Chapter 579: Evil Shadows of Dragon-Tiger

ChapterFive Hundred Seventy‑Nine: The Dragon‑Tiger Malevolent Shade

“Chen Qisheng, I recall that you were once a disciple of Dragon and Tiger, so I grant you a chance to seek justice and settle this grudge. Do not think Dragon and Tiger Mountain is weak and can be bullied, pushing your luck!”

Zhang Chongcheng soared through the void, his Daoist robes billowing, his ethereal bearing that of an immortal, exuding celestial grace.

A mighty divine sense unfurled from within him, and the colossal dharma‑form that Chen Qisheng had once glimpsed in the True Warrior dream rose into view.

The phantom’s visage mirrored Zhang Chongcheng exactly; a golden chain‑like ancestral Daoist artifact coiled like a dragon, spiraling around the apparition, while an oppressive pressure, borne of his indifferent gaze, fell upon Chen Qisheng.

Within the Daoist palaces nestled among the surrounding peaks, streams of light rose one after another into the heavens; virtually every remaining Dao lineage of Dragon and Tiger Mountain was mobilized.

Zhang Qingli’s figure was among them; his eyes, once hollow, now sparkled with uncontainable excitement.

It felt like an aged gourmand finally beholding a rare delicacy, ecstatic beyond measure.

In an instant, Chen Qisheng and the ten strands of true‑qi mist were engulfed in layered encirclement, the raging divine sense pressing in from all sides.

“You think feigning death will settle a true grudge, Zhang Chongcheng? With Dragon and Tiger Mountain in your hands, it’s nothing short of disgrace.”

Chen Qisheng swept his gaze with his sword, showing not a trace of fear; a contemptuous smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Chen Qisheng, if you insist on seeking death, then do not blame others!”

Zhang Chongcheng’s face darkened; he flicked his sleeve, the flying chains halted and coiled, then lifted upright like a golden dragon raising its head, letting out a furious dragon’s roar.

But at that very moment, fierce killing intent surged up from all around Dragon and Tiger Mountain.

Bestial ape howls and dragon roars clashed; the night wind bore a faint, elusive laughter; the clatter of armor, the murmurs that lure one into sleep, and a razor‑sharp aura from the south approached at breakneck speed.

All these upheavals seemed to point to a single fact: even now another encirclement had Dragon and Tiger Mountain trapped in its midst!

Not only Chen Qisheng felt the attack from front and rear—so did you, Zhang Chongcheng!

Zhang Chongcheng’s brows knit, hesitation and doubt flickering across his face; just as his lips trembled, about to speak, Chen Qisheng, trapped within the encirclement, suddenly moved.

He heard Chen Qisheng let out a long whistle; his body, brimming with explosive tension, shot forth like a drawn bowstring, the true‑qi coiling around him tearing apart the quasi‑solid obstructing divine sense, his blade already before Zhang Chongcheng.

It seemed no one had expected Chen Qisheng to be so valiant, daring to break the stalemate first; Zhang Chongcheng, caught off guard, flinched in startled anger, barely managing to graze the sword’s edge and dodge.

Though he succeeded in evading Chen Qisheng’s sudden thrust, the encircling divine sense of the Dragon and Tiger Dao lineages shattered at that point, exposing the Great Dharma Altar.

Chen Qisheng decisively discarded his sword and clenched his fist; his knuckles slammed into the sword’s hilt. The surging true‑qi turned the blade into a thread of lightning, piercing straight into the Great Dharma Altar.

Boom!!

“Zhang Chongcheng, did you deliberately harm me?!”

From the collapsing Daoist hall rang a shrill cry of outrage; the remaining curses were drowned by the thunderous collapse.

“This sword is that of Sun Luyou, chief of the Dragon and Tiger Combat Division, who slew the traitorous Dao lineage Zhang Changyuan to purge the sect; offered as sacrifice to the ancestors of Dragon and Tiger, the incense of the hall has turned to foul miasma, the green hills no longer hold heavenly reason. Sun Luyou is no longer a Dao lineage of Dragon and Tiger!”

Numbness and deathly silence filled face after face; dazed eyes watched the sword light surge heavenward once more.

Straight toward the ancestral hall still looming higher.

Clang!

A silver‑white flying sword shot toward the ancient gray‑brick, tile‑roofed structure; as it neared, its speed increased, the trembling blade as if caught in a crossfire, bursting into blinding sparks.

Just as it was about to strike the hall’s eaves, the sword’s thrusting force began to wane. Suddenly, the Ming Ghost Long Army appeared behind the blade, its visage hideous, both hands gripping the sword and delivering a heavy chop.

Crack!

Sword qi wailed, shearing off a corner of the eaves.

“This sword is from the Dao lineage of Chen Qisheng of the Wudang Heaven’s Gate Hall, acting on behalf of Hall Master Zhao Yanlong to greet you, Master Zhang Tian. The True Warrior path is not yet severed, our grudge not yet cleared—there will come a day of reckoning.”

The surviving Dragon and Tiger Dao lineages watched the sword, trembling as it flew back from on high; a pallid despair spread in their eyes.

Everything was unexpected, yet somehow it all felt inevitable.

The sect they once prided themselves on had truly crumbled into decay.

No one issued commands; the summoned Dao implements flickered out, their light extinguished, while the activated talismans were sealed one after another, cooling into inertness.

In the cold rain, the Daoists withdrew their divine senses and sank listlessly to the ground.

The true‑qi mist that held the sword twitched slightly, as if shaking its head in a silent chuckle, then dissolved on the wind, winding back into Chen Qisheng’s body.

This time Chen Qisheng did not take to the sword; he set foot on the mountain path and descended on foot.

His steps grew lighter, his figure swifter.

Laughter echoed along the mountain trail.

Before the collapsed mountain gate, kneeling everywhere were Dragon and Tiger devotees, tears streaming down their faces.

Amidst the bowed heads, a few standing figures stood out starkly.

Yuan Mingfeng held a black umbrella aloft, her gaze smiling as she watched the figure emerge from the rain‑slick mountain path.

Shen Lan sat on a broken stone, shoulders hunched, his expression grim, his eyes filled with envy he could not conceal.

“Old Chen, that ceremony, that bearing—you could out‑pretend even Uncle Zou!”

Zou Jiuku laughed heartily, stepping forward and slinging an arm around Chen Qisheng’s shoulders.

“Honestly, aren’t you afraid Dragon and Tiger Mountain will lash out like a cornered dog? If you don’t come down the mountain, I’ll have to drag Aunt Yuan away to flee. At worst, each year on this day I’ll personally come here to burn incense and pour wine, offering sacrifices to your spirit in heaven.”

“Of course I’m afraid, but you said—dare to fight or not, one must have the proper bearing; if I showed weakness here, wouldn’t I be disgracing you?”

Seeing Chen Qisheng finally break into a hearty smile, Zou Jiuku pressed his lips together and gave his shoulder a firm pat.

“Watching you grow step by step, I must admit, I am deeply gratified.”

Contrary to expectations, the secretly vigilant Zou Jiuku did not await Chen Qisheng’s fists or kicks; instead, seeing the man slip his hand from his shoulder, he took two quick steps, faced the crowd, and clasped his hands in salute.

“Thank you all for your help these past days.”

Chen Qisheng looked at Zou Jiuku, his voice solemn: “Uncle Zou, thank you for what happened in the Yellow Liang Dark Sea.”

“Aunt Yuan, you told him? Ah, why bother?”

Zou Jiuku glanced at Yuan Mingfeng, lifted his chin, and slowly rubbed his hands along his temples.

“It was merely the slaying of a peak Yin‑Yang Sequence four, Zhuang Zhou Butterfly, ranked fifty‑nine among the Zou clan, and incidentally earning the eternal enmity of the Eastern Imperial Palace, the greatest power of the Yin‑Yang Sequence—a trifling matter, not worth mentioning; now, rise.”

Zou Jiuku narrowed his eyes, wore a satisfied grin, and smacked his lips, still unsatisfied: “Old Chen, you don’t know— that brat was still arrogant in the Dark Sea, insisting I hand you over.”

While he rambled on, Chen Qisheng had already bowed deeply, fists clasped, before Shen Lan.

“What’s this for? I didn’t do anything.”

Shen Lan tried to sidestep, but Yuan Mingfeng pressed her hand onto his shoulder, holding him in place.

“Brother Shen, though we have only just met, I will keep this favor in my heart.”

“We’re brothers; saying such things feels distant. Just call me Xiao Shen. Brother Shen, I cannot bear the title.”

Shen Lan buried his eyes, muttering in a voice only he could hear: “I too wish to charge in alone with a single blade.”

Chen Qisheng looked at the dejected Shen Lan, unable to suppress a puzzled expression.

“It’s nothing; he took a knock, he’ll be fine in a few days.”

Yuan Mingfeng explained softly.

“Aunt Yuan…”

“I don’t need to.”

Yuan Mingfei lifted her chin toward Chen Qisheng's back, smiling, “And the person you ought to thank most isn’t us—it’s him.”

The battered armor, scorched by water and fire, hacked by blades and axes, bore countless wounds. Li Jun, weary and dust‑laden, strode forward.

“Hold your thanks—I have to ask: have you avenged Old Master Sun?”

Chen Qisheng clenched his fists, nodded heavily, “I have.”

“That’s enough.”

Li Jun exhaled a long, turbid breath; his armor finally slipped off.

“Shen Li doesn’t want to face you himself; he asked me to tell you he wishes to make a trip to Tianque.”

Yuan Mingfei spoke softly, the black umbrella in her hand tilting silently to the other side.

“Holding a breath in your chest?” Li Jun asked.

“Mm, that’s also a good thing.”

Li Jun glanced back at Shen Li lagging behind, sighed helplessly.

“Besides, Fan Wujiu and Xie Bian’an have gone to Songjiang Prefecture, where Yang Bai Ze resides. They say they’ll first secure a forward post, insisting the Xu family must not be overlooked.”

Yuan Mingfei paused, then said, “But these are merely excuses; you should understand the true reason.”

“What reason? Simply put, they fear becoming a burden.”

Li Jun knew this all too well, yet could do nothing about it.

Now the opponents he faces grow ever stronger; he has no confidence he can continue to shield Fan Wujiu and Xie Bian’an completely.

Better to let them stay behind than to drag them into danger; perhaps this course is wiser.

“All of them left without a word—truly not a pleasant taste.”

“So you must not die; as long as you live, they will be safe.”

Yuan Mingfei asked gently, “Then are we really heading to the capital?”

“Zhou You died at the hands of the Buddha’s sequence in Dazhao Temple; Su Ce’s death is also tied to Sangyan Temple, and your affair—I have always remembered it. Even if the capital lacks the rite to break the sequence, I will still go to meet those Buddhist lords.”

Li Jun smirked, “Barren mountains and evil waters—aren’t they just perfect for a petty villain like me to gain advantage?”

At that moment, the grand chanting for deliverance echoed across Longhu Mountain.

Walking behind the two, Chen Qisheng suddenly halted, turning to gaze at the still‑brightly‑lit Longhu Mountain.

“What are you looking at?” Jiu Si‑jiu asked.

“Fraudster, do you really think there are immortals on this mountain?”

“I don’t know if immortals exist, but there are plenty of people with cruel hearts.”

Chen Qisheng felt a sudden urge: “Shall we cast a hexagram?”

“Sure, that’s my specialty.”

Jiu Si‑jiu flung a tortoise shell into the air; the copper coins inside clinked together.

“Won’t it be another great omen of misfortune?”

Jiu Si‑jiu caught the shell; a speck of powder fell from between his fingers.

“No, it’s misfortune turned to good fortune!”

Longhu Mountain Ancestral Hall.

Zhang Chongcheng passed through a dark corridor; at its end lay an open‑door hall.

As he stepped over the threshold, tens of thousands of thick candles, each as thick as a child’s arm, ignited themselves; the centuries‑old gray bricks, red pillars, and white walls stood unchanged, while the founding patriarch, the Celestial Master, sat exalted on his Sumeru throne—broad‑browed, green‑eyed, vermilion‑crowned, his divine presence awe‑inspiring.

Three yellow futons lay side by side; now they sit empty.

A figure stood with his back to the hall door, holding a long incense stick, paying homage to the deity on the altar.

“Celestial Master, Junior Brother Chongyuan is dead.”

Zhang Chongcheng dropped to his knees, head bowed, daring not to look at that back, and explained, “The traitor Chen Qisheng, in the cavern of the Wudang remnants, had a fortuitous encounter; his spiritual intensity has risen to the level of the former Wudang Three Pastoral Monarchs. I was momentarily careless and failed to stop him. Please, Celestial Master, punish me.”

Perhaps truly fearing punishment, Zhang Chongcheng hardly paused before continuing.

“Moreover, Chen Qisheng has allies down the mountain ready to rendezvous; I worry that if we clash again we will ruin your great undertaking, Celestial Master. So I let them go—not out of fear of battle or death, but please see clearly.”

“Do not fear, Chongcheng; you have walked the Dao with me for years, toiling with heart and strength, your merit is not slight. Even if you harbor a few petty thoughts, they are no great blemish.”

The soft rustle of footsteps sounded in his ears; Zhang Chongcheng felt dread stir within him.

“As for Chongyuan, this is the tribulation his fate ordained; if he dies, he dies.”

He dies, he dies!

Hearing those words, Zhang Chongcheng finally breathed out.

Yet he also knew that the other’s present leniency stemmed solely from the plan remaining unbroken.

In this calculated display of weakness, Chongyuan’s forced emergence from seclusion to slay Li Jun is one link.

His reckless command caused Longhu Mountain to suffer defeat after defeat, heavy losses, and turmoil among the mountain’s populace—another link.

Finally, having himself choose retreat and letting Chen Qisheng ascend the mountain for revenge is yet another link.

Chongyuan’s final act was to feign death, slip through heaven’s net by using the authority of the ‘Jia‑zi Heavenly Immortal’ to untie his immortal register bound in Yujing, then assume a new identity after rebirth to take his place once more.

Thus Chongyuan will not die, and Longhu Mountain’s pretense of weakness achieves its aim.

When the hidden spies within Longhu Mountain relay this news, those outside will truly believe the mountain has already sunk into sunset, teetering on collapse, its people so scattered that even the Celestial Master of ‘One Under Heaven’ harbors rebellious thoughts.

Then they will lower their guard, and inevitably fall into Longhu Mountain’s trap.

The plan has only two flaws: first, the Dao sequence of Longhu Mountain slain by Li Jun’s hand far exceeded expectations—especially the ‘Xi’‑generation sealed sequences, which were utterly massacred.

Second, Chen Qisheng, ignoring his own dire straits, cut down the defenseless Zhang Chongyuan after his body‑release, leaving him no power to resist.

The sole comfort Zhang Chongcheng now feels is that it was Chongyuan, not himself, who was ordered to leave the pass.

Had they been reversed, would Chongyuan have been able to block Chen Qisheng?

The answer is obvious.

He would likely have done just as I have—knelt here to receive the Celestial Master’s forgiveness.

That is all.

“Chongcheng, when Chongyuan spoke his last words before death, how much was true, how much false? How much was for the sake of sounding convincing, and how much sprang from the uncontrolled utterance of his heart due to the severing of his Dao foundation?”

The recently relaxed Zhang Chongcheng shuddered awake, his nerves tightening once more.

“Disciple.”

“He might truly resent his master.”

That voice sighed, “Alas, he still sees things too narrowly. He fails to grasp the importance of the ‘Jia‑zi Heavenly Immortal’ post; as long as that seat remains on Longhu Mountain, any decline can be reversed in an instant, and the scattered hearts can be re‑gathered.”

“But if that seat is lost, then that is the true doom of Longhu Mountain. Do you understand this principle?”

Iunderstand, Master.

Zhang Chongcheng answered hastily, fearful of showing even a hint of hesitation.

It’s good that you understand. The vacancy left by Chongyuan shall be given to Zhang Qingli.

The voice said: “He is your bloodline, likewise possessing a loyal and sincere heart devoted to the sect. With him assisting you, I can rest easy. Once I gather their ‘Celestial Immortal’ authority and fully recover from my wounds, the title of ‘Heavenly Master Zhang’ will also be yours to inherit.”

Master, with your discernment, I have never harbored such thoughts.

Zhang Chongcheng pressed his forehead firmly against the cold floor, his body trembling uneasily.

If you were to entertain such thoughts, would you have me, after attaining immortality, still bound by these worldly chores?

I dare not, Master; I merely worry that my modest talents are insufficient for such a great responsibility.

Do not worry; when that day comes, the Dao order of the world will be solely the Way of Dragon and Tiger. I act as Heaven’s will, and you are the one Heaven favors—none can defy your command.

Zhang Chongcheng, voice thick with gratitude and fervor, declared: “Disciple shall obey the Heavenly Master’s edict.”

You may withdraw.

After Zhang Chongcheng crawled away from the Dao hall, the figure seated cross-legged on the mat, head bowed, slowly spoke.

Prince Min, now that we have come to this point, what do you think?

Do I still have a choice? If I refuse to cooperate, I fear I shall never leave this place for the rest of my life.

In the illuminated blank space cast by candlelight, a figure emerged from the ripples.

If Li Jun were present now, he would instantly recognize the voice’s owner—the very old schemer who had painstakingly sought to bind him in karmic affinity.

“Prince Min jests,” said the Daoist, “but having you travel so far, if I did not fulfill my host’s duty, word would get out and become a laughingstock.”

“That bastard Li Jun—if it weren’t for him, how could I have been captured?”

Zhu Pingyan cursed silently, his face a cold smile: “Daoist, your hospitality bears an ancient grace. I merely wonder whether I should address you as Zhang Chonglian or Zhang Zijí.”

“Zhang Chonglian is me, and Zhang Zijí is also me. Since we share the same bloodline as father and son, there is no need to quibble over names.”

The figure on the mat slowly lifted his head, light and shadow playing across his features.

The imprisoned Zhu Pingyan saw only a pair of knife‑thin lips, slowly curving into a faint smile.

“Zhang Fengyue calculates the hearts of men, and so do I. My lord, do you say that this time I have prevailed? Hahahaha.”