Chapter 404: Gezao Mountain

Chapter 404: The Temple of the Crane

In the province of Jiangxi, nestled within the city of Jiangfu, at the edge of the Qingjiang County, there stood a mountain of ninety-nine peaks, stretching over two hundred miles, whose slopes were like a temple, its colors like luscious soap, and its scenery breathtaking. Yet, what truly made this place renowned throughout the entire Ming Dynasty was the presence of the Temple of the Crane, one of the "Four Mountains and Four Palaces" revered by the sect known as the Crane Temple.

This temple was not only distinguished by its majestic scenery but also by its unique atmosphere. There were no other cities in the county that boasted such vibrant lanterns, nor were there any elaborate projections of magical beings beyond the usual. Only an elderly monk, who had mastered the art of the Dao and stood firmly on the threshold of the heavens, stood there, his solemn expression reflecting the solemnity of the moment. He gazed over the entire city with a sorrowful gaze.

It was the founder of the Crane Temple lineage who first summoned the true heir of the Sublime Sovereign, the illustrious Gengxuan, to this sacred place.

Along the roadside, a single, towering crane with a height of several lengths stood, its elongated beak adorned with bright lights. The signs on the shops surrounding the path were all marked with the characters "Crane Temple," and the people passing by wore robes of similar style, signifying their connection to the sect.

If a foreigner were to visit this county, they would quickly discover that the merchants of the county did not accept imperial tribute coins. Instead, they exchanged goods marked with the seal of the Crane Temple, each bearing the inscription "Jingde."

In Qingjiang County, the villagers were predominantly devotees of the Crane Temple, taking great pride in their affiliation with the sect. For them, the recognition of the Crane Temple by the sect was the ultimate honor, far surpassing the value of imperial currency.

This situation was not unique to Qingjiang County; it was a reflection of the broader reality across the entire Jiangfu region.

As the sect's influence grew, the northern district of Fengyuan became a significant center, boasting a collection of temples dedicated to the sect, all unified under the banner of the "Four Palaces."

In this district, artisans crafted intricate seals based on the five elements—earth, water, fire, metal, and wood—each meticulously designed to convey their specific meanings. These seals were then transported to the Crane Temple for further refinement, a process that was the foundation of the temple's prestige.

Yet, the true artistry lay in the delicate process of polishing the seals. Only after this meticulous work could the seals be considered worthy of the Crane Temple's hallowed halls.

The night was quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of temple bells echoing through the valley. Ten-two voices rang out, marking the approach of the Sublime Sovereign.

Suddenly, a sharp cry pierced the air. The monk jolted, pulling out the sealed seal from the ground, his face pale with shock.

"Fourth floor, Sublime Sovereign! What is this?!" he exclaimed, his voice trembling.

The monk dashed forward, grasping the seal and hurrying to the temple hall. He hurriedly wrapped the sealed seal around the altar, shouting, "The Sublime Sovereign's seal is extinguished!"

The monk rushed through the dim corridors, his heart pounding. Finally, he reached the altar where the sealed seal lay, its faint glow barely visible.

"Another death!" he gasped, his voice breaking.

The silence that followed was oppressive. The monk stood frozen, his mind reeling. Then, a faint whisper of the seal's light broke through the darkness.

"Report, Sublime Sovereign. Are there any other disciples who followed him into the Yuhu District?"

The monk bowed deeply, his voice trembling. "The last two words are a lament, a heartfelt plea."

The debate that followed was chaotic, with whispers and accusations flying like leaves in the wind. Yet, amidst the turmoil, the ancient temple doors creaked open, revealing a scene of solemnity.

The grand hall was filled with the solemn presence of the sect's disciples, all gathered to witness the tragic end. The monk, his face etched with sorrow, stood before the altar, his mind racing for answers.

"All is well," he whispered, clutching the sealed seal tightly in his hands.

The figure stood, its gaze steady, a silent sentinel. The elder's hands trembled faintly, lifting a parchment-like visage, pale as moonlight. "When was the last time your sacred sigils were updated?" The question hung, a whisper of time's erosion. "Four lunar cycles prior. The monks' presence lingered in the ether of Etuda District." The elder's voice deepened, a resonance that stirred the very air. "Yet no shift remains. All anchored here, in that fortress's shadow." A voice, sharp as a blade, cut through the silence—"Only the other realms, beyond these walls, can sever the chains." The elder's tone sharpened, a storm brewing within. "This city now thrives within the district's heart. Let no whispers of the past taint its present!" The figure stepped forward, a shadow against the fading light, its presence a storm brewing beneath the surface. The parchment's whisper merged with the distant echoes, a symphony of unspoken truths. The elder's words lingered, a blade poised, awaiting the moment when truth would strike.