Chapter 105

Two lines transmit the Dao, breeding slaughter; dragon contends with tiger, life in death.

This is the curse of the Divine Calamity Sect: since the Founder transmitted the Dao, only one lineage may pass; if two lineages arise, slaughter must follow, dragon and tiger fight, only death ends it.

Eighty years ago, Qin Youtian of the Divine Calamity Sect survived the Great Dao Catastrophe, his energy spent and lamp nearly extinguished, he took two disciples—thus entangling ancient karmic debts.

The elder brother’s name was [Cui Si], a man of loyalty and steadiness; thus, as Qin Youtian neared death, he entrusted the Sect’s treasured artifact to him.

Precisely because of this, the younger brother grew resentful; the two gradually drifted apart, until eventually they became mortal enemies.

Ten years ago, Cui Si discerned the celestial signs and knew his end was near; he followed the stars and stepped through the constellations, arriving at a small southern town, where he took a disciple.

That was Wen He’s younger brother, Wen Qin.

“Her brother secretly transmitted the Dao?” Zhang Fan, hearing Bai Buran’s words, his gaze darkened slightly.

In truth, when Cui Si first saw Wen He, he immediately recognized her talent far surpassed her brother’s; yet Wen He had Seven Killings entering her fate, born under the Ghost Month—should she receive the Dao, slaughter would surely follow, so he reluctantly chose her brother instead.

“Fate… always plays such cruel tricks,” Bai Buran sighed softly.

Who could have imagined that Wen Qin saw his sister’s longing, and on her fifteenth birthday, he transmitted every single Dao technique of the Divine Calamity Sect to her.

In just two years, Wen He’s cultivation surged forward, even surpassing Wen Qin.

At that time, Wen He naturally drew Cui Si’s attention—how could her cultivation possibly escape the eyes of the Divine Calamity Sect’s leader?

“What happened next?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

Secretly transmitting the Dao is theft of the Dao—a grave sin in the Daoist sects; the lightest punishment is to strip one’s cultivation, the heaviest, death and dissolution of the Dao.

“This is indeed a grave sin—not only Wen He is guilty, but her brother too bears great guilt; betraying one’s Master to transmit teachings is no honorable reputation,” Bai Buran’s gaze sharpened into a single line.

“Yet…”

“Cui Si saw the latent talent hidden within Wen He—she had merely practiced in isolation, yet her mastery of the Divine Calamity Dao already surpassed Wen Qin’s; she was a natural heir…”

“He felt compassion!?” Zhang Fan said involuntarily.

“Precisely!” Bai Buran nodded: “Such uncarved jade, if refined, would surely expand the Divine Calamity Sect.”

“So Cui Si made a decision that defied his ancestors.”

“He took Wen Jie as his disciple!?” Zhang Fan guessed.

“Indeed.”

“One Dao, two lineages!” Zhang Fan murmured softly.

Bai Buran’s face showed no expression, yet his quiet voice spoke again: “That single thought planted the seed of the great disaster to come.”

“Wen He’s talent was too high; people… once too brilliant, dim the light of others,” Bai Buran sighed.

“Cui Si marveled at her innate understanding of the Divine Calamity Dao; his focus gradually shifted, his gaze forever fixed on Wen He, while Wen Qin… seemed forgotten in some corner…”

“He developed jealousy!?” Zhang Fan guessed.

“Merely jealousy, merely imbalance… perhaps nothing serious yet; boys in their rebellious phase, starved for attention, denied recognition, inevitably turn extreme—this was normal…”

“But fear lies in… his constant need to prove himself; if someone gently pushed him then…”

At these words, Bai Buran sighed softly.

“You mean…” Zhang Fan stirred, as if grasping something.

“Exactly…”

Bai Buran, as if seeing through Zhang Fan’s thoughts, nodded: “Cui Si’s younger brother arrived here.”

“He lurked in the shadows, like a demon’s whisper, lingering at Wen Qin’s ear…”

“He didn’t strike?” Zhang Fan asked.

“He was a madman; more than life and death, he preferred to toy with minds… so he began secretly teaching Wen Qin…” Bai Buran whispered, as an observer, he had long known the tragic ending.

“You should know, the Divine Calamity Dao is an extremely unique branch of the Star and Constellation Arts…”

Each person, due to differences in birth time, place, direction, climate, etc., corresponds to different stars in the heavens; these celestial stars reflected into one’s fate shape one’s entire life.

Auspicious stars are gods, malevolent stars are calamities—this is Divine Calamity.

The Dao of the Divine Calamity Sect alters how stars influence people, producing countless miraculous results.

“That madman, though sharing the same origin as Cui Si, walked a path utterly different—he told Wen Qin that human fate is shaped by celestial stars, but if one absorbs these stars into one’s body…”

“Then wouldn’t one’s fate be controlled by oneself?”

“My fate is mine, not Heaven’s… that is immortality.”

“Absorb the stars into one’s body!? Can such a thing be done?” Zhang Fan’s expression turned strange.

"Daoist cultivation has always held the theory that 'the human body is a microcosm'; the body’s meridians are like the heavens’ meridians and parallels, major acupoints correspond to celestial stars, yet these acupoints are empty..."

“That madman had mastered the essence of the Divine Calamity Dao; knowing the subtlety of star-shifting and constellation-turning, he merely needed to align the celestial stars with the body’s acupoints and ignite them…”

“The path of cultivation, the method of immortality… how many have spent their lives in vain, driven to madness,” Zhang Fan murmured.

Since ancient times, how many seekers of immortality have walked this path, yet how few achieved it? On this road with no visible end, how many rushed forward, how many wild ideas arose.

“But… if one could ignite those acupoints, corresponding to the celestial stars?” Zhang Fan asked the crucial question.

“Ordinary fire ignites acupoints—how could its light rival the stars? Only primordial light can match the heavens’ stars,” Bai Buran said gravely.

“You mean…”

“Nascent Soul!?”

“That madman is from the Wuwei Sect…” Zhang Fan’s expression changed slightly.

“That madman is not an ordinary expert of the Wuwei Sect—he is the [You Ji] among the Twelve Zodiacs…”

“You Ji!?” Zhang Fan’s brows lifted.

“The Rooster governs night, sees all celestial stars,” Bai Buran said gravely.

“Using methods of creation and destruction to seek the Wuwei path of immortality… stealing life from the midst of slaughter…” Bai Buran’s gaze grew deep, his words heavy.

"The Wuwei Sect’s cultists are truly adept at manipulating minds; they’d be wasted in pyramid schemes."

“Wen Qin was too young; in mere words he was swayed, obsessed with that power, the thrill of seeking strength, unable to extricate himself…”

“Under that madman’s tutelage, his cultivation surged forward…”

“His distance from Wen He shrank; each sparring match revealed his astonishing growth—even Cui Si was greatly astonished…”

“That gaze, those praises, made Wen Qin sink deeper into this power; yet between him and Wen He, a certain distance remained…”

“That distance seemed forever unbridgeable, making him ever more impatient and extreme…”

“Did he gradually lose himself?” Zhang Fan frowned.

Bai Buran shook his head: “If only this, perhaps it wouldn’t have crushed him…”

“But at this moment, Cui Si made a decision—a turning point that altered fate utterly…”

“What?” Zhang Fan asked involuntarily.

“Cui Si decided to pass the Divine Calamity Robe to Wen He—meaning she alone would be the sole heir of the Divine Calamity Sect.” The injustice of fate was laid bare: he, the true heir, was merely her shadow, having stolen a few techniques; yet why, in the end, did his sister steal everything—his Master’s favor, the Dao’s inheritance, even the Sect’s treasured artifact?

“By then, Wen Qin had already absorbed many people’s Nascent Souls; his mind had twisted…” Bai Buran said gravely.

No one could take from him; no one could surpass him… in Wen Qin’s heart, only this thought remained.

He found the madman—his so-called uncle—and took his final step.

“Final step?” Zhang Fan didn’t understand.

“The Divine Calamity Sect possesses an extremely sinister technique…” Bai Buran paused, then spoke.

“Know this: human life is not only shaped by celestial Divine Calamities, but also by one’s own elemental stars—among them, the most influential are the Parents Palace, the Spouse Palace, and the Children Palace.”

“To seek the Immortal Dao, one must sever earthly ties… if one draws the starlight of one’s parents into oneself, becoming without birth, without death, without father or mother, one transcends original limits…”

“This technique is called [Zhan Yuan Qin]…”

“Could it be…”

Zhang Fan’s gaze trembled; a terrible suspicion surged in his heart, yet he dared not believe it.

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“That July… the Ghost Month of the lunar calendar, people already burned paper money to honor the dead… also Wen He’s birthday…”

“That day, she returned home; Wen Qin gave his sister another great gift.”

Parents’ corpses hung by fate, red candles burning, drawing starlight.”

In a pool of blood, her parents had long lost their life; Wen Qin’s hands were stained red, his eyes filled only with madness—he smiled at Wen He.”

“Now, sister, you can take nothing more.”

“Does it hurt? As much as you stole everything from me!?”

Mad laughter echoed within the house like a coffin—mocking fate itself.

“Brother and sister, paths diverged, mortal enemies!?” Zhang Fan’s gaze darkened; he had never imagined Wen He, so gentle and tender, carried such a past.

“A great battle was inevitable… ultimately, the sister gained the upper hand…”

Wen Qin died in Wen He’s arms; before death, he repented, like a child who had done wrong, clutching his sister tightly—gaining no forgiveness, yet already breathless.

Facing the corpses of her parents and brother, seeing her hands drenched in blood, Wen He’s world finally collapsed…

She wept, heart-shattering, as if this one cry would drain all her tears for life.

Her soul-spirit churned violently, nearly slipping into Great Night Unlit.

Cui Si arrived in time; he used the [Prayer to Stars] technique to prolong Wen He’s Nascent Soul, pulling her back from the brink of Great Night Unlit.

At this point, Cui Si himself was nearly spent, lamp nearly extinguished.

At this moment, the madman hidden in shadows finally appeared.

He admired his own masterpiece, eyes gleaming.

“You won…” Cui Si bowed his head.

“Brother, from the moment you stepped into this town, you had already lost.”

At that moment, the madman revealed all: his mastery of Star and Constellation Arts was supreme; long ago, he had stolen celestial secrets and foreseen Cui Si’s master-disciple fate—he had arrived in this town even earlier than Cui Si.

“Your brother and sister are the gift I leave you… they are your destined nemesis… your fate is bound to remain here because of them…”

Hearing this, Zhang Fan could not help but show a strange expression; the experts of Wuwei Sect were calculating and manipulative, far more terrifying than he had imagined.

“Cui Siye’s final desperate strike ultimately carved a path to survival for Xiao Wenhe; they fled all the way to the city’s dam…”

“There, Cui Siye passed the [Divine Malevolent Battle Robe] to Xiao Wenhe…”

“At that time, that madman still found his way there…”

“Cui Siye died… Xiao Wenhe was thrown into the dam by him in his dying moments—whether she lived or died was left to fate.”

At these words, Bai Buran sighed softly.

“She survived.”

“Yes, she survived—I found her and brought her back…” Bai Buran gazed at the ceiling, a flicker of memory in his eyes.

Since then, Wenhe seemed to have developed an emotional disorder; her emotions appeared to hold only laughter—or rather, that was the mask she wore to conceal her tragic past.

“After that day, she never celebrated another birthday.”

“Sister Wen… she suffered too much,” Zhang Fan murmured.

“Only after enduring a thousand trials can one truly understand the path to immortality…” Bai Buran said gravely.

Trials are the elixir of longevity for cultivators; from the very day one steps onto the cultivation path, the road ahead is destined to be bristling with thorns.

“Once the Dao heart arises, demonic forms are born,” Zhang Fan said solemnly.

In hazy memories, someone had once told him this: anyone with a Dao-seeking heart will face endless trials and demonic forms to test them; thus, a cultivator’s trials are far greater than those of ordinary people.

The night grew deep.

In the Eastern Suburb Cemetery, Wenhe adjusted her glasses, bent down, and arranged the offerings and fresh flowers before the four tombstones before her, which clearly bore the names:

Father, Wen Liang’s Tomb.

Mother, Wen Nuan’s Tomb.

Brother, Wen Qin’s Tomb.

Master, Cui Siye’s Tomb.

“I’ve come to see you again!”

Wenhe smiled faintly; the night wind stirred, and falling strands of hair veiled her face.

“Little Wenhe, after all these years, I never expected you to be hiding in Yujing City.”

At that moment, a hoarse, aged voice erupted through the vast night, echoing across the endless cemetery.

Hearing the voice, Wenhe’s slender frame trembled, as if struck by lightning.

“Brother, you truly took in a fine disciple…”

Thump… thump… thump…

With slow, light footsteps, the voice drew nearer. Wenhe turned and saw an elderly man with snow-white hair stepping through the night, walking under the moonlight.

“Jin Maori!” Wenhe’s beautiful face drained of all color; her lips parted, uttering the name she would never forget.

“Little disciple, it’s been a long time,” Jin Maori grinned, holding a bag of apples.

Boom…

No sooner had he spoken than Wenhe’s glasses shattered violently, and a killing intent, dense as solid matter, surged skyward.

“I’ll kill you!”

(End of Chapter)