Chapter 763

The yin wind howled, heaven and earth spun wildly.

Li Yan felt like a leaf tossed into a tornado, helplessly flung into dizziness, his soul nearly shattering.

After an unknown length of time, he finally stabilized his form.

As his soul’s turmoil settled, a sensation of falling into an icy abyss surged anew.

Li Yan looked up ahead and froze in stunned silence.

This space resembled Beijing’s “Nine Gates Yin Ruins,” yet was far vaster, dim and flickering, with gloomy black mist churning like an ocean, freezing a thousand li in its wake.

But what truly drew the eye was the colossal shadow in the distance.

It loomed, blotting out sky and sun, hanging inverted from the horizon, filling half the view, radiating overwhelming pressure that made one feel…

In shape,

It was plainly an inverted Mount Tai!

Yet the light was dim, visible only as a dark silhouette.

Such a sight was truly terrifying.

Li Yan took long moments to recover, then scanned his surroundings.

The phantom Mount Tai was too distant to reach anytime soon, yet the scenery around him was equally incomprehensible.

He stood within a vast canyon, flanked by sheer, vertical cliffs of rust-black rock, jagged and coated in frost, smooth as mirrors.

Beneath his feet lay a path of one-meter-square stone tiles, many cracked, as if ancient beyond memory, desolate and silent, stretching endlessly toward the distant phantom Mount Tai.

This must be the Youmingtongdao …

Li Yan narrowed his eyes, raised his left hand, and began to form the hand seal for the Divine Step Technique.

This place clearly lay between the Great Luo Dharma Realm and the mortal world—he’d encountered many such layers before, and spirit-walking spells moved far faster here than in the mortal realm.

“Nuo Gao! The Six Jia and Nine Chapters, heaven round, earth square, the four seasons and five elements, sun and moon as light…”

As he chanted halfway, an anomaly erupted.

The black mist churning above the cliff instantly roiled downward in a howling torrent.

Li Yan’s face darkened; he immediately halted his spell, pushed off with both feet, and shot forward.

He did not retreat, but sprinted deep into the passage, barely dodging the falling mist, spinning aside to hide behind a boulder.

Huh~

Cold, yin wind howled with icy mist.

After two breaths, it slowly ceased.

Li Yan rose, circled the boulder, and looked back.

The passage behind had become a frozen abyss, thickly studded with needle-like ice spires.

Even Li Yan, bold and skilled, felt a chill of dread.

He glanced upward, his suspicions confirmed.

Mount Tai is a vital node of Shenzhou’s dragon vein—fittingly called its axis—and as a passage to the netherworld, thick with yin and malevolent qi, it is itself a barrier.

Any spellcast here triggers backlash.

Realizing this, Li Yan shook his head, abandoned any notion of shortcuts, and pushed off with his feet, launching like an arrow from a bow toward the canyon’s depths.

Even spirit-walking was affected here.

Wind roared in his ears, his soul numbed by the cold.

At that moment, faint sounds of flutes, pipes, gongs, and drums rose ahead, mingled with the distant chanting of Daoists: “In ancient times, she manifested as a jade maiden; her essence is the true form of the Emperor. Bearing the Nine Qi, she extends compassion and reveals her form; crowned by a hundred spirits, her wisdom is perfect, her deeds complete in all directions, her merit spanning countless eons…”

Li Yan’s heart leapt; he slowed his pace immediately.

He drew his Broken Dust Blade and advanced cautiously.

Soon, he saw countless shadowy figures emerging from the yin mist.

They were rows of Daoists carrying incense burners and scripture banners, followed by crowds of commoners: bare-chested porters, trembling old women with blue cloth bundles on their backs, scholars and merchants.

All their forms resembled faded, yellowed photographs, obscured by thick fog, ancient and worn; at the front loomed a faint phantom temple.

Li Yan had seen it before—it was the Bi Xia Shrine atop Mount Tai.

And the chant they recited must be the Bi Xia Yuanjun’s Sacred Litany!

Strangely, though Li Yan drew nearer, the figures in the mist grew clearer, yet ignored him entirely, as if he did not exist.

Seeing this, Li Yan understood at once.

This place, like Beijing’s “Nine Gates Yin Ruins,” projected past events in some manner—repeating old specters like endless reenactments.

So long as one did not interfere, all remained peaceful.

The worship of Bi Xia Yuanjun had long existed, promoted during Emperor Zhenzong of Song’s eastern sacrifice to Mount Tai; from the previous dynasty to now, her followers multiplied, so ten years ago the court allocated silver to build the Bi Xia Shrine.

It was said the ceremony then was grand—this must be that scene.

Realizing the cause, Li Yan surveyed his surroundings and saw the procession had blocked the path; he had no choice but to wait patiently.

True enough, as soon as the ritual ended, fierce yin winds surged through the passage.

The figures and the phantom Bi Xia Shrine dissolved into smoke, swirling and merging into the cliff walls on either side.

Li Yan wasted no time and pressed forward swiftly.

Along the way, he was repeatedly interrupted by these echoes of the past.

He saw Emperor Zhenzong of Song’s majestic procession slowly ascending the winding path, jade tablets offered to heaven and earth…

He saw Emperor Xuanzong of Tang standing before the Jade Emperor Pavilion atop Mount Dai, golden characters of the “Inscription on Mount Tai” piercing the clouds of the Fengshan ceremony, Buddhist light bathing the bells and chimes of Lingyan Temple’s meditation hall…

He saw the mist of the Wei and Jin eras, Emperor Murong De of Southern Yan bowing in reverence, the white elephant mount of Langgong Temple carrying sutras along the mountain path…

He saw the might of Emperor Wu of Han, celestial steeds galloping through the void, the emperor’s seventh ascent to Mount Dai, banners of immortality fluttering in the clouds, the Wordless Stele standing silent…

He even saw Emperor Qin Shi Huang’s dragon robe brushing against the engraved stone, the solemn crown bearing black dragon motifs, first bestowing upon Mount Tai the eternal imperial seal of Fengshan…

These were merely the famous scenes from history.

The deeper he went, the more astonishing what he saw became.

He saw the smoke of the Spring and Autumn wars, spears and halberds like forests at Changshao, shaking Mount Dai…

He saw the Zhou Son of Heaven’s alliance at the Ming Hall, vassal lords following behind…

Finally, as he reached the base of the inverted Mount Tai, a phantom elephant-drawn carriage passed through the mist, the clear tone of the jade horns echoing across all directions, as if communicating with heaven, earth, and spirits, dissolving into the clouds.

What was this?

Li Yan swallowed hard and turned to look behind him.

He had a premonition: what he had seen was only a fraction; if he trained here long enough, he might glimpse countless hidden secrets of history’s river.

Alas, the opening of the netherworld passage was sheer accident.

Gathering his thoughts, Li Yan looked up again.

Above hung the inverted phantom Mount Tai; even the Jade Emperor Pavilion atop its peak was visible, yet here it was far larger, older, and behind it lay a vast palace complex, as if carved from a single massive stone of the summit, ancient and weathered, swirling with arcane yellow-and-red mist.

That must be the condensed power of incense and worship—he could smell it even from afar.

The Palace of the Lord of Mount Tai!

His gaze sharpened, instantly locking onto his target:

On the jagged cliffs of the inverted Mount Tai, two tiny figures clung like geckos, struggling upward—Shi Xuanming and Zheng Boyin, who had abandoned their bodies and spirit-walked here.

Clearly, they too knew the prohibitions here and dared not use teleportation techniques.

The churning clouds around them meant any spell could bring utter annihilation.

“Hmph!”

Li Yan snorted, leapt onto the nearby cliff face, and began to climb.

He had seen clearly: hanging from the inverted Mount Tai were thick, coiled vines, precisely reaching the canyon’s cliff edge—climbing them would lead him up.

Though the cliff was coated in frost, slick as glass, it posed little challenge to Li Yan; now spirit-walking, his weight was nearly nothing, so he scaled the summit effortlessly.

Above, the yin wind grew fiercer.

But Li Yan now saw more clearly.

Shi Xuanming gripped a withered pine staff, thrust deep into the rock to anchor himself, while his other hand clung to the vine; each pull caused his form to flicker uncertainly.

This was a sign of unstable soul.

Clearly, he endured immense pressure from the Gangfeng .

Zheng Boyin fared worse—his soul-form was ragged, half his face intact, smoke pouring from his body; he was surely wounded.

Remember, both were Earth Immortals.

Had their lifespans not expired, they would have already condensed Yang Shen.