Chapter 360: Young Daoist Monarch (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

Chapter 360 The Young Daoist Master (Requesting Monthly Tickets)

A dazzling, silver-white radiance pierced the sky, plunging straight down like a swooping dragon.

—Where the spear pointed, the thunder dragon descended upon the world.

Upon its descent, the dragon opened its dark, cavernous maw, swallowing the tower-like fist momentum thrown by Shui Hetong into its belly.

Immediately afterward, it crashed onto the mountain peak where the Puyin Temple stood.

The roar detonated instantly, rolling and echoing in all directions.

That mountain peak visibly crumbled, collapsing inward, and a constantly expanding crater emerged amidst the violent tremors.

Shattered stones flew wildly, kicking up thousands of layers of mud and sand, which mingled with the rainwater and fell upon the neighboring mountains.

The sound of crashing and cracking echoed ceaselessly.

After a brief moment.

The noise gradually subsided, and the airborne mud, sand, and gravel slowly dissipated.

A massive crater, dozens of chang deep and over a hundred chang long, emerged, resembling a deep valley embedded within the mountain forests.

Only this deep valley was barren of all vegetation, completely empty.

Save for Shui Hetong, who stood quietly at the bottom of the deep pit.

He still maintained his previous posture of throwing a punch, the tattered clothes on his body having turned to nothing, leaving his upper torso bare, with only a pair of silk inner trousers remaining.

Though that face was as exquisitely beautiful as a demon as always, it had lost its previous soaring majesty.

Faintly, a bitter smile could be seen.

"Two paths perfected, several paths achieved great mastery... for someone to possess such formidable martial talent..."

It was no wonder Shui Hetong felt bitter in his heart.

Ever since he became a disciple under Grand Immortal Bai, he had cultivated bitterly day and night, never slackening.

Not only was he this diligent, but his senior and junior brothers, and his senior and junior sisters, were all the same.

Yet the strongest among them had merely broken through to the first-grade realm to enter the master level at the age of forty, perfecting their techniques.

Such cultivation and technical mastery were already a rare sight in the martial world for a hundred years.

Yet today, there was a man who had barely reached the age of adulthood, already possessing a fourth-grade cultivation, and within his martial path, there were one, two, three... at least four paths accomplished.

Spear and body perfected, fist and footwork at great mastery.

Such a figure, seen once in a thousand years?

In thousands of years, it was feared that even one would be hard to come by.

Shui Hetong slowly withdrew his fists and looked up at Chen Yi, who was suspended in mid-air, the bitter smile on his face deepening.

He still remembered his master's admonition—greed leads to chewing more than one can swallow, and the martial path most despises being jumbled.

When one path is perfected, if there is no opportunity for a breakthrough, one may cultivate another path, and so on, until a single path reaches the extreme realm.

"Master, your old teachings are still ringing in my ears, but someone simply does not follow common sense."

How did that saying go?

Those who follow the rules are always burying their heads in bitter cultivation, while the heavenly geniuses have already set several paths soaring.

He, this high disciple of Grand Immortal Bai, whom the people of the martial world called the genius who "suppressed thousands of miles of mountains and rivers with his fist," was no different from an ordinary person when compared to Chen Yi.

Chen Yi hovered in mid-air, looking down at Shui Hetong below, and seeing that he had only suffered slight injuries, he flipped his hand to put away the Five-Fold Spear.

"Brother Shui, are you unharmed?"

Shui Hetong paused upon hearing this, but his expression quickly settled. Drawing his figure straight, he shook his head and said, "Unharmed."

It was merely a sparring match, not a life-and-death struggle; it emphasized stopping at the appropriate point.

He had not deployed his more powerful moves, such as that single fist suppressing the mountains and rivers, and presumably Chen Yi was the same.

But he had already admitted his defeat.

Whether in terms of physical foundation, technique, or mastery over the spiritual mechanism of heaven and earth, he was weaker by more than just a single tier.

Had his cultivation not far exceeded Chen Yi's, he would have suffered a crushing defeat at this moment.

But thinking about it carefully, he found a great deal of solace in his heart.

Facing an existence as terrifyingly matchless in martial talent as Chen Yi, it was only natural for him to lose.

Even if he had luckily won this sparring match by chance, the next time... or rather, in the near future, he would likewise find it impossible to even catch a glimpse of his heels.

Chen Yi nodded with a smile, "Since that is the case, I will not need to treat your wounds."

The smile on Shui Hetong's face froze, and the look he gave Chen Yi became increasingly peculiar.

He had only been thinking about Chen Yi's martial path.

He had almost forgotten.

What Chen Yi was most praised for by the world was his calligraphic path, a calligraphic path of the perfected realm.

Aside from that, there was also the medical path...

"A monster!"

"Master, are you, are you certain there was no issue with your previous plan?"

"For such a person to be trifled with by you in that manner, when he grows up in the future, won't he tear down our Wind and Rain Building?"

Shui Hetong lamented in his heart, a touch of bitterness appearing on his face once more.

A moment of silence ensued.

Upon hearing a few faint sounds of breaking air approaching from the surroundings, Shui Hetong snapped back to reality, took flight, and said:

"This is no place to talk, follow me."

Chen Yi cast a glance back toward the direction of Shuzhou Prefectural City, then nodded and flew toward the further north alongside him.

The commotion from the clash between the two just now was too immense, already drawing a crowd of experts from within the prefectural city to investigate.

Approximately a quarter of an hour later.

A figure appeared in the sky above that deep crater.

He wore black garments and a black cloth mask, blending into the late-night overcast rain, leaving almost no trace behind.

The newcomer scanned the surroundings, his gaze falling within the deep pit, where he faintly perceived some fluctuations of the spiritual mechanism of heaven and earth, looking toward the north with a pensive expression.

"The person who moved was Shui Hetong, and... the 'Dragon-Tiger' Liu Wu? Is it him?"

"Indeed it is."

"Spear path perfected, fist path at great mastery, and... footwork path?"

"Tsk, he truly is a man of good fortune."

The newcomer watched for a moment before withdrawing his gaze, turning eastward immediately, choosing not to pursue Chen Yi, Shui Hetong, and the others.

Swiftly, he too vanished into the overcast rain.

In his wake, more and more people arrived.

They observed the surroundings—within the vast, deep pit, torrential rain poured down, slowly accumulating into a raging flood.

On the peaks nearby, the side facing this place was strewn with scattered stones and broken branches, as if scoured by some divine catastrophe.

Within a fifty-mile radius, the earth and air trembled with ceaseless fluctuations of spiritual energy, stirring every person who had come to investigate the scene.

“Who fought here?”

“It must be Liu Wu, the notorious ‘Long Hu’—his gun techniques radiate unmistakable strength.”

“The other fellow seems unfamiliar. Is he skilled in fist techniques?”

“A master of fists in Shu Zhou’s martial world?”

“Perhaps he came from elsewhere, like a senior from the Central Plains.”

At that moment, a gentle laugh echoed: “It is Shui He Tong.”

The nine martial artists of the upper three tiers, having rushed here in haste, followed the sound.

They saw a young monk in a flowing purple robe hovering midair, his head adorned with a yin-yang symbol in the cap.

“Shui He Tong? The one hailed as the ‘Fist Sovereign of a Thousand Li of Mountains and Rivers’?”

“Is there another upper-three-tier martialist with such commanding fist techniques?”

The young monk’s tone was certain, his gaze toward the pit below filled with admiration.

Like witnessing the aftermath of a great battle, he continued:

“Liu Wu’s fist techniques were indeed overreaching. Against Shui He Tong and his peers, they were too immature.”

“Only when Liu Wu then employed gun techniques, combined with footwork, did they even the score.”

“Remarkable.”

The monk praised, his eyes gleaming as he scrutinized every trace around them.

“Liu Wu’s cultivation matches Shui He Tong’s upper-three-tier strength—truly formidable in martial arts.”

Someone beside him, hearing his detailed account, half-believed and half-doubted:

“The ‘Long Hu’ has been wreaking havoc lately.”

“He slew Du Cang and killed Yan Jing, far beyond the reach of mid-three-tier martialists. Naturally, he could match Shui He Tong.”

“No, no,” the young monk shook his head. “Liu Wu won this contest.”

Before others could ask, he pointed upward and explained:

“There, the spiritual fluctuations are intense—not just gun and foot techniques, but a third, subtle force. Liu Wu… in martial arts, he has mastered four paths equally.”

At this, all present gasped in unison.

“Four paths of equal cultivation?”

“A tale spun from fantasy!”

“Such a person could exist?”

“I don’t believe it. If Liu Wu were that gifted, why no word of it before?”

“At the very least, he must be a direct disciple of some elder—surely whispered in the martial circles.”

The young monk, hearing their debates, nodded.

“Men exist beyond the world, heavens beyond the heavens. What we cannot see does not mean it is unattainable.”

“Still, the facts lie before us. Liu Wu’s strength is undeniable.”

“Were he not guilty of grave misdeeds, I’d even think him a century-old demon.”

Some nodded in agreement; others remained unconvinced.

“Hmph. What do you know?”

“Where did you learn such eyes? If you’ve not mastered the highest teachings, perhaps return to your sect and practice anew.”

The young monk glanced at the speaker, his tone softening.

“I am Hua Huiyang of Mount Wudang.”

The man who had spoken just moments before fell silent.

The others bowed deeply, then again, reverently:

“Long live your name.”

“The renowned disciple of the Wudang Monastery, the ‘Little Sage of Martial Arts’ Hua Daozhang!”

Hua Huiyang’s reputation in the Central Plains rivaled Shui He Tong’s—both were prodigies whose names echoed across lands. Yet one was praised for his cultivation and noble birth; the other, for the sheer force of his fists.

At that moment, Hua Huiyang bowed modestly:

“I do not deserve such praise.”

“As the elder said, our sect’s teachings are numerous, though some methods lag behind.”

The man who had spoken earlier, his face pale with doubt, bowed again:

“If Hua Daozhang speaks thus, I must have erred. Forgive me.”

Hua Huiyang smiled, nodding without truly accepting his apology.

After observing the scene a while longer, he gazed northward, his smile unchanged, yet said nothing more.

“Friends, this matter is settled. I shall take my leave first.”

“The Daoist master may proceed.”

“Safe travels, Hua Daozhang.”

When Hua Huiyang returned to Shu Zhou’s capital, all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Not out of fear of the “Little Sage,” but of Mount Wudang’s Abbot Ou Hai.

“The old beggar said it—Ou Hai, over a hundred years old, a being akin to a immortal, his rank terrifies even the bold.”

“Indeed. Had Ou Hai not yet reached the immortal realm, his voice would surpass that of the late White Sage of Fengyu Lou.”

The old beggar, who had lingered in Shu Zhou, sighed:

“Mount Wudang now has two prodigies—‘Ox Nasal’ Zhong Li and the ‘Little Sage’ Hua Huiyang. Truly a blessing for the Central Plains.”

“Envy them, old beggar?”

“Our Beggar’s Association has lost its former might.”

“Ha! With Wei Cheng’s peace lasting so long, fewer and fewer go hungry. Who’d risk becoming a night watchman’s beggar now?”

The old beggar chuckled, taking a swig from his wine flask, then shook his head.

“The famed Bai Da Xian has appeared in Shu Zhou, so it must be true after all.”

“Oh?”

“Bai Da Xian coming to Shu Zhou? What a tale!”

When some still looked puzzled, the old beggar merely smiled and nodded, then let out a hearty laugh before turning and walking away.

But the one who had spoken stood there, face blank with confusion, unsure where he had gone wrong.

After questioning the others, he finally managed to piece together the truth with some bewilderment.

“Bai Da Xian and the ‘Sword-Wielding Spirit’ Ye Ge Xian are to spar? In a duel?”

“On the fifteenth of the tenth month?”

Seeing his companions now realize the gravity of what they’d heard, the one who’d spoken first smiled knowingly, as if he’d known all along.

“How refreshing, how careless.”

“Old ox, whether you know or not matters little. What matters is that this martial contest between the two terrestrial immortals isn’t open to just anyone.”

“We’ve come all this way—surely we can watch a thing or two?”

“Not a chance.”

“This contest is exclusive—only those invited by Bai Da Xian or Ye Ge Xian himself may attend.”

“The rest of us must wait outside, quietly, until further news.”

The burly man in coarse cloth scratched his head. “Is there truly no way?”

“If there were, we’d laugh at you for asking.”

“Then… who exactly has the right to go?”

“They say it’s those who’ve made a name in the martial world—rising stars like Shu Hetong, Hua Fu Yang, and the like.”

“You think you can measure up to them?”

The burly man wore a bitter smile, no longer trying to press the point. “Not a chance.”

“You’d better not have known about this at all.”

Soon enough, news spread that Shu Hetong had arrived in Shu Zhou and lost to the famed “Dragon-Tiger” Liu Wu in a duel. The city’s martial circles buzzed with renewed activity.

……

Five hundred miles north of Puyin Temple, where the skies had cleared and the night lay still with a gentle breeze, a tavern that had yet to be stocked with supplies became the meeting place of Chen Yi and Shu Hetong.

Two plates of dog meat, a bowl of peanuts, and two bottles of wine sat between them.

Chen Yi ate and drank at his leisure, his movements relaxed, as though he were a leisurely traveler.

Shu Hetong, however, sat with his legs crossed, lounging carelessly. Even though he was shirtless at the moment, he paid it no mind, unconcerned with appearances.

His strikingly handsome face and his undignified posture clashed in stark contrast.

As they ate and drank, they chattered idly. Most of the questions came from Shu Hetong, while Chen Yi answered with a casual sort of dismissal.

It was about why he kept his cultivation hidden, why he secretly protected the Xiao family.

Chen Yi’s reply was simple: “I’m afraid of trouble.”

Shu Hetong laughed softly. “With your current martial prowess, how many people could you even call a bother?”

“Outside those few masters, grandmasters, and the ten or so terrestrial immortals, no one can truly trouble you.”

Family knows family’s affairs best.

Confident in his own strength, Shu Hetong believed he could challenge a high master at the Yin level, so he too thought Chen Yi worthy.

A four-to-one battle? Unheard of!

Chen Yi shook his head, adding a few more words: “If the Xiao family were still what they once were, hiding or not wouldn’t matter.”

“But now… for the time being, it’s best to keep it concealed. To avoid drawing suspicion.”

When he said this, Chen Yi’s smile was half-hidden, half-revealed: “Brother Shu, the wine has gone warm—tell me, what are the three things you promised me?”

(Chapter Complete)