Chapter 266: Two-Legged Sheep, Mountains Blind the Eye

"Oh?"

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan said upon hearing this,

"Compete for merit? What merit? What's the point?"

Wu Mei explained,

"Right now, Little Xikang is a hunting ground. The various sects of the Xuan Gate compete for merit: before the demonic plague in Little Xikang is quelled, whichever sect slays the most demonic leaders will have the loudest voice when the Xuan Gate moves in to claim land."

"Even within Mount Emei Sect, there's competition—kill demons, earn merit, and claim rewards accordingly. This time, the sect is generous: even top-tier flying swords can be exchanged."

"The Seven Sword Pavilions also compete for merit—it directly affects the selection of the next Mount Emei Sect Master."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan understood, and asked again,

"So who are you targeting now?"

Wu Mei pointed east and said,

"Just behind our Xichuan Sword Pavilion, a hundred li away, there's a lake called Hanwei Lake. By its shore stands a demonic temple called Hanwei Temple. Its abbot, Han Shi the Monk, is a demonic monk who delights in freezing people alive."

As they walked, they spoke.

"Is this Han Shi monk related to Chuanyin Monk?"

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan asked.

Wu Mei shook her head,

"No relation at all. If you must force a connection, they're both disciples and grand-disciples of the Eight Sufferings Bodhisattva. Back then, the Eight Sufferings Bodhisattva nearly unified Little Xikang; now, nearly every demonic leader here can trace lineage back to him."

"Moreover, due to the Eight Sufferings Bodhisattva's ties with the Mahayana Sect, nearly all demonic leaders in Little Xikang take titles like Monk, Head-Twister, Bodhisattva, or Vajra—but they're all demons."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan nodded and murmured, "So that's how it is."

"This monk has Second Purification cultivation. He specializes in freezing arts. He seized Hanwei Lake, which is an ancient glacial relic. Ice never melts on its surface, and year-round cold mist never dissipates—this is likely why the demon clings to it."

"I've been there twice, but he defends the lake. With the mist, my Sword Mist moves at a fraction of its speed. Plus, he holds dozens of ordinary people as hostages—I can't touch him. That's why I asked you, since Yunlai cultivates fire arts, to lend your aid."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan raised an eyebrow,

"There are ordinary people there?"

Wu Mei nodded,

"In Little Xikang, it's like this: every nook and cranny has a demonic temple, and every demonic temple keeps ordinary people. But they call them 'two-legged sheep'—meaning livestock to be slaughtered at will."

"These temples keep anywhere from twenty to thirty people, up to tens of thousands—as in the Bai Gu Zen Courtyard. Hanwei Temple holds two to three hundred. I heard the Potala Palace of the Tibetan Mahayana Sect keeps a hundred thousand households of captives."

Hearing this, Cheng Cheng Xinzhan's expression changed utterly.

No wonder he hadn't seen a single ordinary person since entering Little Xikang—he'd been puzzled. Though the land was mountainous and remote, human life was as hard as stone and as tenacious as weeds. Wherever there was land, people lived—farming, fishing, hunting, herding—all could sustain life. How could this land be devoid of people?

The truth was: they weren't gone—they'd been kidnapped by demons!

But how could they dare!

The southern and northern demonic sects were powerful, yet they only raided the mortal realm. The overseas demonic cults were cold-blooded, yet they only sneaked ashore to eat people. He'd never imagined a demon would openly keep humans as livestock!

"What do they use them for?"

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan's voice was colder than the howling wind on the snow-capped peaks.

Wu Mei naturally understood—every righteous cultivator who heard this would rage.

"There are many uses, but the greatest is to propagate their dharma."

"What do you mean?"

Wu Mei explained,

"These demons are perverse. For example, the Bai Gu Zen Courtyard cultivates the 'Bai Gu Contemplation.' They feed their captives just enough to stay alive until adulthood, reducing them to emaciated skeletons—both to preach their Bai Gu Dharma and to let their demonic cultivators observe bones for practice."

"The captives eat specially made food from the Bai Gu Zen Courtyard—barely enough to fill their stomachs—and their bones gradually turn to stone. They die screaming in agony, and after death, the temple harvests their bones to forge talismans and weapons."

"The Xuexin Temple cultivates the 'Heartless Contemplation.' When their captives reach adulthood, they remove their hearts and replace them with stones. They believe the heart is the root of all suffering; without it, one enters 'Emptiness,' free of fear and affliction, and thus cultivates without obstruction."

"Those removed hearts are hung in the temple, still beating after years of separation, used to cultivate dark arts."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan listened, fists clenched,

"Then what does Hanwei Temple use its captives for?"

Wu Mei replied,

"This demonic monk cultivates the 'Cold' aspect of the 'Cold-Heat Contemplation.' He freezes human bodies, believing external cold and heat are illusions. Only when the flesh endures extreme cold or heat does the mind become utterly clear. Thus, the captives in Hanwei Temple are mostly missing limbs—frozen off."

"Has the Xuan Gate long known these demons use people to test their arts? Why hasn't it been made public?"

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan asked—he'd never heard of this.

Wu Mei shook her head upon hearing this,

"Not long. This land has always been wilderness. No one cared before. Forget Little Xikang—even our Shu region was considered by the East as 'barbaric, remote, and obstructed.'"

"Only in the past century, as our Shu people moved into Kang and expanded territory, did we uncover the filth beneath this land."

"And Yunlai, you can't imagine how many Xuan Gate disciples have died just gathering intelligence on the number of captives and their sufferings in those demonic temples. You can't imagine how many ordinary people our Xuan Gate has rescued from these temples in recent decades."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan fell silent for a long while, then said,

"The world's knowledge is shallow—it deeply misunderstands Shu."

By "the world," Cheng Cheng Xinzhan meant the East—and included himself.

Mount Emei might be arrogant, the Xuan Gate might be combative, but in slaying demons and protecting the people, they've done better than the peaceful East.

Yet in the Eastern Daoist sects, Shu is still seen, as Wu Mei said, as fierce, barbaric, and uncivilized.

Speak of it, and they condemn. Hear of it, and they sneer.

But after walking here myself, I've found scholars who drink wine and delight in mountains, recluses who revere Huang-Lao. Even Zhan Biyun Nunnery has produced countless talents—what must Mount Emei and Qingcheng be like?

If I hadn't come myself, would I still hold that same view?

At this moment, Wu Mei added,

"As for your claim that we haven't made this public—that's nonsense. This isn't some sacred secret the Xuan Gate hides. Look, I'm telling you now, aren't I? The Xuan Gate of Shu is common knowledge. Countless disciples have shed blood and died for this cause."

"Do you mean we should parade with ceremonial banners through the East, begging mountain immortals to save us?"

"Ha."

Wu Mei laughed,

"If we did that, and the East refused to help, they'd still accuse us of spreading heresy and stirring up panic!"

"Besides, slaying demons and defending the Dao—why should the Xuan Gate beg outsiders? If righteous souls like you come voluntarily, we'll welcome you with fine wine and joy. If others don't come, the Xuan Gate will bear it alone!"

"Yunlai, I say this: the great mountains surrounding the Daguang Wilds aren't just impassable to ordinary people—they seem, to the Eastern Immortal Dao, equally insurmountable."

Hearing Wu Mei's biting words, Cheng Cheng Xinzhan could only accept them in silence.

Yes—prejudice in the heart is a great mountain. After hearing enough bad things about a person, one assumes they're utterly evil, forgetting that people can never be so simply defined.

The Eastern Daoist sects feared the Xuan Gate would invade the East; I feared Mount Emei would swallow Qingzhou. But in truth, they haven't even glanced eastward!

They've set up sword pavilions at the Wujiang Mouth, guarding against the Eastern Daoists sneaking behind while Shu people fight demons and expand territory!

The Shu people advance westward, swallowing ten thousand li of land—yet by the time Little Xikang, Tibet, and the Western Seas become Xuan Gate territory, the East will still be boasting of the Central Plains' grandeur and the Jiang Nan's wealth!

The prejudice and hostility between them ran so deep!

"Yunlai, when I speak of the great sects in the Eastern mountains, I don't mean you."

Wu Mei sensed her words had been too sharp. No one else was around, and Yunlai was from Qingzhou in the East—she didn't want a misunderstanding.

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan gave a bitter smile and said,

"Are we there yet?"

"We're here. Look—that's it."

Wu Mei pointed. Cheng Cheng Xinzhan looked ahead: a lake shaped like an eye, but shrouded in grayish mist, so its water and hidden depths were indistinct.

The temple by the shore, however, was clearly visible.

The two hovered in midair, watching from afar.

"I've attacked twice. The demon monk is on guard now—he's hiding in the lake's center."

Wu Mei said.

"What about the ordinary people?"

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan asked.

"They're inside the temple—they can't endure the lake's mist. But this mist has been refined by the demon monk; with a single thought, it spreads to the temple and slaughters the captives."

"Last time I came, he used this tactic to drive me off. So if we kill him, we must strike true in one blow."

"My Sword Mist is too loud—it'll alert him. And once it enters the mist, its speed plummets. But last time, over wine, you shattered my mist with a single spark—it impressed me. Your sword is swift and unpredictable. So I asked you to try."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan nodded.

"Do you have confidence? Or do you need me to assist in some way?"

Wu Mei asked.

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan thought, then said,

"Why don't you engage him again? I want to see his reaction speed and how tough his flesh is. When he gets angry and threatens to kill the captives, you retreat. Since these demons keep people to test their arts, they won't kill them unless cornered."

Wu Mei nodded,

"Good."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan stood still. Wu Mei summoned her flying sword.

It was a mass of rosy light.

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan instantly understood and asked,

"Friend, have you refined your sword from form to formlessness? How many cycles have you completed?"

Wu Mei was pleasantly surprised and said,

"Yunlai truly understands flying swords. Outside our Shu Xuan Gate, few know the 'Formless-Form' refinement method. As for how many cycles—I'm flattered, but I'm still on the first."

Cheng Cheng Xinzhan knew and could use it precisely because of the "Rapid Sword Scripture"; the flying sword techniques of Mount Toujian Mountain still bore traces of the Law Sword Art, primarily involving movement through the meridians and the Yellow Court Dantian, refined by magic power and Gangsha.

"My flying sword is named 'Solitary Wild Goose.' Yunlai, watch closely."

Wu Mei spoke, her body transforming into a blade of light, while the "Solitary Wild Goose" sword became a brilliant streak of radiant mist, like a falling star, shooting straight into Hanwei Lake.

"Dun!"

Watching Wu Mei depart, Cheng Cheng Xinzhan formed a seal and chanted a spell; as the wind blew past, he vanished without a sound from where he stood.

Radiant clouds usually hung high in the sky, but now a patch of them fell like a waterfall, like rain from heaven. The radiant light descended with terrifying speed, colliding with the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, igniting flames—like the fire clouds after a summer rain in Longyou, as if burning a hole through the sky.

Amid this sky-full of fiery radiant clouds, another extremely dense, brilliant crimson-orange sword light appeared; if not looked at closely, it was hidden by the fiery glow, but once seen, one could not look away, stunned by its brilliance.

It was like a solitary wild goose flying across the lake's surface beneath the setting sun, where the ripples glowed like molten gold amid the radiant mist.

This was tied to the sword weapon, to the sword technique, and to the sword's master—when Wu Mei struck, it was always with such grandeur.

The fiery radiance fell from heaven like flowing water; below, the cold lake resembled a charcoal ember cooled to ash, glowing a grayish-blue, as if about to be utterly drowned and extinguished by the fiery mist.

But if this cold lake were truly so simple, the fiery radiance would not have come again and again.

As the fiery radiance poured down, the cold ember seemed to have its surface ash blown away by the radiant wind, suddenly bursting into roaring flames—blue-green cold mist surged upward.

"Sssss—"

The radiant light met the cold mist, producing the very sound of fire and water clashing.

"You old hag! Why are you here again!"

Immediately, a shout of curses rose from within the cold mist.

"My grandmother comes when she pleases!"

Wu Mei replied without mercy.

Though the cold mist could block the radiant light, it could not stop the "Solitary Wild Goose"—the sword flew out from the radiance, plunged into the mist, and stabbed toward the source of the curses.

The demon monk also held a weapon, and immediately, a clanging of metal echoed from within the mist.

But when the sound was not that of a blade piercing flesh, but of steel clashing against steel, Wu Mei knew this attack, too, would end in failure.

Because the fiery radiance came from her own magic power, but the cold mist came from the lake's ten-thousand-year-old glacier—human strength has limits, but the glacier does not. Moreover, the fiery radiance sword's speed slowed further within the cold mist.

Though she was unafraid of prolonged combat and had the patience to wait for the demon monk to slip, the hundreds of mortal lives mere feet away hung on the demon monk's whim.

Yet Wu Mei did not give up; she still poured all her strength into controlling the flying sword against the demon monk, hoping this would let Yunlai find the demon monk's weakness.

"Old hag, you want to play? The monk doesn't want to play with you. If you don't leave now, I'll start killing—person by person."

After only a short while of fighting, the demon monk lost patience and shouted.

To prevent the demon monk from growing desperate and acting rashly, Wu Mei's flying sword immediately slowed.

And at that very moment, a sudden gust of wind arose.

In Kangxi, wind blew at all times; though biting cold, this wind could not disturb the cold mist or fiery radiance—both were immortal arts.

But contrary to their expectations, this wind, wherever it came from, truly parted the entangled cold mist and fiery radiance, revealing the deep blue lake surface—and the demon monk seated atop the floating ice.

The demon monk was thin, with a blue face and a shaved head, wielding a silver club as he clashed with Wu Mei's flying sword, the clanging ringing continuously.

The wind entering made him alert; he looked around, but saw only invisible, formless wind—carrying snowflakes and ice shards, the most common wind in Kangxi, seemingly ordinary.

Yet this demon monk had cultivated the "Cold-Heat Contemplation" for years, and it had its use; the bone-chilling mist had sharpened his awareness, and he immediately sensed true danger approaching.

The floating ice beneath him, where it touched his body, melted rapidly—he was sinking downward, as if trying to hide inside the ice.

In an instant, half his body sank into the ice, leaving only his head exposed; he shouted loudly,

"Whoever you are, retreat now, or every mortal in the temple will die!"

He did not sound like he was joking—the cold mist was already spreading toward the temple by the lake's edge.

But just as his neck was about to vanish into the ice, a flash of cold brilliance darted through the wind—bright and clear as autumn water beneath the moon.

"Gul."

The demon monk's head suddenly fell from his neck, rolling upon the floating ice. His neck, now severed, sank completely into the ice along with his body.

"If the cold mist enters the temple, I will burn your primordial spirit."

A voice colder than any sword light followed immediately from the wind.

(End of Chapter)