Chapter 475: No Path for Man, No Mountain for Tiger

Chapter 475: No Path for Man, No Mountain for Tiger

“Senior Brother Zhao, how did you ever think of shaping your own cave‑heaven into this appearance? It’s truly rare.”

Chen Qisheng lifted his gaze to survey the surroundings, murmuring in amazement.

Unlike the usual sight of daoist palaces and immortal mountains, with seas of clouds rolling endlessly in other Yellow Liang cave‑heavens, every blade of grass and tree before Chen Qisheng’s eyes now bore the visage of an ancient city from the early Ming dynasty.

The sky had darkened; lanterns hung along both sides of the street, crowds surged, vendors’ cries mingled with the shouts of street performers, weaving a bustling tableau of prosperity.

Chen Qisheng stepped aside for a child in a patterned jacket, hair tied in twin braids, laughing and darting through the throng with companions; his brow furrowed slightly as he whispered, “These… aren’t…?”

“Rest easy,” he said, “though I walk the new‑path of cultivators, I am still a proper Zhengyi master of Longhu Mountain—not some deranged demonic cultivator who would drag living souls into a cave‑heaven.”

Standing beside Li Jun, Yang Long heard the astonishment in Chen Qisheng’s voice and chuckled as he explained.

At that moment he wore no Longhu Mountain daoist robe; instead he donned a simple black long robe, a jade‑green belt cinched at his waist, his full beard and sturdy frame evoking the martial spirit of the early Ming recorded in imperial histories.

“Everyone you see in this city,” he continued, “are mostly the Yellow Liang ghosts I purchased outright, plus a few newborn ghosts they have begotten themselves. Roughly speaking, there are about twenty thousand of them by now.”

“That many?”

Chen Qisheng’s eyes widened, his stare incredulous as he fixed it on Yang Long.

Even twenty thousand ordinary ghosts—those lacking any special power—would already be a terrifying number.

Never mind the fortune in treasure notes required to buy so many Yellow Liang ghosts; merely sustaining their ordinary existence would drain all of Yang Long’s authority, and his very spirit would constantly bear a crushing burden—one misstep and he would suffer the “myriad ghosts devouring the flesh,” plunging into madness.

Could this Senior Brother Zhao have secretly diverted the entire budget of the Formations Department into his own cave‑heaven?

“What are you thinking, kid?” Yang Long retorted. “If I dared embezzle sect funds, I wouldn’t need the Daoist Heavenly Masters’ Office to act—my upright master would already have annihilated body and soul.”

Yang Long saw through Chen Qisheng’s thoughts at a glance and snapped, “These are all savings I’ve accumulated bit by bit—no theft, no robbery, pure and clean!”

“You’re just being oversensitive, Senior Brother; I never thought of that.”

Chen Qisheng glanced over the bustling scene, his shock not fading but intensifying.

A stall selling late‑night snacks, the vendor’s smiling face shrouded in steam rising from a boiling pot, his outstretched arm holding three sea‑bowls, deftly adding seasonings, his cries carrying far down the lane.

An old scholar seated beneath a large red lantern, poring over a thread‑bound book by the faint lantern light, occasionally spitting onto his fingertip, slowly turning a page, stealing leisure amidst the market’s clamor—landscapes, lakes, kings and ministers all confined within a four‑foot scroll hanging on the rack behind him.

A small troupe had claimed a clearing at the corner, brandishing spears and staves, cold light flashing like wheels in the wind. When a perilous move unfolded, the surrounding crowd cheered, tossing copper coins into the arena. Chen Qisheng saw clearly that the spinning coins bore the four characters “Jiajing Tongbao.”

Every detail, no matter how minute, was vividly alive.

A sudden thought struck him: if he released all twenty thousand Yellow Liang ghosts, the man standing beside him—Senior Brother Zhao, bearing the title “Number One Earth Immortal Below”—would likely be nothing more than a laughable clown, easily toppled.

Reflecting on their agreement, Chen Qisheng finally grasped that among his peers, Yang Long was the one who truly concealed his depths.

“Senior Brother’s craftsmanship, Junior Brother I truly admire.”

Chen Qisheng halted, turned to Yang Long with a solemn expression, and said, “But I still have a doubt—is all this really necessary?”

“Whether it’s necessary depends on the person,” Yang Long replied. “To my fellow disciples, experiencing the mythic primordial chaos of heaven‑splitting earth, personally living through the clash of the Sects of Severance and Interpretation, even painstakingly striving to alter the final outcome with one’s own power, would let them apprehend the ultimate form of the Immortal and clarify their evolutionary path.”

Yang Long shook his head. “I don’t see it that way. To me, the character ‘Immortal’ is half human—one who has climbed to the mountain’s summit. Thus wandering the marketplaces to taste humanity hones the Dao heart far more than idly pondering heavenly will within a daoist hall.”

“I’ve heard both views, and I know the new‑path cultivators constantly debate their merits. But regardless of which is correct, the White Jade Capital already contains many related permanent cave‑heavens; Senior Brother, you could simply enter one to experience it—why expend so much effort constructing a market‑town in your own cave‑heaven?”

“What others build remains theirs. Even if you enter, you’re merely following someone else’s script—your actions, your words, every outcome pre‑set. Even slaughtering every living thing in that dream has happened countless times before; what meaning does such a dream hold?”

Yang Long smiled. “Here it’s different: I am the master, I decide what world they enact for me. As long as I seal my own memories, what I perceive is genuine reality, not the false notions that fill other dreams. With such a cave‑heaven, why would I need to borrow the Yellow Liang dreams of the White Jade Capital for my reincarnational training?”

Having spoken, Yang Long pulled the still‑downcast Chen Qisheng from his reverie, and together they left the bustling market, turned into a quieter alley, and entered a theater erected within a courtyard.

Yang Long tossed two broken silver coins toward the door; the attendant waiting outside flashed an eager smile, turned, and shouted into the hall.

“Honored guests, two of you—service is on its way.”

Inside, the hall was packed to the rafters; dozens of benches held over a hundred patrons, murmuring, the air thick with heat and clamor.

Yang Long was no stranger to such places; he led Chen Qisheng straight through the crowd and seated them in the front row before the stage.

Onstage sat an elderly scholar with white hair and beard. Seeing the audience nearly filled, he set down his tea cup, seized the conspicuous clapper on the table before him.

*Pa.*

The din ceased abruptly; a multitude of expectant eyes turned toward the stage.

The old scholar smiled with satisfaction, then modulated his voice and began slowly.

“The Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors of Virtue, the merits of Xia, Shang, and Zhou. Heroes and warlords chase the sacred deer; demons, monsters, and ghosts roam the world. In the annals a few lines of names, on Mount Beiming countless barren graves. People often say, ‘Man does not refuse the road, tiger does not refuse the mountain; in a lifetime one contends for a breath of swift gratitude and vengeance, for the knight‑errant spirit that eliminates violence and brings peace.’”

“But today what I wish to speak of is not the distant roads of the jianghu, nor the deep mountains of the greenwood, but the Immortal who roams at ease upon the back of a green ox. Let me tell you how the Heavenly Master of Jiangxi’s Longhu Mountain subdues demons and guards the mortal realm.”

*Pa!*

Chen Qisheng’s interest waned; he glanced away, knowing without thought that this was Yang Long’s arrangement—two true Heavenly Masters listening to ancients speak of a false Heavenly Master, truly a taste for the macabre.

“Senior Brother Zhao.”

Chen Qisheng did not address Yang Long by his daoist title, but by his common name and surname.

“Did you summon me here solely so I might admire your Yellow Liang cave‑heaven?”

“It was the Daoist Heavenly Masters’ Office that sent me.”

Yang Long’s eyes remained fixed on the old scholar onstage; his tone was flat.

Upon hearing this, Chen Qisheng’s face darkened instantly, a cold gleam flashing in his pupils.

“Don’t worry—aside from us two brothers, there are no outsiders here.”

Yang Long sensed the chill emanating from his side, sighed, and said, “Junior Brother Chen, no matter what, you are still a member of Longhu Mountain; you need not harbor such great hostility toward your own sect.”

“The Heavenly Masters’ Office is not Longhu Mountain.”

Chen Qisheng snorted coldly, recalling the incident at Osaka City when an earth immortal had descended using Zhang Qinglei’s corpse. He continued, his earlier amiability gone: “Was it Zhang Qingsheng who sent you? Now that the High Heaven Plain is gone, the White Jade Capital’s trials are void—why still seek me?”

“A vacancy for an earth immortal is, in our eyes, a chance worth risking one’s life for; to the Zhang clan, however, it amounts to little.”

Yang Long offered no denial, merely stating, “But the death of Zhang Qinglei is no trivial matter for the Zhang family.”

“So you’re now thinking of burning the bridges after crossing?” Chen Qisheng sneered.

“If I harbored such intent, I would not be sitting here today. Zhang Qinglei’s death involves both of us; how could I expose you? I still understand the principle that when the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold.”

Yang Long’s words eased the fury rising in Chen Qisheng’s chest a little.

Indeed, Zhang Qinglei’s death binds both of them; Yang Long had even been the one to propose it. Were he to betray Chen Qisheng, his own fate would fare no better.

“After we return to Longhu Mountain this time, everyone will undergo the Heavenly Masters’ Office’s inspection—including your own ‘Combat Department.’”

Yang Long’s voice was not low, yet neither the lecturer onstage nor the listeners around them noticed anything amiss.

“At first the inspection proceeded smoothly; the other eight departments suffered no penalty. But when it came to the Combat Department, an unexpected incident arose.”

*Ka‑cha!*

The seat beneath them shattered, Chen Qisheng rose upright, killing intent flashing in his brows.

Yang Long appeared unfazed, continuing calmly: “During the inspection they discovered that the head of the Combat Department, Martial Uncle Xuan Dou, is suspected of embezzling department funds, covertly colluding with outer‑gate cultivators, and selling the secret arts and elixirs of the old Longhu Mountain lineage.”

“This is a frame‑up!” Chen Qisheng exclaimed, unable to contain his anger.

“Do the sect’s high elders simply stand by while they act wantonly, framing others at will?”

“The highest deity in the sect bears the surname Zhang, and the earth immortal leading the inspection, Zhang Qingsheng, also bears the surname Zhang.”

Yang Long’s countenance darkened, his voice dropping to a faint murmur: "The Celestial Master’s Mansion has handed down its verdict. I have seen the decree myself, bearing the signature and seal of Uncle Xuandou. The old master has already been taken into custody by the Celestial Master's Mansion."

"Master... he clearly never committed any of these acts. Why would he confess?"

Chen Qisheng’s face was as pale as parchment, the veins on his tightly clenched fists standing out in sharp relief.

"Zhang Qingsheng sent me here this time to tell you, Junior Brother, that the Zhang family has laid the entirety of Zhang Qinglü’s death squarely at the feet of the Jinyiwei in Inuyama Castle."

Yang Long paused for a moment, "What he implies by this, you should well understand."

What did he imply?

Was he not using the life and death of his master to coerce him, demanding that he use his status as a guest official to betray Li Jun?

Chen Qisheng’s clenched teeth ground together with a sharp click, while Yang Long’s ghostly voice echoed in his ears.

"The charges they have leveled against Uncle Xuandou are all ambiguous. Embezzlement of funds depends on the magnitude of the sum. Illicit trafficking of methods and elixirs also hinges on the grade of the techniques and the rank of the pills. If everything is categorized at the lowest severity, then even if Uncle Xuandou ultimately loses his position as the Chief of the Dou Department, he will at most face a period of secluded reflection within the Celestial Master's Mansion. At the very least, his life will be spared."

"But if you, Junior Brother..."

Yang Long sighed, cutting his own sentence short.

The atmosphere between the two grew as heavy as stagnant water, yet around them, a sudden chorus of gasps rang out. Seizing the moment, the old Confucian scholar on the stage spoke with increasing fervor, striking the sounding board once more with a sharp crack.

"They say the Celestial Master entered Jianchang City that day, only to behold a dazzling display of lanterns, the whole city dancing like fish and dragons. Yet how could these blooming splendors deceive those eyes of the Daoist realm? The Celestial Master pinched his fingers and swiped them across his brow, like the Lord of Guankou gazing upon the mortal realm, causing all demons and monsters to manifest their true forms!"

"What the street vendors boiled in their cauldrons was no food, but tender, severed human heads. The figures beckoning from the upper stories were no alluring courtesans, but blood-sucking tree spirits. Old ghosts led young phantoms, their bamboo skewers piercing human eyes. Malignant spirits bore fierce deities, scattering paper money and hanging banners to welcome a bride. Stay! This is clearly a domain of demons and a realm of ghosts; how can it be called a prosperous mortal world?!"

"The sword in the Celestial Master’s hand unsheathed, the talismans within his sleeves ignited, a solitary figure like an exiled immortal upon the earth, vowing to cleanse the city of demons and carve out a bright and righteous world!"

The impassioned words ignited the crowd below the stage, waves of cheers rising from all sides, enveloping the silent and motionless Chen Qisheng in their midst.

"Senior Brother, go back and tell Zhang Qingsheng that my master Xuandou has never done wrong, and I, Chen Qisheng, will not do wrong either!"

Chen Qisheng exhaled a heavy breath of foul air, as though a final resolution had been made, all traces of hesitation vanishing from his face.

"If he wishes to recoup the losses for the Zhang family, I can take it upon myself to relinquish the position of Chief of the Dou Department and the status of an Earth Immortal."

Chen Qisheng’s eyes locked onto Yang Long, his tone as biting as the northern wind in the depth of winter: "But if any harm comes to my master’s safety, I, Chen Qisheng, swear to no longer be an immortal of Longhu, but to become a human-eating demon!"

Chen Qisheng enunciated each word deliberately: "A demon that preys exclusively on the people of the Zhang family!"

"Junior Brother..."

Yang Long seemed to have anticipated this outcome long ago, letting out a sudden, long sigh: "Do not forget, the Zhang family are not the ones to be eaten; they are the immortals who slay demons!"

At that very moment, the storytelling on the stage reached its absolute climax.

The storytelling master appeared wild with excitement, froth flying from his lips: "The Celestial Master battles the demons, the sword edge clashing against fangs. Heads fell and rolled within Jianchang City, corpses littered the ground, and blood flowed like a river. Yet no matter how the Celestial Master slaughtered, the horde of demons did not diminish in the slightest, remaining like a billowing, ferocious tide that doused the talisman fires and snapped the immortal sword!"

Within the courtyard, the men, women, young, and old listening below the stage all turned in unison to look at Chen Qisheng, their hollow eyes streaming with tears!

Precisely at this instant, the storytelling master struck the wood block on the stage, adopting a mournful lament.

"Alas, that Celestial Master who defended the Dao and eradicated demons was ultimately decapitated by the monsters, his corpse dismembered, his internal organs devoured, and his bones and flesh masticated. Woe and sorrow, this world is still overrun by demons; where is there any room for the righteous path of the mortal realm? The Celestial Master is dead..."

"Zhang Qingsheng!!!"

The expression on Chen Qisheng’s face at this moment could hardly be described by words like fierce or enraged; the whites of his eyes grew wider, his hair disheveled, his pupils contracting, appearing entirely deranged.

A man does not forsake his path; a tiger does not forsake its mountain.

Yet now, the man had no path of return, and the tiger could find no forest!

"The Zhang family... ah..."

Yang Long murmured dejectedly to himself, his figure subsequently vanishing from this dreamlike grotto-heaven.