Chapter 428: Pursuit and Traps

How is there one here too?

Everyone who saw it was stunned.

This blood-jade cong was left by Duke Zhou, used back then to suppress the nine-headed phoenix vein's qi and fortune, causing calamities for thousands of years.

In the long centuries since, many had discovered this secret, yet all the fengshui masters silently chose to conceal it.

The reason was simple: dragon veins all have spirits; those who destroy them often suffer backlash, let alone this ancient fengshui pattern—the nine-headed phoenix vein—from the primordial wilderness era.

Once released, it would unleash a cataclysmic disaster.

A king would arise in Chu, Shenzhou would crumble into fragments, and hatred and murderous intent would surge uncontrollably; the Jing-Chu lands would henceforth be cursed with endless disasters, piled high with white bones.

No one dared bear such karmic retribution.

Yet there was Zhao Changsheng, an anomaly, whose sole purpose was to disrupt Shenzhou, feast on the realm's qi and fortune, and elevate himself.

What is this thing?

The old woman Bai Wan asked, frowning.

Nothing.

Li Yan said no more, tucked away the blood-jade cong, and gave a glance, signaling the others to stay silent.

The appearance of the blood-jade cong stirred a quiet unease in him.

Since the first one appeared, the rest had been discovered one after another—seven had surfaced without notice.

Fortunately, all had been delivered to Wudang Mountain.

Before he left, the abbot of Zhenwu Palace, Yu Chanzi, had come down personally to meet him and explained the matter.

Zhao Changsheng was truly terrifying—he left countless backdoors, and whenever the situation turned unfavorable, he exploited them to set up interconnected traps.

With the blood-jade congs appearing in succession, and this one in his possession, only one remained.

If all were gathered, the consequences were unthinkable.

And could this be some omen of disaster…?

At this moment, Li Yan decided to hide the blood-jade cong.

Best to find a place no one could ever reach.

Bai Wan was burdened with thoughts; seeing he refused to speak, she didn't bother asking further and turned to Lu San, "Any other leads?"

Lu San thought for a moment, then suddenly looked up, "There's a way!"

He turned to Wang Daoxuan, "Master, I recall you saying that the qi of mountains and waters is more keenly sensed by plants and trees?"

Wang Daoxuan blinked, then nodded, "That's correct."

"When we cultivators examine the flow of dragon veins, we merely observe the landforms, discern yin and yang earth energies—even with spiritual powers, we can only perceive a fleeting moment."

"But plants and trees grow endlessly, changing with the rise and fall of seas and fields—they sense the flow of dragon vein qi through life itself, far more accurately."

"Yet Wushan's primordial gang qi converges in complex ways; the luopan has already failed. To understand the fengshui pattern and the cavernous spiritual orifices would take an entire sect years of effort."

"I alone cannot accomplish it."

Lu San muttered, "Easy. I received a transmission through dreamwalking called the Lan Zhi Scripture. I haven't fully understood it yet, but one technique I can already use—it allows communion with plants and trees."

"Master, just tell me what the flow of the cavernous spiritual orifices feels like."

"Oh?"

Wang Daoxuan's eyes lit up, his face filled with delight, "Lu San, you're truly extraordinary—this kind of ability is exceedingly rare."

He picked up a twig from beside him and traced lines on the rain-soaked ground—curved, seemingly random, yet faintly forming a closed-loop Taiji Bagua.

"This is the cavernous spiritual orifice."

Wang Daoxuan tossed aside the twig and said gravely, "Along this journey, we've seen many orifices. From my observations, most resemble this."

"Cavernous spiritual orifices are both the crystallization of dragon veins in great mountains and rivers, and self-contained patterns—large patterns enclose smaller ones, and within each, yin and yang and the Eight Trigrams are arranged, like a cosmic furnace."

"Precisely because of this, they aid cultivators in preserving the spirit and constructing pavilions…"

After Wang Daoxuan finished his explanation, Lu San looked around, then walked to a large tree.

It was a huanglian tree—not a spirit tree—but perched atop Goddess Peak, long steeped in primordial gang qi, absorbing sunlight and moonlight, washed by Wushan's clouds and rains, it had become extraordinary.

Its canopy towered like an umbrella, its roots split into several sections, dry and iron-hard, gripping the rocks tenaciously as it grew.

Such giant trees lack only opportunity.

A single thunderbolt, one killing, one sacrifice—any of these could awaken spirit, gradually transforming them into spirit trees.

But opportunity is often the rarest thing of all.

Both timing and geography are indispensable.

Lu San formed a hand seal, gently stroking the rough bark, his gaze gradually growing distant. He pressed his ear against the trunk, as if listening to some sound.

Li Yan and the others watched, baffled.

Lu San's cultivation method was ancient—so ancient it connected to the tribal shamans of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors era.

But an ancient method isn't inherently better—it must harmonize with the environment; that is the Dao, even the gods must adapt.

Bai Wan, however, sensed something unusual: "In ancient times, shamans used birds and beasts as eyes, trees as ears, spirits and gods walking beside them, observing sun and moon to know the seasons… This young brother—what a pity…"

As she said, had Lu San been born in antiquity, he would have achieved astonishing greatness.

Still, her eyes held a flicker of excitement.

Judging by this, they'd likely find the place.

Indeed, after closing his eyes and listening for a while, Lu San began whistling—long, short, strangely irregular.

The whistling echoed, and immediately, change occurred.

Hoo~

A gale howled; the huanglian tree's leaves trembled.

Whoosh!

A sound like ocean waves rose—the grass and trees on the mountain swayed with the wind, drowning out even the rain and storm.

"Found it!"

Lu San suddenly opened his eyes, gazing northward.

"Found several—where to go first?"

Li Yan drew his Duanchen Blade with a clang, gripping the Gou Die in his hand, coldly saying, "We visit them one by one!"

…………

They had already angered the Wushan cultivators and now had no further restraint.

The first spiritual orifice lay not far from the Goddess Peak.

It was a massive boulder, roughly the size of a house, smoothed over centuries by wind and rain.

Upon the boulder stood a black, wordless stone stele—no one knew how it had been embedded.

As Li Yan and the others approached, gales howled, thick mist rose, veiling the boulder—everything grew hazy.

"Hmph!"

Li Yan snorted, "La Sha, get the gunpowder!"

He could tell the spiritual orifice was sealed by this strange boulder, forming a Qimen Dunjia concealment with the surrounding terrain.

Blow up the boulder, and the orifice would reveal itself.

"Wait!"

A sharp, rasping voice emerged from the rock crevices: "Old man has nothing to do with this, has no wish to oppose you—leave quickly!"

Bai Wan also gave a glance, slightly shaking her head.

Li Yan knew this was likely a mountain observer—only here to watch, hoping to profit without touching any karmic entanglement.

But knowing didn't mean forgiving; Li Yan, in a foul mood, wouldn't let this slip. He raised an eyebrow, sneering, "So close to the Goddess Peak—you must've watched the whole spectacle."

"You must know where Siming Hui is!"

The voice in the cave grew furious, "Why force me into this? You're fighting to the death—why drag me in?!"

Li Yan glared, "If you're a coward, then you're the one we find. La Sha, act!"

"Got it!"

Sha Lifei immediately pretended to scramble about.

This was a Jianghu tactic—"kick the cripple"—observe the opponent's weakness, then press relentlessly.

Thus, Jianghu people value losing the battle but not the face.

Even when outmatched, they must not show weakness; once they appear defeated, wolves swarm in.

The same holds true in business. Hoo~

The wind stirred again; though mist still rose, a mountain path faintly emerged, pointing downhill.

"Let's go!"

Li Yan gave the boulder one cold look and led the group away.

He was growing more convinced: so-called earth immortals, though seemingly exalted, were merely slaves to longevity—trapped for life in these dark, sunless places; even their cavernous blessed lands were no different from the netherworld.

With someone guiding them, their pace quickened.

Halfway there, Lu San pointed eastward and muttered, "There's something off in that dense forest over there."

Li Yan said without hesitation, "Go below first—we don't have time. If we don't find it, we'll come back."

Now, the wind had lessened, but the rain grew heavier, pooling into streams.

The ground was muddy, treacherous to walk on.

Li Yan could have moved ahead alone, but atop Wushan, enemies surrounded him—his identity as a Living Yin Official was his shield.

!.

Once separated, everyone will be attacked.

Fortunately, it seemed the earlier outburst had worked—no foolish fools came to block their path along the way.

After they left, the woman with twin pupils, clad in palace robes and riding a white deer, strolled calmly out of the dense forest.

Looking down at the group below, she felt resentment but had no recourse.

"Zhu Dao you, did you see it all?"

A withered voice rang out; the black mist dispersed, and an elderly Confucian-robed man with a purple face and white beard stepped forth from the nearby Youlin.

"Wang Mengsheng!"

The woman spun around sharply, seated atop the white deer, looking down at him with a cold expression: "Don't think I don't know—it was your trickery. Wushan will know no peace again."

"Peace?"

The purple-faced elder's expression didn't change; he stroked his beard and said: "What peace has Wushan ever known? The orthodox Daoist sects have always coveted this land."

"The Great Ming Dynasty's imperial fortune is flourishing; even folk magical lineages must bow to its will. The Emperor demands strict control—everyone must register and be recorded."

"Those cultivators who refuse to register all flee to Wushan to build their towers. You all feast greedily, dripping oil from your mouths—do you truly believe there will be no consequences?"

At these words, the woman fell silent.

The court's restrictions on Daoist sects had turned Wushan, the sacred haven of unaffiliated cultivators, into a coveted prize—landowners now collected fees handsomely.

She had sensed something was wrong, yet she could not stop it.

For the most privileged sisters of the Si Ming Hui were the greatest beneficiaries—and precisely because of this, they feared no confrontation with outsiders.

With cultivators here, who cared about mortal offerings anymore?

This was also why she strongly supported reviving the Wushan Goddess—once the Wushan Goddess reappeared, the scattered, disunited situation would instantly change.

And both the court and the orthodox Daoist sects would hesitate.

After all, the Wushan Goddess protected this land—she could not be easily moved.

Seeing her silence, the purple-faced elder continued: "Moreover, I mean well. Without my warnings and guidance, those madwomen would have already met disaster!"

"Hmph!"

Though she knew his words held truth, the woman still sneered: "One thing at a time. You've allied with the Ghost Sect—what kind of people they are, I know well. You have no good intentions!"

"Who said I allied with the Ghost Sect?"

Wang Mengsheng stroked his beard and shook his head: "I merely repaid a favor back then. My true allegiance lies elsewhere."

He gazed around and sighed: "Wushan's fate is spent. Yu Longzi has returned, and those two fools now follow him blindly. In no less than half a year, at most a year, Wushan will change hands."

"I've already persuaded several others, Zhu Dao you—why not make your plans early and leave with me?"

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Who have you allied with?"

The purple-faced elder looked up. "Chengdu. The Prince of Shu!"

…………

"Right here!"

Lu San tilted his ear, parting the dense vines.

Behind the thick vines of the forest lay a small mountain hollow, modest in size but breathtakingly beautiful.

A stream cascaded down, forming a pond within the hollow.

It did not look like a place inhabited by anyone.

"That's the sound!"

Lu San suddenly spoke: "In my dreams, I heard this very sound of flowing water—and a woman cursing—exactly like this."

Li Yan quickly chanted a spell to investigate.

Indeed, this place was concealed by the Qimen Dunjia technique—exquisitely crafted. Even with his sense of smell cultivated, he could not detect the scent of the soil.

Li Yan gazed at the sheer cliff and the cascading waterfall, his suspicions forming; he turned to Bai Huan beside him: "Senior, the waterfall behind you."

Bai Huan wasted no words; she immediately drew out her bamboo flute and played.

Every disciple of the Si Ming Hui wore a gourd at their waist. As the flute's melody rose, they all pulled small drums from their sleeves and tapped them gently.

Dong dong dong!

The drumbeats grew urgent; black smoke rose from the gourds, coalescing into clouds that dispersed and reformed, then split into several streams that simultaneously seeped behind the waterfall.

These were the Zhima Gu, bred for generations by the Bai family.

Though tiny, these Gu were cunning—they could invade living beings, causing unbearable itching and pain, and more crucially, induce drowsiness and slowly devour the soul.

This Gu also bore a famous name: "Sleeping Bug."

The Bai family used this Gu to both break enemies and expel evil or heal sickness.

"Found it!"

Soon after the Gu entered, Bai Huan suddenly opened her eyes, her voice trembling: "There are still mechanisms concealing it—but I smell human scent."

"Ba Li, go carefully."

At this command, a white shadow leapt out.

It was the woman who had met them at the dock—parentless, bearing the Bai surname, named Bai Li.

Though not as strong as Li Yan, she was an Anjin cultivator, skilled in arts, and among ordinary magical lineages, she was exceptional.

She unleashed hidden strength, stepping on the smooth cliff face, leaping up in a few bounds, and slipping behind the waterfall to investigate.

Inside, the Zhima Gu crawled, faintly outlining the mechanism's shape; she reached into the stone wall and felt around.

Gong long long!

A massive stone rolled inward, revealing a cave.

Bai Li did not rush in; she waited until all the Zhima Gu had entered, then whistled softly and slipped inside.

The others quickly climbed the waterfall and entered the cave.

The cave was deep, but since it was a spiritual nexus, the air remained fresh. Inside stood stone tables and chairs, cushions, oil lamps, and even baskets filled with wild fruits.

Yet it was empty—no one was there.

"It's right here—where are they?!"

Bai Huan was certain these people had been cultivating here, but the sight before her sent a chill through her.

Li Yan said gravely: "Search first—look for clues."

These people were highly cultivated—if they wished to hide, even months more of searching would yield nothing.

Meanwhile, outside in the dense forest, mist churned, and three women slowly emerged, wrapped entirely in white gauze, their faces aged, covered in orange-peel wrinkles and age spots, emitting waves of rotting stench.

They were the three sisters of the Si Ming Hui.

Behind them stood Lu Jiu of the Salt Guild and his subordinates.

"Seniors, how was my plan?"

Lu Jiu unfurled his fan and smiled: "This plan is called 'Open the Door to Welcome Guests, Trap the Turtle in the Jar'—killing them will be effortless."

He had followed the purple-faced Confucian Wang Mengsheng's advice: first came to warn them, then offered this plan.

These three old women seemed even more formidable—if he could earn their favor, why endure Wang Mengsheng's condescension…?

Just as he gloated, one of the women suddenly turned and spat out a cloud of pink dust.

Immediately, several Salt Guild members stared blankly, walked to the pond's edge, raised their blades, and slit their throats.

Pu tong pu tong!

Corpses kept falling; the pond water slowly turned red…

(End of Chapter)