Chapter 65: Shen Family

After that night, Jiang Hu was imprisoned for three years, then finally expelled from the sect, severing all ties of dharma kinship.

“When it happened… he was only thirteen?!” Zhang Fan frowned.

Framed by others, kept in the dark, stained with blood, nearly shattered his Dao heart, confined for three years, and ultimately cast out from his sect.

Jiang Hu’s life took a sharp downward turn; misfortune seemed to favor him above all others.

From that day on, he lost everything.

“During his three years of confinement, he attempted suicide twenty-one times—each time rescued.” Shen Qingli said gravely.

“Though ignorance excuses guilt, the killings he committed were real—Maoshan cannot tolerate him.”

At these words, a shadow of sorrow flickered in Shen Qingli’s eyes.

Since then, Jiang Hu’s inner demon took root, impossible to eradicate; his cultivation faltered, his day and night reversed…

“On the path of talismans, he is utterly ruined.”

“I never imagined… he had such a past.” Zhang Fan mused.

This Jiang Hu was hard to reconcile with the carefree, cynical man he knew daily.

“That was his armor… his inner demon runs too deep; one day, he will fall into [Great Night Unlit]…” Shen Qingli sighed.

The path of cultivation is like walking on thin ice; once the spirit stirs recklessly, the risk of [Great Night Unlit] looms—even a Tianshi may regress.

“Immortals are made from mortals; it’s only when mortals lack resolve that Heaven sends endless trials?” Zhang Fan said solemnly.

“Pure Yang Ancestor faced the grief of family ruin and failure in the imperial exams; Zi Yang True Person suffered exile to Lingnan; Chen Xiyi endured repeated failure in the civil service exams… Since ancient times, every great alchemist has walked through the trials of mortal suffering, enduring a hundred ordeals without breaking…” Shen Qingli sighed softly.

“His trial… is too hard!”

“Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Shen Qingli suddenly called out, pulling Zhang Fan’s thoughts back.

“Our family has a major event coming—can you help me keep him here to witness it?”

“The Xuanjian Baolu?” Zhang Fan blurted.

“So he told you…” Shen Qingli gazed thoughtfully at Jiang Hu’s retreating figure: “He still has talent in talisman arts—but…”

“Perhaps the emergence of this treasure will stir him.”

“I understand.” Zhang Fan nodded.

“I’ll arrange lodging for you.” Shen Qingli smiled faintly, showing gratitude, then nodded and turned away.

“Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Jiang Hu’s voice came from afar; Zhang Fan hurried over.

“Finished unloading—these five barrels of pulp are damn heavy.” Jiang Hu leaned against Wu Ling Hongguang, exhaling deeply.

This cart’s cargo was all specially prepared pulp: harvested from southern mountain peach wood, processed through over thirty steps, bathed in moonlight on the fifteenth of each month, then soaked and sun-dried for a full month starting at the height of summer before delivery.

These are top-grade materials for talisman paper; one barrel costs two hundred thousand.

Just this single cart is worth a million, with a one-percent commission.

“Ten thousand… no need to fear pennilessness, betraying the pretty girl down the alley.” Jiang Hu grinned: “Let’s go.”

“I heard Shen’s [Xuanjian Baolu] is nearly complete—let’s stay and take a look.” Zhang Fan said casually.

“Nearly complete?” Jiang Hu froze, his eyes suddenly brightening—then his expression returned to normal.

“What’s it to us? Besides, you think you can just gawk at someone else’s treasure?”

“Shen Qingli agreed…”

Zhang Fan gave him a knowing glance, nudged his elbow: “She seems to have feelings for you…”

“No way…”

Jiang Hu shook his head frantically, avoiding it like a tiger or leopard.

“Love is the true demon on the path of cultivation.”

“…”

“Fine, we’ll stay… but I’m only doing this for your sake.” Jiang Hu lifted his chin.

“Alright, alright—thank you, brother, for your favor.”

Zhang Fan laughed loudly, dragging Jiang Hu toward the Shen residence. “Wait—the cart isn’t locked!”

“Just leave it on the road—see if anyone steals it…”

“That’s the boss’s prized ride…”

“Just fine him then…”

Laughing and bantering, they reached the Shen family’s inner compound; even from afar, Zhang Fan saw crowds gathering before the courtyard, coming and going.

“Why so many people?”

“The Shen family does a lot of business…” Jiang Hu said gravely: “The He family is nothing but nouveau riche beside them.”

“Besides, crafting the [Xuanjian Baolu] demands vast numbers of talisman masters and resources—over the years, the Shens have recruited countless talents…”

“Then why aren’t you moving faster?”

“Faster at what?” Jiang Hu asked instinctively.

“Grab onto Shen Qingli’s leg—youth doesn’t know the sweetness of soft meals; don’t plant your youth in the wrong field.” Zhang Fan warned.

“Get lost…” Jiang Hu shot him a glare, but muttered inwardly.

Soft meals aren’t easy to eat; back when he was on the mountain, he’d seen a senior brother meet a wealthy woman by chance, their bond deepening rapidly.

One day, the senior brother finally gathered courage and told her: “Auntie, I don’t want to work anymore.”

She replied: “If you don’t want to work, then die!” Later, the senior brother killed himself.

“Was he also a talisman master?”

At that moment, Zhang Fan’s voice pulled Jiang Hu back—he pointed to a middle-aged man in a sharp suit nearby, speaking with Shen Qingli; he looked about forty, dignified, but his sleeves hung empty.

“His name is Qiu Zhengdao—one of the Shen family’s major backers,” Zhang Fan whispered.

“Backer?”

“The Shen family has spent three generations aiming to complete the [Xuanjian Baolu], but the talent and resources required are incalculable…”

“According to Qingli, Qiu Zhengdao was once from the Talisman Sect, but after a catastrophe, his entire family was slaughtered by enemies—he alone survived, both arms severed…”

“Since then, he devoted himself entirely to business, yet his passion for talisman arts never waned—he’s provided the Shens with vast funds and resources over the years.” Jiang Hu said gravely.

Hands are the talisman master’s lifeline; without them, the path is ruined.

Even the Nine-Finger Talisman Demon only lost fingers—and still achieved legendary status as one of the Four Absolutes, a miracle beyond miracles.

“What kind of deep grudge could that be?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“Jiang Hu… Zhang Fan…”

At that moment, Shen Qingli approached and greeted them.

“You’re generous—letting strangers see your family’s treasure on first meeting.” Jiang Hu said casually.

Shen Qingli smiled faintly, offering no defense: “Would you like a tour?”

“Really?” Zhang Fan blurted.

Jiang Hu stayed silent, but his eyes lit up.

“Of course.”

As she spoke, Shen Qingli led them through the inner compound to the rear courtyard, down a secluded path, where towering trees concealed a temple.

“How much did this cost?” Zhang Fan muttered to himself.

Entering the temple’s front hall, the temperature rose noticeably; when he observed with his spirit, he sensed a great fire burning deep within, accompanied by strange sounds.

Yet at that moment, a massive scroll at the temple’s highest wall caught Zhang Fan’s attention.

The scroll nearly filled the entire wall: it depicted a towering mountain, rooted on earth, coiled like a rising dragon, ancient as a celestial peak, with two lines of poetry inscribed beside it:

Azure waters, crimson clouds coil around dragon and tiger—this is the first home of the Immortal Realm.

“This is…”

“One of the Ten Great Sacred Mountains of the Daoist Sects…”

“Longhu Mountain!!!”

(End of Chapter)