fan glanced at the price and chuckled awkwardly.

"When I find a girlfriend, I’ll come buy some."

Saying that, Zhang Fan quickly bowed and turned to leave.

Jin Maorì resumed sorting fruit, slowly straightening as he watched Zhang Fan’s retreating back, his cloudy eyes narrowing slightly.

"Life’s paths twist north and south... life’s paths twist north and south... Brother, your anniversary’s coming soon."

The aged voice faded, the barely audible words seeming meant only for himself.

Ye Bu Liang.

Zhang Fan entered the company and walked to Jiang Lai’s desk, placing the largest orange before her.

"Try it."

"Zhongyuan Festival’s near. Don’t wander off."

Jiang Lai hugged the orange without peeling it, murmuring softly—as if she worried daily that Zhang Fan would go astray.

"Ghost Festival? Do cultivators even fear this?"

"When the Dao heart stirs, demonic forms arise... you said it yourself," Jiang Lai looked up, her bright eyes gleaming as they fixed on Zhang Fan.

When the Dao heart stirs, demonic forms arise.

In the mortal world, anyone who cultivates the Dao will summon demonic trials from Heaven to test them.

Thus, whether one’s cultivation is shallow or mighty, one must hold reverence, always facing trials, seeing demonic perils at every moment—without this awareness, one falls instantly into birth and death.

"You’re not even whole yet and you’re already showing off," Jiang Lai hugged the orange, pointing behind Zhang Fan.

"..."

Zhang Fan narrowed his eyes but said nothing; yet he caught the hidden meaning in Jiang Lai’s words.

Ten years ago, that night, he entered Ye Bu Liang and used his divided spirit method to face the trial—until a girl intervened, helping him endure it, splitting his Nascent Soul into three.

That girl was Jiang Lai.

Their first meeting wasn’t on Zhenwu Mountain—they’d already been bound ten years prior.

That’s why Zhang Fan grew more curious. He’d asked her many times—but she remained silent.

"When I recover the [Evil God], I’ll be whole again," Zhang Fan whispered.

"You might get eaten," Jiang Lai whispered back.

"You’re rare to treat someone to a meal."

At that moment, Jiang Hu appeared like a ghost, sidling up and snatching the oranges from Zhang Fan’s hand.

"Where’d you buy these? Dry and shriveled—no texture, no feel," Jiang Hu picked up an orange, wrinkled his nose, and leaned close to Zhang Fan.

"Too stingy."

"Wen Jie’s birthday tomorrow—we need to get her a gift," Zhang Fan’s meager funds were already planned.

At Ye Bu Liang, everyone celebrates birthdays together—the boss pays.

"Forget it. Wen Jie never celebrates birthdays," Jiang Hu dropped the orange, offhand.

"Why?" Zhang Fan blinked.

"Don’t know," Jiang Hu shook his head.

"I’ve arranged everything for today—call me if anything comes up."

At that moment, Wen He stepped out of the boss’s office, smiling and greeting everyone.

"Huh!?"

Zhang Fan froze. She was leaving already? Normally, Wen He was the most diligent in the company—always the last to leave, never took a day off.

"Fanfan, the boss wants you in," Wen He said gently.

"Oh... okay..."

Zhang Fan rose from his desk and saw Wen He had already left the company. He muttered under his breath, then knocked on the boss’s office door.

"Come in."

Bai Buran leaned back in his chair, legs crossed, reading the latest issue of [Two-Stab Monkey], its cover featuring a loli.

"Boss, you called?"

"Sit," Bai Buran said casually.

"What’s up?"

"These next few days... someone from Zhenwu Mountain might come," Bai Buran set down [Two-Stab Monkey].

"Zhenwu Mountain? Why?" Zhang Fan raised an eyebrow.

"The Wuwei Sect has been extremely active in Jiangnan Province. The Jiangnan Dao Alliance has requested reinforcements from Jiangbei Province. As Jiangbei’s leading sect, Zhenwu Mountain must contribute," Bai Buran said coolly.

To be honest, he instinctively disliked dealing with Zhenwu Mountain Daoists.

"Who’s coming?" Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

He’d asked before—among Zhenwu Mountain’s Daoists, he only knew Xia Weisheng and Po Jie, both of high standing, unlikely to be sent out.

"Xia Weisheng and Po Jie!"

Bai Buran gave Zhang Fan a meaningful look. "They might come to see you."

"See me..." Zhang Fan smirked but said nothing—who else but him had stolen their sect’s sacred relic?

"Understood."

"Don’t overthink it. I’m just warning you, so you’re prepared," Bai Buran said indifferently.

"You’re free to go."

"Boss..." Zhang Fan didn’t rise, suddenly speaking.

"What?"

"Has something happened to Wen Jie? I feel she’s been off these past few days."

Since joining Ye Bu Liang, Wen He had always been the kindest to him—a nurturing older sister, gentle and warm. Zhang Fan had never seen her raise her voice—he even doubted she could get angry.

"Tomorrow’s her birthday," Bai Buran paused, then spoke.

"I heard from Jiang Hu..."

"Do you know Wen He is from the Shen Sha Sect?" Bai Buran shifted tone.

The founder of the Shen Sha Sect was originally from Longhu Mountain, later expelled, and by chance stumbled into an abandoned Daoist temple, where he discovered a great secret beneath it—a treasure.

"Some say the box contained the celestial robe stolen from the Star Lord of the Northern Dipper and left behind in the mortal realm."

Bai Buran spoke gravely: "With this boon, the Shen Sha Sect’s founder observed the heavens and awakened to the Dao, leaving behind one of the most vital lineages within the Starry Combat Arts..."

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"Celestial stars govern mortal fortune and misfortune—evil ones are sha, auspicious ones are shen."

"Thus, the Shen Sha lineage began."

"I know all this," Zhang Fan interrupted.

"But you don’t know the Shen Sha Sect always passes in a single lineage—only one disciple per generation," Bai Buran said.

"Why?" Zhang Fan frowned.

In Daoist sects, all sought ancestral blessings, flourishing with countless disciples.

The Shen Sha Sect was strange—only one disciple per generation? Didn’t they fear extinction?

"First, the Shen Sha arts demand extreme physical and innate aptitude—few are suited. Second, once mastered, they peer into Heaven’s design, manipulate fortune and misfortune, and interfere with mortal life and death—cannot be lightly passed on..."

"But most importantly, the Shen Sha Sect’s founder left one saying."

"What saying?" Zhang Fan pressed.

"Two lineages split, create karmic slaughter; dragon fights tiger, live through death," Bai Buran said gravely.

"What does that mean!?"

“If one lineage splits into two transmissions, boundless killing karma will arise, and these two will forever feud, generation after generation, only ending in death.” Bai Buran said solemnly.

“That God of Calamity Sect…”

“Since its founding, the God of Calamity Sect has always been a single-lineage transmission—until eighty years ago… a change occurred.”

“Eighty years ago!?” Zhang Fan suddenly understood.

Eighty years ago, a great event shook all Daoist sects: the Grand Celestial Rite, the Daoist Great Calamity.

Originally a ritual to beg the celestial deities for blessings, it became a catastrophe for all Daoist sects—nearly every expert who attended perished there, and many lineages vanished forever.

For instance, the Northern Emperor Sect, famed as the Daoist sect’s supreme killing art.

Afterward, Daoist experts across the land dwindled; even Longhu Mountain closed its gates, its incense unlit since.

This mystery remains unsolved to this day.

Legend says only one Daoist expert survived the Grand Rite’s altar: Chu Chaoran of Zhenwu Mountain, then still young.

“That year, Qin Youtian of the God of Calamity Sect also attended—but he never entered the Grand Rite’s altar, only stayed outside the mountain gate, which is why he survived,” Bai Buran said gravely.

“Though he survived, his life was nearly spent. He hid his identity, fleeing to a fishing village…”

“At that time, Qin Youtian was on his last breath. To prevent his lineage from dying out, he sought a nearby disciple to pass on his teachings…”

Here, Bai Buran sighed: “But his end was near—where could he find a worthy disciple? And even if he found one, how could he impart the entire God of Calamity doctrine in such a short time?”

“So he devised a plan: in the fishing village, he found two children with the best potential, splitting the God of Calamity Dao into two parts, letting each child learn one half…”

“Thus, the God of Calamity doctrine could be preserved in full.”

“One doctrine, two lineages!?” Zhang Fan murmured.

“In his final month, Qin Youtian transmitted the doctrine to the two boys, then passed away—unaware that his dying act planted boundless calamity.”

“Did the God of Calamity Sect’s founder’s prophecy come true?” Zhang Fan speculated.

“The two disciples Qin Youtian took on his deathbed had different temperaments: the elder was steady and loyal, the younger sharp and restless…”

“During transmission, the younger sensed their teachings differed. After Qin Youtian’s death, he confronted the elder to verify—and indeed, their methods were vastly different…”

“With his sharp intellect, he realized their teachings combined formed the complete God of Calamity Dao. He urged the elder to exchange their knowledge…”

“They had grown up together since childhood, bound by brotherhood. The elder could not refuse. They exchanged teachings—but the younger secretly withheld part of his knowledge,” Bai Buran said gravely.

“Thus, they became the last heirs of the God of Calamity Sect, leaving the fishing village…”

“At that time, the world was in chaos. In such an age, both sought to make their mark—but their differing temperaments bred division, then estrangement, and they walked separate paths…”

“Life’s paths diverge in every direction,” Zhang Fan mused, suddenly recalling the old man Jin’s words.

“Their feud remained hidden from outsiders. The founder’s prophecy came true: from brotherly bond to mortal enmity. Most crucially, the younger later learned Qin Youtian had foreseen his flaws—and on his deathbed, passed the sect’s treasured artifact to the elder.”

“And made him swear a solemn oath: never reveal this to anyone.”

“The sect’s treasured artifact!?” Zhang Fan’s heart stirred, and he asked.

“The God of Calamity Battle Robe!!” Bai Buran whispered.

“Legend says it was the robe the sect’s founder found in a mountain temple—a relic left behind by the Lord of the Northern Dipper.”

Bai Buran’s words draped the God of Calamity Sect in mystery.

“They already bore old grudges and new resentments; now, with the sect’s legacy at stake, their enmity became mortal,” Bai Buran said gravely.

After descending into the mortal world, the younger grew ever more ruthless and cruel, his actions bound by no restraint.

To seize the God of Calamity Battle Robe and become the sect’s sole heir, he relentlessly hunted the elder’s trail. But the elder had his own methods—and with the God of Calamity Battle Robe on his person, he vanished into obscurity for over sixty years.

Until ten years ago, sensing his end near, he sought a disciple to pass on the God of Calamity lineage.

“The elder observed the stars, traced celestial patterns, and eventually arrived at a small southern town—where he found the disciple he sought.”

“Could it be…” Zhang Fan’s heart leapt—he sensed the truth.

“He found a brother and sister…” Bai Buran sighed softly.

“The sister was three years older than the brother. He immediately saw her talent surpassed his. But she bore the Seven Killings in her fate, born under the Ghost Month—if she practiced the God of Calamity Dao, she would summon boundless killing karma.”

“So he chose the brother as his heir?” Zhang Fan asked instinctively.

“Correct.”

“He settled in that town, strictly obeying the founder’s decree: single-lineage transmission. He chose the brother and transmitted the Dao to him,” Bai Buran murmured.

“Yet… Heaven delights in mocking mortal fate. Each time the elder taught, the sister would always, intentionally or not, listen in…”

“The Dao is not passed to a third ear; the art does not fall beyond the altar… No matter how gifted, one cannot learn the God of Calamity Dao from mere fragments. So the elder paid it no mind.”

“But the brother noticed his sister’s interest. On her fifteenth birthday, he gave her a great gift.”

“What gift?”

“He secretly transmitted the God of Calamity Dao to her,” Bai Buran’s eyes flashed with cold light.

“Thus, the root of great calamity was sown.”

“One doctrine, two lineages!?” Zhang Fan’s face darkened.

“Perhaps you’ve guessed already.”

“The younger brother’s name was Wen Qin. His elder sister was Wen He.”

(End of Chapter)