Chapter 437

Deep night, Xiao Xiang Villa.

Inside the three-story pavilion, under dim yellow light, four shadows stretched long and thin.

“That consumptive wreck Xu Changshou actually left the mountains?”

Chang Jinzhi’s expression was grave; the incident had occurred in daylight, the news arrived at night.

That was why these four had gathered again, holding a secret meeting behind Zhang Fan and Zhang Wu’s backs.

After all, their initial compromise to join Famen had merely been a temporary tactic.

These four were all Qizhai-level masters—they wouldn’t be so easily controlled.

“I’ve always said Zhao Jiexuan isn’t a man to be underestimated; I heard even the people from Gezao Mountain bow to him respectfully.”

“That brat Shen Mingchan? He used to look down his nose at everyone in the Western River Daoist sect—yet now he’s changed his tune, reportedly acting like a lapdog.”

Xiao Xiaole and Hua Wuhuan had received even more detailed information.

“I also heard Zhao Jiexuan had Shen Mingchan deliver a message…” Ling Du suddenly said.

“Deliver a message? To whom? What message?”

“Yu Xuanji—he told Yu Xuanji to go ahead and die.” Ling Du spoke gravely.

“This kid… Zhao Jiexuan has a grudge against Sanqing Mountain? How bold his words are!” Chang Jinzhi’s face twitched, his expression darkening.

“I’ve always said Zhao Jiexuan has a formidable background.”

“He actually fought Xu Changshou at Jingtu Temple.”

“What was the outcome?” Hua Wuhuan asked.

“Those people have too narrow a view to read the signs, but I heard Xu Changshou personally welcomed Zhao Jiexuan into the temple and spoke with him in private for two hours.”

Ling Du’s informants were exceptional—almost as if they’d followed him inside to eavesdrop.

"Xu Changshou's method of slaying the dragon is a unique path—yet Zhao Jiexuan managed to make him..." Xiao Xiaole hesitated, his voice trailing off.

Of the seven Qizhai-level masters, excluding the accidentally deceased Pei Buqi, these four were nearly equal in strength, with Ling Du perhaps slightly higher; beyond them, Xiang Nantian and Xu Changshou stood far ahead.

“Do you think Zhao Jiexuan managed to persuade that consumptive wreck?” Xiao Xiaole turned to Ling Du, unable to hold back the question.

“Too bad—I’d have been able to read the signs if I’d been there.”

Didi didi…

At that moment, a notification tone sounded.

The four Qizhai-level masters all turned to their phones—a group message popped up titled 【Famen Senior Group】.

“Zhao Jiexuan” invited “Jingtu Temple Xu Changshou” to join the chat.

Immediately after, a message appeared—Xu Changshou’s avatar was a large smiling face.

“Good evening, fellow Daoists.”

Ling Du, Xiao Xiaole, Chang Jinzhi, and Hua Wuhuan all froze, exchanging glances.

At this moment, they knew exactly what had happened during the day.

“Welcome, Brother Xu.”

At that moment, Xiang Nantian replied first.

“Brother Xu’s joining is a joy for Famen.”

“Welcome, welcome.”

“Famen will surely grow stronger.”

Ling Du, Xiao Xiaole, and Chang Jinzhi all replied with messages; Hua Wuhuan sent a “Warm Welcome” emoji.

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the four lowered their phones, their expressions turning grim.

“It seems Famen’s boat is growing ever more stable,” Chang Jinzhi said bitterly.

“Heroes emerge in youth…”

“That young man carries an unimaginable power,” Ling Du sighed.

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over the other three abbots.

“Each age produces its own talents; new faces always rise to the top… Gentlemen, you know that the transition between old and new eras means a complete reshuffling of the world’s order—and the peaks that stand tall are built from the lowest stones.”

“You mean… someday… far in the future… Zhao Jiexuan will become one of the peaks of this world?”

“He will claim a place in the new era’s structure?”

Xiao Xiaole, Chang Jinzhi, and Hua Wuhuan all turned their eyes to Ling Du.

“In the old era, our paths have reached their end—if we can board this new era’s vessel… perhaps…”

Ling Du murmured softly, a glimmer of light kindling in his eyes.

If before, his joining Famen had been a temporary move, at this moment, upon learning Xu Changshou had left the mountains, he felt a glimmer of hope.

That glimmer came from Famen itself—still unformed, still growing.

“From today on, I pledge my life!” Ling Du said gravely.

At these words, the other three exchanged glances, visibly moved.

“Why do you have such faith in Zhao Jiexuan?” Chang Jinzhi asked: “Are you betting your entire fortune on his future?”

“Future? No one can predict the future.”

Ling Du shook his head: “But right now…”

“The name Zhao Jiexuan has already spread through every Daoist sect in the Western River.”

His voice faded into silence; in the dim room, only the bright moon hung outside the window, casting its light over ancient mountains and rivers, its thoughts unknown to heaven and earth.

…

Two days later, Chixia Temple.

At dawn, the bell rang softly, echoing through the mountain temple, as incense smoke curled upward—before the Lingguan Hall, a crowd of worshippers had already gathered.

Xiang Nantian had managed this place for over thirty years and had cultivated a loyal following; each year, donations from wealthy tycoons and merchants alone reached eight digits.

Since ancient times, whether powerful or wealthy, once one reaches a certain stage, they seek out extraordinary individuals and believe in fate.

Because the more one gains, the more one fears losing.

“What are you looking at?”

Zhang Wu came from the cafeteria and saw Zhang Fan sitting on the steps of the side hall, staring into the distance.

“Look at that guy—he comes every day, like he’s lost his parents. Every time he kneels, he stays for half a day,” Zhang Fan murmured.

His gaze fell upon a young man, seemingly in his early twenties, kneeling before the main hall’s incense burner, his body and spirit withered, utterly drained.

“He’s not dealing with anything major,” Zhang Wu said casually. “I heard from one of the junior Daoists—he’s a college student from down the mountain. His girlfriend broke up with him after two years, he can’t take it, so he comes up here every day to pray, hoping the gods will make her change her mind.”

“The emotional barrier,” Zhang Fan smiled.

Once, he too had been trapped by the emotional barrier—he followed Li Yi to Zhenwu Mountain to clear his mind, and there his Yuan Shen awakened again, beginning his path away from the Great Night’s Unlit Calamity.

Mortals seeking immortality fall into the mortal world; to attain the Dao, they must pass two gates.

Once a person is ensnared by the emotional barrier or the fear of death, their conscious mind becomes wildly agitated—this is the perfect opportunity for cultivation. If one can subdue these thoughts and suppress the conscious mind, the Yuan Shen awakens, and everything changes.

“Poor kid,” Zhang Fan murmured, watching the young man.

“I’ll guide him.”

Saying this, Zhang Fan rose and walked straight to the young man’s side.

The young man looked up as someone approached, his eyes hollow—this blow had nearly drained all his vitality.

Zhang Fan didn’t waste words. He leaned down and whispered into the young man’s ear.

Instantly, the young man shot upright, staring at Zhang Fan, his eyes suddenly alight with hope; then he leapt to his feet, howling in tears, and ran out of Chixia Temple without looking back.

“What did you say to him?” Zhang Wu walked over, watching the young man’s retreating figure, unable to hold back his curiosity.

“I only said one sentence.”

“What sentence? Why such a reaction?” Zhang Wu asked, intrigued.