Chapter 108

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The desolate wilderness path was sparsely populated. The firelight flickered within the kitchen, and a shop assistant, having just fetched some firewood, fed it into the stove.

As wisps of cooking smoke rose, the crisp chime of a copper bell rang out in the distance.

The waiter straightened up and glanced toward the innkeeper inside, who was engrossed in flicking his abacus beads with rapid clacking sounds, seemingly unaware of the waiter’s gaze. Without lifting his head, he simply responded:

“A customer’s coming. What are you standing there dawdling for?”

Without a word, the waiter turned around and looked toward the two figures leading a donkey along the muddy path. Quickly pulling down the cloth draped over his shoulder, he jogged toward the shelter at the entrance and extended his hand in greeting.

“Honored guests, please come inside! Please, this way!”

After securing their quiet and steady old donkey, Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist sat down at a nearby table and chair. As they brushed the snow off their shoulders, Lu Liangsheng asked:

“What dishes does your inn serve?”

“Honored guests, please don’t mind the simplicity of our fare. This is just a small mountain inn, and we don’t have any skilled chefs. Most of our dishes are rustic flavors from the wilderness.”

The waiter diligently wiped the small table in front of the two men. After hearing the list of dishes, Lu Liangsheng casually ordered a few and instructed the kitchen to serve them quickly.

“We have traveled far and are utterly famished. If you could bring the food quickly, we would be most grateful, little brother.”

The waiter noticed that the scholar spoke politely, while the Daoist beside him remained silent, idly toying with his chopsticks. Retracting his sidelong glance, the assistant responded with a smile, slung the cloth back over his shoulder, and ran inside. As he passed the counter, the innkeeper—wearing a snug earflap hat—briefly lifted his face and exchanged a glance with the assistant before lowering his head again, continuing to jot down records.

As the ink of his brush blurred into flowing strokes, the waiter had already returned from the kitchen, carrying trays of dishes as he stepped out of the inn and into the shelter.

“Honored guests, your dishes are ready! Here we have lightly tossed Sha Ren, red-braised pig heart, and steaming millet rice…!”

Even though there were no other customers or passersby around, the assistant still called out the dish names in a loud and spirited voice, setting down each plate of food and the bowl of millet rice one by one on the table.

The waiter diligently handed over the chopsticks but did not leave. Instead, he stood by the table with the tray in hand, watching as the scholar and the Daoist picked up food and brought it to their mouths.

Just as Lu Liangsheng was about to take a bite, he suddenly stopped and looked at the assistant.

“Little brother, is there something else?”

The waiter’s lips curled into a slight smile as he shook his head.

“Nothing at all. I just have nothing else to do, so I figured I’d stand here for a bit.” He then added, “Honored guests, please eat quickly. The weather is cold, and the food will cool fast.”

Behind him, shadows flickered against the paper windows of the inn. Footsteps were nearly inaudible. At the counter, the innkeeper had also paused his writing, slightly turning his face to observe the silhouettes near the window.

“The formation has already been set. These two won’t be able to escape…”

Just as he was about to wave his hand to signal his subordinates to strike, a sudden sound arose in the distance—solemn Buddhist chanting, accompanied by the deep resonance of golden cymbals, the sharp wail of suona horns, and the rhythmic knocking of wooden fish.

The innkeeper furrowed his brows and slowly lowered his hand.

“No rush. It seems quite a few people are approaching.”

Outside, the scholar and the Daoist had also put down their chopsticks, turning their gazes toward the direction of the chanting. Through the muddy path winding between the trees, a long procession was making its way forward.

Buddhist plaques and ritual staffs stood tall. At the front, maids in dark blue floral-patterned kasayas walked on both sides, scattering white flower petals that drifted and fluttered to the ground, forming a delicate path.

The waiter standing outside wore a peculiar expression and instinctively glanced toward the inn. The innkeeper’s frown deepened.

“Where did this strange group of monks come from…?”

At that moment, the peculiar procession halted outside the inn. From within a tall, curtained palanquin adorned with a crane-head finial, a woman’s voice sounded. Two attendants stepped forward and lifted the curtains open on either side. A pair of black embroidered shoes, with elegantly upturned tips, stepped out first, landing softly upon the scattered white petals.

“Amitabha! Amitabha!”

Stepping into everyone’s view was a frail old monk clad in a yellow cloth kasaya and a long-eared monk’s cap. He raised his right hand in the fearless mudra, his face devoid of expression as he gazed at the inn, not sparing even a glance at the scholar and the Daoist who were eating.

“The people of this world are trapped in a sea of suffering, enduring tribulations and calamities, yet they refuse to turn back to the shore. Amitabha! Amitabha!”

The innkeeper stepped forward to the doorway, his eyelids twitching. This old monk had no human presence, no demonic aura… nothing at all. That was far too strange.

“May I ask where the master hails from and what brings you to this place?”

“The people of this world are trapped in a sea of suffering, enduring tribulations and calamities, yet they refuse to turn back to the shore. Amitabha! Amitabha!”

Yet, the only response to the innkeeper’s question was the exact same words, repeated once more.

Snowflakes fluttered gently down from the sky, and an eerie stalemate settled between both sides.

A little farther away, on the opposite side of the muddy road, two rocks seemed to be watching the events unfolding at the inn. However, the hands holding chopsticks, shoveling food into their mouths, made it clear that they were no ordinary stones.

“Old Lu, how did you realize something was wrong over there?”

“At first, I didn’t. I just wanted to test them. When I cast an illusion, I immediately sensed traces of spiritual energy on that shop assistant.”

Those two rocks by the roadside were none other than Lu Liangsheng and the Daoist, both concealed by an illusion spell. Meanwhile, the figures sitting under the inn’s outer shelter were mere illusions conjured by Lu Liangsheng.

Upon sensing that something was amiss, he had activated another painting as a precaution, leading to the current scene.

“The only cultivators with a grudge against us should be Zhu Ziyi and his people… Yes, it should only be them.”

Lu Liangsheng put down his bowl and chopsticks, then hung two paintings on a nearby tree. After all, no matter how skilled a warrior was, they could not withstand being outnumbered. There was no need to put himself and the Daoist in unnecessary danger.

He then waved his hand at the Daoist, who was quietly swapping the dishes on the table.

“Let’s go, let’s go!”

Pulling along the old donkey, Sun Yingxian hurriedly stuffed a few more bites of food into his mouth while holding two plates, then quickly picked up his pace to follow behind.

At this very moment—

Zhu Ziyi, who had also used an illusion to disguise himself as the innkeeper, stared at the old monk before him for a moment. The standoff had gone on long enough. He abruptly withdrew his illusion, thrusting out his hand. With a loud “Bang!”, the window behind him shattered as a sword of light shot through, landing in his grasp.

With a swift strike, he slashed at the motionless figure in front of him. Then…The old monk, along with the long procession of people that had stopped by the roadside, shattered into countless motes of starlight and scattered in all directions.

“An illusion! That scholar… damn it!”

Zhu Ziyi snapped his head to the side, swinging his sword again toward the scholar and Daoist at the table.

As expected, the moment the faintly red sword qi touched the two figures, they both disintegrated into shimmering fragments of light, gently drifting to the ground. Even the dishes on the table vanished into thin air.

With their master’s protective spell gone, the two exposed painting scrolls were now in full view. With a sharp tearing sound, they were ripped down. Zhu Ziyi raised his palm, forming a hand seal, and flicked out a streak of cyan light.

“They won’t get far. Chase them!”

Back in Heliang Prefecture, their formation had been disrupted by that scholar. Zhu Ziyi had assumed he had perished under the tribulation lightning. After searching for days, he only learned that not only had the man survived, but his cultivation had advanced as well. However, if they attacked in Heliang Prefecture, that nosy monk would definitely show up again. That was why he had chosen this remote location.

As for that fat monk, he had Ten Thousand Buddhas Temple behind him, not to mention that old bald donkey backing him up. Dealing with him would have to wait.

“But that scholar… he’s a different story.”

As Zhu Ziyi murmured to himself, his figure flickered forward, his speed abruptly increasing. Having just stepped into the first minor realm of the Golden Core stage, he had no reason to fear a mere Foundation Establishment cultivator.

Among the mountain forests and muddy roads, towering trees trembled as more than ten shadowy figures launched themselves onto the branches. With a single kick, they propelled forward, sending cascades of snow tumbling to the ground as they vanished into the distance.

Meanwhile, ahead on the muddy path, the wet snow and damp earth churned under the donkey’s hooves. Lu Liangsheng formed a hand seal, activating Shrinking Earth into an Inch to speed their escape. The Daoist sat backward behind him, his hair and beard wildly whipping in the wind. One hand gripped the swaying bookshelf, while the other frantically slapped talismans of Swift Movement onto the donkey’s rear.

“I’m running out of talisman paper!!!”

Lu Liangsheng turned his face away from the rushing wind, pulled out a map, and quickly glanced at it.

“If we keep going, we’ll reach the Tianzhi capital’s jurisdiction soon. But Zhu Ziyi has a tracking spell on us. If we don’t break it, he’ll know our location no matter where we go.”

Tatatatatata…

The sound of hoofbeats pounded against the icy ground, kicking up clouds of slush and snow as they fled into the night.

At this moment, their spiritual power had nearly been exhausted. The old donkey they rode was so fatigued that it stuck out its tongue, panting heavily, with foamy saliva splashing into the air before drifting backward.

Although they had gained some distance, Lu Liangsheng knew that as long as the enemy’s tracking spell remained unbroken, no matter how far they fled, it would be meaningless.

“Old Sun, I have an idea.”

As he thought about it, the old donkey’s pace slowed. Lu Liangsheng reached into his sleeve and felt a hard object. He pulled it out and tossed it backward.

It was none other than the centipede demon’s antenna.

The Daoist caught it firmly in his hand and shouted: “What do we do?”

“Redirect Zhu Ziyi’s tracking spell onto it.”

As they spoke, the effects of the Shrinking Earth technique had completely worn off. The old donkey, tongue lolling and dripping with saliva, suddenly collapsed to the ground with a dull thud, its four legs giving out beneath it.

Lu Liangsheng slowly descended, crouching down to check on the donkey. Seeing that it was merely exhausted, he let out a sigh of relief, gently stroking its coarse mane before sitting down beside it to seize the moment for some rest. His gaze shifted toward the Daoist ahead.

“Still haven’t found it?”

“Dammit, do you think I can memorize an entire book like you?”

Nearby, Sun Yingxian was flipping through the pages of an old tome at lightning speed. It had been given to him by his master on his deathbed—filled with countless Daoist spells, talismans, and formations, but it was tedious and difficult to comprehend.

After a while, the tips of his mustache curled upward as he grinned.

“Found one! Should be useful.”

Following the text’s instructions, the Daoist painted a talismanic pattern onto a charm paper, folded it between his fingers, and chanted an incantation under his breath.

“Appear!”

With a sudden shout, Lu Liangsheng looked up. Above his head, a wisp of faint red light whirled rapidly, making him nod in approval.

…That Daoist scripture likely contained the lifelong teachings of Old Sun’s master.

“Come here!”

The Daoist guided the wisp of red light and pointed two fingers at the antenna placed on the ground. Lu Liangsheng was still pondering the origins of the Daoist’s master when, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw Sun Yingxian hurriedly lifting his Daoist robe, unfastening his belt, and yanking his pants down—

Swoosh!

A stream of dark yellow liquid arced through the air, splashing directly onto the centipede’s antenna, droplets scattering onto the snow-covered ground.

For a moment, the Daoist tilted his head back, shivering from the relief. As he pulled up his pants in one smooth motion, he sighed: “Great!”

Not far away, Lu Liangsheng leaned against the old donkey, staring blankly at the puddle spreading across the snow.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Wasn’t that what you meant? Using the enemy to deal with the enemy.”

The scholar stared at him, blinking, his lips twitching.

“When did I ever say that? I only told you to redirect Zhu Ziyi’s tracking spell onto the antenna so we could shake him off…”

At this, Lu Liangsheng felt a headache coming on. Thinking of Pudu Cihang’s cultivation, he slapped his forehead. “Let’s hurry and leave—the Venerable Master could arrive at any moment…”

“…”

The Daoist looked down at the antenna, now soaked in a pool of urine, and swallowed hard.

Beyond the outskirts of Tianzhi, a massive circular ritual altar stood.

Within the billowing curtains, a seated figure, hands forming a mudra, suddenly opened his eyes as if sensing something.

Moments later, a grand palanquin set off. Petals fluttered through the air, and an immense procession stretched outward.

“Uh…”

His throat bobbed as the Daoist turned his head. “So… maybe we should leave now?”

The two exchanged glances.

Some time later, voices rang out from the distance.

“They’re just ahead!”

The forest shook violently. Clumps of snow tumbled from the branches, crashing onto the ground. More than ten figures spread out in a line, each wielding a spiritual artifact. At the center, Zhu Ziyi stepped forward, gripping his dharma sword, his gaze locking onto the old donkey lying beneath a tree, lazily chewing on dry grass.

“Heh… They even abandoned their donkey.”

The old donkey let out a snort, blinking its large eyes as it continued gnawing on the withered grass, swishing its tail.

Zhu Ziyi, leading the hunt personally, carried an air of authority. He wouldn’t stoop to venting his frustration on an ordinary donkey. Pausing for a moment, he withdrew his tracking spell and clasped one hand behind his back. Bending down, he picked up an object lying on the ground—a segmented piece, damp and covered in dirt.

…A remnant of a demon.

“Hmph… Clever.”

Understanding their trick, Zhu Ziyi lifted the object closer for inspection. His thick brows furrowed.

…Why does this stink so bad?

Clang!

Boom, boom…

“Namo Amitabha… Namo Amitabha… Namo Amitabha…”

Suddenly, the clear chime of golden cymbals and the rhythmic knock of a wooden fish echoed across the snow-covered wilderness. A solemn Buddhist chant followed, drifting into the ears of Zhu Ziyi and his followers. All at once, their gazes turned toward the desolate, snow-laden plains.

Their gaze shifted forward.

Countless flower petals scattered through the air, drifting down onto the shoulders of the approaching figures. Footsteps pressed against the petals and snow, advancing in a long, orderly procession. Two columns stretched outward, formed by expressionless maidens in black-veiled monk hats, each carrying sacred artifacts and staff handles. As they neared, the chanting suddenly ceased.

One by one, the figures came to a halt, standing like wooden statues. Their vacant eyes bore straight down at the dozen or so cultivators before them.

“Amitabha! Amitabha!”

A grand dharma palanquin, adorned with a crane-shaped finial, arrived at the forefront and was gently set down. Within its high-draped curtains, a silhouette could be seen—hands forming a vertical dharma seal. A moment later, the figure lifted the curtain and emerged.

A scene too familiar. Zhu Ziyi clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening as he felt his cheeks swell in irritation.

…This again.

The very next moment, with a sweep of his robe and a flick of his sleeve, he issued his command. The cultivators flanking him obeyed in silence, swiftly dispersing as they controlled their spiritual weapons.

“The same trick—do you think I’d fall for it twice?!”

He let out a furious shout, his glare locked onto the withered old monk standing before the dharma palanquin.
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