Chapter 120: The Great Daoist Calamity, the Secret to Immortality! Master Chu

The thirteen zodiacs begin with humanity.

The Human Zodiac is one of the most mysterious entities within the Wuwei Sect, shrouded in fog even to the other twelve zodiacs.

Yet when that name came from Yun Jianyue—or even from the Snake Si, Bai Yujing—it deeply shook Zhang Fan’s heart.

“The Human Zodiac… Li Linglong?”

“Mom? This… how is this possible?” Zhang Fan’s gaze trembled, unable to believe it.

“You never imagined you had such origins, did you?”

Yun Jianyue looked at Zhang Fan with a faint, enigmatic smile, her beautiful eyes reflecting the flickering firelight.

“Ten years ago, beneath Longhu Mountain, that great calamity sent you into Daye Buliang; much of your past is already forgotten…”

“But you should know: your mother is the Human Zodiac.”

“The spirit sealed within the ritual jar sent by the Jiangnan Dao Alliance is the Human Zodiac’s Nascent Soul.”

Yun Jianyue’s words struck like thunder in a clear sky, jolting Zhang Fan’s nerves, making his face twitch slightly.

“My mother…”

“Daoist masters extracted that Nascent Soul from her remains and sealed it ever since…”

“Heh… for years, this has been the Dao Sect’s greatest victory over the Wuwei Sect. The Human Zodiac’s Nascent Soul holds how many secrets? Once refined, it becomes the deadliest weapon to slaughter the Wuwei Sect.” Yun Jianyue’s eyes seemed to see blood and storm.

“What exactly happened that night ten years ago?”

Zhang Fan desperately wanted to know.

Since descending from Zhenwu Mountain and gradually entering the world of Daoist cultivation, Zhang Fan’s understanding of his past had been utterly overturned.

His former world was false, his father was false, his mother was false, everything around him was false—even himself was false…

Even after reclaiming the Fierce God and using the Rooster You to peer into fate’s threads, glimpsing a fragment of that night ten years ago, the truth still seemed distant.

“All of this began with the Great Daoist Calamity eighty years ago!” Yun Jianyue said solemnly.

“The Great Daoist Calamity…” Zhang Fan frowned.

Now, he was no longer a novice entering the Dao; the four characters “Great Daoist Calamity” were not unfamiliar to him.

“Eighty years ago, all the top Daoist masters of the world gathered at Longhu Mountain… it was the essence of an era…” Yun Jianyue murmured softly.

The Grand Celestial Rite was the highest Daoist ritual; in all of Daoist history, it had been held only seventeen times. Who, living in this age within the Dao Sect, did not wish to attend such a grand event?

One in ten thousand—those who stood atop Longhu Mountain back then were all the pinnacle of their sects, the future elites.

“The ritual to summon the celestial gods and immortals for blessings turned into the Great Daoist Calamity… everyone who attended died on Longhu Mountain…” Yun Jianyue said gravely.

After that day, Daoist masters across the land perished; many lineages lost their lineage and incense, even the Longhu Zhang family, hailed as the ancestral root of the Dao Sect, vanished entirely.

“What exactly happened back then?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“No one knows.” Yun Jianyue shook her head.

It was the greatest secret of the Dao Sect; all who knew it died on Longhu Mountain—except…

“Chu Zhaoran!”

“He was the only survivor,” Yun Jianyue said gravely.

When Chu Zhaoran attended the rite, he was still a green novice, young and brilliant—yet he alone walked out of Longhu Mountain alive, clutching his master’s severed hand, the jade tablet symbolizing the Zhenwu lineage tightly gripped in his grasp.

“There is a theory…”

“The Great Daoist Calamity hides the secret to becoming an immortal!” Yun Jianyue said gravely.

“That’s why, in the twenty years that followed, Chu Zhaoran’s cultivation surged forward, directly entering the Pure Yang Wuji realm—and before the sixty-year cycle, he defeated the world’s top expert, the Three Corpses Daoist.”

“The secret to becoming an immortal!?” Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened, lost in thought.

“How many seekers of immortality have there been throughout history? How many ever attained Pure Yang?” Yun Jianyue shook her head.

Since ancient times, the Pure Yang realm has been legend; as for the elusive, phantom immortals—whether they truly existed, even Dao cultivators dared not speak.

Especially in this End Dharma Age, where cultivation fades into obscurity, even Pure Yang may soon become a mirage.

Yet eighty years ago, that ritual was meant to summon celestial gods and immortals; whether any truly descended remains unknown, but calamity brings fortune—beneath great calamity lies great destiny…

“The Great Calamity concealed the secret to immortality. Chu Zhaoran was the protagonist of that era; he glimpsed a fragment, and thus attained the Pure Yang Wuji realm.” Yun Jianyue’s eyes gleamed with unusual light.

Sixty years ago, the Three Corpses Daoist had also said: if the Wuwei Sect wished to flourish, it must unravel the mystery of the Great Daoist Calamity.

Thus, for all these years, both the Dao Sect sects and the Wuwei Sect had never forgotten that calamity eighty years ago.

In the past, many experts had entered Longhu Mountain—but all ended in failure; none returned alive—until…

“Ten years ago, someone reopened Longhu Mountain—and became the only one to walk out alive.”

Here, Yun Jianyue paused slightly, gazing at Zhang Fan with deep implication.

“You should know this person too.”

“His name is Zhang Lingzong!” Yun Jianyue’s gaze hardened into a thread; when she spoke that name, her eyes even flickered away.

“Of course!” Zhang Fan sighed inwardly.

It matched exactly what he had glimpsed through the Rooster You: ten years ago, that night, his father had indeed entered Longhu Mountain and carried out a coffin containing the girl Jiang Lai.

“Who is my father really?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“The most ferocious being under heaven—the Divine Demon Holy Embryo…” Yun Jianyue said solemnly.

“The internal alchemy he cultivates is one of the Nine Legends: the Divine Demon Holy Embryo!”

“More than twenty years ago, Zhang Lingzong emerged suddenly, hailed as the Great Spirit King… he was nearly the protagonist of that era; even the Baihe Guan regarded him as a dire taboo.”

At this, Yun Jianyue glanced at Zhang Fan.

“You also cultivate the Divine Demon Holy Embryo—you should know how perilous this method is.”

Zhang Fan remained silent.

To cultivate the Divine Demon Holy Embryo, one must enter Daye Buliang. Ten years ago, it was because he entered this calamity that he forgot his past; had he not used the Divine Split Soul Technique to divide his Nascent Soul into three, he might never have had the chance to re-cultivate, nor would he now have reclaimed the Fierce God and gradually regained his strength.

“You have not yet escaped the calamity—but your father has entered Daye Buliang four times!”

“Four times!?” Zhang Fan’s eyes widened in disbelief.

Even though he long knew his father—a man who spent years on construction sites, laboring to pay for his college tuition—was no ordinary man; even though he long suspected that his father, who often suffered insomnia and seemed so ordinary, cultivated the legendary Divine Demon Holy Embryo…

Yet when he heard from the Snake Si that his quiet, reserved father had entered Daye Buliang four times, Zhang Fan’s composure cracked.

He himself had entered only once—and barely survived; he still had not truly escaped the calamity.

That was precisely why Zhang Fan understood just how perilous this cultivation method was.

“Four times? Is he even human?” Zhang Fan muttered, stunned.

“You’re a truly filial son,” Yun Jianyue said, her smile cold and mocking.

“If your father hadn’t possessed such power, how could he have dominated the world more than twenty years ago, like a mighty dragon crossing the river, drawing the gaze of every Dao sect?”

“If he hadn’t possessed such power, how could he have earned the favor of the Human Zodiac herself?” Yun Jianyue sighed.

The Divine Demon Holy Embryo grants an unimaginably powerful Nascent Soul; such a person can grasp any Daoist technique from any sect with ease, learning it instantly.

That’s why, back then, Zhang Lingzong was called the master of a hundred schools, the king of all spirit techniques—ruthless, formidable, incomprehensibly powerful.

“At that age, few in the world could suppress him,” Yun Jianyue said gravely.

“Ten years ago, that night, your entire family stood beneath Longhu Mountain…”

“Your father became the only person since the Great Daoist Calamity to reopen Longhu Mountain’s gates—and walk out alive,” Yun Jianyue’s voice grew low.

Zhang Fan remained silent.

Now he realized: perhaps his descent into Zhenwu Mountain and inheritance of the jade tablet was no coincidence.

Because the Zhenwu jade tablet was tied to the Great Daoist Calamity.

His family was tied to it too—especially that object Zhang Lingzong brought out of Longhu Mountain ten years ago. Others didn’t know—but Zhang Fan had seen it…

It was Jiang Lai!

“The secret to immortality… how many yearned for it, how many dreamed of it…” Yun Jianyue said solemnly.

“Top experts from every Dao sect rushed there—even Baihe Guan sent people…”

Baihe Guan held a pivotal position among all Dao sects, located in the capital, wielding authority over the entire Dao world.

“Zhang Fan, didn’t you also fight that heir of Baihe Guan?” Yun Jianyue said with a faint, knowing smile.

“Li Changgeng!”

Long before reclaiming the Fierce God, Zhang Fan had recalled this memory.

Same age, yet able to match him evenly—back then, only Li Changgeng of Baihe Guan could have done so. “I heard this heir of Baihe Guan is extraordinary—he cultivates one of the Nine Legends too…”

“Heaven and Earth Steal Destiny!”

At this, Yun Jianyue smiled slyly: “He’s far stronger than you are now.”

“You’re off-topic,” Zhang Fan said coolly.

“Since your father walked out of Longhu Mountain alive, he naturally drew the greed of every Dao master—war was inevitable,” Yun Jianyue turned, gazing at the dimly flickering firelight, as if seeing that night’s scene.

“Though his powers were mighty, he could not stand against so many hands…”

“Your mother died in that battle—killed by Daoist masters.”

Here, Yun Jianyue looked at Zhang Fan, her eyes filled with mockery.

“What a filial son—you stand with the very people who killed your mother, even helping deliver her remaining Nascent Soul?”

“Why should I believe you?” Zhang Fan’s face darkened sharply.

“I have no reason to risk exposure to deceive you,” Yun Jianyue said calmly.

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“Just break the seal on the ritual jar, release the Nascent Soul imprisoned within, and you’ll know everything—besides…”

Here, Yun Jianyue paused slightly, her beautiful eyes flashing a chilling glint.

“Baihe Guan has decided to reopen Longhu Mountain…”

“On the ninth day of the ninth month next year, all the martial Dao masters of the world will gather at Long Hu Mountain. If word gets out that you and your father are still alive, just imagine how those Dao masters will react.”

A mocking smile appeared on Yun Jianyue’s beautiful face.

“The ninth day of the ninth month… Long Hu will reopen…” Zhang Fan’s expression was grave.

“Zhang Fan, with your current strength, you are not yet ready to face such a situation… You have no choice but to stand with us…”

“I can help you—free your mother…”

“She is a Xiao, even if only a remnant of her Nascent Soul remains, she is beyond law and order…”

Yun Jianyue’s words carried deep seduction; before she finished speaking, a loud “bang” echoed as the door behind her swung open, sunlight pouring in and illuminating the dim room.

“No need to answer right away. Think carefully about what I’ve said.”

“The Daoists are the ones who wear the mask of virtue… There are good people among them, and bad ones too—but before immortality, where is there good or evil?”

As she spoke, Yun Jianyue blew out the candle in her hand, brushed past Zhang Fan, and walked out of the room.

Zhang Fan was lost in thought, not even knowing how he had returned to his room.

“Why were you gone so long?” Jiang Hu was packing his luggage, asking casually.

“Hulu, have you ever been to Long Hu Mountain?” Zhang Fan lay on his bed, murmuring softly.

“Never been… I heard that since the great calamity eighty years ago, Long Hu Mountain has been sealed off.” Jiang Hu replied offhandedly.

The current tourist area is only a fraction of Long Hu Mountain; the true lineage’s incense and offerings have long been cut off, and official regulations strictly forbid unauthorized entry.

“But I heard that next year, on the ninth day of the ninth month, Long Hu Mountain will reopen—that’s a major Daoist gathering. Didn’t the boss say we all have to go for a team-building trip?” Jiang Hu said seriously.

Zhang Fan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling in silence, his mind echoing with the words of Si She.

…

In the evening, the Xuanmiao Temple, a famous scenic spot in Suzhou City, had long since lost the bustle of daytime.

Zhang Fan walked alone out of his room, strolling through the empty, silent temple.

At this moment, his emotions churned more violently than when he had been heartbroken.

Splash splash…

At that moment, the sound of splashing water drew Zhang Fan’s attention.

He looked up and saw, under dim lamplight, an old man, shirtless, drawing water from a well.

Though thin, the old man’s body was solid and strong; his white hair did not dim his sharp, vigorous spirit.

“Young man, come give me a hand.”

At that moment, the old man also noticed Zhang Fan and waved him over urgently.

Zhang Fan stepped forward and pulled the bucket up just before it reached the well’s mouth; it was filled with cool, clear well water.

“Old man, are you also from Xuanmiao Temple? Why are you drawing water so late?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“This isn’t ordinary water—it’s for tomorrow’s blessing ritual,” the old man wiped his sweat, sat down beside the bucket, and rubbed his lower back.

“Young man, come give Grandpa a couple of good rubs.”

“…”

Zhang Fan was momentarily speechless, but seeing the man’s age, he walked over anyway.

“What kind of well water is this? Can it even be used for blessings?”

“You’ve never heard of the Longevity Well of Xuanmiao Temple?” the old man exclaimed.

It was one of the temple’s most famous attractions.

Legend says that during the Eastern Jin Dynasty, this place was a barren mountain, and nearby lived a village with an old man who lived over one hundred and thirty years, still healthy, showing no signs of decline.

When asked his secret to longevity, the old man said nothing.

Then one day, at a banquet, the old man drank a little too much, and when someone again asked how he lived so long, he let slip his secret.

He said that when he was young, he had saved a wandering Daoist, who, grateful for his great kindness, told him his death was destined for his forty-third year.

Back then he was young and didn’t take it seriously; the Daoist, seeing his disbelief, said nothing more, left him a silk pouch, and departed.

But when he turned forty-three, the old man fell gravely ill—and then he remembered the Daoist’s words. He found the pouch and opened it.

The pouch said: “West Mountain hides an ancient well. Find it, and every fifteenth day of the month, hide inside it, and you will live forever.”

Later, the old man entered West Mountain and indeed found the well. He spent one night inside, and within two days his illness vanished. From then on, every fifteenth day he would retreat into West Mountain for a few days.

Others heard this and were astonished, yet deemed it too fantastical and refused to believe.

But a young man at the banquet grew curious. He traveled to West Mountain and found the well. He immediately drank from it.

The moment the water left the well, a thunderous roar echoed from below, like a beast’s bellow—then wind and dust surged, and when the young man looked again, the well had vanished. Soon after, the old man died.

Later, some said the well was called You Jing, directly connected to the underworld’s dark realms. Hiding inside could evade the ghostly enforcers’ detection—but the water could only be used to wash the body, never drunk. Once drunk, the well would vanish.

Later, people said the ancient well was called Youjing, stretching straight down into the gloom of the underworld; hiding inside could evade the ghostly enforcers’ searches, but the water within could only be used to wipe the body, never to drink—once consumed, the well would vanish.

Zhang Fan, listening to the old man’s tale, stared at the well with an odd expression.

“Later, bottle this water—fifteen yuan per bottle for blessings,” the old man said casually.

“Young man, want to take two bottles back?”

“Young man, want to take two bottles back?”

“What’s that look for? Aren’t all the things sold today just stories?” The old man rolled his eyes. “Besides, what I told you isn’t a story.”

“What’s that look for?” The old man rolled his eyes. “Aren’t all the stories sold these days just stories? Besides, what I told you wasn’t a story.”

“Legend.”

“…”

“Old man… uh… it’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

Saying this, Zhang Fan stood up, gave a greeting, and turned toward his residence building.

“These young people nowadays… fifteen yuan is too expensive? Ridiculous!!”

The old man watched Zhang Fan’s retreating back, picked up a ladle beside him, scooped up a bowl of water from the wooden tub, drank it slowly like fine wine, and smacked his lips.

“Master, what are you doing here?”

At that moment, a middle-aged Daoist approached—his bearing imposing, unmistakably Zhong Changming, who had greeted Zhang Fan and the others earlier that day.

“Little Changming… what is it?” the old man said calmly.

“Your phone call.”

Zhong Changming walked forward respectfully, holding out his phone.

“Who’s calling so late?” the old man took the phone, asking casually.

“Master Chu of Zhenwu Mountain.”

Zhong Changming lowered his voice, his tone brimming with unmistakable awe.

(End of Chapter)

(End of chapter)