Chapter 682: Pursuing the Way Is Victory

Chapter 682: Triumph by the Dao

In the city of Fuliang, Liang Gongming and Li Jun engaged in a duel.

Though both sides held back, Liang Gongming underestimated Li Jun's ferocity, and his injuries were severe.

Moreover, to avoid suspicion from Zhang Jiji, he summoned the elite disciples of the Qingcheng sect from the Dragon‑Tiger realm and the elite of the Yongle sect from the Fuli, all now gathered within 'Kunlun', assisting in the control of the central axis of the celestial orbit star.

Liang Gongming rode alone back to Longhu Mountain, indeed acting under Zhang Jiji's command.

Yet he never imagined that Zhang Qingli, whom he had planned to slowly purge after the battle, suddenly struck first, catching Liang off guard.

The sudden assault left Liang in a precarious situation.

The roar of exploding talismans and the whistling of weapons shattered the mountains, hurling countless cultivators deep into their caves; bewildered, they gazed toward the direction of the Tianshi Mansion as unrest spread swiftly.

The sorcery engulfed the ruins, flattening the halls into a heap of debris.

Liang knelt on one knee, his spirit nearly dried within his skull, his face pallid as gold paper, his robe torn and ragged, half his body scorched black by flame, the other half cloaked in a thin frost.

In a brief span of relentless combat, Liang seemed plunged into an abyss of exhaustion, on the brink of death and loss of the Way.

Yet the tide was favorable; Zhang Qingli, unhurried, ordered his subordinates to sustain remote consumption with talismans, while he himself lingered far beyond the fray, showing no intent to draw near.

It seemed he resolved to slowly devour the former Qingcheng Grand Master to the death.

For Liang was now a cornered beast; the only threat he feared was a desperate counterstrike when his foe was near death.

Liang was keenly aware of his plight, sighing inwardly, his lips curving into a bitter, helpless smile.

At the onset of the attack, he secretly attempted to contact the Heavenly Emperor's palace, but all messages sank like stones, and to this day he still received no reply.

Stripped of that final aid, Liang felt like a lone vessel adrift in a storm, casting off every crew and cargo, determined to break the waves and press onward.

Just as he seemed ready to pierce the sea‑shrouding mist and claim freedom and light, a small hidden reef pierced his hull; exhausted, he could only watch the waters pour in, inch by inch swallowing him.

Thus, bearing a heavy burden of humiliation, he was ruined by a insignificant figure he had never regarded; even his steadfast spirit could not help but feel a wave of despondency.

And the overwhelming, tide‑like fatigue that enveloped him.

"Zhang Qingli!"

Liang suddenly bellowed, steeling himself, lifting his shattered frame, and with a fierce aura he shattered the countless talismans and weapons that surrounded him.

His posture stood proud like a tiger, and in his twisted, flesh‑wrenched face emerged a terrifying dignity that commanded awe.

"You claim that the law of the strong devouring the weak is the supreme rule for cultivators, yet it is but a contemptible path for us! To use the small path as a measure, you have no right to become a Way‑leader!"

"Liang Gongming, after years of commanding a sect, you are a warlord among the new Dao leaders. Yet, on the brink of death, you cling to this false veneer."

Amid the crowd's guard, Zhang Qingli crossed his arms within his sleeves, his eyes brimming with disdain.

"There is no such thing as a cultivator in this world," he declared, "the grass eats the leaf, the beast eats the grass, man slays the beast; Heaven and Earth are indifferent, caring not for the mutual predation of nature. Why feign concern for so‑called fellow disciples? Do you seek revenge for your sect?"

Zhang Qingli shook his head and whispered, "The Way is not for cultivation, but for pursuit! If one pursues the Dao, a myriad shall clash, and in mountains of corpses and seas of blood the ultimate sage shall emerge. All else is merely a falsehood masking true intent!"

In Liang's sight, Zhang's visage was veiled by a ghastly aura, his body swarming with countless restless souls, the silent shrieks piercing his soul like needles.

"How far can you travel on such a wicked path?"

"Even if you manage only a single step, is that not a hundredfold stronger than these hypocrites?"

The Way differs; we need not conspire.

More words are but useless babble.

Liang coldly declared, "Swallowing father to seize the Way, slaughtering fellow disciples. Zhang Qingli, your wolfish ambition will not go unpunished; when Zhang Jiji returns to Longhu Mountain, he will not spare you!"

"Compared to the Tianshi, I am but a faint star to a bright moon; even if he devours me, it is an honor. Likewise, should I draw the Tianshi into my body, I shall become the first immortal in this realm."

A flush of crimson rose on Zhang's pale face, and strange hues flickered within his pupils.

After a pause, he surveyed Liang, scoffed, "Your provocations are useless, do you feel desperate now?"

"I have no interest in preserving my life by bowing to a creature like you. Zhang Qingli, the Dao has stood for millennia; false demons who twist its meaning are countless, and you and Zhang Jiji are but one of them."

"Yet you are destined to be a fleeting blossom, soon crushed to dust by the righteous Way, never to attain immortality."

Liang's topknot burst apart, and his dormant spirit surged anew, the fierce aura of a Daoist of the third rank surging to the heavens.

"Zhang Qingli! You seek my Dao foundation? It lies here; if you dare, come and take it!"

His mind coalesced like a blade, cleaving Liang's robe and flesh, revealing a smooth, golden core in his abdomen, the rotating Dao foundation.

"If you lack even this courage, lower your arrogant visage, kneel before me and beg. If I am in a good mood, perhaps I shall grant you a bite of flesh!"

The rotating foundation emitted a faint thunderous roar, yet its golden hue faded, revealing fine cracks like hair on its surface.

Zhang's gaze was filled with greedy intent.

He knew Liang was scheming to use his own foundation as leverage, forcing a duel.

"Liang, within this Dragon‑Tiger realm, countless devout disciples of your Qingcheng still live."

Zhang kept his arms folded in his robe sleeves, his voice calm yet like thunder, striking Liang's silhouette back and forth.

"If you must destroy your foundation, preferring to shatter like jade rather than remain whole, I cannot stop you."

He whispered, "Yet the Tianshi will soon issue a decree: the senior elder will defend the righteous Dragon‑Tiger path, battling the demon Li Jun to grievous injury and death."

"The Tianshi, mindful of the elder's merit, opens the gates of convenience for all Qingcheng disciples, regardless of age or gender; all may enter the cavernous caves free of charge to cultivate. Any aspiration is permitted, eternal existence, abiding with the Dao."

Each word struck like thunder, rolling like rain.

The light in Liang's eyes dimmed with his words, his wild hair fell disheveled upon his shoulders, and his aura abruptly waned.

In an instant, his upright form bent, his features marred by an indescribable decay, as if the earlier burst was merely a flash; all his spirit and vitality were finally exhausted.

Eternal life, a prison of dreams.

He became a captive of the Daoic dream, no different from a yellow‑river ghost, until someone plucked his soul, dissolving him into a spell that vanished in the stench of blood.

In a hazy moment, Liang seemed to see the wrathful spirits around Zhang turn into mournful cries, bowing and pleading with him to abandon resistance.

Had it been any other time, Liang would never have wavered for a moment.

To imprison such a multitude of sect disciples within the cavern would shake the very stability of the Dao lineage; a misstep could taint the faith and jeopardize the crucial position of Zhang Jiji.

Even Zhang Jiji would not dare act lightly, let alone Zhang Qingli.

Even if he saw through the feigned bravado, Liang could muster no vigor, feeling endless fatigue and boredom.

Within the former 'Four Mountains and One Palace', though endless intrigue and scheming persisted, in this generational shift an elder willingly sealed himself as a sect treasure, while a new generation fought bloodily for the sect's honor.

The qualified seek the Way to attain fruition, while the ordinary cling to it for peace of mind.

The strong protect the weak, the weak exalt the strong, flowers bloom in brocade, fire roasts in oil, a flourishing scene.

Yet they were utterly powerless before a selfish, thieving Daoist like Zhang Jiji, vanishing in an instant like ash.

If Heaven is so unjust, why persist in futile struggle?

"New Dao Leaders. Hahaha."

Liang's skeletal skull twitched gently, his laughter a self‑mocking echo without end.

The laughter faded, and he slowly closed his eyes.

Floating talismans from all sides hung idle, their crimson glow pulsing like breath, no longer locked onto a target.

In the crimson sea of light that flickers in and out, a golden elixir core, its rotation halted, drifted away from the home it had inhabited for years, floating toward the distant horizon.

Yearning yet helpless.

Zhang Qingli finally withdrew his hands from his robe, raised his hand to seize the approaching core, and without hesitation swallowed it whole.

“With this core, plus my father’s legacy, I can ascend to the third rank in the blink of an eye.”

In his heart he whispered. At this moment he could clearly feel two foreign golden cores colliding within his own abdomen.

The fourth‑rank core belonging to him had already been pulverized in the clash of the two dominant forces, turning the entire interior battlefield into ash, and as the two rank‑three cores grew more fierce, it began to contract inward.

The three seemed on the verge of merging into a single entity, coalescing into a brand‑new Dao core for Zhang Qingli.

Under the new sect’s Daoist tradition that uses the Yellow Mist Cave as its training ground and refines its methods in dreams, Zhang Qingli could forge such a perverse path—“driving the wolf to swallow the tiger, fattening himself”—and bypass the centuries of dream‑filled hardship.

Zhang Chongyuan, after decades of scheming, had pilfered Zhang Xi’s “Yellow Mist Fusion Dao”, yet Zhang Qingli, building upon that foundation, created his own unique way, a brilliance that cannot be denied as talent.

As his divine thoughts sharpened, a chorus of genetic joy rose in his ears, accompanied by the resonant clang of the copper lock symbolizing “breaking the rank”.

Just as he was about to pry open the great gate of the constraining gene, Zhang Qingli suddenly lifted his gaze to the distant horizon.

A silver blade of light surged rapidly toward him!

“Old‑style Daoist rank three, Chen Qisheng!”

Even from afar, Zhang Qingli could sense the overwhelming, incomparable intent to kill.

It was as if destiny’s arch‑enemies finally met; his hands clenched involuntarily, yet his heart held no fear, and his body trembled with excitement.

Crack!

The sound of the copper lock shattering rang like a thunderclap across his heart, and Zhang Qingli rose, enveloping countless talismans and artifacts, to meet the meteor‑like descending sword light!

A sudden, fierce collision!

Boom!

Boom!

Summer thunder rolled, relentless rain hammering the tiled roof. The crouching beasts in a row could not endure the unending downpour, their brows furrowed, heads bowed.

Beneath the eaves, a white‑bearded old man sat in a chair, one hand supporting his chin, half‑asleep. His increasingly gaunt, withered form made him appear, from afar, as merely a dark scholar’s robe draped over the chair.

Only his clothing was seen; his person was absent.

“Teacher.”

A soft call rose from beneath the eaves.

The old man slowly raised his heavy eyelids; his murky eyes still held a hint of dream‑like bewilderment. After his gaze wandered for a moment, he finally recognized the person bowing before him.

“It’s Jinxun who has arrived.”

“It is I, teacher.”

Liu Jinxun replied, then bowed, draping the prepared cloak over Zhang Fengyue’s leg.

Zhang Fengyue smiled warmly: “Aging makes us less useful; once we listened to the wind and rain, sensing the subtle, mysterious ways of Heaven and Earth. Now it feels like sleepy, lulling whispers, and I might fall asleep at the slightest slip.”

Liu Jinxun whispered, “It is not that you have aged, but that the principles here have long been understood by you, and thus feel boring.”

“Hahahaha…”

Zhang Fengyue laughed heartily, “Among my students, you are the most eloquent. If Pei Xingjin and Li Buying were half as sensible and considerate as you, I might laugh awake in my dreams.”

“You say I am sensible and considerate, yet I have committed a grave mistake that neither of them ever made.”

Liu Jinxun’s face showed no joy, only a dimming: “As your student, my stance wavers uncertainly.”

“All that is past, let it be; do not speak of it again.”

Zhang Fengyue raised his hand, cutting off the words: “Jinxun, when you were young you walked too smoothly and steadily; I could find no fault in you. In old age you become unrestrained, and I find that pleasing. After all, no one is perfect; anyone who strives to be a perfect person is, in fact, not human.”