Chapter 53

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Chapter 53: Title

Gu Cheng gingerly pressed the sore spot through his pants, releasing a relieved breath after confirming it was merely soft tissue damage. No bones were harmed—nothing serious.

But what had occurred last night? Had he sleepwalked from the tent and grazed the Bronze Door? He strained to thread together the fragmented clues.

The white-clad cultivator had warned that the disturbance arose after Qian Qian touched the door—a clear sign it was forbidden. Had he actually touched it, the cultivator would’ve surely appeared. Her absence likely meant he’d stopped short.

Gu Cheng exhaled, shoulders loosening. Best to avoid that eerie door altogether. Dying here? Who’d take responsibility then?

“How long must I wait? Hope that rascal Ah Yu finds help soon,” he muttered, limping toward the tent’s location. His backpack, holding provisions, remained inside.

Last night’s snow had undoubtedly frozen the water. Chewing snow might hydrate him better now. He smirked bitterly. His life had always been smooth sailing—this wretched ordeal was a first.

The white-clad cultivator’s prolonged absence hinted at a crueler fate: starvation. If supplies ran out, he’d sooner end it himself. A slow, gnawing death? Unthinkable.

Unaware of the rescue team advancing toward his valley, Gu Cheng nibbled his energy bar in measured bites.

—

“Aren’t you concerned about leaving that girl resentful?” Wen Renyi strode beside Yun Yu, curiosity lacing her tone. Earlier, Gu Qian had demanded to join until Yun Yu persuaded her otherwise.

“She lacks the stamina. Delaying risks Gu Cheng’s safety,” Yun Yu replied, resolute yet weary. “Qian Qian agrees—quicker we move, sooner we save him.”

Wen Renyi’s lips quirked at his obliviousness. The girl’s longing to stay by his side had been palpable. Practicality over sentiment—classic bluntness.

“You’re…unlike the others,” Yun Yu observed, side-eyeing her.

She grinned. “Less jaded, you mean? This is my first mission. Low-risk, they said—good for acclimating.”

“Hm.”

“True story!”

Her candor didn’t faze the group; among seasoned agents, frankness bred respect.

“I’m new too! Joined the Special Bureau around your time,” Xu Li chimed in, raising a hand.

“Mastered the incantations yet?” Fei Ran arched a brow at his disciple—gifted yet perpetually lax.

“Master, we’re mid-journey!” Xu Li whined, leaning into his role as the dutiful-but-cheeky apprentice. Years of addressing Fei Ran as “Master” had eroded any pretense of formality. With elders, he’d learned, earnestness trumped pride.

“Ziqing.” Leng Xingwen approached, fan fluttering despite the knee-deep snow—a picture of absurd elegance.

“Well?” Fei Ran abandoned his scolding, attention shifting.

“The path’s clear. Let’s scout the formations and the barrier ahead.”

Fei Ran glanced at the trudging group. “Consensus?”

“Sorted.”

“Move out, then.” Fei Ran needed no persuading. Why plod when their skills permitted swifter means?

He couldn’t wait to witness the appearance of the formations and the barrier from thousands of years ago.

“Knew you’d say that. Let’s go—I’ll take you on my sword.” Leng Xingwen flicked his fan, which transformed into a gleaming long sword.

Fei Ran nodded, casting a glance at Xu Li. “Expect an inspection upon our return.”

Without further words, Fei Ran departed with Leng Xingwen. What would’ve been a sluggish trek on foot became a mere minutes-long journey by flying sword.

And this was with Leng Xingwen deliberately restraining his speed.

Dismounting the flying sword, Fei Ran’s pallid complexion betrayed his discomfort. He tossed a medicinal pill into his mouth, steadying himself.

Leng Xingwen tsked twice, amusement coloring his tone. “How many centuries has it been? Still queasy from sword-flight?”

“I slowed down for your sake.”

“Spare me the prattle.” Fei Ran ignored him, scanning their surroundings with a furrowed brow. The man’s teasing was as persistent as ever.

“Is this the place?” No trace of formations or barriers met their eyes.

“Some force repelled further approach. Couldn’t advance by sword.” Leng Xingwen twirled his fan-turned-sword idly. “We proceed on foot.”

They reached the mountain’s base within a quarter hour.

“This contradicts the descriptions.” Leng Xingwen surveyed the area, finding neither valley nor path.

Fei Ran advanced to run fingers over craggy stone. “If our bearings hold true, the site lies here—concealed through environmental manipulation by the formation.”

“Your domain now.”

“Naturally.”

Fei Ran commenced his examination. To dismantle a formation, one must first perceive it—or provoke its manifestation.

“Truly a masterwork of the ancients.” Sweat beaded his brow after thirty minutes tracing elusive energy ripples. “Its presence is undeniable, yet its core eludes detection.”

Leng Xingwen observed silently, wise enough to recognize his own inadequacy in arcane arts.

“Provocation remains.” A green jade brush materialized in Fei Ran’s grip, its tip crackling with Spiritual Energy threads.

Ambient energies rippled in resonance, coalescing into disciplined streams beneath the artifact’s influence.

“Ziqing!” Leng Xingwen’s composure fractured as he edged closer, hands twitching indecisively. “What madness is this?”

“Rousing the slumbering formation.”

“By assaulting it? Fool! You’ll bring the peaks down!”

“Impossible.” Fei Ran’s brush already danced through intricate patterns. “The entire range is shielded—an immensely potent—”

Leng Xingwen massaged his temples, lamenting anew his oath to Zihan regarding this obstinate youth.

Silence fell as ethereal glyphs took shape—sacrosanct concentration no disciple would dare disrupt.

At the pattern’s completion, Fei Ran slammed the glowing construct against stone.

Detonation erupted instantly. Leng Xingwen yanked his companion backward mere heartbeats before the blast, pulse racing at Fei Ran’s dazed expression.

Yet no debris showered them. Where rock should have fractured, a luminous barrier now veiled the mountainside—an iridescent tapestry of ancient power made manifest.

Fei Ran shoved Leng Xingwen aside, acutely aware of the limited time to detect flaws in the formation. Complete dismantling wasn’t necessary – stabilizing the entrance took priority.

The pushed scholar showed no irritation, content to observe Fei Ran’s focused efforts. Reckonings could wait.

As he traced the final patterns, Fei Ran slashed his palm. Vital crimson splattered across the arcane symbols. Through sheer will, he forced the vanishing gateway into visibility mere moments before its disappearance.

Blood sprayed from Fei Ran’s lips as he completed the modifications. His body swayed before collapsing – even drained of spiritual energy, the formation’s ancient creator had clearly been no ordinary practitioner.

Leng Xingwen caught the falling man, rapping Fei Ran’s forehead with his folded fan. "Forever creating disasters for me to resolve," he chided, "yet you still dare challenge me so fiercely."

His diagnostic touch revealed depleted reserves and internal injuries – even the protective spiritual energy barrier had dissipated. The unconscious man shivered violently, now as vulnerable as any mortal.

After administering a medicinal pill and transferring spiritual energy for warmth and recovery, Leng cast appraising eyes toward the revealed valley path. "This supposed entrance… how formidable might its defenses be?"

He dismissed the impulsive notion. Better to await reinforcements.

Leadened skies made time uncertain. When the Special Bureau team finally arrived past three o’clock, snowflakes clung to their coats.

"Did glacial winds freeze your footsteps?" Leng greeted, supporting his unconscious charge.

Zou Cheng’s eyes widened. "Master Fei? What-"

"Injured during formation breakdown. He’ll rouse shortly." Leng gestured toward the shimmering entrance. "Verify that gateway."

The analyst exhaled in relief. Losing Zhongxia’s foremost formation expert would have been catastrophic – both for current operations and future research.

"Assist your master," Leng instructed Xu Li.

The disciple recoiled. "Perhaps Young Master Leng should… ah, might you need provisions? I’ll fetch refreshments!"

The immortal scholar watched the fleeing disciple with wry amusement. "Cowardice masquerading as courtesy," he murmured, already dreading Fei Ran’s inevitable complaints about being indebted.

Near the assembling campsite, Xu Li joined Yang Xingyu’s tent construction.

"Master’s condition?" Bai Ye inquired.

"Minor injuries," Xu Li deflected. "Young Master Leng oversees his care."

Yang Xingyu elbowed the disciple. "Perfect chance to earn favor! Maybe he’ll lighten your study load."

"While pigs sprout wings," Xu Li retorted. "The tent provides better shelter anyway."

Wen Renyi deposited canned provisions nearby. "Dinner’s served – whenever you finish cowering from teaching duties."

They observed colleagues documenting the entrance with peculiar instruments.

"Prototype equipment," Wen explained. "High-clearance gear for recording dimensional anomalies."

Yang Xingyu squinted at the flickering devices. "Resembles my grandmother’s broken television."

"Except these," Zou Cheng called over his shoulder, "might actually explain why our best analyst currently drools on an immortal’s shoulder instead of lecturing us about pre-Han dynasty formations."

When Fei Ran awoke, he found himself alone inside the tent. Pushing himself upright with some effort, he noticed lingering weakness in his limbs—still, this marked vast improvement from his pre-unconscious state. He examined his palm where the self-inflicted wound had closed completely, leaving only the faintest pink trace.

Beyond the tent fabric, the muted voices of his companions carried through the night air. Xu Li’s recitation drifted clearly amidst the chatter: "Qian represents Heaven, Heaven’s Wind meets Gou, Mountain retreats beneath Heaven, Earth and Heaven stand divided…" The young man flipped through pages effortlessly in the darkness, his enhanced vision eliminating any need for lamps.

Leng Xingwen stood sentinel at the tent’s perimeter, his silhouette sharp against the snowless but oppressive sky. The rustle of fabric made him turn.

"Master! You’re awake!" Xu Li’s book snapped shut as he sprang up.

Fei Ran acknowledged him with a nod, approval flickering in his eyes at the sight of the study materials. "When did the group arrive?"

"Past three," the disciple replied, already rummaging through supplies. "Should I prepare canned provisions, Master? You must regain strength after—"

"Unnecessary." Fei Ran’s gaze drifted toward the distant stone formations. "The primary array’s entrance requires inspection. My earlier collapse after breaching the first layer was… inconvenient."

"Let me accompany—"

"Rest." The command brooked no argument as Fei Ran moved past. Neither master nor disciple acknowledged Leng Xingwen’s presence nearby, the unspoken tension lingering thicker than the stormclouds above.

It was Yun Yu who broke the silence first from his watchpost. "Young Master Leng requires no sleep?"

"Transcended such mortal needs." The cultivator’s smile didn’t reach his eyes as he gestured at Xu Li’s tome. "Ziqing’s dismissed you. Best obey."

Watching his master’s retreating back, Xu Li ventured the question haunting him since their departure: "Has he always been… like this?"

The disciple’s fingers brushed his coin-thick primer—merely volume one of the formation series. Before apprenticeship, rumors painted Fei Ran as the archetypal recluse: the genius who transformed his research lab into a hermitage, forgetting sunlight and supper times alike. Reality proved the tales insufficient.

Leng Xingwen’s laughter carried winter’s bite. "Passion implies choice. When formations become your world’s axis…" He drifted toward the glowing runes where Fei Ran now stood interrogating Yun Yu.

"—no abnormalities during ingress?" The array master’s voice sharpened.

"None." Yun Yu’s reply came clipped. Behind them, the stone glyphs pulsed like a wounded heartbeat, their light dying at the edges where Fei Ran’s shadow fell.

Leng Xingwen approached and inquired, "Tell me about this formation. I’m curious—could those from thousands of years ago truly be so formidable?"

"Exceedingly so." Though prideful, Fei Ran harbored no arrogance that prevented him from acknowledging others’ prowess.

"Had millennia not eroded half the formation patterns, I couldn’t have breached even the first layer."

To cultivators, that era marked the brink of the end-time.

Fei Ran surmised the creators weren’t merely one or two masters of the Formation Path—it must have required a collective effort to craft a defense spanning such breadth, enduring through centuries.

"What portion of its power remains?"

"Thirty percent," Fei Ran answered after a weighted pause.

"Thirty percent wounded you. Perhaps Grandfather’s rumor holds truth after all." Leng Xingwen’s fan stilled mid-tap.

"To dismantle it forcefully without suffering backlash was the ancients’ mercy," Fei Ran conceded with a nod.

"Can you discern how many layers envelop this place?"

"Summon my disciple tomorrow. His eyes may falter in piercing formations, yet mapping residual layers should suffice."

Xu Li’s negligible cultivation and fledgling grasp of formations left Fei Ran with scant expectations.

Unleashing a novice on such trials? Unthinkable.

As night thickened,

Leng Xingwen dismissed the group to rest while he, untroubled by fatigue, kept vigil.

"So urgent to unravel this?" he remarked dryly, watching Fei Ran scrawl calculations by spiritual fire’s glow near the entrance.

A distracted hum was his only reply.

Leng Xingwen produced a spiritual stone—its crystalline facets shimmering as spiritual energy awakened an ambient radiance around Fei Ran.

He flicked it toward the absorbed scholar, where it hovered, bathing parchment in soft light.

Fei Ran glanced at the intrusion, met Leng Xingwen’s retreating silhouette, and resumed his work, unperturbed. The glow was superfluous—a mid-tier two cultivator scarcely needed aid for nocturnal vision.

Dawn found

Leng Xingwen still watchful as stirrings emerged from tents.

"Young Master Leng." Zou Cheng offered a courteous nod.

"Group Leader Zou." The greeting was returned in kind.

Zou Cheng’s gaze shifted to Fei Ran, prone at the entrance with fingers tracing invisible schematics.

"Did Master Fei not retire last night?"

"He thrives without rest. Expediting this affair serves us all." Leng Xingwen’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.

"Young Master Leng," Zou Cheng ventured, "Though presumptuous, we must inquire—when might we enter the valley? Delays demand revised strategies."

"Pose that to him." Leng Xingwen’s fan morphed into a gleaming blade with a flick. "I’ll survey the valley from above. Await my return."

Zou Cheng nodded, and in the blink of an eye, Leng Xingwen had vanished. A pang of envy stirred within him. Who in Zhongxia hadn’t dreamed of swordflight? Yet he wondered when he might attain such mastery himself.

His thoughts turned to the cultivation technique he’d selected. Zou Cheng clenched his jaw, resolving to redouble his efforts.

High above the clouds, Leng Xingwen hovered, attempting to breach the invisible barrier or glimpse past its obstruction. The valley remained shrouded in swirling mists that clung to neighboring peaks – even cultivator’s eyes couldn’t pierce that mystical veil.

For hours he lingered, gaze fixed on the obscured landscape below. His brow furrowed as he rejected the notion of returning empty-handed.

A memory surfaced – Yun Yu’s casual remark about the White Sword Cultivator training amidst Kunlun’s peaks. The mountain range’s endless undulations presented countless possibilities. Finding a lone swordsman here would be akin to locating a particular pine needle in this vast evergreen sea.

"Sword cultivators still require Spiritual Energy-rich environments," he mused. "Height offers perspective – from lofty vantage points, all mountains shrink. Kunlun’s the ancestral dragon vein’s source. Were it me…" His eyes narrowed as he charted a course toward the primal energy currents.

Perhaps this quest could spare them tedious formation-breaking.

From her perch, Ye Linlang tracked Leng Xingwen’s departure with amusement. "Should I intervene?" she whispered.

"System – today’s original agenda?"

【Ancient battlefield attendance.】

"So our paths shan’t cross."

【Confirmed.】

"Fate’s whim prevails." Her lips curved. The seeker would find only emptiness, blind to her presence mere li away. When a deity chose invisibility, mortal eyes saw nothing.

Two days hence…

Gu Cheng glared at the pockmarked cavern wall. Four sunless days. Four nights without human voice. His final ration had vanished at dawn.

"Starvation versus suicide?" His laughter held desperation. "Elders claim self-slaughter damns souls – truth or scare tactic?" Ghostly visitations and underworld tales had become commonplace since spectral phenomena began. The living now whispered of ghost messengers and Meng Po Soup with fearful reverence.

Oddly, this underworld certainty diminished death’s terror. What was demise but transformation? Drink the soup, await rebirth – eighteen years later, a fresh start.

He pressed himself against the farthest wall from that accursed door. Yet nightly, the dream returned – each waking moment finding him nearer its threshold. Last night’s vision tormented him most: succulent aromas wafting through cracks, nearly breaking his resolve.

"Not bad willpower," Ye Linlang would’ve remarked. The mortal showed promise beneath his bumbling exterior. Worthy of notation in her celestial ledger. Divine pawns never lacked applicants, but she rewarded loyalty. So long as they persevered, the Dao provided chances.

Heaven’s scales balance all.

"That bastard Ah Yu!" Gu Cheng snarled at the silent door, knuckles whitening. His fist flew, connecting painfully with his own thigh. "Forgotten me completely!"

"Don’t look! Such temptations are never good."

Ye Linlang observed the scene, her fingers brushing her chin as she chuckled softly. "Clever choice. Had you touched that door, your fate would’ve been far worse than Gu Qian’s."

The door pulsed with restless energy, its impatience amplified since the first layer of its formation had been breached two days prior.

"Persevere. Endurance brings rewards," Ye Linlang advised, her fingertips dancing through a silent calculation. Her defensive formation would hold until nightfall—precisely when the intruders would break through.

Countless secret realms and small worlds lay hidden across the continents under her design, each awakening either through temporal alignment or fulfilled conditions. A single met requirement would summon them into visibility.

Night descended.

"Are we making the right choice by shattering this barrier?" Yang Xingyu’s voice held unease.

Feiran’s brow furrowed in concentration as luminous patterns flowed from his brush—serpentine glyphs rearranging themselves midair. "I can dismantle this barrier," he stated, "but restoration lies beyond my power. Final confirmation, Zou Cheng—proceed?"

"Affirmative." Zou Cheng’s nod carried the weight of daylight consultations with higher authorities. The white-clad cultivator remained elusive; this formation’s secrets might offer answers.

"Insatiable curiosity," Feiran murmured. A gilded pattern bloomed beneath his steady brushstroke. When no objections arose, he surrendered to scholarly fascination—destruction sometimes paved the path to knowledge.

Nearby, Leng Xingwen’s usual fan stayed absent. His long sword materialized, its cold gleam belying the calm night.

The golden sigil kissed jade-green patterns, triggering crystalline fractures in the air. Spiderweb cracks raced across the valley’s protective dome before exploding into stardust with a chime-like shatter.

"The formation falls." Feiran staggered, vision swimming, but remained upright through force of will.

"Master!" Xu Li sprang forward, steadying the swaying artificer.

"Merely drained." Feiran waved off his disciple’s concern. Xu Li’s perceptive eyes had pinpointed critical vulnerabilities—without that insight, brute-force dismantling might have proven fatal.

Zou Cheng surveyed Division 1’s operatives, their equipment gleaming in the moonlight. "Advance."

"I’ll lead." Leng Xingwen’s blade arced forward. "Dangers here require… specialized containment."

"Our gratitude, Young Master Leng." Zou Cheng acknowledged the unspoken gravity. The valley’s secrets warranted such precautions.

Leng Xingwen’s gaze lingered on the shadows. "Xu Li—ensure your master recovers." Before objections could form, he strode toward the gloom.

"Leng Xingwen! Not all heroes need charge ahead alone!" Yang Xingyu’s protest faded as Wen Renyi and Bai Ye followed Division 1’s tactical unit into the darkness.

Fifteen tension-laden minutes passed before the group emerged from the winding path into the valley’s heart—night’s embrace deepening with every step.

“How long did it take when you entered?” Leng Xingwen halted abruptly, turning to Yun Yu with a furrowed brow.

“About ten minutes, perhaps,” Yun Yu answered after consideration.

“Incorrect. We’ve likely entered a formation…” As Leng Xingwen spoke, the surrounding figures vanished, leaving only Yun Yu beside him.

“Stay close. Do not stray.”

With a commanding tone, Leng Xingwen summoned a luminous pearl into his palm. He cast it upward, and the radiant glow bathed their surroundings in stark clarity.

At the valley’s outskirts, the camp buzzed with lingering personnel.

“Yearning to enter?” Feiran’s gaze pierced through Xu Li’s poorly concealed curiosity.

“Merely intrigued,” Xu Li scratched his neck sheepishly.

“Your current cultivation makes you more liability than asset here,” Feiran remarked, his brief amusement fading. “Formation masters differ from common cultivators—unfit for solitary combat before reaching Tier One.”

“Even beyond Tier One, refrain from reckless action without overwhelming strength or allies.”

“You remain inadequate.”

“Master, must your words strike so true?” Xu Li winced as if physically wounded by the verbal barrage.

“Then dedicate yourself to cultivation.”

“Understood.”

“I shall meditate. Attend your duties.”

“Yes, Master.” Watching Feiran retreat into the tent, Xu Li’s eyes drifted toward the valley entrance. A quick look couldn’t hurt, surely?

Peering into the abyssal darkness, Xu Li muttered, “Why this impenetrable blackness?”

Retrieving a high-powered flashlight, he aimed its beam—yet the light died mere feet ahead. “Unnatural,” he frowned, retreating. Suddenly he froze, eyes widening. “Wait—even in total darkness, one sees their own limbs! This blindness… either my eyes fail, or the valley itself deceives!”

“Heavens—the expedition party!”

Rushing to the camp’s person in charge, Xu Li’s urgent report culminated in both men hastening to Feiran’s tent.

“Master rests…” Xu Li hesitated before the flap.

“Master! Urgent matter!”

Emerging swiftly, Feiran demanded, “Report.”

“Mr. Feiran, anomalies detected in the valley,” the person in charge interjected.

“Lead me.”

At the threshold, Feiran’s eyes narrowed. “An illusion formation, likely intertwined with disorientation arrays. Clever concealment.” His jaw tightened. “May worse not lurk within.”

“I’ll investigate. Remain here.”

“I accompany you,” Xu Li countered. “Young Master Leng ordered me to guard you. His wrath otherwise…”

Leng Xingwen—the Special Bureau’s second “smiling tiger,” whose geniality masked deadly precision.

“Peril awaits.”

“But you’re here.”

“Come.” Feiran relented, grasping Xu Li’s arm. “No time for reinforcements—centuries of formation mastery demand I lead.”

Beyond the Bronze Door stretched a soundless realm.

Ye Linlang stood silver-clad amidst swirling horrors—nightmarish entities that ignored her presence while cannibalizing each other in savage frenzy.