Chapter 71 The Immortal Venerable and the Demon Venerable exchange love letters. Your birthday is almost here, wishing you…
The mountains and rivers stretch far and wide, the journey is long and arduous.
Fu Ming was gone for two whole years.
In his room on Changliu Mountain, he wrote and paused on a letter: "Xiao Huaiyuan, seeing this letter is like seeing you in person. How is the immortal realm? Junior brother, are you well...?"
Missing me?
No, that's too cheesy.
Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps.
He took out the letter sent by Xiao Huaiyuan from the box for reference. His junior brother's words were restrained and polite, he liked to use allusions, and his handwriting was strong and vigorous. He looked like a virtuous gentleman.
Who would have thought that his junior brother would harbor such feelings for him?
As I flipped through the pages, a drop of ink, fully absorbed by the pen, fell onto the letter paper with a soft thud, spreading out in a blotchy pattern.
Fu Ming placed the unfinished letter next to Xiao Huaiyuan's letter and suddenly burst out laughing.
He finally understood how Xiao Huaiyuan had seen through his disguise.
Handwriting.
In modern times, people don't learn calligraphy, and after he transmigrated, he had no proper teacher to guide him. Therefore, although his handwriting wasn't ugly, it had some of the quirks of modern cursive writing.
A few strokes were added to the ink mark, and then the spirit pigeon with a bamboo tube tied to its leg flapped its wings and flew away into the distance.
Outside, a solitary figure, accompanied by a dim lamp, carrying a lantern and a knife, walks into the ceaseless storm.
Since the arrival of the divine palace, the sun has never risen again, and an endless night has engulfed the three realms. The demon realm, which naturally has short days and long nights, should theoretically be largely unaffected, but under these strange phenomena, the demonic energy has become exceptionally violent, and many wandering demon cultivators have died suddenly from demonic possession.
On the contrary, with Fu Ming protecting Changliu Mountain, the demonic cultivators maintained an extremely stable mentality under Fu Ming's long-term ideological and political education and physical suppression, and no one was injured or killed.
The remaining scattered demonic cultivators were terrified and all submitted to Fu Ming's command, thus expanding Fu Ming's territory considerably.
Now, bearing the burden of the demon realm, he has no choice but to remain here.
The dense, condensed demonic energy surged like rain and wind, a torrent pressing down on the mountain-protecting formation, making the entire Changliu Mountain seem like an isolated island adrift in a storm.
Fu Ming drew his sword towards the sky, its aura shaking the very air.
If the Demon Realm is in such a state, the situation in the Immortal Realm must be even worse.
Thousands of miles away in the Tianyan Sect, Xiao Huaiyuan and Fu Ming reached a resonance across the distance.
Xiao Huaiyuan stood on the terrace, looking down at the scattered campfires at the foot of Kunlun Mountain. They were so fragile, almost swallowed by the darkness.
The spiritual energy of the Nine Provinces was depleted, and calamities occurred frequently. The already scarce rice and wheat harvests failed completely, the surplus food was exhausted, and countless people starved to death. The mortals who were still alive flocked to various immortal sects seeking their protection.
The Kunlun Mountains, where the Tianyan Sect is located, also took in nearly ten thousand refugees. They dug up tree bark and grass roots, but they still struggled to survive.
At first, the disciples of the Tianyan Sect still distributed fasting pills to the refugees, but later, not only were the pills used up, but even the spiritual herbs passed down in the storehouse were exhausted. Only then did these young people realize what it meant for fate to play tricks on people, and that human effort was beyond their control.
Xiao Huaiyuan was waiting for that turning point.
He knew that the gates of the imperial palace were about to open.
"Sect Leader, everyone has arrived," Lin Han, who had just been promoted to the Hall of Respect, said to him.
This made Xiao Huaiyuan momentarily dazed, and a hint of tenderness appeared in his cold and hard gaze. He seemed to have returned to that year's recruitment conference, which was actually many years ago.
Fu Ming probably never realized that in the attic a few rooms away, or in the Sword Testing Platform overlooking the main peaks, someone was always hiding not far away, concealing their aura and observing all his actions.
Whether it was the Censorate or the Lecture Hall, whether overt or covert, they were all his doing.
All the painstaking efforts to weave silken nets and lure the enemy into a trap were ultimately for…
All that happened before will soon come to light.
Xiao Huaiyuan nodded, hummed in agreement, and walked into the hall.
About a year ago, he broke through to the mid-stage of the Nascent Soul realm, thus becoming the undisputed leader of the immortal path, and no one dared to question him.
The people of the Immortal Alliance were waiting for him. When these sect leaders and elders saw Xiao Huaiyuan take his seat, they all looked up, their faces showing signs of exhaustion.
The Immortal Alliance is no longer as aloof as it once was. All sects have been thrown into chaos. Large sects with deep foundations, such as the Heavenly Evolution Sect, can barely survive, while countless small sects have been destroyed.
The old Taoist with the goatee, who was always offering advice, took the initiative to speak up: "Ahem, Sect Master Xiao, this stalemate is not a solution. This mountain-protecting formation consumes spirit stones when it is activated. If we leave the formation, the spiritual energy outside will be depleted, and ordinary cultivators will also die from exhaustion of their spiritual power."
Xiao Huaiyuan said slowly, "Do you have any good ideas?"
The old Taoist with the goatee had been waiting for this very sentence, and quickly added, "People say that a solar eclipse is an omen of heavenly calamity, and the opening of the Imperial Palace is the result of that calamity. But the Imperial Palace has not yet opened, perhaps because the wrath of heaven has not yet been vented..."
This doesn't sound like something a monk would say.
Cultivating the Tao begins with cultivating the mind. Whether one follows the way of Heaven or goes against it, one will not end up begging for Heaven's mercy.
He probably realized that this was inappropriate, so he stopped there and didn't continue.
"Such an important matter, just say what you mean, stop being so mysterious!"
Yang Pei, the mistress of Qingyue Palace, slammed her fist on the table, sending the tea flying. Qingyue Palace was weak and had suffered heavy damage, making her even more irritable than before.
The old Taoist with the goatee wasn't angry at all: "Don't worry, don't worry. The solution to this matter is quite simple. Once more mortals die, the Imperial Palace will naturally open."
Yang Pei retorted sarcastically, "Is it something a righteous cultivator should say if more mortals die? How is such behavior any different from that of a demonic cultivator!"
"We cultivators are too busy protecting ourselves to care about mortals."
"You old man... it's no wonder you can't advance to the Nascent Soul stage no matter what."
...
Xiao Huaiyuan tapped the table twice, and the two fell silent, the scene immediately quieting down.
His emotions were never outwardly apparent, nor did he judge the right or wrong of the two: "I remember, this is what the Heavenly Restoration Society said."
The Tianfu Society is said to be a loose cultivator alliance, but it now has a considerable influence among mortals. Its followers mingle among refugees and naturally have some contact with cultivators from various sects.
When times get tough, people make offerings to gods and ghosts even more often.
After all, the night is long, and how can one endure it without something to look forward to? Xiao Huaiyuan thought to himself.
The old Taoist proudly stroked his goatee. His once smooth beard had become as dry as straw due to lack of maintenance in the past two years, but his narrow eyes still shone with shrewdness.
"Yes, yes, that's exactly the Tianfu Society's old trick. Isn't the Tianfu Society just coaxing a bunch of mortals into self-immolation and reincarnation? We just need to persuade some of the refugees within the sect to go over there."
"Isn't this just burying your head in the sand?" Yang Pei retorted.
He was glared at by Yang Pei for a long time, but he still retorted with his neck stiff: "Don't be afraid of not being able to overcome the tribulation. It's their evil deeds anyway, what does it have to do with our cultivation? Besides, Buddhism also emphasizes rebirth in the Pure Land. Why don't we let the monks persuade them?"
"Old monk, don't you think so?"
The old monk who was called nodded, holding his prayer beads, revealing a neat string of ordination scars: "Amitabha, if it can help people in the world get rid of suffering sooner, it would be a good thing."
Well, so one of them is playing the good cop and the other the bad cop, and they're teaming up to mess with her. Yang Pei rolled her eyes.
There was collusion between Taoist and Buddhist practitioners and independent cultivators. Xiao Huaiyuan had already seen this when he was in the Ghost Market. The reason he kept quiet was simply because he hadn't found any evidence.
Xiao Huaiyuan was concerned about another issue that they had overlooked.
"You said the Heavenly Restoration Society will lead mortals to self-immolation and reincarnation. Where will they go?"
The man with the goatee stammered, wanting to discuss the matter privately with Xiao Huaiyuan, but was refused, so he had no choice but to tell the truth.
"Well, it's at the ruins of the Ilhwa Palace."
Bang.
Yang Pei forcefully overturned the square table, shattering porcelain cups on it onto the floor with a clatter. The scalding tea poured directly over the old Taoist's clothes, causing him to scream in pain.
These people actually want to immolate themselves at the very spot where her own sister was buried?!
The members of the Immortal Alliance parted on bad terms.
The noise subsided, and the lights that had been on all night were turned off.
Nowadays, there is only night and no day, and lamps must be lit at all times. The Tianyan Sect doesn't have much lamp oil left, so they have to use it sparingly.
Xiao Huaiyuan opened his eyes in the darkness, deep in thought, his eyes as black as a deep pool.
Regardless of others' attitudes, there will always be people who will take the risk, Xiao Huaiyuan never doubted.
Should we send a letter to him at Rihua Palace?
Xiao Huaiyuan lowered his eyes, raised his hand to put the square table back in its place, but his thoughts were on another person involved in the Rihua Palace Incident.
His senior brother, his Daoist partner.
Fu Ming.
He still couldn't hold the marriage ceremony before the great calamity began; he only drank a gourd of nuptial wine with Fu Ming in the presence of the Calabash Taoist and Xu Yan.
After getting drunk, Fu Ming's face was as red as a peach blossom. He spent the whole night entwined with her, and even the small mole on the tip of the pen was bright red and trembling with each rise and fall.
A few days later, the Calabash Taoist passed away, dispersing all his spiritual power to solidify the great formation. Fu Ming saw his master off on his final journey.
He never saw his senior brother again after that.
A bittersweet longing fermented in Xiao Huaiyuan's chest, filling his heart, which had been emptied by numerous affairs. He simply returned to the dark room and side room where Fu Ming had briefly stayed, pondering those chaotic and uninteresting trivial matters to pass the time.
The fire of frustration poured out between the blankets.
Xiao Huaiyuan used the cleansing incantation to wash the clothes clean with water and then neatly folded them back onto the bed.
If judged by the standards of an ordinary wife, she would certainly be worthy of the title of virtuous and kind.
Just then, a spirit pigeon pecked at Xiao Huaiyuan's window frame, and the letter from home that had come to save him from his suffering instantly appeared in Xiao Huaiyuan's hands. He had become extremely good at this skill of retrieving things from a distance because of his household chores.
Under the lamp, a smudge of ink in the lower right corner of the letter caught his eye. The writer must have had a sudden inspiration to use the ink smudge as a flower stamen, sketching a simple peach blossom with a few strokes of the pen.
Fu Ming writes letters in plain language, making them lively, vivid, and very endearing.
"Junior brother, are you taking good care of yourself? Judging from the days, your birthday is coming soon. I wish you good health and happiness every year."
Even though he never celebrates his birthday, Xiao Huaiyuan couldn't help but smile.
"Also, junior brother, did you notice the problem with my handwriting? Is my handwriting really that bad?"
--No.
Xiao Huaiyuan never thought Fu Ming's handwriting was ugly; he only found it elegant, charming, and unconventional.
However, when it comes to identifying his identity, Fu Ming has too many flaws, and he didn't even see the clues from the handwriting.
Five days later, Fu Ming received a reply from Xiao Huaiyuan.
The carrier pigeon drooped in Fu Ming's hand, its plump body, fed in turn from both sides, looking a little thinner from exhaustion. Clearly, the sender had been writing very quickly, causing it to work in shifts and become so tired.
Fu Ming opened it and his smile immediately froze.
The letter reads as follows.
"The Heavenly Restoration Society intends to lead mortals to commit suicide by self-immolation at the site of the Sunflower Palace in order to open the imperial palace. Come quickly."
The mere sight of the three words "Rihua Palace" sent a jolt of pain through Fu Ming's forehead. Even though he forcibly suppressed much of the pain, it clung to the very depths of his soul like a persistent thorn, condemning him to eternal damnation.
The group struggled forward in the fierce wind, with only the leader, dressed in a long robe, lighting an oil lamp. This could only illuminate the path for a few, while those behind had to grope their way forward in the dark, clutching the hem of their robes.
The thick, pungent smell of blood lingers even after a century, as if the vengeful spirit of a woman is lingering nearby, and the air is chillingly cold.
The light suddenly illuminated a corner of the stone tablet.
A cenotaph.
Yang Huan, the master of Rihua Palace, died here.
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Author's Note: I, Shu Hansan, am back!
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