Chen Zhou and Wei Zhou had been bitter rivals for generations. Wei Zhou was renowned for its sword cultivators, whose devotion to the Way earned them respect across the realms. Centuries ago, before his ascension, the old Daoist master of Dao Sheng Tian praised Wei Zhou’s swordsmen: “Like pines clinging to mountain peaks, pure yet purposeful.”
In contrast, Chen Zhou was home to the Ao clan, descendants of true dragons with noble bloodlines. Through their efforts, Chen Zhou’s wealth and resources far surpassed other realms.
Wei Zhou viewed Chen Zhou’s material-based cultivation as a disgrace to the Great Way, while Chen Zhou saw Wei Zhou as self-righteous. This mutual disdain colored Song Zhu’s perception of Mu Zhanting.
As Song Zhu left Panyin Temple, he saw Mu Zhanting pounding on the gate. Without hesitation, he launched a sword strike.
Mu Zhanting barely dodged, cursing, “I’m looking for my people. What’s wrong with you?”
Song Zhu retorted, “This is a sacred Buddhist ground with a holy zither! How dare you disturb it so rudely!”
Mu Zhanting, having rushed for two days to find Qi Yang and the others, lost his temper. “Get out of my way! Or I won’t hesitate to settle this before the Mountain and Sea Prohibition!”
Immediately, the cultivators from both sides spread out. Each prince carried a divine consciousness left by their realm’s ruler. While competition among princes was encouraged, any interference would result in severe punishment or death by the divine consciousness. This was common knowledge in the upper realms, respected even by demonic cultivators… but not by everyone.
As the two fought fiercely, moving from outside to inside the temple gates, a sudden palm strike came from afar, skillfully separating them.
Mu Zhanting felt a burst of vast yet sharp Buddhist power. Though unhurt, he was surprised. Looking up, he saw a nun with unshaven hair standing before the main hall.
Instead of chanting “Amitabha,” she cried out, “Stop fighting over me!”
The onlooking cultivators froze.
“This nun is done for… With the divine consciousness of the Dragon Lord and Wei Zhou’s Sword Champion, her Foundation Building level cultivation won’t survive!”
As they spoke, spectral images of a dragon and a sword appeared above Mu Zhanting and Song Zhu, pointing at Nan Yan.
Song Zhu retreated swiftly, trying to suppress his master’s divine consciousness. He shouted to Nan Yan, “Get away!”
Mu Zhanting also attempted to control his, but it was too volatile, lashing out to tear Nan Yan apart.
“I can’t hold it back! Run!” he yelled.
As Nan Yan realized her mistake, just as the two divine consciousnesses were about to crush her, a clear zither note rang out from behind.
The divine consciousnesses suddenly swerved, barely missing Nan Yan. The dragon seemed to recognize her face and paused.
“You…” Nan Yan heard a distant voice of shock, but before she could react, the temple’s bell began to toll chaotically, signaling a major crisis.
“What’s happening?” Nan Yan tried to contact the abbot telepathically but received no response.
Suddenly, Panyin Temple’s barrier transformed from a pure Buddhist light to an eerie appearance. Simultaneously, shadows of numerous plum trees materialized along the temple walls.
“Prince?!” The outsiders who had been at the gate during the princes’ fight now found themselves unable to enter the temple.
All attacks on the temple dissipated against the illusory plum trees.
Mu Zhanting looked bewildered, but Song Zhu explained, “The ‘Drunken Illness’ zither has activated its barrier. Someone has played the sacred instrument.”
Busted.
In truth, Nan Yan had known Qi Yang went to the Buddha hall housing the sacred zither during their fight.
However…
Nan Yan looked up at the temple’s strange state, wondering what exactly Qi Yang had done.
With an ominous feeling, she quickly returned to the Buddha hall, only to see a full moon appear in the sky above it, despite it being the last quarter of the lunar month.
This scene resembled the illusion from the Mirror of Yellow Springs. It seemed Shao Cang had used the mirror to activate the Drunken Illness zither.
“Shao Cang?” Nan Yan called out mentally but received no response.
Moments later, Song Zhu and Mu Zhanting arrived, equally perplexed by the bizarre situation.
“Where are the temple’s monks?”
After a brief search, they found one monk, but he remained unresponsive despite their calls.
“The abbot is missing too. Are we the only ones left conscious?”
Seizing the opportunity, Mu Zhanting darted to Nan Yan and plucked a few strands of soft white fur from her sleeve.
“You… you are.”
Nan Yan, impressed by her brother’s loyalty in recognizing her so quickly, confirmed, “Yes, it’s me.”
Mu Zhanting, noting that she was a Buddhist cultivator while Yin Ya was a treasure-seeking fox spirit, put two and two together with the missing Mirror of Yellow Springs.
“How dare you coerce my brother and the fox spirit to find treasures for you! Where’s Qi Yang? You despicable thief of a nun, hand over my brother at once!”
Chen Zhou and Wei Zhou had been bitter rivals for generations. Wei Zhou was renowned for its sword cultivators, whose devotion to the Way earned them respect across the realms. Centuries ago, before his ascension, the old Daoist master of Dao Sheng Tian praised Wei Zhou’s swordsmen: “Like pines clinging to mountain peaks, pure yet purposeful.”
In contrast, Chen Zhou was home to the Ao clan, descendants of true dragons with noble bloodlines. Through their efforts, Chen Zhou’s wealth and resources far surpassed other realms.
Wei Zhou viewed Chen Zhou’s material-based cultivation as a disgrace to the Great Way, while Chen Zhou saw Wei Zhou as self-righteous. This mutual disdain colored Song Zhu’s perception of Mu Zhanting.
As Song Zhu left Panyin Temple, he saw Mu Zhanting pounding on the gate. Without hesitation, he launched a sword strike.
Mu Zhanting barely dodged, cursing, “I’m looking for my people. What’s wrong with you?”
Song Zhu retorted, “This is a sacred Buddhist ground with a holy zither! How dare you disturb it so rudely!”
Mu Zhanting, having rushed for two days to find Qi Yang and the others, lost his temper. “Get out of my way! Or I won’t hesitate to settle this before the Mountain and Sea Prohibition!”
Immediately, the cultivators from both sides spread out. Each prince carried a divine consciousness left by their realm’s ruler. While competition among princes was encouraged, any interference would result in severe punishment or death by the divine consciousness. This was common knowledge in the upper realms, respected even by demonic cultivators… but not by everyone.
As the two fought fiercely, moving from outside to inside the temple gates, a sudden palm strike came from afar, skillfully separating them.
Mu Zhanting felt a burst of vast yet sharp Buddhist power. Though unhurt, he was surprised. Looking up, he saw a nun with unshaven hair standing before the main hall.
Instead of chanting “Amitabha,” she cried out, “Stop fighting over me!”
The onlooking cultivators froze.
“This nun is done for… With the divine consciousness of the Dragon Lord and Wei Zhou’s Sword Champion, her Foundation Building level cultivation won’t survive!”
As they spoke, spectral images of a dragon and a sword appeared above Mu Zhanting and Song Zhu, pointing at Nan Yan.
Song Zhu retreated swiftly, trying to suppress his master’s divine consciousness. He shouted to Nan Yan, “Get away!”
Mu Zhanting also attempted to control his, but it was too volatile, lashing out to tear Nan Yan apart.
“I can’t hold it back! Run!” he yelled.
As Nan Yan realized her mistake, just as the two divine consciousnesses were about to crush her, a clear zither note rang out from behind.
The divine consciousnesses suddenly swerved, barely missing Nan Yan. The dragon seemed to recognize her face and paused.
“You…” Nan Yan heard a distant voice of shock, but before she could react, the temple’s bell began to toll chaotically, signaling a major crisis.
“What’s happening?” Nan Yan tried to contact the abbot telepathically but received no response.
Suddenly, Panyin Temple’s barrier transformed from a pure Buddhist light to an eerie appearance. Simultaneously, shadows of numerous plum trees materialized along the temple walls.
“Prince?!” The outsiders who had been at the gate during the princes’ fight now found themselves unable to enter the temple.
All attacks on the temple dissipated against the illusory plum trees.
Mu Zhanting looked bewildered, but Song Zhu explained, “The ‘Drunken Illness’ zither has activated its barrier. Someone has played the sacred instrument.”
Busted.
In truth, Nan Yan had known Qi Yang went to the Buddha hall housing the sacred zither during their fight.
However…
Nan Yan looked up at the temple’s strange state, wondering what exactly Qi Yang had done.
With an ominous feeling, she quickly returned to the Buddha hall, only to see a full moon appear in the sky above it, despite it being the last quarter of the lunar month.
This scene resembled the illusion from the Mirror of Yellow Springs. It seemed Shao Cang had used the mirror to activate the Drunken Illness zither.
“Shao Cang?” Nan Yan called out mentally but received no response.
Moments later, Song Zhu and Mu Zhanting arrived, equally perplexed by the bizarre situation.
“Where are the temple’s monks?”
After a brief search, they found one monk, but he remained unresponsive despite their calls.
“The abbot is missing too. Are we the only ones left conscious?”
Seizing the opportunity, Mu Zhanting darted to Nan Yan and plucked a few strands of soft white fur from her sleeve.
“You… you are.”
Nan Yan, impressed by her brother’s loyalty in recognizing her so quickly, confirmed, “Yes, it’s me.”
Mu Zhanting, noting that she was a Buddhist cultivator while Yin Ya was a treasure-seeking fox spirit, put two and two together with the missing Mirror of Yellow Springs.
“How dare you coerce my brother and the fox spirit to find treasures for you! Where’s Qi Yang? You despicable thief of a nun, hand over my brother at once!”
Nanyan’s expression crumbled. “What did you call me?”
Meanwhile, Song Zhu rebuked, “How dare you disrespect Master Zhenyuan! Outrageous!”
Mu Zhanting shouted, “You thieving nun, hand over my brother at once!”
Once again, Nanyan felt the importance of cultivation. If she were at the Yuan Ying stage, she could easily dispatch these two barking dogs.
Suddenly, the movement came from the Buddhist hall. A line of monks entered through the side door, but as they approached, their forms shimmered and transformed into palace ladies.
Another illusion from the Huangquan Mirror… Shaocang was using it to recreate Bingjiuqin’s past.
“Hey, how did you change—”
Nanyan noticed Mu Zhanting and Song Zhu staring at her in astonishment. She uttered a soft gasp as a sickly plum tree materialized behind her. Among its sprawling branches, her appearance shifted. Her white monastic robe transformed into an ornate gown embroidered with silk flowers and mythical birds.
Realizing she was once again under the mirror’s control, Nanyan wondered whose role she was being forced to play this time.
Through the misty plum grove before the hall, Nanyan walked slowly. In the distance, she glimpsed someone lovingly polishing a zither. From behind, it appeared to be Nan Yi.
“It took me ten days of trickery to obtain that moon-reflecting wutong wood from Ao Guanghan, yet you gave it away?” Nanyan was shocked to hear her own mother’s voice coming from her mouth.
“Elder sister,” Nan Yi replied, “Ze Wei is my dear friend. No one else in this world understands the way of my zither as he does. Besides, we were young and ignorant back then. He only scolded you because of the heavenly laws. After all these years, your continued coldness towards him seems unfair.”
Nanyan heard herself let out a light snort. “Ze Wei isn’t of our generation. He’s the Dao Sovereign’s direct disciple. In a couple of years, we’ll all have to respect him as the world’s teacher. He’ll be busy with important matters—why force a connection with you? I simply don’t like him.”
Nan Yi sighed softly. “When Father was alive, he intended Ze Wei to be your Dao partner.”
“Father wanted him to control me? Dream on.”
Knowing his elder sister’s stubbornness, Nan Yi shook his head with a smile. Suddenly, he stood up. “Ze Wei’s friend has arrived.”
Nanyan watched as a scholar carrying a zither slowly approached from the plum grove.
Though his hair was beginning to frost, his face remained youthful. As he raised his eyes, his gaze swept over her. Those gray eyes, seemingly filled with chaos, reflected a brilliantly vibrant hue, gradually illuminating.
“Brother Yigu.” The scholar nodded slightly, his demeanor carrying a familiar reserve. He then turned to her, “Rao Niang, winter greetings.”
Rao Niang, Nan Fangzhu, Nan Rao.
Nanyan had a strong intuition that this scholar must be Ji Yang in disguise, his every movement exuding an elegant and noble air.
“Brother Ze Wei has just made a new zither named ‘Drunken Illness.’ Would you like to hear it, sister?” Nan Yi asked.
But Nan Fangzhu’s patience had run out. Turning away, she said, “No thanks. I’ve never cared for such things. I’d rather chat with Meng Xiaolou. Farewell.”
As she left, Nan Yi apologized, “My sister has been harassed lately, hence her irritation.”
“It’s alright,” the scholar said, plucking the zither strings while lowering his gaze. “Rao Niang is free-spirited. There’s no need to force a connection where there isn’t one. I take no offense.”
Despite his words of acceptance, those gray, lifeless eyes remained fixed on Nan Fangzhu’s retreating figure, clearly filled with endless longing and desire.
The scene abruptly ended, and the illusion dissipated. When Nanyan turned back, the scholar had indeed vanished, leaving only Ji Yang holding the zither.
Ji Yang continued to gaze at her, his look unsettlingly similar to that of the scholar moments ago.
As Nanyan met his eyes, the two onlookers who had been frozen for so long finally regained movement.
Song Zhu looked bewildered, having heard the name of his master, Meng Xiaolou. The only person of that generation was the long-secluded Nan Fangzhu of legend.
Could that have been Nan Fangzhu just now?
“Who exactly are you?” Song Zhu asked.
“To be frank,” Ji Yang rose gracefully, cradling his zither, “we seek the truth behind Nan Fangzhu’s murder in the mortal realm from the Upper State.”
Ji Yang’s words seemed directed elsewhere. As he finished speaking, two immense pressures suddenly descended upon the scene.
Particularly fierce was the dragon’s shadow emanating from Mu Zhanting, radiating intense fury.
“Mere insects dare to speak of the life and death of an Upper State master?”
Ji Yang replied calmly, “If the Dragon Lord truly disbelieved me, I would already be dead.”
The dragon’s shadow in the void fell silent for a moment, its voice trembling with anger when it finally spoke.
“This lord will gather the relevant parties. In three months, we shall meet in Dragon City!”