Chapter 122: Longhu Crimson Moon! Please Seal and Refine the Soul

Ten years ago, the ninth day of the ninth month.

Deep night.

Below Longhu Mountain!! Flames erupted in the deep mountains, sending up columns of smoke; a vast night sky rumbled with countless thunderclaps, and distant flashes of spiritual light flickered, hidden within the rising mist.

“So the great Ren Xiao has died like this—it feels like a dream.”

A withered voice echoed through the night, as a gaunt figure stared toward the distance.

“So many experts gathered beneath Longhu Mountain—if none of them could hold her, then she truly has pierced the heavens.”

Under the moonlight, Lou Hechuan held an ancient earthen jar, candles lit around him, his hands forming seals, his entire spirit focused on the lifeless corpse before him.

“Xuanjizi, if you hadn’t brought the Longhu Seal, we might not have been able to capture Ren Xiao’s soul fragments.” Lou Hechuan spoke without turning.

“Hurry—else someone will come searching.” Xuanjizi’s eyes gleamed faintly as he stared at the corpse beneath the moon.

The sandpiper and the clam fought, and the fisherman reaped the benefit—so many experts slaughtered each other in chaos, yet Ren Xiao’s corpse ended up in his hands; only in this void could he perform the Dao art to imprison and seal the remaining soul fragments.

“I never expected the leader of the Thirteen Zodiacs, the great Ren Xiao, was a beautiful young girl.”

Xuanjizi exhaled heavily, sat upon a large green stone in the distance, unhooked the gourd at his waist, pried open the wooden stopper, and drank deeply, his throat gurgling “gulping, gulping.”

“The Thirteen Zodiacs are the protectors of Wuwei Men; since ancient times, Ren Xiao’s identity has been shrouded in mystery,” Lou Hechuan said gravely.

“Their soul essence is equally inscrutable—had your Xuanmiao Guan not preserved this Longhu Seal, I might not have been able to hold onto this fragment.”

“Keeping this soul fragment is trouble,” Xuanjizi glanced up lightly, shaking his head with a sigh.

“Since the Daoist Cataclysm, the Zhang family of Longhu Mountain has lost its lineage; Wuwei Men’s return is merely a matter of time…” Lou Hechuan’s gaze sharpened.

“Ten years—I’m certain within ten years, Wuwei Men will rise to dominance. With this, Heihei , in the coming chaos, we can seize the advantage.”

As he spoke, Lou Hechuan’s gaze never wavered from the ancient earthen jar before him.

“There’s one thing that troubles me…”

“The Great Spirit King—the young man who forged the Divine-Demonic Holy Embryo—what is his connection to Ren Xiao? Why did he get involved?”

As he spoke, Xuanjizi set down his gourd and spat out a gush of blood.

“You fought him?” Lou Hechuan’s hands paused slightly as he asked.

“Divine-Demonic Holy Embryo… Divine-Demonic Holy Embryo… No wonder it’s the most monstrous thing under heaven…”

Xuanjizi’s gaze dropped to his left leg, which was black and ominous, as if scorched by something—flesh shriveled, bones visible and blackened.

“He’s strange… the Longhu Seal had no effect on him,” Xuanjizi gritted his teeth.

At these words, Lou Hechuan fell silent for a long while before speaking softly.

“Seventy years have passed since the Daoist Cataclysm—the Great Spirit King is the only one who ever entered the mountain gate and walked out unscathed…”

“Perhaps… he carries the blood of the Zhang family of Longhu Mountain.”

“That’s impossible,” Xuanjizi frowned, cold light flashing in his eyes.

“Since the Daoist Cataclysm, the Zhang family of Longhu Mountain has had no descendants—so many years have passed, how could one suddenly appear…”

“It doesn’t matter… nothing matters anymore…”

Lou Hechuan’s gaze was deep and dim, like a hidden valley pool, shadows flickering like illusions.

Tonight, beneath Longhu Mountain, Daoist sects and Wuwei experts alike clashed—dragons and snakes rising from the earth, mighty forces vying for supremacy, blood flooding, corpses strewn across the land.

“Such slaughter leaves no chance of escape.”

Lou Hechuan gazed at the towering Longhu Mountain, at the crimson moon hanging high and grim, as if hearing a mournful song echoing in his ears.

Hum…

Inside Xuanmiao Guan, Xuanjizi watched the flickering candle flame; past memories rose and fell like bubbles of light.

“Master… Master…”

At that moment, a soft call pulled Xuanjizi’s thoughts back from the sealed past.

“What is it?” Xuanjizi picked up the gourd on the table, pried open the wooden stopper, and took a small sip.

“Master…” Zhong Changming looked at Xuanjizi, hesitated, then finally spoke.

“Since last night, after you received that call from Chao Ran Zhenren, you’ve seemed… unsettled…”

Zhong Changming was Xuanjizi’s eldest disciple, raised by his side since childhood; he could ask such questions without restraint.

He knew that in his youth, Xuanjizi had traveled to Zhenwu Mountain and trained there for a time.

Back then, Chao Ran Zhenren was already famed across the land; in the Battle of Mangdang, he had slain five of the thirteen elder Zodiacs, and the young Xuanjizi had revered him as an idol, frequently seeking his counsel—over time, a bond formed.

Many years have passed, flowers bloomed and withered, contemporaries faded away—this bond had grown all the more precious.

To Zhong Changming, last night’s call was merely an old friend catching up.

But after that call, Xuanjizi had become distracted; for a cultivator, a restless mind and scattered spirit were no ordinary matter.

“Master, has something happened?” Zhong Changming couldn’t help asking.

“Nothing…” Xuanjizi waved his hand.

“Why did Chao Ran Zhenren call you so late?”

“He asked me some questions,” Xuanjizi’s gaze was dim, his aged face expressionless.

“Questions? What questions?” Zhong Changming asked instinctively, worry flickering in his eyes.

“He asked me… ten years ago… whether I was beneath Longhu Mountain that night…”

“Ten years ago? Longhu Crimson Moon?”

Zhong Changming’s brow twitched, his expression turning strange.

Ten years ago, a great event had occurred beneath Longhu Mountain—countless experts perished there, blood mist shrouded the land, the moon itself seemed crimson.

The incident had enormous influence but remained highly secret, known only among Daoist elites, whispered among them as the “Longhu Crimson Moon.”

“Master, were you…?” Zhong Changming hesitated, glancing at Xuanjizi.

The Longhu Crimson Moon involved too much—it was said many Daoist sects were entangled, even Wuwei Men had shadows within it.

The cause of that battle remains debated to this day.

“I was not there,” Xuanjizi shook his head with a soft sigh.

Hearing this, Zhong Changming exhaled slightly in relief.

The Longhu Crimson Moon involved countless lives and secrets—if Xuanjizi had been involved, karmic ties would follow; since he was not beneath Longhu Mountain that night, he had avoided much trouble.

“Little Changming…”

At that moment, Xuanjizi’s voice stirred Zhong Changming’s thoughts back.

“Master…”

“Lately, I’ve often recalled old memories… in stillness, thoughts stir—I fear my time draws near,” Xuanjizi murmured softly.

“Master, how could that be?” Zhong Changming’s face turned pale.

“All know the immortal’s freedom, yet few know that becoming an immortal means facing ten thousand years of dawn…”

“In this mortal world, where there is life, there is death…” Xuanjizi said calmly.

“Master’s cultivation is unfathomable—you haven’t yet attained the Pure Yang of the Ultimate—how could you…”

“Pure Yang… Pure Yang… how many seekers of immortality have there been, and how many ever achieved Pure Yang?”

“Perhaps it was only a dream.”

Xuanjizi’s gaze grew hazy, his eyelids drooped; beneath his robe, his leg was black as charred wood, shriveled flesh clinging like bark, the bones within long since turned black.

“Little Changming, when I’m gone, Xuanmiao Guan is yours.”

“Master…” Zhong Changming’s eyes shimmered with tears, wanting to speak further.

Ding… ding… ding… At that moment, a bell rang out from outside, echoing through the cold night, settling into the silent emptiness of Xuanmiao Guan.

“Come, follow me to the Scripture and Treasure Hall,” Xuanjizi rose.

The Seal Invocation Ritual is complete—tonight we may activate the [Divine Spirit Subduing Golden Seal], open the ritual jar, and refine Ren Xiao’s soul essence.

…

Xuanmiao Guan, Scripture and Treasure Hall.

The hall doors stood wide open, incense smoke curled upward, shimmering like mist beneath the moonlight.

Inside the hall, at the four cardinal directions, four Daoist priests occupied ritual altars, lamps blazing, talismans burning, their energies reaching heavenward.

Among them, Zhong Changming occupied the eastern position.

“Master, is there a ritual tonight at Xuanmiao Guan?”

Gu Jingqiu, following Hua Yixun, had not yet entered the hall when he sensed something unusual.

That day, on the high-speed train, he had lost Su Shiyu, and had followed his master to Suzhou to visit Xuanmiao Guan.

After all, Laoshan was one of the Ten Great Daoist Mountains, maintaining exchanges with renowned temples across the land.

Especially Xuanmiao Guan’s abbot, Xuanjizi, who in his youth had traveled widely, visited great mountains, and once trained at Laoshan—thus a bond had formed.

“Say nothing.”

As Hua Yixun stepped into the hall, he sensed the anomaly.

The four altars stood at the cardinal points, the Scripture and Treasure Hall harmonized the Four Symbols—this was the Fourfold Spirit Offering ritual, anciently performed only by high-level cultivators when confronting celestial demons.

“Old Abbot, we apologize for the intrusion.”

Hua Yixun stepped before Xuanjizi and bowed respectfully.

In terms of seniority and age, Xuanjizi could be considered his elder.

“If this is inconvenient, my disciple and I can close our senses and leave…” Hua Yixun knew his place, quickly added.

“No need,” Xuanjizi raised his hand.

“In my youth, I too traveled great mountains, sought immortal friends, and had a bond of incense with Laoshan…” Xuanjizi said kindly.

“Today’s coincidence is fate.”

"If anything unusual happens tonight, I ask you, young friend, to guard the Dao and protect the sect."

At these words, Hua Yixun’s expression turned serious; he understood the gravity and quickly nodded: "I will follow the old abbot’s orders."

"No need to be so tense—just treat it as ordinary." Xuanji Zi smiled faintly, his calm, gentle gaze settling on Gu Jingqiu beside him.

"Is this your disciple?"

"Indeed. He’s young and full of vigor—I brought him out for training."

"Clinging to remnants, refining the mysterious art; bright moon fills the toad palace... Lao Shan’s lineage has worthy successors."

Xuanji Zi looked at Gu Jingqiu and nodded slightly, unable to hide his admiration.

At these words, Gu Jingqiu was startled—he practiced the Golden Toad Gazing at the Moon, a secret inner alchemy method of Lao Shan, never taught outside the sect.

Absorbing lunar essence to gather the great medicine; golden light naturally unites yin and yang; reversing Kan and Li to refine the true form—this is the counter-Dao path.

The Golden Toad Gazing at the Moon method is a top-tier inner alchemy technique, its subtleties no less profound than the Northern and Southern Lineage Origins of Zhenwu Mountain.

Gu Jingqiu was slightly startled—he had not expected this old Daoist priest to see through his origins at a glance.

"The old abbot flatters me. The youth still lacks refinement."

Hua Yixun bowed humbly, yet a faint smile appeared on his face.

Gu Jingqiu was indeed one of his most proud disciples—so young, yet already grasping the counter-Dao path, extensively cultivating inner alchemy and mastering the Golden Toad Gazing at the Moon method.

This made him stand out even among his peers.

Precisely because of this, Hua Yixun had personally taken him on this training journey, enduring great hardship.

"Lao Shan’s lineage has its unique strengths. With such successors, our Dao shall flourish." Xuanji Zi nodded.

Indeed, Lao Shan was unquestionably one of the Ten Great Daoist Sacred Mountains; its disciples were clearly superior to those of Xuanmiao Temple.

Yet although Xuanmiao Temple was a thousand-year-old monastery, its actual cultivators were few; most spent their lives studying scriptures, neglecting practice.

"Greetings, old abbot."

At that moment, a group entered the main hall and bowed to Xuanji Zi—it was Sui Chunsheng and the others.

Zhang Fan stood at the back; he knew tonight was the Xuanmiao Temple’s ritual to invoke the divine seal.

He looked up and saw an elderly man with an ethereal aura, clad in a Daoist robe, standing at the center above the hall.

"Isn’t this the old man who sold well water? He’s the abbot of Xuanmiao Temple?" Zhang Fan glanced once and quickly lowered his head.

Fifteen yuan per bottle of well water—that night, hearing the price, Zhang Fan had nearly mistaken him for a charlatan.

"Why do the older generation care so much about making money?" Zhang Fan muttered inwardly.

That day at Zhenwu Mountain, when he first met Chu Chaoran, the man had also relentlessly promoted the Zhenwu Quiet Cultivation Class to him.

"Old abbot, are these young people also disciples of Xuanmiao Temple?"

Hua Yixun’s gaze swept over them; he naturally remembered Zhang Fan and the others—he had seen them on the high-speed train that day.

Yet among the four, he recognized only Jiang Hu, simply because the latter had visited Lao Shan as a child with elders from Maoshan.

"These two young men are rising stars of the Jiangnan Dao Alliance," Xuanji Zi pointed to Sui Chunsheng and Zhan Xinyue.

At this, Gu Jingqiu cast a glance.

The Jiangnan Dao Alliance represented official authority—its status was no ordinary matter.

"Greetings, elder."

Sui Chunsheng and Zhan Xinyue exchanged glances—they had already met this Lao Shan master-disciple pair the day before in the temple.

"This one..."

"Maoshan disciple!" Hua Yixun looked at Jiang Hu and stated his origin.

"Formerly," Jiang Hu smiled awkwardly and bowed respectfully.

"This one..."

Xuanji Zi’s gaze shifted slightly, landing on Zhang Fan, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"He is Zhang Fan, disciple of Zhenwu Mountain!"

"Oh!?"

Hua Yixun raised his eyebrows and looked at Zhang Fan again, surprised.

Zhenwu Mountain ranked among the Ten Great Daoist Sacred Mountains, equal in stature to Lao Shan; encountering a disciple of Zhenwu Mountain in Jiangnan was rare indeed.

"Zhenwu Mountain..." Gu Jingqiu’s gaze lingered on Zhang Fan for a moment, then slowly withdrew.

He had met most of Zhenwu Mountain’s named disciples; others simply did not merit his attention.

"Young friend, you probably don’t know—this young man not only comes from Zhenwu Mountain, but also..."

"...is a disciple of Master Chaoran."

Xuanji Zi’s voice grew low, his gaze, heavy with implication, fixed on Zhang Fan.

At these words, the entire hall erupted in murmurs; countless incredulous eyes turned toward Zhang Fan.

"What?"

"A disciple of Master Chaoran!?"

Hua Yixun’s expression changed instantly—he could no longer maintain his composure!!!

(End of Chapter)