Chapter 525: Person in the Jade

Chapter 525: The Figure in the Jade

“Li Xuanfeng.”

A faint glow of pupil sorcery flickered in Li Xuanfeng’s eyes; he could not discern the man’s true form, but upon hearing his surname was Dongfang, he surmised a likely tie to dragon kin, and nodded to reply:

“Might you be of the Heshui Dragon Clan?”

Clad in robes of blue and white, Dongfang Heyun cut an elegant figure, a proper smile playing on his lips as he spoke politely:

“That is so. I owe my existence to the Dragon Lord’s grace—forged from cloud qi, I act on behalf of the dragons of the East Sea, and thus took the surname Dongfang.”

Li Xuanfeng could not fathom the man’s intentions; he listened in silence, and then watched as Dongfang Heyun sat across from him, his voice soft:

“It was a coincidence. While patrolling the seas near the Qunyi Strait, I saw a young kinsman of yours riding a rosy cloud—quite a graceful sight—who strayed into our dragon domain. I acted to see him off.”

‘Xi Zhi…’

These days, Li Xuanfeng had been in the Southern Border; he had only heard that Li Xizhi had left on a mission for the Xuanyue Sect, never imagining he had wandered into the dragon domain. His eyes fluttered open a little as he replied:

“Oh? Then my young kinsman must have overstepped.”

Dongfang Heyun shook his head with a smile, his voice low:

“That much is true, but I injured him. I have come to ask after his wounds.”

Li Xuanfeng felt a flicker of surprise as Dongfang Heyun continued:

“If his wounds have nearly healed, he might as well drop by the Heshui Sea on his way—there is a bond between me and that rosy cloud of his.”

Unsure whether the man meant well or ill, Li Xuanfeng could only give a perfunctory assent. Only then did Dongfang Heyun rise, bow politely, and vanish into a gust of wind and rain.

“This being is neither human nor dragon—he is a creature born of heaven and earth, and quite hard to deal with.”

Li Xuanfeng stared after his retreating form for a moment, then fixed his eyes on the wind and snow outside the cave, musing:

“How did he end up in the dragon domain? There is something amiss with Xizhi’s matter. I will seek him out when I get the chance.”

The news from this man was vastly different from what he had learned from the Ning Clan; he keenly detected an oddity. Knowing the boy was full of schemes, he feared hasty interference would disrupt his plans, so he resolved to ask Li Xizhi in person.

He had just prepared to close his eyes for cultivation when someone who had been watching him silently for a long time—clad in flowing white robes, a middle-aged visage, a sword at their waist—stepped forward quickly and called:

“Xuanfeng!”

“Senior has arrived!”

Li Xuanfeng focused his gaze and saw it was Xiao Yongling of the Xiao Clan, an old friend of Li Tongya. Clad in white, he rose at once and spoke softly:

“It has been ages since I last saw you, Senior.”

Xiao Yongling’s expression dimmed a little; he studied Li Xuanfeng for a moment and spoke softly:

“We have not met since the incident at the Qingsong Temple Grotto-Heaven. Your murderous aura has grown much heavier.”

He sat down beside Li Xuanfeng, and a woman in a Hunan-style robe who had been following him stepped forward, her voice sweet and obedient as she smiled:

“Kong Tingyun of the Xuanyue Sect, pays her respects to you, Senior.”

Li Xuanfeng was well aware of the friendship between the Xuanyue Sect and his own family, and he had heard of Kong Tingyun’s name. He nodded slightly, and the three sat down on the snow-capped peak. Kong Tingyun shook her head and laughed:

“This Beihuan Sect is quite amusing. It gathers heroes from all factions of the immortal way under heaven, yet it will not even set out a single table or chair—only carving out this tiny grotto and making people sit on the ground.”

Xiao Yongling seemed to have been here for some time; he stroked his beard and said:

“The Beihuan Sect is also a quite ancient lineage. It still retains many of its old rules, rarely sending its members out into the world, and it has few disciples—no more than a few dozen.”

He cast a slight glance, gesturing for the two to look at Xie Zhanchang standing on the peak, and spoke softly:

“This man is a descendant of a Golden Core cultivator, from the Xie Clan of the North Sea. I wonder what lineage he practices; it is rare to see a descendant of a true noble.”

Li Xuanfeng, mindful of politeness, did not look long, and he could not discern any extraordinary traits in the man. Then Kong Tingyun spoke in a rather mysterious tone:

“I have heard that when members of the Xie Clan fight, they can command spiritual energy, tread mist and ride clouds—they are masters of energy manipulation. They can also brew talisman water to heal wounds.”

The phrase “brew talisman water” seemed to stir some memories in Li Xuanfeng, making him pause for a moment. After chatting a little more on the peak, he looked north and asked softly:

“Among all the True Monarchs and immortal clans under heaven, how many are there besides the Wang and Xie Clans?”

Xiao Yongling paused for a moment and replied:

“There were many in ancient times, but now no more than five are confirmed to exist… The Wang and Xie Clans are already the most famous.”

He hesitated for a breath and spoke in a low voice:

“In earlier years… there were also the Li Clan of Longdi, the Cui Clan, the Li Clan of Ningguo of True Monarch Donghua, and the Yang Clan of Jingji in the South. Some have declined, some have perished, and they have gradually faded into obscurity.”

“The rest—the Li Clan of Tanshan in the Wu Kingdom, the Chen Clan of the South, my Xiao Clan, and the Shen Clan of the North—can only be considered second-tier, with barely a modicum of fame.”

Kong Tingyun listened from the side; when Xiao Yongling paused, she spoke softly to add:

“If our guess is correct, your clan is a descendant of the northern nobles—trace back far enough, and you are of the Wei nobility, and further still, you trace to the Li Clan of Longdi.”

Their words were well-reasoned, but Li Xuanfeng was not convinced. Others did not know, but he knew his family was of farmer stock; all ancestors above Li Mutian were mortals, and the clan genealogy only recorded mortals who had wandered here.

The tale that the brothers of Lijing all possessed spiritual apertures when their clan rose was rooted in a talisman they had received. The subsequent generations’ ever-greater talent was also due to the talisman seed and immortal arts’ support; without these two, their cultivation would be as slow as ordinary people’s, and they were no descendants of immortals.

Yuansu had divined that they had Wei blood, but Li Xuanfeng thought it was most likely no more than a distant branch of a distant branch of the Wei Li Clan. After all, the Wei Li ruled for a thousand years, expanding from a few prefectures to dominating the north—who knew how many descendants they had sired.

Only Li Zhouwei made Li Xuanfeng feel a faint doubt, a touch of strangeness:

“If that is true, how did we end up with not a single word of our heritage? How did we become generations of mortals…”

He dared not think further; all these thoughts flitted through his mind in no more than a breath or two. He could not admit anything, so he only said:

“It is merely a false rumor. If my family were descendants of the Wei, we would not have fallen to our current state.”

Kong Tingyun misunderstood his meaning; she exchanged a glance with Xiao Yongling, and both grasped something:

“Even after all these years, there are still many enemies left. Claiming to be of the Wei Li would be prestigious, but it would bring no end of trouble.”

That said, Kong Tingyun still felt envy. If the Li Clan had enough power, the Wei Li heritage would come with legacies—even tracing back to ancient times. It was not merely a name; it was something flowing in their blood.

Her Kong Clan had only produced one True Monarch Changxi; further back, they were scattered cultivators of the Yue Kingdom, and her ancestors had even been no more than a minor county magistrate of Yue, having to curry favor with the Yuan Clan of the time…

Xiao Yongling watched the changes in their expressions, guessed a little, and only consoled them:

“Rise and fall are common occurrences, often unexpected. Do not dwell on it… Once everyone thought highly of the Yuan Clan—who could have guessed their present state? Who could have imagined that a small village would produce a Li Clan with eight Foundation Establishment cultivators across four generations? Even the Purple Mansion cannot divine such things!”

Li Xuanfeng nodded slightly, and Kong Tingyun replied with a smile, her thoughts hidden:

“Did not your family’s Streamside Elder divine this long ago? It made everyone feel incredulous.”

The three soon fell silent, only meditating quietly.

For a Foundation Establishment cultivator, a little cultivation—where light and shadow intertwined—passed quickly, and half a month slipped by. Li Xuanfeng waited and waited, but Yuansu did not appear; the three days Yuansu had mentioned grew farther and farther away.

It was not until the twenty-third day that a riot of colored light began to emerge, mingled with the pitch black of the Great Void. An old man descended from the sky, a fishing rod slung over his shoulder, and beside him stood a solemn middle-aged man with a thumb-sized glowing jade stone pinned to his chest.

“I pay my respects to the two True Monarchs!”

Li Xuanfeng had met Xiao Chuting before; back then, he was a lowly Qi Refining cultivator, and Xiao Chuting had presumably posed as a Foundation Establishment cultivator to collect offerings on the peak. His appearance was not much different now, but he seemed more transcendent.

He guessed the other man was likely True Monarch Changxi, and he was quite different from what he had imagined. Xiao Yongling and Kong Tingyun bade Li Xuanfeng farewell and ascended to the clouds one after another.

Li Xuanfeng bowed; Xiao Chuting and Changxi were quite gentle in their demeanor. He saw that Xiao Chuting was much the same as before, but Xiao Chuting looked at him quite differently—the childish boy of old had become a stern, unyielding veteran.

Xiao Chuting nodded, his voice hoarse:

“Wait a moment, Xuanfeng.”

The four vanished quickly; Li Xuanfeng turned back to look, and atop the snow-flurrying peak, only Xie Zhanchang remained, hands forming a seal as he sat cross-legged in cultivation, a dark figure huddled in the snow in the corner.

Li Xuanfeng peered closely—this person’s face was grim, clad in robes of gold and black, and was unexpectedly someone he knew.

“A Tangjin Gate disciple…”

This was indeed a Tangjin Gate member; though Li Xuanfeng did not recognize the man himself, the robes were unmistakably familiar—he had killed the Tangjin Gate’s young lord, even flayed him alive, so he could not be mistaken.

Seeing this, he immediately understood:

“The Situ Clan’s Purple Mansion has hidden for so long, but Yuan Su still caught up to them…”

He sat cross-legged for another three days before he saw Yuan Su step through the void, his face a touch pale, pausing mid-air with one hand tucked behind his back and a severed arm in the other.

Yuan Su’s aura flickered, the clinking of spring water ringing sharply; his brows were furrowed, his expression even a touch menacing. The peak was nearly deserted as he pulled Li Xuanfeng up to the cloud tops and continued northward.

Yuan Su was silent for more than ten breaths before speaking in a menacing tone:

“The old bastard could have hidden anywhere, but he dared come to the Northern Sea—so I left him with just one arm… as a lesson.”

Hearing this, Li Xuanfeng roughly grasped why the Situ Clan’s Purple Mansion had gone missing all these years—it was to guard against Yuan Su, whose lifespan was dwindling, dragging them down with him:

“It seems Yuan Su’s strength is indeed formidable; the Situ Clan has no choice but to flee.”

The severed arm, sealed by spiritual power, still twitching faintly and trembling nonstop, was lifted by Yuan Su, who spoke in a low voice:

“Situ Huo, listen well—if you have the guts, stay in the Southern Sea forever. Pu Yu and Yu Ming are both searching for you; do not carelessly return.”

Having said this, he broke off a finger from the arm, tossed it into the sea to let it find Situ Huo on its own, then put the arm away—by then, the sky was dotted with stars.

He said nothing as he carried Li Xuanfeng higher and higher; the north wind here grew increasingly fierce, strong enough to knock down an ordinary Foundation Establishment cultivator. The peaks beside them, streaked with black and white, looked rather solemn.

They reached the ice field at the highest point, where a small lake lay in the center; a group of Purple Mansion cultivators stood silently on the cloud tops, and atop an ice platform in the lake sat a person with closed eyes, a wooden sword hanging at their waist.

Li Xuanfeng stood on the cloud tops, feeling the biting cold wind blocked by Yuan Su’s cloud aura; after waiting a few breaths, he suddenly heard a rustling, followed by faint, crackling collisions.

Blocked by Yuan Su’s cloud aura, his spiritual sense could not penetrate to investigate, so he could only gaze outward, noticing tiny white specks mixed in with the snowflakes, making crisp cracking sounds on the ground.

Yuan Su beside him had calmed down considerably; he reached out to catch a handful of snowflakes, shook them gently, and tiny bits of pristine white jade were revealed.

“It has begun.”

Li Xuanfeng understood at once, and sure enough, he saw Shang Yuan on the platform open his eyes, glance around in a slow circle, and speak:

“I am Shang Yuan. Today I break through to the Golden Core stage. In accordance with the agreement of the immortal cultivators of the four kingdoms and the various seas, I have invited you all to witness this; look closely, and you may gain some insight.”

His words were calm, and the crowd in the air nodded in return—far different from the way they had cowered before Duanmu Kui or sneered at Chi Wei in the past. Even those Purple Mansion cultivators who disliked his character forced themselves to nod in reply.

A mist still shrouded Shang Yuan’s face; his wooden sword swayed at his waist as he looked into the distance, where two faint figures were slowly emerging. Shang Yuan smiled faintly, clasped his hands, and spoke:

“Please wait a moment, fellow daoists.”

The two faint figures seemed to have been waiting a long time; they did not dare delay, and one spoke in a shrill voice:

“You are too kind, fellow daoist! Now that you have succeeded, we hope you will lend us your support!”

Shang Yuan chuckled, rising slowly; he made no display of supernatural power, but merely pressed a hand to the sword at his waist.

In an instant, countless spirit swords and immortal blades present trembled, breaking free from their masters’ control, letting out clanging cries, and faintly threatening to unsheathe themselves—a magnificent sight.

The crowd in the sky had long been watching his movements; almost simultaneously, nearly all the Purple Mansion cultivators stepped back, on high alert, while only Yuan Su and a handful of others stood their ground.

Li Xuanfeng looked up to see a sneering smile on Yuan Su’s face, as if Shang Yuan’s action suited his temperament perfectly; he merely stood with his arms folded.

On the other side, a playful smile flickered across Shang Yuan’s mist-shrouded face; he released his hand, leaving the crowd standing awkwardly in the air, humiliated before the many juniors behind them. Yet no one dared speak—at most, some looked a touch displeased, and most did not even dare to change their expressions.

Shang Yuan paid them no mind, exhaling a wisp of white breath softly.

This white breath rose rapidly into the air, taking on strange forms—now a man in white robes, now a cliff of cyan jade, now streams of silk like waterfalls—and a white jade disc rose high into the sky.

For a moment, the white breath billowed and spread rapidly; various scenes emerged in the cloud tops—under the glow of the massive jade disc, lutes and flutes played, the white-robed man wielded a spear and sword, all manner of animals ran across a crescent moon, and the waterfall-like silk spread out, flowing through the air all the way to the lake.

Surrounded by these numerous strange visions, a flight of white jade steps appeared beneath Shang Yuan’s feet; he wore his immortal blade and stepped up calmly.

With each step he took, a surge of white breath burst forth; the wooden sword at his waist slowly glowed, taking on a jade-like luster and turning white jade in color. Shang Yuan spoke softly:

“The One in Jade”

No sooner had he spoken than a set of brilliant, elegantly lined white feathered robes appeared on his body, with long trails of white breath like silk hanging from the sleeves. Shang Yuan usually dressed simply, but with these white feathered robes, he looked like a celestial being.

Li Xuanfeng found this familiar—he had read The Classic of Knocking on the Court in White Hair—and thought the feathered robes were quite similar to the description in the text, though far more supernatural. He thought to himself:

“This must be ‘the General of the Jade Court’—perhaps it comes from a better immortal text, or is the ancient name of this immortal foundation…”

(End of Chapter)