Chapter 118: Lu Zu

Suzhou City, Shantang Street.

In a secluded alley, a quiet little courtyard.

Low, guttural roars echoed from the back courtyard; along the path, thick, viscous green fluid coated the ground, and chunks of skin lay scattered everywhere.

“Daoist fire technique… good… good…”

In a stone pool, Shi Shougong soaked in icy water, mist rising continuously from his head; even after shedding layer upon layer of skin, the searing pain had not faded.

“You’ve met a master.”

At that moment, Su Shiyu walked over, her gaze sharp as a thread, taking in the chaos around her before settling on the battered Shi Shougong.

“If you’d arrived half a day earlier, you’d have seen it…”

Shi Shougong gritted his teeth, faint scorch marks visible along his neck where the fingerless hand had branded him.

“Lao Shan Daoists aren’t easy to shake off—I barely escaped with my life.” Su Shiyu shook her head.

In fact, if she hadn’t met Zhang Fan on the high-speed train, she might have been finished.

This was her opportunity—and her fate.

“You’re badly hurt,” Su Shiyu said, voice steady.

Roar…

Shi Shougong exhaled, and a wave of scorching heat surged out—the ice water in the pool began to warm.

“Daoist fire technique is no trivial matter—it draws true yang from within and stirs inner demons…” Shi Shougong growled, teeth clenched: “I never expected Jiangsu Province’s Dao Alliance had a master like this.”

To master Daoist fire technique, one must be of orthodox Xuanmen lineage; such a figure, even within the Dao Alliance, would be exceptional—not a minor player.

“If you’d arrived half a day earlier, we could have joined forces…”

Before Shi Shougong could finish, his face twitched violently—he spat a gout of blood that splattered onto the ground, steaming faintly.

“Even Daoist fire technique shouldn’t have wounded you this badly,” Su Shiyu frowned.

He knew Shi Shougong had once been a jade-eyed dragon lizard from Fuliang Mountain that had cultivated into a spirit, seized a human body, and transformed into a demon; its body bore a cinnabar mole that sealed its original pure yin essence—cold and supple, capable of suppressing Daoist fire techniques.

“Even your cinnabar mole can’t suppress this kind of heat?” Su Shiyu couldn’t help asking.

“That kid’s strange—I don’t even know what kind of fire technique he cultivates.” Shi Shougong’s mind flashed with Zhang Fan’s image, his dread reaching its peak.

“Once, he endured three thousand heavenly trials; five hundred years he walked the mortal realm. At his waist, his sword blade crossed with violet lightning; within his belly, the dan flame rose as gray smoke…”

At that moment, a soft voice arose, ethereal and looping, lingering in the air.

“The youth’s fire technique has attained the pure yang essence—his dan flame hides within the sword’s edge, hence this ferocity.”

As the words faded, a woman entered. She appeared no more than thirty, lips red, teeth white, skin like congealed fat, her figure supple and alluring, stepping in black patent leather heels, each step exuding grace.

“Yun Yi,” Su Shiyu called out upon seeing her.

“Pure yang essence!? That boy inherited Lu Zu’s lineage?” Shi Shougong’s face turned pale.

Lu Zu, the Pure Yang, was among the most renowned immortals in folk belief—he was a Tang Dynasty man who, by chance, entered the Daoist path, cultivated boundless pure yang, and attained the status of a terrestrial immortal, revered by Quanzhen Dao as one of the Northern Five Ancestors, his divine power and spiritual prestige famed throughout the Daoist world.

Once, Lu Zu merely left a single magical sword embedded in the southern cliff of Zhenwu Mountain—and it became a viral tourist attraction, drawing countless visitors every year.

Souvenirs of Lu Zu’s sword from Zhenwu Mountain sell over eight hundred thousand copies annually.

“Yun Yi, do you know this boy’s origins?” Shi Shougong asked gravely.

“His lineage dwarfs the heavens—you couldn’t possibly comprehend it,” the beautiful woman replied coolly.

“I never expected he’d come to Suzhou—it suits me perfectly.”

At these words, Shi Shougong and Su Shiyu exchanged glances, falling silent.

Though they served under Wuwei Men, they knew its roots ran deep and its ranks swarmed with masters.

Most mysterious among them were the Thirteen Zodiacs, known as the Gate Guardians; beyond them, Wuwei Men harbored other powerful figures, each commanding their own factions and territories, their influence vast…

Throughout history, aside from the Wuwei Men Master himself, no faction had ever unified and mobilized the entire organization.

“Yun Yi, what exactly did Jiangsu Province’s Dao Alliance bring to Suzhou City? Why such elaborate measures?”

At that moment, Shi Shougong spoke—he had realized Zhang Fan’s group were merely decoys; the real object was not with them.

“That’s not for you to concern yourselves with,” the beautiful woman said, shaking her head.

“The object has already been delivered to Xuanmiao Temple. For now, stay here. Do not act without my orders.”

With that, the beautiful woman turned and left the courtyard.

Watching her receding figure, Su Shiyu’s eyes darkened, a strange expression flickering across her face.

“Human hearts are like demons… these Daoists cannot be trusted.”

At that moment, Shi Shougong’s voice pulled Su Shiyu back to reality.

“Since ancient times, orthodoxy and heresy cannot coexist; Daoists see us as demons… since the first raid on mountain temples, all demons and ghosts of the world have been absorbed into Wuwei…”

Su Shiyu murmured softly.

“This has been the rule since antiquity—we have no one else to rely on.”

Long before the Longhu Zhang family launched the first raid on mountain temples, Wuwei Men’s influence already spanned every mountain and river, gathering incense and sheltering demons and ghosts of the mountains and seas, claiming to accept all without discrimination.

Since then, nearly every demon born has been recruited by Wuwei Men.

“But you’ve noticed it too—Yun Yi holds back from us,” Shi Shougong said gravely.

Both he and Su Shiyu joined Wuwei Men only after being recruited by Yun Yi.

Of this woman, he knew only that her methods were unfathomable; she rarely fought, yet her Dao arts were profoundly mysterious—such skill could not be ordinary even within Wuwei Men.

Beyond that, he knew nothing of Yun Yi.

For a demon living in a modern city, this was extremely dangerous.

“Wuwei Men’s roots are tangled, its hierarchy rigid—we’re on the periphery, so many things are kept from us. But…”

Su Shiyu paused.

“But what?” Shi Shougong pressed.

“I’ve followed her for years—I’ve learned her real-world identity,” Su Shiyu said firmly.

“Who?” Shi Shougong’s eyes lit up.

He hadn’t expected Su Shiyu, who always bowed so obediently to Yun Yi, to harbor such cunning.

Wuwei Men’s masters all concealed their identities in the mortal world.

For example, Wu Ma Wu Qilu once posed as the merchant Qiu Zhengdao.

Hai Zhu Wang Tao had once appeared before the world as Zhang Fan’s senior, Wang Tiantian.

Yun Yi, as a Wuwei Men master, must also have a hidden identity in reality.

“Who is she?” Shi Shougong asked.

“She’s a Daoist priestess of Xuanmiao Temple,” Su Shiyu whispered.

…

Suzhou City, Xuanmiao Temple.

Just after lunch, Zhang Fan’s group arrived here and ate vegetarian meals in the refectory.

“There’s a Daoist temple right in the city center?”

Zhang Fan had never visited Suzhou before; in front of Xuanmiao Temple lay a bustling commercial street—one of Suzhou’s most vibrant districts—where noise and stillness coexisted, blending with the world.

“Xuanmiao Temple has a long history. When Jiangsu Province’s Dao Alliance was first founded, its headquarters was stationed here for a time before moving to Yujing City,” Sui Chunsheng explained. After last night’s battle, they had witnessed Zhang Fan’s abilities and fully lowered their guard, their every gesture now tinged with subtle respect—even their speech had become more open.

“But most of the Daoists here aren’t true cultivators,” Zhan Xinyue whispered.

True cultivators meant those who had awakened their yuanshen, studied Daoist arts, and pursued the path of boundless pure yang.

In contrast, many Daoists here merely studied Daoist scriptures.

But then again, it made sense—Xuanmiao Temple stood in the heart of the city, steeped in worldly dust; cultivation here was exceedingly difficult.

“Though true cultivators are few, there are still masters,” Sui Chunsheng said gravely.

“The man who died last night was from Xuanmiao Temple…”

“Ah!?”

Jiang Hu and Zhang Fan exchanged glances, both showing surprise.

Zhang Fan now knew everything from last night—the young Daoist who died under his fire technique, now reduced to a charred corpse, had been from Xuanmiao Temple.

“Wuwei Men’s reach is astonishing,” Jiang Hu muttered.

That young Daoist had come with Shi Shougong—no doubt he had leaked their movements.

“What’s that? Even Xuanmiao Temple isn’t the limit—among the Ten Sacred Gates of the Dao Alliance, there are probably Wuwei…,” Zhan Xinyue said gravely.

“Xinyue…”

Sui Chunsheng frowned and cut her off: “Watch your tongue!”

“Was the real object delivered?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan spoke, steering the conversation away—the magical jar they had escorted was fake; the real one must be safe.

“It was delivered,” Sui Chunsheng nodded, not hiding the truth.

“What’s inside? Demons and spirits?” Zhang Fan asked curiously.

“I don’t know,” Sui Chunsheng shook his head. “But we should get a chance to see it soon.”

“Let’s go meet the elders of Xuanmiao Temple.”

Sui Chunsheng led the group out of the refectory toward the Three Pure Ones Hall.

Faint incense curled through the air, bells chimed softly—the ancient temple was serene and peaceful.

Before the Three Pure Ones Hall, a middle-aged Daoist seemed to have been waiting; upon seeing Sui Chunsheng and the others, he stepped forward.

“Uncle Zhong, long time no see,” Sui Chunsheng bowed respectfully—he clearly knew him.

“Chunsheng, only two years have passed, and you’re already standing on your own. Last night was dangerous, wasn’t it? I never expected you had such abilities…” Zhong Changming clapped Sui Chunsheng on the shoulder, unable to hide his admiration.

“Uncle Zhong, it’s not—” Sui Chunsheng’s face twitched; he knew the man had misunderstood, and his embarrassed gaze instinctively turned to Zhang Fan.

Last night’s danger was all because of Zhang Fan that they escaped alive.

“Enough, your Dao Alliance elders… your leaders are already waiting for you. Go quickly.” Zhong Changming waved his hand.

Hearing this, Zhang Fan’s heart stirred—he knew that man was the true expert entrusted with escorting the ritual jar.

“Uncle Zhong, they’re my friends. They came with us this time.”

Sui Chunsheng pointed at Zhang Fan and Jiang Hu.

“Who’s that?” Jiang Hu leaned close to Zhan Xinyue and whispered.

“This is Zhong Changming, a disciple of the Abbot of Xuanmiao Temple. He oversees all affairs of the temple daily.” Zhan Xinyue gave a brief introduction.

The Abbot of Xuanmiao Temple, Daoist name Xuanji Zi, was said to be over ninety years old, a peer of Chu Chaoran from Zhenwu Mountain. In his youth, he had once cultivated in quiet seclusion on Zhenwu Mountain. He was of the oldest standing, now reclusive and no longer involved in worldly matters.

“Sister, please take care of these two youngsters.”

At that moment, Zhong Changming called out toward the Sanqing Hall.

Immediately, a beautiful woman stepped out, clad in a Daoist robe, unadorned with makeup, yet her beauty could not be concealed.

“Aunt Yun.”

Sui Chunsheng and Zhan Xinyue bowed respectfully to the woman.

“It’s been a long time.”

The beautiful woman smiled lightly, her gentle gaze sweeping over Jiang Hu and Zhang Fan before saying, “I am Yun Jianyue…”

“You may call me Aunt Yun.”

“Aunt Yun.”

Zhang Fan and Jiang Hu spoke in unison.

“Take care of them.”

Saying this, Zhong Changming led Sui Chunsheng and Zhan Xinyue toward the side hall.

“Is this your first time in Suzhou?” Yun Jianyue looked at Zhang Fan and Jiang Hu.

“It’s my first time,” Zhang Fan said.

“Since you’ve come, stay a few extra days. Suzhou may not rival Yujing’s divine grandeur, but it holds its own Jiangnan charm.”

Yun Jianyue smiled faintly, radiating boundless grace; she gestured, summoning a young Daoist priest.

“Who among you will stay behind to help carry the luggage? The rest, come with me to register.”

“I’ll carry it. Zhang Fan, you go register.”

“Alright.”

Zhang Fan nodded and followed Yun Jianyue’s steps.

The two walked to a small building in the rear, turned to a side room on the third floor. Yun Jianyue took a key from her pocket and opened the door—inside was pitch black.

Yun Jianyue stepped in, took a lantern from beside the desk, struck a fire starter, and lit it.

“Aunt Yun, why isn’t the light on here?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“This building is wooden. We’re afraid it might catch fire, so we’ve always used candles.” Yun Jianyue replied casually.

“Oh, I see… huh?” Zhang Fan froze, certain he’d misheard.

“Zhang Fan, did you arrive yesterday?” Yun Jianyue held up the candle, illuminating the dim room.

The room was empty, save for stone steles hanging on the walls.

“Yes, we arrived yesterday afternoon…”

As he spoke, Zhang Fan paused, his gaze darkening as he watched Yun Jianyue’s back.

“Aunt Yun, how do you know my name? I don’t recall introducing myself…”

“Of course I know…” Yun Jianyue turned, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across her lovely face, making her seem almost illusory.

“Youxiu spoke highly of you… the Heavenly Mother’s Heart Spell nearly killed him.” Yun Jianyue’s lips curled slightly, revealing a cryptic smile.

Zhang Fan’s face changed instantly; he instinctively stepped back, his spirit on full alert.

“Who are you?”

“I am Yun Jianyue of Xuanmiao Temple…”

In the dim room, a voice, dreamlike and faint, whispered: “But I have another name…”

“Bai Yujing, the Snake of Si!”

(End of Chapter)