Chapter 572: Breaking the Dream to See True Martial (3)

Chapter 572 – The Dream Breaks the True Path (Part Three)

The footsteps of the monk at the base of Wudaosheng echoed softly, the hall of the jade gate standing alone. He spoke plainly: “The hall itself is merely a place with one old statue and a half-collapsed brick hut. The matters at hand are so simple—clearing the mountain gate and the stone steps leading up. Beyond that, nothing else.”

Only a few had lived here before, the last of the wandering monks from the Eastern Path, whose days had faded like mist. This time, the blessing of the heavens had brought them into other palaces, where they could enjoy the comforts of a later life.

Only Zhao Yindong remained, the sole custodian of this jade gate hall. The old monk from the Demon Gate once remarked, “This place is a mere shadow of what it once was.” Now, even his words seemed hollow.

Among the tangled undergrowth, a narrow path emerged, flanked by two wooden doors adorned with fresh images of the mountain deities. Snow still clung to the eaves, and the scent of incense drifted through the air.

The cold wind howled around him, but Zhao Yindong, with a determined face, wiped the sweat from his brow. Memories flickered—of the fine silk threads from the imperial kitchen, of the way the scent of roasted meat lingered in the air. He remembered the way his hands trembled as he handed over the offerings, the way his heart swelled with gratitude.

The silence outside was so profound that even the distant footsteps seemed to fade into the distance.

Turning to face the hearth, Zhao Yindong gazed at the simmering pot. He smiled, a quiet resolve in his eyes. “Come back.”

“Back already.”

Chen Qian, returning from Suzhou, stood before the hall in a simple robe. His hands were bare, his sleeves empty, but his resolve was unshaken. He wore the name of the imperial kitchen, and his words carried weight.

“Why did you come back?” Zhao Yindong asked, his voice steady.

Chen Qian hesitated, then poured a cup of tea, the steam curling like a promise. “Because I heard the situation at the Demon Gate has grown more urgent. The winds of change are blowing, and the mountain halls are stirring. I fear the consequences will be far greater than anyone imagined.”

Zhao Yindong’s gaze softened. “You’ve been listening to the whispers of the past. I’ve seen the signs—conflicts rising, alliances shifting. The old ways are fading, and the path ahead is uncertain.”

Chen Qian nodded, his expression grave. “The ranks of scholars, sages, and sages alike are united in their resolve. Even the imperial family has begun to take notice. The power of the jade gate is no longer just a legend—it is a force that shapes the fate of the realm.”

Zhao Yindong felt the weight of history pressing upon him. The path ahead would be fraught with peril, but he would not falter. “Then let us face it together. For the sake of our path, and for the future of our order.”

And with that, the two brothers stepped into the hall, the echoes of their words mingling with the firelight, ready to confront whatever came next.

Chen Qisheng fell silent for a long time, then suddenly spoke a startling, unbelievable sentence.

Zhao Yilong's hand, reaching for the wine bottle, trembled suddenly, and he pressed his throat, shouting angrily, 'Daozu is above, what nonsense are you speaking?!'

The reason Chen Qisheng asked so suddenly was that the Zhao Yilong before him was utterly unlike the Zhao Yilong he would later know—so different they seemed like two different people.

In the dream, Zhao Yilong could sacrifice honor for survival, even abandoning his cultivation path.

Yet in the real world, after the destruction of Wudang, he willingly became a 'living tomb' that could be dug up at any moment, keeping the spirits of many senior brothers within his own cavern.

Such an act was no different from shouldering a heavy mountain range day after day.

To keep his cavern functioning, Zhao Yilong risked everything, usurping a place in Longhu Mountain and obsessively seizing every usable resource.

Chen Qisheng could not fathom what had transpired to cause such a drastic change in Zhao Yilong's character.

Or perhaps.

In this dream, the Zhao Yilong portrayed was not himself at all, was it?

After a brief pause, Chen Qisheng asked, 'Master, why were you so certain to join Wudang in the first place?'

'What's wrong with you, why do you keep asking such strange questions?'

Zhao Yilong frowned tightly, yet answered truthfully, 'Because I was born in the heartland of Wudang, and our Xuanyue Hall is a branch of Wudang; if I don't join Wudang, where else could I go?'

Before Chen Qisheng could continue speaking, the talismans at both their waists trembled simultaneously.

Light projected forth, intertwining into a decree descending from the summit of Tianzhu Peak.

The content written in vermilion exuded solemn severity.

[Sichuan, Chu, and Wumen were destroyed]

Chen Qisheng saw the opening line, and his eyes instantly narrowed.

The world divided into martial sects, and the conflict began.

'ROAR!'

Amid a mournful roar, a massive wing plunged into the sea.

The black water was stained with a dark red hue, making those within feel ever more oppressed and heavy.

Zou Sijing turned over and fell back onto his own floating pavilion; the scarlet armor he wore bore corrosion marks everywhere, and a gruesome wound stretching from shoulder to waist on his chest, with melted plates at the tear that could not heal.

The rolling waves tossed the vessel left and right, while beneath Zou Sijing's feet lay a deep pit; his silhouette stood unmoving, his gaze coldly fixed ahead.

A colossal serpent rose from the sea; even just the portion above the water was tens of zhang long, its back having lost one pair of wings that Zou Sijing had slashed off, bleeding profusely yet growing ever more ferocious.

One side wielded more 'backdoors', while the other was aided by a black-armored figure.

This clash within the Yin‑Yang sequence appeared momentarily balanced.

Yet both Zou Sijing and Gong Sunqia knew in their hearts that neither side could afford to let this end peacefully today.

For the fluctuations emanating from that dream sea beast grew ever stronger, like the crackling of breaking stone echoing constantly in their ears.

This showed that the dream cycles within Zhao Yilong's cavern had reached their final climax.

When the dream ended, the entire sea beast would collapse utterly.

Then Zhao Yilong and everything he remembered about Wudang would vanish like smoke, never to return.

'Zou Sijing, you now extract Chen Qisheng's consciousness, hand over the cavern to me, and the Eastern Emperor's Palace can still grant you a life. Otherwise, from now on the Yin‑Yang sequence will have no place for you!'

Gong Sunqia's impatient roar reverberated across the sea, his twisting body whipping up a more savage tide that surged in all directions.

Yet such a breathtaking spectacle was suddenly struck by an brutally coarse shout.

'Damn you, old bastard, give me a chance to live, but today you have none!'

Zou Sijing bowed his head, caressing his armor, his eyes tearing with pain.

'Even my wife, you dare to hit?'

'CLANG!'

Zou Sijing gripped his long spear with both hands, eyebrows raised, eyes fierce, his aura soaring; he rose into the sky and tore a massive hole through the storm clouds above.

'Yin‑Yang Sorcerer, Master of Millet!'

A grand chant rolled like thunder, Gong Sunqia's serpentine body twisted, letting out an angry roar to the heavens.

'Obstinate fool, today I shall swallow your life and extinguish your fate!'

'Yin‑Yang Sorcerer, Master of Millet!'

The same opening incantation, invisible power filling the sea; amid raging winds and waves, terrifying marvels poured forth.

'I am Gong Sunqia, known as the Zhu Zhou Butterfly of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, shaping the four seas and eight wastes, summoning the dreams of mountains and seas!'

In the dim sea, a pure full moon rose, and towering barbaric mountains rose behind Gong Sunqia; the cunning serpent grew ever larger, its scales sharp, a single horn piercing its crown.

'I am Zou Sijing, also called the Zhu Zhou Butterfly of the Yin‑Yang Sequence, burning the backdoors, extinguishing the eight directions!'

On the deck, the long spear in Zou Sijing's hand glowed with molten red, slowly turning to scarlet iron, coalescing in his clenched fists.

'Wu Sequence Su Ce, come!'

With a deafening roar, blood surged from Zou Sijing's mouth and nose, his pupils constricted then widened, revealing a fierce gleam in his eyes!

'THUD!'

The floating pavilion suddenly sank, Zou Sijing's silhouette burst forth, exploding with a continuous barrage of ear‑splitting booms!

'DIE!'

Gong Sunqia shrieked fiercely, the sea rolled back like a celestial dome, his forehead horn entwined with blue lightning, launching forth in an instant.

'BANG!'

The water wall spanning heaven and earth exploded, rain pouring down, hammering the sea surface as if boiling.

Stout lightning struck the fist blade wrapped in molten red, offering no resistance, scattering it like withered wood.

'Uncle Zou, I scraped you today!'

Zou Sijing was wrapped in fine arcs of electricity, the cold light illuminating the fierce malice in his eyes.

The startled Gong Sunqia could not fathom when he had ever struck his wife, yet the other dared to fight him without fear of death.

'ROAR!'

The serpent's mouth gaped, its ivory fangs sharp as knives, intent on piercing the enemy's flesh.

Zou Sijing spun and smashed the fang with a fist, then seized a broken half‑tooth, thrusting it deep into the serpent's body.

His armor plates rippled as wind surged; Zou Sijing's body plunged, dragging the fang, tearing flesh along its path.

He had vowed to scrape you, Gong Sunqia.

Uncle Zou, I must see it done!