The river winds blew harsh and fierce along the shore. Pitch-black reefs dotted the waters, jagged and grotesque, as the currents swirled—now calm, now rushing turbulently—with occasional tranquil bends that mirrored the expanse of the sky.
Amidst the heavy night and dense mist, only a single speck of brilliance shone.
A man clad in white-gold armor ascended high into the heavens. In the murky gloom of the night, he was like a brilliant white star, glowing with dazzling luster. The multitude of northern cultivators hesitated for a moment, then raised their eyes one after another to gaze upon him.
“Li Xuanfeng of Mount Bianyan…”
Among the crowd, it was not that there were only rogue cultivators and clan scions without any true experts; rather, they all remained silent and dormant, quietly waiting for something. A bizarre silence settled over the entire riverbank, north and south alike, leaving only the deafening roar of the surging currents.
Si Yuanli was a decisive man as well. Once his resolve was made, his mindset shifted immediately, as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest. His sword qi drifted ethereally as he stood beside Li Xuanfeng, observing intently.
The northern cultivators were vast in number, yet clearly divided into several distinct factions. Shakya masters from the various lineages arrived one after another, holding the rear as unshakeable as mountains. In the vanguard were the clan and rogue cultivators conscripted from the northern commanderies; within a single clan, there was often an intricate mingling of immortal, Shakya, and demonic arts, thoroughly tangled.
In contrast, the rogue cultivators and those from small hermitages were far purer. They either cultivated purely in the Zijin Dao or the demonic path, or practiced both simultaneously—after all, both were demonic paths, and there was no conflict between them. Mingled among them were demonic cultivators who had come from far and wide, and even from across the outer seas to fish in troubled waters, creating a chaotic, motley horde.
Si Yuanli observed for a while and faintly caught sight of banners from the State of Zhao, though he found nothing surprising about it. The court of Zhao had long since become a puppet of the Shakya path, though unlike Wu and Yue, it was not entirely an empty shell. By using the court of Zhao to conscript cultivators, the Shakya path could at least maintain a veneer of legitimacy. Turning slightly toward Li Qinghong, he said in a low voice:
“The Shakya masters from the Kongwu, Beimin, and Shanle lineages are gradually arriving. The northern shore is no longer the leaderless mess it was before. Shakya cultivators love to seize the karmic destiny of this clash between north and south; they certainly will not give up easily. We must remain on high alert.”
Rumble!
No sooner had his voice fallen than two cracks of thunder echoed through the clouds. Murky, dark plumes of smoke billowed upward. Li Xuanfeng stood aloft, treading on golden light with bow in hand. The host before him had been checked by his roar, but after a dozen breaths, they began pressing forward once more.
White-gold radiance shimmered in the sky, brilliant beams bursting forth and piercing the darkness on the opposing bank. The man released the bowstring and retrieved a scroll from his waist.
The scroll was not large and appeared utterly ordinary. Yet with every eye from both north and south fixed upon him, their burning gazes immediately settled onto the scroll. With probing curiosity or startled doubt, the pupils of everyone present followed the movement of that spiritual artifact.
Li Xuanfeng’s gaze also lingered on the artifact. Pouring his spiritual sense and magical power into it, the ivory-white hooked clasp unfastened on its own. The long scroll unfurled downward, releasing a wash of pure white light into the air.
Holding the scroll himself, Li Xuanfeng took in its contents with a single glance. It depicted a grand panoramic landscape of the Jiang and Huai rivers stretching tens of thousands of li, with rich scenery along both banks and birds, beasts, and insects rendered life-like. It was far longer than the river beneath their feet, twisting and winding in endless bends before surging toward the East Sea in majestic splendor.
His gaze traced along the painting until it came to rest upon the signature at the end:
Huaijiang Map, by Cui Yan of Boye, the three hundred and seventeenth year of Zhenghe.
The moment the scroll opened, countless streaks of crimson light surged forth from within, swirling and leaping through the air like fireflies. Li Xuanfeng’s voice sounded slightly hoarse, yet rang firm and powerful:
“Shangyao of the Mysterious Zenith, lingering sun over the Jiang and Huai…”
The moment the words left his mouth, they were instantly drawn into the scroll. The sky suddenly lit up in radiant brilliance; the clouds turned a resplendent golden-yellow, and a sheet of luminous light descended from the heavens.
Below, Li Ximing’s pupils slowly dilated. The immortal foundation within him seemed stirred by some resonance, trembling and humming in waves. Reflecting the dazzling brilliance in his eyes, he murmured:
“Mingyang…”
Under the gaze of ten thousand onlookers, a golden light flew out from the scroll and plunged down from the heavens. A magnificent radiance manifested beneath Li Xuanfeng’s feet, and the great river transformed into a luminous, crystal-clear gold.
This gleaming river continued rushing forward as a shadow loomed beneath the surface. After merely a breath, a towering barrier fortress rose into view, parting the waters and thrusting into the heavens.
This barrier stretched on without end, its patterns intricate and glowing. White bricks were fitted together with exquisite precision; though they held the delicate hue of jade, they were far more radiant, presenting a dignified, archaic majesty. It rose along the river's flow, soaring straight into the firmament.
Whoosh!
The cultivators slowly tilted their heads back as their gazes rose. The golden river waters cascaded down the ramparts with a roar, falling like countless golden waterfalls that were utterly blinding to behold.
“An ancient spiritual artifact… the Huaijiang Map!”
A voice muttered from the northern ranks, echoing among the crowd and ringing out with harsh clarity amidst the eerie silence.
The sky grew dim once more. Clad in white-gold armor, the man stood atop the hundred-zhang gateway dividing north from south, looking like an immortal general of antiquity. Behind him, iridescent white halos formed ring after ring, bathing the space beside him in blinding radiance.
Myriad profound sensations welled up in Li Xuanfeng’s mind. Both of his immortal foundations received an immense augmentation. Vast, surging magical power rippled outward, suspending him lightly in midair. The Tianjin Cuirass covering his body grew even more pronounced, imposing and domineering, shining with a piercing white-gold light.
Hum.
He raised his bow. A dark arrow immediately settled onto the string, a sharp brilliance blooming across the limbs of the weapon. Fierce astral qi rippled out behind him, trailing streaks of golden light that cast his face in flickering shadows.
Swoosh…
A golden flash sparked through the air. A sudden premonition of mortal danger gripped the hearts of every Foundation Establishment cultivator present. In a panicked frenzy, they summoned their magical artifacts. For a time, the advancing host on the riverbank ground to a halt as artifacts of every color rose—scarlet, amber, crimson, and jade—filling the sky in a vivid array.
Bang!
The head of a middle-aged cultivator at the very front of the northern shore exploded into mist. The magical artifact in his hands was torn to shreds like flimsy paper, raining down in a clattering shower. An explosive blast of magical light and astral qi burst outward with a deafening roar:
Boom!
The surrounding cultivators scrambled backward, falling like scattered rain. That man had not even managed to withstand a single move before being shot dead on the spot, leaving behind only a plume of crimson light that surged into the sky, morphing into a blood-red haze.
“An omen of death… he is dead as dead can be!”
The elderly cultivator beside him turned pale and trembled, horrified. “Chunyu Bei is dead… Even if he was already wounded, that was only a single arrow! How is this even reasonable?!”
“We are temple masters of our commanderies, yet before this man, we are no better than chickens and dogs… What is the point of fighting?!”
Before the crowd could even begin to grieve, that terrifying wail rose in their ears once more. Five more arrows had already manifested in the cold, stern man’s grasp. The Embryonic Breathing and Qi Refinement cultivators, along with the monks and nuns on the ground, could not discern the true danger and charged forward with frantic shouts, but all the Foundation Establishment cultivators took a synchronized step backward.
“Look out!”
Boom!
Intense golden light detonated in several places at once. Before the old Daoist could even see who else had fallen, he caught sight of several black escape lights fleeing for their lives. Li Xuanfeng exhaled softly, and another five arrows materialized on his bowstring.
A chilling cold crept up the old Daoist’s neck. Taking a step back, he cried out in terror, “Why hasn’t anyone stepped forward yet?! Are they going to make us die for nothing?!”
In an instant, panic swept the northern bank. The low-level cultivators on the ground looked up in bewilderment as the escape lights of the Foundation Establishment cultivators flickered erratically, showing signs of an imminent rout.
On the southern shore, the gathered cultivators were equally astonished. They raised their heads toward Li Xuanfeng in the sky, joy blooming across their faces. One by one, they descended upon the fortress wall, taking up their artifacts.
Li Xuanfeng shone with brilliant light, his fingers shifting on the arrows. The northern forces could hold back no longer. From their rear, a monk flew forth riding the wind, his muscles bulging and eyes glaring with fury as he roared:
“Insolent fiend, how dare you run rampant?!”
Departing from the usual scarcity of artifacts among Shakya cultivators, this monk not only trod upon a golden cloud, but also wielded a crescent shovel inscribed with glowing, intricate patterns, appearing exceptionally extravagant.
As soon as he took flight, someone immediately followed behind him. It was a tall, emaciated monk with a beaming smile. Holding his left hand flat against his chest, he pinched a golden ring between his thumb and forefinger, following silently without a word.
Empowered by the spiritual artifact beneath his feet, the brilliant light on Li Xuanfeng expanded with his every movement. It not only strengthened his physique and magical power, but also extended his spiritual sense across the entire riverbank. He merely drew the string with cold, indifferent eyes, streams of golden light flowing past both his cheeks.
Hum!
Though the two monks called him a demon, their actions betrayed no arrogance. Their expressions turned solemn at once. The smile on the tall, thin monk’s face stiffened, and as if facing a mortal foe, he cast forth the golden ring in his hand.
The golden ring tumbled and expanded in midair, revealing dense, intricate engravings. Spewing forth a hazy golden light, it suddenly clamped down upon a speck of piercing golden radiance. The tall monk was overjoyed and commanded:
“Subdue!”
A dense, deafening clatter of colliding metal rang out along the riverbank, numbing the ears of all who heard it. As the tall monk strained against the force, the burly monk hastily swung his crescent shovel forward, aiming to strike Li Xuanfeng.
With the two monks buying time, the Foundation Establishment cultivators in the rear finally managed to close in on the riverbank. Instantly, the cultivators of north and south clashed in full force. Countless colors bloomed in the sky, accompanied by rumbling explosions.
Li Xuanfeng’s expression did not waver in the slightest when his arrow was checked. Given his illustrious fame, it was hardly surprising that the north would deploy specific artifacts and cultivators to counter him.
“Courting death.”
The tall, emaciated monk was not particularly strong; one could tell at a glance that he was merely an expendable pawn sent to test the waters, possessing only a peculiar artifact. Treading upon the air with his dark boots, Li Xuanfeng drew back the string and sneered:
“Strike!”
The gold-and-crimson arrow in his hand vanished in an instant. A burst of gold-crimson brilliance erupted in the sky, and the golden ring was knocked away as if struck by a colossal blow, its magical power dispersing as it reverted to its original form and tumbled backward. The tall monk coughed up a mouthful of blood, his eyes reflecting the blinding crimson light.
Bang!
Li Xuanfeng’s full-strength strike, enhanced by the Violet Palace spiritual artifact, surpassed even the arrow he had shot at Tang Shedu back then. The tall monk’s upper body was instantly torn to shreds; his lower half lingered for merely a fraction of a breath before being ripped apart by the astral qi, leaving only a streak of golden light that fled northward to reincarnate.
Only then did the burly monk charge before him. Dense golden talismans surfaced across his skin as his crescent shovel crashed down like a falling meteor, trailing a sheet of golden radiance.
Rumble!
The golden light scattered, only for a massive hand clad in white-gold armor plates to catch the artifact, holding it motionless in its palm. The white-gold patterns on the man's face intertwined with brilliant light, endowing his already fierce features with an imposing, solemn majesty.
“With just you?”
His lips parted, spitting out cold, resonant words. He held the monk firmly in place, giving him no room to retreat, his voice echoing through the heavens like thunder:
“Since Tang Shedu could rebel and attain Lianmin on the spot, slaying me in this clash between north and south must also be a grand opportunity…”
Halos of brilliant light rippled behind him, his golden armor resplendent, his facial patterns radiating immense pressure. With one hand extended casually before him, effortlessly gripping the weapon of the burly monk, he turned his gold-lit eyes toward the north.
“All of you, come out!”
His voice rolled like thunder through the clouds, drawing the startled glances of everyone present.
Figures began manifesting all around him—some wielding spears or clubs, others holding vases or rings. Their faces bore the compassionate visage of golden bodies, while their frames were the indestructible forms of vajra protectors. Scattered across the sky, a dozen or so figures hovered, their cold gazes piercing toward him in unison.
Their voices resonated through the void, male and female intertwining like a chorus of ten thousand voices:
“Insolent demon!”
……
A black-robed youth emerged from the dark smoke, tightly clutching a talisman in his hand. Threading his way through the northern cultivators, he penetrated deep into the north and landed on a small hill.
A plump monk draped in a monastic robe came forward to meet him, beaming from ear to ear the moment he saw him, and said:
“Fellow Daoist Yu!”
“Master Xuwang.”
Yu Jiang responded casually, looking thoroughly calm on the surface, though his mind was somewhat distracted. Raising an eyebrow, he asked:
“How is it that the Shakya path has so many immortal and demonic practitioners beneath it?”
“Ah…” Xuwang chuckled twice and replied, “What are you saying? Our orthodox faith is the most magnanimous of all, treating everyone with equal benevolence. How could we ever force immortal and demonic cultivators, or refuse to tolerate the lineages of others? Fellow Daoist comes from the South Sea and has only heard that the Great Zhao is a state devoted to Shakya matters, so it is natural to make assumptions…”
His expression turned solemn as he continued: “Though our Great Zhao reveres the Shakya faith, the practitioners of the immortal and demonic paths are just as numerous. Within the commandery cities, people follow our Shakya ways, but we Shakya cultivators never touch the surrounding commandery lands, wild outskirts, or mountain ranges. We leave those entirely to those fated for them…”
As he spoke, he guided Yu Jiang to the mountaintop. Several figures were already seated within the grand hall at the summit. One of them, dressed in Daoist robes with a gloomy countenance, sneered coldly upon overhearing the words from afar:
“Naturally! Without demonic cultivators, why would anyone believe in the Shakya faith? The common folk are clever! The more rampant the demonic cultivators become, the more devout their faith grows! Have you not heard that beneath the mountain of the Shakya lies hell itself?”
He glanced over and recognized Yu Jiang. His tone softened slightly as he remarked offhandedly:
“Fellow Daoist hails from Danrong Wuluo in the South Sea, the very place where the World-Honored One attained the Dao. It is currently overrun by the most demonic cultivators, is it not?”
Though these words reached Xuwang’s ears, the portly, large-eared monk took no offense, merely chuckling:
“What nonsense is that? We respect other paths and do not meddle with the cultivators in the mountains. If they cultivate on their own and fall into demonic ways, consuming flesh and drinking blood to terrify the common people, only to be slain by us in the end, it merely fulfills our merit.”
The man in Daoist robes sneered, unable to offer a rebuttal. Yu Jiang looked to the other side, where an effeminate man dressed in python robes sat in silence, sipping his tea without uttering a word.
Yu Jiang sat down to the side. He understood the other party’s purpose in inviting him, yet spoke in a frosty tone:
“Master, why have you summoned me so urgently? What is the matter?”
Xuwang let out a low chuckle and whispered, “Contact has been lost with the venerable Mahas and Lianmins, so now is the time for us to fathom the honored intentions… Fellow Daoist Yu can still contact high-level seniors; could you offer us a few pointers?”
“What is there to point out!”
Yu Jiang understood what he meant, but deliberately feigned ignorance to pry for more information. Instead, he stood up, pointed southward, and said coldly:
“Can you not see the situation in the south? Inviting me here to break a Violet Palace spiritual artifact? You overestimate me! This matter is far too troublesome; you had better seek out someone more capable!”
“Not so! Not so!”
The plump monk shook his head repeatedly with a smile. “The situation changes, so how could our plans remain rigid?”
“As for that ferocious man in the south…” The monk laughed heartily and answered, “Naturally, he is the karmic opportunity for the fellow brothers of our path. There is no need for you to concern yourself with him!”
Yu Jiang’s heart skipped a beat at those words. He watched as the monk pointed northward, a subtle smile spreading across his face as he whispered:
“Fellow Daoist has a grudge against Qingchi, does he not? The grand formation of Mount Bianyan is something only Fellow Daoist can swiftly dismantle!”
Chapter 607