Chapter 58: The World

1:00 a.m.

Hongfu Garden

Zhang Fan didn’t know how he’d returned; his head throbbed as if he’d passed out from drinking, that searing pain keeping him awake.

He felt utterly exhausted, yet could not fall asleep.

This sensation was like torture, tormenting him constantly—even when he clung to stillness, he could not quiet this strange perception.

Zhang Fan had never craved sleep as much as he did today, never longed for the stillness of dreams.

He clutched his head as if trying to pry it open, to see what lurked inside.

“There are two bottles of sleeping pills in my drawer—if you can’t sleep, take one…”

At that moment, Zhang Lingzong’s words from earlier echoed in Zhang Fan’s mind.

He staggered to his feet and went to Zhang Lingzong’s room, opened the drawer, and there indeed were two bottles of sleeping pills, their labels long faded.

Fighting the throbbing pain, Zhang Fan opened one bottle, tipped out a pill—its surface still wrapped in gold foil, just as Zhang Lingzong had said, clearly expensive.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the glass on the table, swallowed the pill with a gulp, the cool, bitter taste sliding straight down his throat.

Soon, the medicine took effect—the splitting headache slowly faded…

Zhang Fan’s eyelids grew heavier; he collapsed onto the bed and fell into deep sleep.

Soft moonlight streamed through the window, falling upon Zhang Fan—then, from his third eye, two streams of black and white qi faintly emerged, intertwining before vanishing instantly, as if they had never appeared.

…

3:00 a.m.

Yujing City, No. 381 Guangming Road, Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance

Inside an empty office

Cao Wushang lay cold on the floor, still breathing, but faintly; his eyes were shut, his body already stiffening.

“Master, what happened to Brother Cao?”

At that moment, a twelve-year-old Daoist acolyte approached, supporting the elderly Daoist who had just finished examining the body; the old man’s hair and beard were white, his eyes unnaturally bright, a deep scar etched across his cheek.

“His Nascent Soul is gone,” Lou Hechuan said grimly.

As chairman of the Jiangnan Province Daoist Alliance and a master from Bai He Guan, he saw at a glance what had befallen Cao Wushang.

With the Nascent Soul departed, the body, though still intact, would best become a vegetable; worse still, it would soon rot and stink…

“How? Brother Cao…” The twelve-year-old acolyte’s face turned pale as he stared at Cao Wushang.

“Siphoning the Nascent Soul as medicine… unmistakably the Wuwei Men’s handiwork…”

Lou Hechuan grinned, revealing a chilling smile.

“After the Jiazi Dangmo, these vermin have risen again.”

“Jiazi Dangmo!”

At those four words, the young acolyte’s expression turned solemn—he had heard tales of it from elders since childhood.

Sixty years ago, a single Jiazi cycle prior, Daoism had witnessed a cataclysmic event.

Back then, Chu Chaoran, not yet the True Martial Sect’s abbot, challenged the number-one martial expert in the world.

“Number one… number one…”

“In the past hundred years, only that man could be called the world’s greatest,” Lou Hechuan murmured, whispering the unattainable title, his aged face darkening with gravity. “San Shi Dao Ren!”

The young acolyte’s mind conjured a name never to be spoken aloud.

Before the Jiazi Dangmo, San Shi Dao Ren claimed the title of the world’s greatest martial expert; some said he came from the Wuwei Men, even that he was its master.

Sixty years ago, Chu Chaoran and San Shi Dao Ren clashed atop Mount Dongyue, their battle shaking heaven and earth…

Only Chu Chaoran walked away alive.

That battle became known as the Jiazi Dangmo; since then, the Wuwei Men vanished, their disciples never seen again.

Now, sixty years later, these demons had finally emerged once more.

“Good, good, very good… this is an open declaration of war…”

Lou Hechuan grinned, revealing yellow teeth, his aged face now terrifyingly cold; he raised one finger, and a flame the size of a soybean flared up, the office’s temperature rising sharply.

Hum…

Lou Hechuan flicked his finger—the tiny flame shot forth, striking Cao Wushang’s body, which burst into flame without a single foul odor.

“Since you entered the temple, Cao Wushang treated you well—why show no grief?”

At that moment, Lou Hechuan turned to the young acolyte.

“The Ancestors once said: if you compare flowers to human affairs, flowers and human affairs are one. Life, death, bloom, wither—all shaped by wind and rain; morning bloom, evening fall—perfect emptiness…”

After a brief hesitation, the acolyte bowed deeply. “Life and death are impermanent—if you cannot break free from attachment to life and death, how can you cultivate the Supreme Forgetting Emotion Dao?”

At these words, Lou Hechuan shook his head.

“The sun and moon turn, yet space does not stay; the Supreme Forgetting Emotion Dao is not without feeling—clinging to this thought alone is already a demonic trap.”

Lou Hechuan sighed, patting the young acolyte’s head.

The acolyte fell silent, lost in thought, as if savoring Lou Hechuan’s words.

“Later, take Wushang’s ashes back to Bai He Guan—but before that, detour to Maoshan and retrieve two [Nine-Taming Demon Seals]… your junior uncle’s wounds are likely to flare again…”

At this, the young acolyte’s expression changed slightly.

His junior uncle had suffered grievous injuries years ago in battle, wounds that never fully healed—especially each full moon, when the pain returned with terrible force, requiring both pills and Daoist talismans to suppress.

“Master, how did Uncle’s wounds come about?” the acolyte could not help asking.

In the Beijing Bai He Guan, he served this junior uncle directly; he had seen the wounds—horrifying—and had asked several times about their origin, but the uncle always remained silent, unwilling to speak of the past.

“Ten years ago, he left Beijing and fought someone, and the injury took root,” Lou Hechuan said lightly.

“Ten years ago!?”

The acolyte paused, then asked: “Back then, Uncle was already a Gao Gong—what kind of person could wound him so badly?”

Ten years ago, his junior uncle had already reached the Gao Gong rank; to leave him crippled for a decade, the attacker must have been no ordinary expert.

“You’re right—it wasn’t an ordinary expert…”

Lou Hechuan’s expression darkened; he shook his head. “I only regret I was far away in the northwest, unable to go myself and meet the one who wounded your uncle…”

“What kind of expert was it?” the acolyte pressed, curiosity rising.

Lou Hechuan hesitated, then looked at the boy, his aged brows trembling slightly before speaking.

“A child… a child about your age!”

(End of Chapter)