Ancestral Hall

When dealing with Feng Xianru, Xu Yuan had actually been more inclined to talk things out rather than resort to plain and simple violence. Since the boy was at an age of budding infatuation, using that girl as leverage would have easily kept him in line. Unfortunately, such a tactic was far too underhanded and ran entirely counter to the public persona Xu Changge was known for. Thus, knocking him out with a clean, decisive slap had served best as a warning. As for what happened after his departure, if Feng Xianru were to offend again, Xu Yuan had no intention of meddling any further unless the girl took the initiative to seek his help. Many conflicts between people in the mortal realm stemmed from unfamiliarity and private speculation. Now that he understood the boy's motives, Xu Yuan's impression of Feng Xianru was actually not bad. The youth was merely protecting Feng Fangming in his own way. The allure of the Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique was simply too great. If exposed without any background to back her, she would most likely end up as a dual-cultivation cauldron. Even with Feng Xianru's status, he wouldn't be able to protect her, because the uniqueness of the Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique would not dissipate with the loss of virginity. It was somewhat similar to the effects of the Meishen cherry tree, though with an uncertain time frame. Once its Dao Charm awakened, it could be used repeatedly until the bearer's death. There were even secret techniques created specifically for the Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique to keep the bearer alive for as long as possible. For the prosperity of the Feng family's collateral branch, the council of elders would most likely choose to sacrifice the girl. Hostile only to protect. Using his lofty status within the clan to make everyone around him fear approaching her, and then, under the guise of disgust, thoroughly banishing her from the Clan Hall. Because only in that way could the girl completely slip out of the clan elders' sight. Lost in thought, Xu Yuan looked up at the nine bright lamps suspended overhead. The formations in the Feng Family Ancestral Hall included killing arrays, but those were aimed at enemies; for clan members who came to take the trials, the formations within were all illusion arrays. The nine lamps on the outer perimeter tempered the clan members' skills and temperament, while the illusion array in the central memorial hall tested their comprehension. If Feng Fangming could pass the successive trials along the path to the clan head's seat, she might indeed stabilize the twin Dao Charms of the Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique, but the issue was that time was far too tight. The Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique was an elusive thing. No one knew which day it would awaken; it could be years away, or it could happen this very day. Still, why couldn't something like this be communicated properly? If they just talked it through, the girl wouldn't be terrified of him. At that thought, Xu Yuan withdrew his gaze. His eyes pierced through the narrow passageway to settle on Feng Xianru's white robes, and he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Of all the things to emulate, he just had to copy those two insufferable posers from back home— Never wasting a word, only throwing hands. One was well into his thirties and still in a cold war with the Young Celestial Master, while the other was pushing ninety and still a bachelor, living his whole life clinging to a sword. Yet this was probably one of the reasons Xu Yuan felt at ease about Feng Xianru. The kid seemed to be a fanboy of his maternal uncle. His clothes, hair ornaments, and even his expressions were a one-to-one replica, looking just like an adolescent idol chaser from his past life. He just didn't know when the kid had ever seen Feng Jiuxuan. Had his uncle... visited Mount Qifeng before? With his bloodline paving the way, Xu Yuan led the two women unhindered through the passageway and into the memorial hall beyond. As the three of them stepped inside, wall sconces lit up one after another. Upon a massive tiered altar in the center of the hall stood dozens of spirit tablets, all belonging to past Saint-realm experts of the Feng family. Before their passing, they would refine a wisp of their origin soul-intent into their own tablets, leaving behind their legacies and trials for future generations. This was one of the Feng family's foundations. However, because so much time had passed, most of the spirit tablets in the hall were now dim and lusterless; those still flickering with faint glows amounted to fewer than ten. Glancing at the two women beside him, Xu Yuan saw that Bai Muxi had already bowed toward the tablets, while Ran Qingmo still stood rooted to the spot, looking curiously this way and that. Pressing down on the young woman's head to bow together toward the memorial hall, Xu Yuan shot the big ice block a glare. "They're elders. Show some respect." After bowing obediently, Ran Qingmo murmured, "Oh." Then, after a brief hesitation, she added in a low voice, "Xu Yuan... I think I just heard a voice asking if I want to accept his legacy." Hearing this, Xu Yuan was slightly taken aback, then glanced at Xiao Bai beside them. Bai Muxi looked puzzled; evidently, she hadn't heard anything. After a moment's thought, Xu Yuan smiled at Ran Qingmo and said, "These are legacies left by ancestors of the Feng family who attained Sainthood. Hearing a voice means a deceased Saint must have taken a liking to you." Ran Qingmo blinked her clear eyes and asked softly, "But I don't have Feng family blood." "Anyone who enters here without triggering the killing arrays is defaulted as one of the Feng family." "Young Master... what about mine?" Bai Muxi pointed a slender forefinger at herself. This was a Saint's legacy—such an opportunity! Thinking this, faint anticipation danced in Bai Muxi's beautiful eyes. Xu Yuan turned back and looked her up and down. "You?" "Yes." "They didn't fancy you, clearly." "..." Bai Muxi was speechless. It was bad enough that the Young Master played favorites, but even this bunch of dead people were biased! Glancing at the pouting, pitiful-looking Xiao Bai, Xu Yuan turned his gaze to Ran Qingmo, amusement in his eyes. Even he, a direct descendant by blood, hadn't received a voice transmission, yet the big ice block had gotten one first. Having immense karmic fortune really made all the difference. After some thought, Xu Yuan gently explained, "If you connect your intent-soul to the tablet that spoke, it will draw you into an illusion." Upon hearing this, Ran Qingmo still stood motionless, hesitation in her eyes. A single exchange of glances was enough to make everything clear. The big ice block's master was already a Saint. With a living Saint to instruct her, why would she need to accept the legacy of a dead one? With a soft chuckle, Xu Yuan murmured, "Inheriting from the ancestral hall is a two-way choice to begin with. If you're unwilling, then forget it." Ran Qingmo nodded and bowed deeply toward the sixth tablet along the bottom row, her red lips parting slightly as though speaking to it. After a moment of silence, Xu Yuan received invitations—and more than one. About seven or eight voices echoed in his ears simultaneously. Although his karmic fortune was low, he was, after all, of direct Feng family bloodline, and possessed an Innate Dao Body. Yet he declined them all, one by one. And with his refusal, what sounded like a faint, melancholic sigh seemed to drift through the memorial hall. These ancestors appeared to have very little time left. Even so, they did not force the matter. The faint glow on the tablets' surfaces flickered like blinking eyes for a brief moment before settling back into silence. This was standard fare in the Feng Family Ancestral Hall. Clan members capable of venturing this deep generally had no need for a Saint's legacy, while those in need of one could not enter at all. Most of the soul-intent left by the Feng family ancestors had quietly faded away in the river of time. Recalling the girl outside with the Yin-Yang Profound-Pattern Physique, Xu Yuan thought for a moment and spoke aloud: "Ancestors, perhaps you might wait a little longer. It may not be long before another member of the clan arrives here. Though she is not of the direct bloodline, I ask that you please take a look at her when the time comes." Silence met his words; not a single tablet answered. Voice transmission also expended soul-intent, and in the vast memorial hall, only a gust of yin wind blew through as unspoken consent. Having done this, Xu Yuan walked slowly toward the heavy altar of spirit tablets, casually condensing a crimson dagger as he went. *Mount Xifeng, Feng Family Secret Ancestral Hall: stain the thirteenth tablet from the end of the ancestral hall with blood to open the secret passage.* This was the clue his grandfather had given him. Circling around to stand before that tablet, Xu Yuan held his left hand above it and lightly drew the blade across his palm with his right hand. A sharp sting flashed through his mind as bright crimson blood welled up, trickling along the lines of his palm like a small stream. *Drip, drop.* The moment the blood fell upon the tablet, it sank in, vanishing without a trace. After about ten breaths, having swallowed a substantial amount of blood, the tablet suddenly flared with white light. As if some mechanism had been triggered, white formation lines rapidly spread from the tablet, branching like a spider's web into every corner of the memorial hall. A brief pause, and with a heavy rumbling roar, a hidden door slowly opened on the left side of the hall's entrance, faint light glowing from within... *** As his consciousness returned, the cold sensation of the ground against his cheek immediately registered. It was precisely this chill that made Feng Xianru realize what had just happened. Clenching his teeth hard, he struggled to his feet in bitter indignance. Yet the moment he rose, he stumbled. Sensing something amiss with his body, Feng Xianru hurriedly examined his meridians internally, and his brow furrowed involuntarily. He was sore all over, yet uninjured. Realizing this, Feng Xianru clenched his fists tightly, glaring fixedly toward the depths of the passageway. A suffocating tightness gradually spread through his chest. Yet this feeling was directed not at Xu Changge, but at himself. "A prodigy of heaven-sent talent." This was the evaluation everyone around him had given him since childhood. When he was young, Feng Xianru hadn't understood what it meant. But as the years went by, watching his peers get stuck by hurdles that didn't exist for him, unable to advance their cultivation by an inch, he gradually came to understand the meaning of those words. Yet this innate gift did not make him arrogant; instead, it weighed him down with immense pressure. The envy of his peers, the expectations of his elders, and the endless praise lifting him to the clouds slowly fostered a lingering dread in his heart. He was afraid of disappointing those around him. He was afraid of falling from the clouds. He was afraid that one day, he too would hit the bottlenecks others spoke of. He didn't know what expression he was supposed to make when praised. He didn't know how a true genius was supposed to react when provoked. He had once tried asking his older sister, who was also a genius. Yet she couldn't understand what he was talking about at all. So he dared not show the slightest trace of these emotions, striving only to imitate his sister and become the heaven-sent talent people expected. He continued to mimic the only model of a genius around him. His sister was gentle, so he would be gentle. He memorized the exact ages at which his sister broke through each realm, pushing himself to match them. If he did that, he could keep playing the role of the genius everyone believed him to be. This life continued until he was ten years old. It was an ordinary day. As usual, he woke at the hour of Mao, spent a quarter of an hour washing up, and headed to Mount Chaofeng to meditate and cultivate until the hour of You in the evening. What was out of the ordinary, however, was that on that day, he met a middle-aged man on Mount Chaofeng. The moment he dispersed his technique and opened his eyes, Feng Xianru saw him. The man stood quietly to the side, looking him over—an expressionless scrutiny, with a wisp of a sigh in his narrow eyes. The look made Feng Xianru uncomfortable, but thinking that a genius shouldn't take offense at such things, he greeted him with a smile. Feng Xianru thought he had handled it well. But upon hearing his greeting, the man kicked him off the summit without a word. He had no power to resist. Even so, Feng Xianru felt certain the man would save him, for he had spotted the Feng family crest on the man's white robes. The man was of the Feng family, and he was the Feng family's genius; of course the man would save him. The thought had barely crossed his mind before his leg snapped. The cliff was high. His cultivation wasn't enough to cancel out such immense force, and his body was mangled into an inverted seven. Looking at his gruesome frame and feeling the piercing agony radiating from it, Feng Xianru felt an emotion called fear creep into his heart for the first time. Yet a genius could never cry out. So he endured it. Forcing himself to calm down and ponder the reason, Feng Xianru couldn't understand at all why the man had done that. Soon, however, Feng Xianru realized he had no time to dwell on such things. As the sun set in the west, the mist blanketing Mount Xifeng silently emerged among the woods, and the distant cries of beasts echoed through the forest. *Death.* The word suddenly flashed through his mind. This place was far too remote—so remote that no one ever came here. And the bloody scent from his broken leg would undoubtedly attract demonic beasts. Feng Xianru's body began to tremble uncontrollably, though he still forced an appearance of calm. He was a genius. If he failed to return for too long, clan members would surely come looking for him. This became his lifeline. Yet as night fully fell, listening to the rustling that occasionally sounded from the dark woods, Feng Xianru could no longer keep his emotions in check... He tried crying out a few times, but received no response. With his leg completely broken, gripped by terror, he dug his delicate little hands into the soil and crawled toward what he believed to be a safe spot at the cliff's base, tears streaming down his face uncontrollably. He didn't know what he had done to offend that man. He had merely given an ordinary greeting, yet the man wanted to kill him. Why... He couldn't understand. Amid the rustling of the mountain woods, he finally dragged himself to the cliff base. Curling up, he survived the first night. Then came the second day, the third day, the fourth day... No one came to rescue him. Thanks to the robust physical constitution granted by the Soul Condensation Realm, the bleeding from his broken leg had stopped, yet the steady drain of his life force could not be stemmed. Feeling himself growing weaker and weaker, the dread and terror turned into simmering rage and resentment in his heart. Yet he couldn't move. He could only scratch viciously at the cliff wall with his fingers to vent the panic within him. If he made it back alive, he would discard that bullshit title of genius and kill that man! And amid that despair, a subtle change quietly unfolded. As the blood seeping from Feng Xianru's fingers scraping the cliff wall accumulated drop by drop, a profound fluctuation of qi dynamics suddenly sprang to life. In that instant, the child who had hovered on the brink of death for days suddenly understood what the man had meant.