Chapter 564: The Master

Lu Hua let out a light laugh and replied, "What is a dragon? A dragon can grow large or shrink small, rise or vanish; when large, it stirs clouds and spits mist, when small, it hides its form and conceals its scales—endlessly changing, mysteriously unfathomable."

Hearing this, you couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt—could dragons truly exist in this world?

You looked up at the bright moon in the night sky; a cool breeze brushed your face, bringing a chill.

Lu Hua walked slowly from beside the phoenix tree, moonlight spilling over her, adding grace and mystery to her figure, her robes fluttering in the wind.

"The demons and monsters of this world are countless—aside from mountain spirits and wild beasts, even domestic fowl, pigs, and dogs, as well as fish, shrimp, turtles, and tortoises in the rivers, all seem to arise from this, feeding on humans to strengthen themselves."

"But have you ever seen a human transform into a demon?" she suddenly shifted tone, her voice carrying deeper meaning.

You shook your head, silently thinking: the refugees of Jiangnan Dao flooded like a tide—if they could truly turn into demons, they would have long since shattered the prosperous capital of Bianjing.

"But what if I told you that most of the demons in Zehu Lake were once human? Would you be astonished—or think it mere empty talk?"

Your heart trembled, yet your expression remained as calm as still water—demons in Zehu Lake were once human?

This was sheer fantasy!

Lu Hua continued: "Think of the thirteen provinces of Da Qi, the sixteen circuits of Da Sui—vast and boundless, yet you've never heard of a jiao dragon."

"And yet, a jiao dragon suddenly appears in Zehu Lake? Dragons are divine beings of legend, neither born of heaven nor nurtured by earth."

"Then where did this dragon come from?"

"Some say a snake becomes a python in ten years, a python becomes a rán in fifty, a rán becomes a jiao in a hundred, and after five hundred years, it becomes a dragon—but this is nonsense. Humans cannot defy heaven and alter fate; how much less can these egg-laying reptiles?"

As you listened to Lu Hua's words, you realized that only Zehu Lake had legends of jiao dragons—even the demons causing chaos in Jiannan Dao, the Green Ox, the Mountain Python, and the Carp, who called themselves Great Saint of the Flat Sky, Demon King of the Jiao, and Sorrowful Bodhisattva.

Yet the only place truly associated with a jiao dragon seemed to be Zehu Lake.

Lu Hua smiled: "If heaven does not birth it and earth does not nurture it, then where did this jiao dragon come from?"

"Naturally, it is humans who are raising it."

You froze slightly, blurted out: "Raising a dragon?"

The idea was utterly shocking—but coming from Lu Hua, it sounded strangely plausible.

A flood of questions surged in your mind—who would raise a dragon in Zehu Lake? And who could possibly do so? After all, Zehu Lake was home to nine great demons, each powerful enough to rival the peak cultivators of the mortal realm.

Where the nine great demons dwelled had long become a dragon's den and tiger's lair—a forbidden land of the mortal world.

You suddenly recalled something.

Lu Hua voiced your thought.

"The Academy?"

You could hardly believe it—but then you remembered: the Master had entered Zehu Lake and never slaughtered the demon kind.

The Second Master should have swept Zehu Lake clean with one sword, but the First Master stopped him.

"You wonder who is raising the dragon? Or why?"

"In the ancient texts of the Sanzhen Sect, the ninth ancestor, Peng Chuan, left behind a personal journal called 'Peng Chuan's Notes.'"

"This ancestor of the Sanzhen Sect was the first to spread the sect's teachings in the north, known as the Northern Ancestor. Historical records state a man fell from the heavens named Peng Chuan, who founded the sect in the north and once served as Protector of Yancheng!"

You nodded—the Sanzhen Sect had endured for millennia, producing brilliant talents every few generations, such as the Celestial Master who helped establish Da Sui, who had even sought the Master's teachings.

A Confucian and a Daoist, they traveled Mount Taishan together, a tale later celebrated in poetry.

Peng Chuan must have been a pivotal ancestor of the Sanzhen Sect.

Lu Hua spoke slowly: "It is said this ancestor, at sixty-three, cast a great cauldron. When it was completed, a dragon's head descended, its beard dangling down to greet him—only the head, no body. Peng Chuan mounted it; his disciples all grabbed the dragon's beard—but as the beard snapped, they fell to their deaths. Only Peng Chuan ascended."

The tale depicts Peng Chuan forging a colossal cauldron in the northern frontier; when completed, a headless dragon's head appeared. Peng Chuan rode upon it. His disciples tried to follow by gripping its beard—but when the beard broke, they plummeted to their deaths.

Only Peng Chuan achieved enlightenment and ascended.

Lu Hua revealed another secret: "When this ancestor helped Da Sui establish its rule and met the Master, besides seeking wisdom, he presented the Master with the sacred texts left by the three founding ancestors of the Sanzhen Sect."

"So you see—everyone in this world seeks profit. Why did the Master spare Da Sui? It was an exchange."

You took a deep breath—Lu Hua didn't need to say who raised the dragon; the answer was already clear.

The person in this mortal world most eager to ascend, closest to ascension, was none other than the Master of Da Qi.

Peng Chuan rode a dragon to ascend!

The Master raised a dragon to ascend?

Zehu Lake was merely the Master's dragon-rearing pond!

Lu Hua spoke solemnly: "Heaven and earth have no mercy—they treat all things as straw dogs."

"One man ascends; ten thousand mortal bones rot."

You felt a pang of reflection—ascension seemed the ultimate aspiration of all cultivators, the highest pursuit.

The Master had gone to the Eastern Sea seeking immortals and had not returned for two hundred years.

Yet the most recent verifiable historical record of ascension occurred in the era of the Prince of Yan.

Three ascended in a single day!

Empress Qianyuan, the Demon Dao Huang Dao, and Sanzhen Sect's Lu Yu—their deeds are still sung of today.

Prince of Yan, Lu Chen, died of old age on Mount Zhongnan.

Since then, three thousand years have passed—no one has ascended.

The Master wrote in the 'Sacred Words': "The Dao is as vast as the blue sky, yet I alone cannot emerge."

Lu Hua watched you think, then said: "Of course, you haven't reached these matters yet. I'm just speaking casually—to make you understand that demons and monsters are not as terrifying as humans."

"As for how humans transform into demons, and then into jiao dragons, the secrets remain beyond my full understanding—likely another series of tragic human sorrows."

Your curiosity about Lu Hua's identity grew stronger—she seemed deeply familiar with these secrets, especially the history of the Sanzhen Sect, as if reciting from memory.

Lu Hua smiled: "Of course, even domesticated livestock, after long confinement, grow fangs—how much more so the ferocious demon breeds of Zehu Lake?"

"The Master of Da Qi has been gone two hundred years. Even the gentlest rabbit will poke its head out, eager for a breath of fresh air."

Your heart stirred—you recalled the black-robed man mentioned today. He truly came from Zehu Lake.

Was he here for the Academy?

Xie Hong and Lu Hua before you—were they both in Bianjing for the sake of the Academy?

The Academy now has only three Masters: the Second Master is gravely ill, the Third Master has imprisoned himself within the Academy, and the Fourth Master serves as Chancellor in court.

A jiao dragon enters the capital; Xie Hong returns home; followers of the Sanzhen Sect arrive in Da Qi.

You exhaled slowly—there was a sense of storm gathering, wind filling the tower.

Lu Hua looked at you, as if seeing through your thoughts. She smiled and said: "What are you afraid of? The Xie family won't fall. Under a great tree, shade is ample. With the Xie family standing, you needn't worry."

You nodded. External storms were nothing—your own foundation was the root. Continue cultivating.

Leaning against the phoenix tree, you practiced "leaning post"—legs shoulder-width apart, knees bent, rhythmically striking the tree, exhaling stale qi with each breath.

Soon, sweat poured from you; fine beads formed on your forehead, your tendons and bones ached and went numb.

Lu Hua watched your plight and said: "Compared to Primordial Spirit cultivation, your martial cultivation is far too slow."

"Mainly because your frame is too weak. Building a foundation isn't achieved in a day. You've already grasped the essence of these stances—you've entered the threshold."

You sweated profusely; Lu Hua taught you several martial breathing methods to ease your blood and tendons.

Lu Hua adjusted your arm, instructing you to extend one leg and brace it against the stone table.

"These are stretching techniques. After exhausting your qi, you must practice them—otherwise, stagnant blood will accumulate, and later corrections will be delayed."

Following Lu Hua's methods, your swollen meridians eased, and your blood circulation improved significantly.

"Sima Ting wrote down every problem and insight he encountered in his cultivation—but he didn't realize you, a lowborn son, lack his conditions."

"Martial cultivation differs from spiritual cultivation—it must begin in childhood. Your age is…"

Lu Hua clicked her tongue: "Wasted."

You could only sigh helplessly—you'd never trained your tendons and bones since childhood; these stances had already cost you immense effort.

Lu Hua pulled out a jade vial and placed it on the table: "This is Dragon-Tiger Tendon Embryo Pill."

"There are twenty pills inside. When you practice the stances, hold one between your tongue and palate—it strengthens your bones."

"Today, your body has reached its limit. Don't overdo it."

"Also, when I'm not here, don't practice the Demon-Slaying Sword. If you attract something, I won't be responsible."

Lu Hua left.

You saw only a faint shadow vanish like smoke.

You stared at the jade vial on the table—Lu Hua, a stranger you met by chance, had helped you repeatedly.

You silently picked up the vial, gratitude rising within you. To escape the Xie family's cage, these things were essential.

You returned to your room; your Primordial Spirit, having broken through the third realm, had sharpened your senses.

You glanced toward the room where Wu Tong slept—just now, you'd sensed a rustling as if someone had shifted in bed.

You paused, thoughtful, then went inside.

The next day, you resumed your routine: reading, writing, martial practice.

Wu Tong added a dish of lean meat to every meal—you finished every bite.

The Dragon-Tiger Tendon Embryo Pills Lu Hua left were remarkably effective—you could now endure longer.

Over the next three days, the courtyard remained tranquil; you immersed yourself in cultivation. Lu Hua came every night, sometimes chatting with you.

Sometimes she wore a plain white Daoist robe, sitting atop the bare branch of the phoenix tree, chin propped on her hand, silently watching you train.

On the fourth day, Master Hua'an came to the courtyard, bringing fresh lean pork—slaughtered from his own family's year-old pig.

Though Hua'an brought it as a gift, you made Wu Tong give him silver. He refused repeatedly.

Wu Tong, helpless, tried several times to press the silver into his hands, but he merely smiled lightly and returned it each time.

"I won't take your money," Hua'an chuckled. "Your calligraphy is so fine—just give me a few characters as a gift."

You readily agreed, ground ink, spread paper, and wrote auspicious phrases for the New Year.

Hua'an took the paper, studied it carefully, a flicker of admiration in his eyes—but he didn't dwell on it; it was merely his polite way of declining payment.

Hua An mentioned something important!

The madam Yuan hired you a tutor for your early studies—Master Dong Shao died of drunkenness at home a few days ago; his neighbors didn't discover him until the next day, by which time his body was already ice-cold.

Wu Tong's face filled with shock as he recalled how robust Master Dong Shao had looked during his visit earlier this year, and he couldn't help but sigh.

Hua An sighed at life's impermanence: "Master Dong Shao had no children, only an adopted son—over thirty, still unmarried."

That adopted son works as a laborer at Xifeng Tower and rarely returns home.

Hua An was about to leave when you told Wu Tong to fetch fifty taels of silver from the courtyard and give it to Hua An to deliver to Master Dong.

Though Wu Tong loved money, he didn't hesitate at your words—he took out a neatly wrapped bundle of fifty taels and handed it to Hua An.

"This… Young Master Guan."

Hua An looked at the heavy silver in his hand and said, "This is too much."

You shook your head: "Master Dong Shao once gave me calligraphy scrolls—I still remember that kindness and must repay it."

"Master Dong Shao was upright and lived in poverty all his life; he likely saved little. Otherwise, how could his adopted son still be unmarried at thirty?"

"This money is for his proper burial."

Hua An nodded, a flicker of admiration in his eyes, and said solemnly: "Young Master Guan is truly a man of benevolence and righteousness."

"I swear, I will not fail your trust."

You watched Hua An's retreating figure, your eyes filled with thought.

Hua An may not know that the Dong Shao he saw was no ordinary scholar.

Zhang Yuan once privately told you that in his youth, Dong Shao was exceptionally talented and nearly became a favored disciple of the Second Master.

The calligraphy scrolls he gave you contained traces of the Second Master's true intent—they helped you greatly—so how could such a man suddenly die at home?

There is something suspicious here.

Days passed slowly.

After more than half a month, you still diligently cultivated in your small courtyard, never slackening, feeling progress each day.

Lu Hua came every day.

Xie Yuan visited twice; his face beamed with joy—he clearly found martial training far more enjoyable than studying.

On the first day of the twelfth month, a light snow fell over Bianjing, dusting the courtyard with a thin layer.

Two days later, the snow intensified, swirling wildly; by morning, the world was blanketed in pure white.

The snow piled higher and higher, covering the courtyard ground entirely in a shimmering white.

Wu Tong had donned a thick cotton robe, and a warm stove burned inside, spreading gentle heat that drove away the winter chill.

Wu Tong pushed open the door and exclaimed happily: "Young Master, it's snowing!"

(End of Chapter)