Volume One: The Revival of All Things, Where Spring Reigns Through the Four Seasons Chapter Thirty-Two: In the Hidden Valley Beneath the Cliff, Zhou Sheng Appears

But clearly, that ascetic monk, frail and emaciated, seemed not even to have reached the Soul Refinement stage, not even as strong as an ordinary person, collapsed upon the mountain path—how could he be the junior brother of the Divine Monk who shatters illusions?

Sensing Mo Wen’s shock, the old monk slowly explained, “In Buddhism, we speak of cause and effect; cultivation lies in cultivating the mind. My junior brother sought to return to the origin, to step beyond, but alas, alas!”

Though Mo Wen did not fully grasp what the old monk meant by “that step,” a realization dawned in his heart—could it be? Beyond the Shattering of Illusions?

He pondered, then bowed deeply once more. “Master, I owe your junior brother a debt for his guidance and instruction, yet I do not even know his name. I beseech you, master, to enlighten me, so I might forever keep it in my heart and never dare forget.”

The old monk stroked his white beard and nodded, smiling. “I am Wuwo, and my junior brother’s Dharma name is Wuxin. The ties between you and Buddhism will entangle your life; I see your karma is vast, even stained with blood feud. Why not remain on this mountain? I can guarantee your safety.”

Mo Wen steadied himself and politely declined. The old monk sighed and did not press further. Mo Wen then asked about the transformation of beasts, but the old monk closed his eyes in silence, pointing to the right.

To the right of the Hall of Zhu Rong stood a sheer cliff, shrouded in mist below, the view obscured. Faintly, the cries of apes echoed, and the cliff towered thousands of feet. Even with a flawless body, a leap from the summit would almost certainly end in death.

Bidding farewell to Master Wuwo, Mo Wen retraced his steps to the closest point to the cliff’s edge and looked down. Though steep, it was far better than the peak of Zhu Rong.

“This will do. Sister Lin, descend first and wait for me at the pavilion halfway up the mountain.”

Before Lin Xi could protest, Mo Wen said seriously, “Trust me.”

Lin Xi nodded fiercely, worry and reluctance plain on her face. Mo Wen took a deep breath and called out, “Sword Dog!”

Sword Dog transformed into sword form, slipping from the coal-ball space. Mo Wen grasped the long sword, confidence swelling within him.

With Lin Xi’s startled cry behind him, he leapt down along the cliff face, dropping dozens of meters before thrusting the sword into the stone. The blade sank into the rock, and Mo Wen clung to its hilt, suspended in midair. He smiled at Lin Xi, pulled the sword free, and jumped again.

Repeating this three times, he finally reached the bottom of the cliff. The scent of decaying leaves and twigs greeted him, along with animal droppings nearby. Sword Dog shifted to dog form and sniffed the air.

“Kid, the air here is strange—it’s not the same as outside.”

Sword Dog warned him; the sensitivity of a dog’s nose had detected the difference instantly.

The valley was perpetually shrouded in mist, sunlight unseen. Ferns towered overhead, and Sword Dog led the way, with Mo Wen following cautiously.

Suddenly, Sword Dog halted and signaled Mo Wen to be silent. Mo Wen held his breath and listened. Sure enough, there was the rustle of foliage ahead.

The sound drew closer; Sword Dog bristled, transformed into a long sword, and returned to Mo Wen’s hand. The next moment, the ferns fell away, and a giant snake head rose.

The snake’s head was the size of a basketball, its dark, wrinkled skin gleaming, eyes as large as bronze bells radiating a chilling light. Atop its head were antlers like those of a deer, and a vivid red crest of blood ran between them.

“Human, this is not a place for you! Leave now, or die!”

The snake spoke in human tongue, its long tongue flickering in and out, clearly furious at Mo Wen’s intrusion.

Mo Wen sensed the serpent’s aura—thankfully, only at the Divine Pivot stage—but the atmosphere here was strange, and he dared not act rashly. He had come to find someone, not to make enemies.

“King Serpent, forgive me. My dear friend has transformed into a beast, and I have come here in search. If you know anything, I would be most grateful!”

The serpent hissed impatiently. “I told you, there are only beasts here, no humans. Leave!”

Mo Wen was determined. He had failed once at Emei; this time, he must see Zhou Sheng. When persuasion failed, he swung his sword, releasing a torrent of sword energy that sliced through swathes of vegetation.

Startled, the serpent rose into the air and spiraled overhead. Mo Wen said softly, “I have no wish to fight you. Please step aside.”

The serpent grew furious, its head thrown back in a howl, then it dove and spat a cloud of green mist! The mist mingled with the valley fog, exuding a peculiar sweetness. Where it touched leaves, they withered instantly—this mist was deadly poison!

Mo Wen dared not be careless. He shielded himself with Buddhist inner breath, burning away the green mist. The serpent, seeing this, raised its head and spat a stream of fire. The flames surged toward Mo Wen, who smiled faintly and caught them bare-handed, unharmed.

In terms of heat, his inner breath was far hotter than this fire—trivial indeed. The serpent, out of tricks, let out a resentful hiss and swiftly retreated.

Once the serpent departed, Sword Dog returned to dog form. Mo Wen teased, “Just a Divine Pivot serpent—what are you so afraid of?”

Sword Dog rolled its eyes in disdain. “Yes, you’re so brave. I’ll go back to the coal-ball and sleep. You’re on your own from here.”

Mo Wen was speechless; Sword Dog was always quick to shirk responsibility. He rubbed his nose and ignored the dog, who, seeing Mo Wen flustered, grinned mischievously.

Suddenly, Sword Dog darted back into his hand, the black blade gleaming, humming with tension.

“Something big’s coming!”

No sooner had Sword Dog warned him than the serpent returned, now bearing a blue-robed Daoist on its back. The Daoist, with shifty eyes and a sly demeanor, was nothing like a sage, wielding a three-pronged steel fork, his appearance quite bizarre.

“Human, since you’ve come, you might as well stay!”

Shattering Illusions!

The Emei Panda Daoist had said: when a beast cultivates to Shattering Illusions, it can take human form!

“Wait, senior!”

Without the coal-ball, Mo Wen stood no chance against Shattering Illusions. He quickly thought, “My master and Master Wuwo are discussing Buddhism—they’ll be here shortly!”

The Daoist paused, uncertain. “Who is your master?”

Mo Wen spun his sword, unleashing innate sword technique, its aura fierce and soul-shaking. Sheathing his sword, he cupped his fists. “Senior, my master is Zhao Tiansheng. Have you heard of him?”

Mo Wen appeared calm, but inside he was anxious. Zhao Tiansheng’s fame was longstanding; as another Shattering Illusions cultivator, the Daoist should know him.

The Daoist froze, staring at Mo Wen’s black sword; the lingering sword energy was palpable and could not be faked. He flared with rage. “So you are his disciple! What, do you plan to slaughter all the Shattering Illusions in southern Hunan like he did?”

Though furious, the Daoist made no move, clearly wary. Mo Wen smiled inwardly—his teacher’s reputation certainly had its uses!

He replied, “I wouldn’t dare. I have come here only to find someone, as I explained to the Serpent King.”

The Daoist pondered for a while, then tossed his steel fork. “Follow me, but do not act rashly!”

With that, the Daoist rode the serpent ahead, and Mo Wen followed on foot, secretly envious. Shattering Illusions cultivators could soar at will, and even command a Divine Pivot serpent as a mount!

The Daoist led them deeper into the valley, where the vegetation grew denser. Mo Wen wove among the greenery, following the Daoist until he stopped at a small earthen slope.

Below the slope was a wooden door, tightly shut. The Daoist formed a seal and chanted, the door opening in response.

“This aura! This aura! It’s them!”

Sword Dog’s voice suddenly echoed in Mo Wen’s mind, and he tensed. The Daoist entered and beckoned Mo Wen to follow. Mo Wen gritted his teeth and stepped inside.

Beyond the door was a cramped, downward passage barely wide enough for one. After several dozen meters, Sword Dog indicated the source of the aura lay ahead. At the end of the passage, a vast cavern opened up, lit by flickering candlelight. At its heart, behind a wooden incense table, stood a giant statue.

A rat!

The statue was of a rat, and before the incense table, a familiar aura startled Mo Wen.

It was Zhou Sheng!

Zhou Sheng was now covered in black fur, his face barely recognizable. From his mouth, black mist constantly flowed, swirling before him and then drawn back in with each breath.

“This man, at the brink of beast transformation, was ensnared by this ghostly thing. My kin found him on the mountain path and brought him here.”

The Daoist was cautious, keeping several meters from Zhou Sheng, wary of the black mist.

Mo Wen tried to approach, but the Daoist barred his way. Anxious, Mo Wen shouted, “Boss Zhou! Boss Zhou! It’s me—Little Mo!”

As if hearing Mo Wen’s call, Zhou Sheng slowly opened his eyes. Seeing Mo Wen, his expression grew agitated, lips trembling as he croaked in a hoarse voice, “Go! Get out!”

His voice, hysterical and devoid of any joy at reunion, was instead filled with despair and urgency.