Minghui had cried out only a single sentence before the golden palace began to teeter. Trembling all over, it spilled wave after wave of dharmic radiance. Terrified, and knowing that the Golden Core cultivator linked to it could surely hear him, he hurriedly shouted:
“Senior, spare my life! Senior, spare my life! Minghui is a disciple of Jinlian Maha, and the Lotus Sect is a lineage of the Dharmakaya! I beg only for this humble monk’s life to be spared—I swear never again to set foot on the lake!”
The golden palace swayed for a moment and slowly stabilized. Minghui performed deep, kowtowing bows toward empty air for a long while before daring to rise, then flew far away.
Minghui tested his newly regrown arm and peered into the golden palace dharma treasure. A brilliant mass of polychromatic light bobbed up and down inside; his severed arm had already dissolved into a puddle of white liquid. Strained to its limits, the golden palace creaked and groaned, while the handsome men and dancing girls housed within screamed and wailed, scuttling like ants on a hot pan.
“What a waste!”
Minghui had scoured the north far and wide to gather these people of every charming demeanor, expending no small amount of effort. Seeing that they were about to be scalded to death by the polychromatic light, Minghui cursed under his breath and said:
“Shed your mortal skins and enter my temple! Attaining Maha is now within my reach. Once I forge my Pure Land, there will be just as much bliss for you to enjoy!”
With that, he raised the golden palace above his head and opened his mouth wide, revealing snow-white teeth and pink lips and tongue. His saliva sparkled like dew, exuding a faint, eerie fragrance.
He gave the palace a hard jolt, and instantly a swarm of fingernail-sized figures tumbled out and fell into his mouth. Minghui’s pristine white teeth clamped up and down. For a time, severed limbs and shredded flesh flew about, bright crimson trickling over his delicate pink lips, yet the attendants in the palace above were ecstatic, leaping into his mouth one after another.
Only after several dozen breaths did Minghui lick his lips and say in deep satisfaction:
“First replenish my vitality, then return to consult the Maha on whether my golden palace can be saved.”
Minghui cast a wary glance toward Mount Lijing, not daring even to let his thoughts linger on Li Qinghong. Having brushed so close with death, his heart was gripped with utter terror, and he thought to himself:
*This Li family is likely the handiwork of some Venerable. To think I had never heard of them before. Once I return, I must ask my master. Away! Away!*
Not until Minghui scuttled off like a stray cur did the storm finally subside. Only at the foot of Mount Yuting remained a wash of crimson; from threshold to steps, filthy muck lay everywhere. Several neighbors banded together to scrub the ground clean before each crept home trembling.
***
Mount Yuting had long been under the rule of the An family and had only come under the Li family in recent years. The common folk were used to hard times, so the demonic cultivator Murong Xia had not caused too great a stir. In their eyes, the death of over a hundred people was far less significant than the good life they now enjoyed under the Li family’s governance. When they ran into each other, they would merely ask who had died and remark, “What a pity, when good times have finally come.”
While Li Yuanjiao threw himself entirely into the myriad affairs of Mount Wutu, Li Yuanping took over the household governance and gradually grew busy. Holding a cinnabar brush, he lightly ticked off items on the wooden slips before his desk.
Congenital ailments left Li Yuanping looking rather frail. His brow was perpetually knitted, as though burdened by countless heavy worries he could never put down. Even seated at the foremost, most honored place in the courtyard, he still bore an air of walking on eggshells.
“This year’s harvest is somewhat better, so the deficits will be smaller.”
Li Yuanping murmured this to himself, then looked at the middle-aged man waiting at his side and said warmly:
“Clan Uncle has served in the Clan Rectory for many years. As I have only just taken charge of the household, I ask Clan Uncle to guide me well.”
The old man beside him had sunken eye sockets, graying temples, and an emaciated, withered countenance, yet his clothes were kept neat and tidy. He was none other than Li Xiewen, a veteran who had once managed family affairs under Li Xuanxuan and was the son of Li Yesheng; he was now nearly fifty years old.
People living at the northern foot of Mount Dali matured early, often marrying and fathering children at twelve or thirteen, and in the end, they lived only to forty or fifty. Lacking any cultivation, Li Xiewen was at an age where he should have been lying in bed awaiting death, but having labored hard for so many years, he had received several spiritual materials to nourish his body, so he still appeared relatively healthy.
Li Pingyi’s suicide had dealt too heavy a blow to this old man, causing him to wither away. Though the main branch had sent people to console him, it also signaled that his lineage was fading completely from the center of power. Li Xiewen lingered in office, reluctant to step down, precisely because he wanted to salvage what little he could.
Hearing Li Yuanping’s inquiry, Li Xiewen repeatedly protested that he did not dare, replying:
“This old man has served in the Clan Rectory for many years and merely has somewhat sharper eyes and ears; I would never dare speak of giving guidance.”
Li Yuanping waved his hand dismissively. The old man then briefed him:
“Presently, among the Qi Refinement cultivators in the family outside the main branch, only three cultivate orthodox methods: An Zheyan at Qi Refinement level seven, Chen Donghe at Qi Refinement level four, and Tian Youdao at Qi Refinement level one. As for miscellaneous qi cultivators, there are Li Qiuyang and Elder Ren. Miscellaneous qi cultivators merely bear the name of Qi Refinement, so they are no cause for concern.
“Beyond them are two at the peak of Embryonic Breathing, three at Embryonic Breathing level five with the Yujing Wheel, ten at Embryonic Breathing level four, and below that, one hundred and fifteen minor Embryonic Breathing cultivators, most of whom are unpromising old fellows.”
Li Yuanping nodded slightly. Li Xiewen continued:
“Under the Clan Rectory’s command, there are two at Embryonic Breathing level five, three at Embryonic Breathing level four, and countless scouts below level four and among mortals. Although there are many cultivators of external surnames in the clan, only a handful are truly worthy of note.”
Li Yuanping granted him a seat, had a servant serve tea, and said:
“Please enlighten me, Clan Uncle.”
Li Xiewen offered his thanks. With a calm expression, he said respectfully:
“The one whose influence burns brightest is Lady Dou of the Dou clan. Possessing cultivation at the peak of Embryonic Breathing, she is surrounded by a vast following, like oil poured onto a raging fire. Though the Dou clan lacks the formal title of a prominent surname, they possess all the reality of one, owning private spirit fields, befriending both high and low, and wielding tremendous clout.”
Li Yuanping shifted the teacup on his desk, silently gazing at Li Xiewen. Li Xiewen, as if entirely oblivious, shook his head, pointed toward Dou Yi—who sat below shrinking his neck, cowering as though wishing to crawl into a crack in the floor—and continued:
“Members of the Dou clan have already been placed at Young Master’s side. That alone speaks volumes.”
Li Yuanping let out a breath and gave a hearty laugh, answering:
“I am already aware of the Dou clan’s matters.”
Seated below, Dou Yi had cultivation of his own; he was only meek and servile before Lady Dou and Li Yuanping. Being singled out and judged by a mortal old man instantly sparked fury in his heart. He crept his gaze upward, only to find Li Yuanping staring straight at him, and hurriedly lowered his head again.
Li Xiewen nodded quietly, cupped his hands, and said:
“Relying on Chen Donghe, the Chen clan has always stood as the foremost among the prominent surnames, honored by all as esteemed guests. Old Master Chen keeps a low profile and never flaunts himself. However, the Chen clan has a youth named Chen Mufeng, exactly seventeen years of age, who is already at Embryonic Breathing level four. He is a disciple of Li Qiuyang, possesses superior talent, and is well worth promoting.”
“Good.”
Li Yuanping nodded with a smile. Li Xiewen’s aged face creased with wrinkles as he said softly:
“As for the other surnames, the Tian clan has been posted outside, the Liu clan has fallen into decline, the Xu clan’s progeny is sparse, and the Ren clan’s various branches are in discord. The only ones worth a second glance are a few like Tian Zhongqing and Xu Gongming; the rest are all mediocre sorts, unfit for great responsibilities.”
Li Yuanping nodded as if enlightened, asked a few more questions regarding household affairs, then took Li Xiewen’s hand and said solemnly:
“I am young and inexperienced, so I truly hope Clan Uncle will offer me frequent guidance in the family’s affairs.”
Li Xiewen naturally assented again and again, then took his leave before long. Li Yuanping seated himself once more, his pale fingers pinching the jade cup on the desk. Glancing at Dou Yi below, he smiled and remarked:
“Uncle Xiewen managed the household under Father for many years. It is only a pity that his body is frail; otherwise, I would entrust him with great responsibilities.”
He then picked up the wooden slips and read them carefully. Having only just seen off Li Xiewen, he saw a clan soldier come to report, saying respectfully:
“Young Master, Madam has arrived.”
Chapter 280