Chapter 62: The Great Sinful River Hu, Teaching You Cultivation

He who can unify all things is the True King of the Dao.

Zhang Fan pondered, savoring those words.

“The Xuanjian Treasure Scroll… does such a treasure truly exist in this world?”

Along the way, Zhang Fan heard Jiang Hu recount much about talismans, even learning that drawing the simplest [One-Character Yuan] required considerable time and effort.

As for the [Hundred-Character Yuan], its power was immense and unfathomable, surpassing even great arts like the [Northern Emperor’s Method] and the [Five Thunder Orthodoxy].

If the Xuanjian Treasure Scroll were mastered, could it truly condense ten thousand talismans into one body? What would that sight be like?

What kind of power would that be?

“That is Pure Yang… that is the Infinite…” Jiang Hu’s eyes burned brightly as he whispered softly.

Throughout history, countless cultivators have walked the path, yet those who truly achieved immortality remain few.

Only by comprehending the state of [Pure Yang Infinite] could one truly glimpse the hope of immortality; all others merely groped blindly in darkness, never seeing light.

Precisely because of this, no talisman master could remain unmoved by Shen Family’s wild and magnificent conception.

Condense ten thousand talismans into one body, enter the state of Pure Yang Infinite.

“Jiang Hu, you’re still in Jiangnan Province?”

At that moment, a casual voice came from behind, tinged with indifference.

Zhang Fan turned to see a young Daoist priest enter, clad in a Daoist robe, carrying a backpack with a gourd hanging from it.

“Senior Brother Qi Ji!?”

Jiang Hu froze, murmured softly, recognizing the man.

“You were expelled from Maoshan long ago. I am no longer your senior brother.” Qi Ji shook his head.

“Maoshan’s Qingyang Sect!?”

Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened, unable to help glancing at Jiang Hu.

Only now did he realize the origin of Jiang Hu’s talisman arts—it was none other than Maoshan’s Qingyang Sect, one of the Three Talisman Mountains and one of the Ten Sacred Daoist Peaks.

“A prestigious sect!” Zhang Fan thought inwardly.

Maoshan’s reputation was no less than that of Zhenwu Mountain; earlier TV dramas had portrayed its Daoist arts as miraculous, casting it in a halo of mystique.

“Why are you here?” Qi Ji stared coldly at Jiang Hu.

“You committed a grave sin back then. Had the elders not shown mercy, your Nascent Soul would have been destroyed… merely expelling you from the sect was already a boundless grace…”

“Yet you still remain in the cultivation world, still in Jiangnan Province?” Qi Ji’s voice grew heavy, his eyes filled with deep revulsion.

“Destroy my Nascent Soul!?”

Zhang Fan’s expression changed slightly, startled—within Daoist sects, such punishment was reserved only for those who had committed heinous crimes.

But Wen He had said Jiang Hu was expelled merely for accidentally burning down the Ancestral Hall!?” “I…”

Jiang Hu’s face darkened; his fists clenched tightly, he appeared uneasy, his eyes devoid of vitality, his usual playfulness gone.

“Who are you? What’s wrong with us being here? Are we eating your rice?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan stepped forward, blocking Jiang Hu, glancing at Qi Ji with irritation.

“Who are you?” Qi Ji raised an eyebrow, scanning Jiang Hu.

“Eyebrows with two balls underneath, only know how to blink, not how to see…” Zhang Fan sneered.

“I’m a person!”

“….”

“You just met him, didn’t you?” Qi Ji fell silent briefly, then spoke coolly.

“So what?”

“Clearly, you know nothing of what he’s done.” Qi Ji sneered.

“Did he dig up your ancestral grave?” Zhang Fan asked offhandedly.

“Jiang Hu, you…”

“Enough.”

At that moment, a melodious voice drifted from afar, interrupting their exchange.

Shen Qingli walked over, glancing at Qi Ji, then Jiang Hu, finally fixing her gaze on Zhang Fan.

“Qingli, long time no see.” Qi Ji greeted, clearly familiar with her.

“Qi Ji, you rarely leave the mountain; since you’ve come so far, stay a few days.”

As she spoke, a man in a suit stepped forward, took Qi Ji’s luggage, and gestured politely.

“Jiang Hu, if I were you, I wouldn’t have the face to stay here.”

With those words, Qi Ji turned and walked away, leaving Jiang Hu’s fists clenched tighter, his head sinking involuntarily.

“Jiang Hu…” Shen Qingli watched his posture, her brow furrowed, a flicker of pity in her eyes. “I’ll go unload the cargo.”

Jiang Hu turned and walked toward the Five Spirit Rainbow.

“Let me help you…” Zhang Fan stepped forward.

“I can manage on my own.”

Jiang Hu didn’t look back, his steps quickening.

“Hulu…” Zhang Fan called out.

“That’s his inner demon. Let him go.”

At that moment, Shen Qingli approached, watching Jiang Hu’s retreating figure, her eyes holding a trace of melancholy.

“Inner demon!?” Zhang Fan was puzzled.

“Your name is Zhang Fan?” Shen Qingli turned to him, offering a kind smile.

“Jiang Hu mentioned you. Thank you for standing up for him just now.”

“You and Jiang Hu…”

“Shen Family and Maoshan have long had business ties. I often visited the mountain as a child—I knew him then, and Qi Ji too…” Shen Qingli sighed softly, her beautiful eyes filled with nostalgia.

“You mentioned his inner demon…”

“Life on the mountain is austere; Daoists’ lives aren’t what ordinary people imagine…” Shen Qingli shifted tone abruptly.

Rise at five to chant scriptures, practice, labor, evening chants… sleep by nine, no videos, no games…

“Jiang Hu and Qi Ji both trained on the mountain since childhood…”

“They both became disciples of Master Qingyangzi, younger brother to the current Maoshan Patriarch, a master of profound cultivation, specializing in talismans…” Shen Qingli spoke softly, solemnly.

The first five years were for stillness, cultivating the Nascent Soul, before one could begin studying and comprehending talisman arts.

At twelve, Jiang Hu began to fall behind Qi Ji.

Qi Ji showed extraordinary talent from childhood, especially in talismans, grasping concepts effortlessly.

Jiang Hu, by contrast, showed no talent whatsoever; even the simplest [Qi-Channeling Talisman], used to treat constipation, took him over two months to master.

For this, Jiang Hu was frequently punished by his masters.

Fortunately, the senior brother assigned to care for him was kind and treated Jiang Hu well.

His name was Suiyuan; whenever Jiang Hu was punished with copying scriptures and missed meals, Suiyuan always saved him two steamed buns. When punished with the master’s cane, Suiyuan would apply medicine and heal his wounds at night.

Even privately, Suiyuan would give Jiang Hu extra lessons, teaching him step by step how to draw and activate talismans.

Yet he seemed to have no talent at all in talisman arts.

One night, Jiang Hu was punished again—had to fill ten large vats with water before he could sleep.

“I’m done… I’m going down the mountain.”

Under the full moon, young Jiang Hu sat by the well, tossed his wooden bucket aside, and shouted angrily.

“Only the mediocre rage helplessly.”

At that moment, a cold laugh echoed through the hazy night.

“Who?” Young Jiang Hu looked up sharply to see a tall figure standing atop the wall, clad in an overly large Daoist robe as if swallowing his whole body, face wrapped in bandages, seemingly badly injured, only one eye exposed.

“Who are you?” Young Jiang Hu’s expression changed, wary.

“I am Wu Qilu, younger brother to Qingyangzi.” The man spoke in a hoarse voice.

“Uncle? I’ve never seen you before.” Young Jiang Hu blurted.

“How much do you know? Do you think you can recognize everyone on Maoshan?” Wu Qilu chuckled dryly.

“I’m injured, rarely venture out… tonight I came out for air and heard you screaming like a demon…”

“Uncle’s right… I’m just mediocre…” Young Jiang Hu pouted, lowering his head dejectedly.

“Little one, you still have hidden talent yet to be discovered…”

At that moment, Wu Qilu leapt down like a withered leaf, drifting gently to stand before young Jiang Hu.

“I’ll teach you cultivation…”

“You teach me!? No way… Master says I have no talent…” Young Jiang Hu shook his head.

“What I teach you is different.”

“How is it different?” Young Jiang Hu looked up, curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“What I teach you is…”

“The Method of Unifying All Things!” Wu Qilu’s voice echoed under the cold moonlight, carrying an irresistible allure.

(End of Chapter)