Ancient times, Qin and Han, Tang and Song dynasties; wilderness, battlefields, towns.
A golden paper and a black sphere constantly clashed.
Simon struggled to suppress the Xiangshu, while also trying to break free from the seal of the Underworld Journey.
He could guarantee that he would break free before the Xiangshu, after all, the Pure Land was much stronger than hell.
...
The thirty-two peaks of Ran Mountain each possessed a unique spiritual beauty, and the disciples of the Ran Mountain Sect built their houses and cultivated the Dao within this vast mountain range.
Across the expansive Ran Mountain, numerous ancient forests covered rolling hills, many areas were rugged and difficult to traverse. Cultivators, in their pursuit of harmony with nature, often built secluded huts in quiet places to live in reclusion. Within this vast territory, countless capable predecessors of Ran Mountain were hidden, so much so that many fellow disciples might never meet each other in their entire lives.
To live and die without interaction, that was the way it was.
The lowest-ranking disciples of Ran Mountain were called 'Sanren', often responsible for chores and attending to the daily needs of important figures.
The next rank up was 'Sword Slave'. Before cultivating the sword, one first served as a servant, cultivating sincerity and integrity before seeking the Great Dao. Disciples of this rank often had a master guiding their practice.
Ran Mountain had three sects: the Yin-Yang Sect, the Divine Sword Sect, and the Jade Talisman Sect. Ascending through the ranks, if a cultivating disciple could pass these three stages, proving themselves outstanding and of excellent character, they could then shed the title of 'You Shi' and be promoted to the position of a Three Sect Successor.
The highest rank for a disciple was Three Sect Successor, also known as a True Disciple.
Upon becoming a Three Sect Successor, a Taoist priest gained the qualification to preach and teach, and to take on disciples. Though called disciples, they were essentially attendants. The greatest joy after becoming a master was to order the junior disciples to do things.
Old Taoist Song KaiXiu was a very mediocre fellow. His martial arts attainments were poor, yet his master was once a Ran Mountain Immortal Master. With this connection, he naturally became a True Disciple before his master's death.
This step exhausted all his luck. After that, for decades, he was never promoted again, failed to become a Qinglang Protector, and his esteemed master also passed away. Gradually, he lost his ambition and planned to find a disciple to inherit his 'fine skills'.
Rotten sweet potatoes only deserve rotten bird eggs. Song KaiXiu took in several Sanren disciples before and after, but they all ran away due to the old Taoist's clumsy martial arts, seeking other masters.
Finally, the indignant Song KaiXiu decided not to take any more disciples. Three or five more years passed until one day, he found a small infant in a wolf's den on the mountain. The boy showed no fear upon seeing him, and despite being raised by a wolf mother for several years, he showed no trace of wildness, appearing pure and innocent. The old Taoist was overjoyed, believing that Heaven had bestowed upon him an excellent disciple, destined to bring glory to his lineage.
He took the infant back and meticulously cared for him. Days turned into weeks, the child grew up, following his master every day. Whether it was Song KaiXiu's poor teaching or not, the child was, in short, taught to be useless.
Bright in childhood, not necessarily great in adulthood. The old Taoist used this reason to reassure himself, feeling guilty. It wasn't that he taught poorly, but that the boy's talent matured early, and his potential was exhausted as he grew up, and so on.
With this realization, the old Taoist felt even more justified in ordering his disciple around.
"Ping'an, bring the foot-washing water, not too hot."
"Ping'an, make dinner. Heat up that plate of stir-fried pork with garlic sprouts we didn't finish last night..."
Ping'an this, Ping'an that, Wang Ping'an did everything that needed to be done.
Wang Ping'an.
The young Taoist asked his master, why did he have to be named Wang?
The old Taoist coughed a few times, brushing it off.
The reason was actually very simple: the young Taoist's biological father was named Wang.
Song KaiXiu knew the disciple's background. When Wang Ping'an was found by him, he had a brass longevity lock around his neck, engraved with his birth characters.
Although the old Taoist's professional level in Taoist magic was not high, his basic skills were quite good. He spent several years finding the disciple's biological father, a beggar called Wang SanMazi, dressed in rags, covered in festering sores.
As for Wang Ping'an's mother, she had died long ago.
"Stay on Ran Mountain, stay by Master's side, for your whole life. I don't ask you to be outstanding, just to live peacefully and safely."
The young Taoist was unhappy, unhappy in every sense of the word.
Poor in martial arts, weak in spells, soft in character, he was exploited by his master at home and ignored by his fellow disciples in the sect. He felt like a transparent person.
In the 109th year of the Pure Land Era, he was eight years old. On the thirteenth of June, he went up the mountain alone to gather herbs.
Last night, there was a light drizzle, and the mountain soil was still damp. Mountain mist filled the forest. As he walked on the thorny mountain path, accumulated rainwater occasionally dripped from the tree canopy, pattering onto him, his Taoist robe, and his herb basket. The water was very cold, hitting his skin like tiny ice beads, making him shiver.
Wang Ping'an followed a familiar path, intending only to find some bone-setting grass deep in the woods. However, the fog was too thick, and he inadvertently turned onto an unfamiliar animal trail, a path worn by wild boars, rabbits, and other animals in the mountains.
At the end was a cave.
Wang Ping'an's eyes widened. In the dim light, through the hazy mist, a large group of wild beasts gathered at the cave entrance: a fierce tiger, six or seven foxes, three wild wolves, several hedgehogs, a nest of rabbits... In total, hundreds of them, almost all the animals from the nearby mountain peaks had come.
They lay quietly, silently, gazing into the darkness within the cave.
Predators and prey, carnivores and herbivores, met but remained peaceful, the scene incredibly harmonious.
What was inside the cave?
His arrival was noticed by a tiger. The fierce beast turned its head to look at him, then suddenly stood up. Wang Ping'an froze, thinking the tiger would eat him, but he also instinctively felt that the tiger was spiritual, sentient. It wouldn't even ignore the rabbits at its mouth to specifically hunt and kill a human, would it?
Indeed, the tiger adopted a listening posture, then let out a few low growls. The beasts parted, clearing a path, and Wang Ping'an could walk directly into the cave.
Should he go?
Of course, he should.
There were so many stories of immortals; after reading them, he dreamt of encountering an adventure. Now the opportunity was right before him, how could he let it pass?
Mustering his courage, he passed through the animal crowd and entered the cave. It wasn't completely dark; small holes above let in light. There were no living creatures inside, so Wang Ping'an proceeded with confidence, only to find himself at the end after just a few steps.
A stone wall blocked his way, damp and covered in moss.
The young Taoist looked left and right, seeing no immortals, and immediately grew anxious, constantly fumbling at the stone wall. The rough rock was cold and hard, covered with a sticky layer of moisture. He leaned closer to the stone, examining it carefully.
He moved his hand downwards until his right hand touched a smooth, jade-like section of the wall.
Wang Ping'an brightened, pulled out his herb-digging hoe, and began to chip away at the stone along the edge of the jade. These were limestone, quite brittle. The young Taoist worked for an hour, exhausted, before he finally saw clearly: embedded in the stone was a black four-sided pyramid, clearly man-made, an imitation of Mount Sumeru. He was overjoyed, forgetting his physical fatigue, and dug even harder.
By mid-morning, most of the stone had been cleared. Wang Ping'an exerted himself to pull the pyramid from the stone, and a golden paper came out with it.
As the golden paper emerged, a wail of hundreds of beasts echoed from outside the cave. Wang Ping'an, holding the pyramid, stared blankly at the golden paper on the ground. A corner of the paper scroll had unfurled, faintly revealing an iron-black arm with a withered hand making a seal, looking sinister and terrifying.
With that one glance, he felt as if his internal organs were seized. He felt excruciating pain.
"Ah—" his cry quickly faded as the air was sucked from his lungs.
He felt he was going to die. This was no immortal encounter; it was a death calamity.
Just then, the pyramid in his arms emitted a white light, gently soothing his body and mind. Wang Ping'an gasped for air like someone about to drown, not daring to look at the golden paper again.
The light from the pyramid grew brighter, causing the Epiphyllum Seal between the Taoist's brows to burn.
A calm voice sounded in his ear, "You found that sword hilt. Remember to take it to the Taiwu Successor. Don't wander off, hurry up."
What sword hilt? The Taoist didn't understand.
Suddenly, the pyramid shook violently. Wang Ping'an couldn't hold on and immediately let go. The black jade-like four-sided pyramid forcefully pressed down onto the golden paper on the ground, followed by a muffled grunt, and both vanished simultaneously.
He got nothing.
The whole morning was wasted.
Wang Ping'an stood in a daze for a while, then came back to his senses. The commotion outside earlier was not small, and he feared someone might come soon, so he quickly slung his herb basket onto his back, preparing to leave.
Upon exiting the cave, he saw that all the animals lying on the ground were dead.
A cold wind blew, and the sweating young Taoist felt a chill deep in his heart.
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