Chapter 95: The Legendary Uncle

Until the fourth day of the Grand Rite.

At the summit of Mingchou Mountain, five-colored banners obscured sky and sun, and seven rainbow clouds hung in the heavens. The altar was hung with red sails bearing the names of deities, piled high with statues; countless Daoists on and around the altar trod the Yu Steps, praying to the gods for blessings.

In the distance, cushions were laid out in rows, many Daoists seated to watch.

Today is the Rite of Purification.

Many Daoists from the Spirit Law Sect were also invited to observe—this was the first event of the Grand Rite to include the three from Fuxiu Pavilion.

Lin Jue came along to join the spectacle.

Only after arriving did he realize their participation amounted to nothing more than a cushion placed for them beneath the altar, where they sat and watched the Script Sect Daoists perform rituals, chant prayers, and call upon deities to cleanse the growing tide of demons and monsters across the land—down to specific prefectures, even villages or mountains within counties.

The three from Fuxiu Pavilion whispered among themselves.

The third senior brother told them these specific place names were gathered by Script Sect Daoists in daily practice; their usual deities were limited and overwhelmed. This Grand Rite, honoring all heavenly deities, offered a chance to petition the highest gods, requesting they dispatch celestial troops, coordinating all heavenly bureaus for a unified purge.

It sounded like a shift from local deity duties to a massive, coordinated demon-purging campaign.

But judging from last year’s Qiyun Mountain Grand Rite, it was mostly surface-deep, with little real effect.

Lin Jue treated it as mere novelty.

After the rites, the True Man Dongming of Yanxia Pavilion delivered a speech—same as the third senior brother’s explanation: mostly appeals for all cultivated ones to join forces against demons.

Yet the odd part was: though the True Man stood far away, his voice sounded as if it came from just a pace ahead.

“The world is in chaos. Exterminating demons and evil spirits is not the gods’ sole duty. Among you below are true cultivators, possessing skill and magic, great power. To slay demons, uphold the righteous Dao—this is our duty as Daoists.”

Lin Jue had come only to fill a seat; though he sat on his cushion pretending to listen, most of his mind was on the secret of the Mountain God Protection Method.

He was not alone—even among Spirit Law Sect Daoists, and even some Script Sect youths—many found it dull, fidgeting, whispering, exchanging glances. This reflected the general temperament of Daoists.

Yet when he heard this voice, Lin Jue suddenly felt a stirring—unexpected.

Of course. This must be a technique.

The ancient texts would surely gain another page.

What was it called? Voice-Transmission Art?

Lin Jue snapped back to attention, realizing he had come to the Grand Rite for good reason.

Having gained this technique from the True Man, Lin Jue grew serious, focusing fully on his words.

The True Man continued: “Demons and spirits now emerge constantly, bringing chaos to the people and threatening the state. A stable realm means peace for the people; if the realm trembles, even those dwelling in deep mountains cannot find peace. Why not draw your swords, descend the mountains, report to the state, and secure the common folk...”

Lin Jue suddenly heard faint murmurs.

He turned his head and saw many Daoists frowning or sneering.

These Daoists were all cultivators of magic.

He wondered why they frowned.

The junior sister sat on the cushion to his left, suddenly leaning toward him, as if about to speak.

Lin Jue thought she had some insight, so he leaned toward her too—only to hear her ask:

“Senior brother, where’s Fuyao?”

“...”

Lin Jue sat upright and glanced around. The fox, who had been waiting for them at a distance, was indeed gone—but he didn’t care about her and returned to listening.

When the speech ended, the Purification Rite was over.

Countless Daoists rose and departed.

“So this is the Grand Rite?” the junior sister scratched her head. “I thought I’d see gods descend. Instead, we just watched them run around, play music, chant scriptures, and talk.”

“Yes.”

“Senior brother, were you bored?”

“Not bad.”

“Huh?”

The junior sister was astonished—she thought he had higher insight than she did.

“Stop ‘huh’-ing. Where’s the third senior brother?”

“Oh, he saw someone familiar and went to check—told us to head back first.”

“Alright.”

“What about Fuyao?”

“It’s clever. No need to worry about it.”

Sure enough, as they returned, they found the fox waiting at the bamboo hut’s door—with two wild rabbits beside it.

“So you went to catch rabbits,” Lin Jue said, unsurprised. “Where? This whole area’s bamboo forest.”

The fox sat perfectly upright, silent at his question, only glancing far off in one direction.

Lin Jue grabbed the rabbits by their ears, lifted them—still alive, no visible wounds—but for some reason, they didn’t run. Only when he lifted them did they suddenly react, kicking wildly to escape.

“Perfect. Third senior brother’s been complaining for days about no meat in the meals.”

As he spoke, the third senior brother returned from outside, accompanied by an old Daoist in a loosely draped robe, hair disheveled, as if he’d just trudged through the mountains.

Seeing the rabbits in Lin Jue’s hands, the third senior brother’s eyes lit up: “Younger brother, where’d you get these rabbits?”

“Fuyao caught them.”

“Good Fuyao!” the third senior brother praised. “Can we eat meat today?”

“Of course not waste it.”

“How to cook? Your ginger-and-pepper rabbit from the pavilion was delicious!”

“No pot. Only roast it,” Lin Jue replied offhandedly, glancing at the man beside him. “Who is this...?”

“Oh! Look at me! I’ve been eating vegetarian on this mountain so long, I’m starving!” The third senior brother pointed to the old Daoist. “This is our Second Uncle. You’ve never met him. Father took on two new disciples last spring and summer—this one, Old Eight, Lin Jue; this junior sister, I forgot her surname—Qingyao.”

“Surname Liu...”

The junior sister added weakly.

“Greetings, Second Uncle.”

Lin Jue studied the old Daoist.

Father had seven younger brothers, but in over a year here, Lin Jue had never met any—didn’t know where they’d gone or what they did after leaving the pavilion.

This Second Uncle must have come for the Grand Rite.

“Greetings, Second Uncle!”

The junior sister echoed.

“No need for formalities.”

The old Daoist sized them up, waved dismissively.

“Second Uncle, you’re in for a treat,” the third senior brother said enthusiastically, relaxed. “My younger brother’s an excellent cook. I bet you’re sick of the vegetarian meals up here.”

Seeing him so at ease, Lin Jue relaxed too.

“Sick of vegetarian? I only arrived last night—planned to come ask if you’d shown up today. Besides, I ate last night; Yanxia Pavilion’s food’s quite good—better than what we scraped together on Fuxiu Peak.”

He lowered his head:

“Roasted rabbit’s dry and tasteless—better than chewing wood. Not as good as Yanxia’s meals!”

“This...”

The third senior brother paused—truthfully, it was.

He turned to Lin Jue.

Lin Jue understood, immediately went to prepare.

The junior sister gathered firewood.

Soon, several Daoists sat cross-legged before the bamboo hut.

The rabbits were cleaned, slashed with knife cuts, coated in spices. The junior sister exhaled—fire ignited, then she gestured, suppressing the flames.

Lin Jue skewered the rabbit meat on wooden sticks and placed them over the fire.

The third senior brother and Second Uncle conversed.

Second Uncle had a full beard, younger than Father but still old, with no warmth in his bearing. The fire’s heat made him sweat—he opened his robe, revealing a pale, hairy chest and belly, marked with scars.

“That damn True Man Dongming! This world’s chaos started with the court’s collapse! Now the court’s ruined, they want us to save the realm!”

“Uncle, this is Mingchou Mountain.”

“So what if it’s Mingchou Mountain? If gods won’t descend, I’ll flatten them myself!”

“This...”

“If you truly respected them, would you roast rabbits during the Rite?”

“Huh?”

Hearing himself mentioned, the third senior brother sat bolt upright, serious: “Uncle, you speak sense!”

Yet he couldn’t help glancing at Lin Jue: “Younger brother, what did you rub on?”

“Oil and spices.”

Lin Jue pulled out a bottle of oil and explained:

“Rabbit meat has no fat, so no flavor. When roasting, you must coat it thickly with oil, or it’ll turn dry and awful. With oil, it still dries—but the outside crisps, the inside stays fragrant.”

The young Daoist and the old Daoist exchanged glances.

“Not just us—even some Script Sect Daoists disagree. Today, during True Man Dongming’s speech, the Qiyun Mountain crowd clearly had opinions—just kept quiet.”

“They’re divided too?”

“Of course they are!” Second Uncle raised an eyebrow. “The world’s in chaos. Even heavenly deities can’t escape it. Protecting the people is one thing—protecting this corrupt court is another! They look similar, but are they the same?”

Lin Jue listened intently beside them.

He knew well that he had not been in this world long; the roads he had walked were merely from Shu Village to Yishan. He had barely even seen this world, let alone understood it. Whether it was his third senior brother or his second uncle, their understanding and experience of the current world were clearly beyond his own—and thus far more insightful.

Now it seemed the imperial court was in chaos.

Among the Four Great Mountains of the Talisman Sect, at least Xuanyuan Temple on Qiyun Mountain and Yanxia Temple on Mingchou Mountain were at odds.

Daoist temples enshrine deities, and each temple primarily venerates a different deity—does this mean their underlying deities also disagree on whether to support the current imperial court?

Or perhaps the reason a grand ritual was held last year on Qiyun Mountain, and now again this year on Mingchou Mountain, stems from this very division?

Lin Jue turned the rabbit over in his hands as he pondered.

He also sensed that this uncle seemed to have a poor temper.

And his abilities appeared to be very high.

That made perfect sense—

Fuqiu Temple descended from ancient immortals; its seven techniques varied in strength, yet all were orthodox methods. Later, it continuously gathered other techniques, and now it had far more than seven.

The temple also possessed the ability to discern fate and character, meaning most disciples were at least of superior talent. Among Lin Jue’s generation, up to now, they were arguably the weakest in Fuqiu Temple’s history.

The reason was that their ancestral master had lived too long, and their master had taken disciples too late—so even their senior brother had only been on the mountain for a dozen years.

Yet this second uncle was already in his seventies or eighties, having cultivated for countless years; whether in Dao cultivation, spiritual power, or mastery of techniques, he had surely reached the peak of his lifetime.

He wondered what path the man cultivated.

As he thought, he also spoke to his junior sister:

“Sister, you can add some spices. Rabbit meat has no flavor—if it’s too bland, it becomes overly gamey, so you must coat it thickly with spices to make it tasty.”

“Oh…”

Among them all, the junior sister was the most obedient, carefully tending the fire and busily working.

The aroma was slowly spreading.

“Gulping…”

The two Daoists couldn’t help swallowing their saliva.

Not just them—even passing Daoists on the path, catching the scent of roasted meat mingled with spices and oil, couldn’t help glancing over. They too had eaten days of greasy-free meals at Yanxia Temple on Mingchou Mountain; their saliva was beyond their control.

Someone in the bamboo hut beside them opened the door.

Most of these Daoists were carefree and unconcerned with petty formalities; some immediately walked over, shamelessly approaching with greedy grins, while the more refined ones brought a flask of wine, hoping to share a bite of meat.

But as they drew near, the old Daoist spoke up:

“Damn Daoist Dongming…”

Everyone’s expressions froze. Their steps halted. They could only retreat, dejected.

This was Yanxia Temple!

Now, with the Talisman Sect in power, the world had only four True Ones, each belonging to one of the Four Great Mountains, all enjoying immense prestige among the people and the court—this man was one of them.

Who would dare approach?