Volume One: The Awakening of All Things, An Eternal Spring Chapter Forty: Shattering Illusions with a Single Fist, Meeting the Scarlet-Clad Demon King Once More

Atop the Qiongtai Platform on Tianzhu Peak, the Daoist with thick brows stood in silence, eyes closed, his aura surging ever upward as he gripped a three-foot azure blade, poised and ready to strike. The assembled evolvers instinctively cleared a space, everyone holding their breath to see what confidence this young man possessed—how could he dare, at the Divine Pivot stage, to face the Breaking Illusion head-on?

Mo Wen sneered in disdain. This stele was newly erected, its surface betraying no sign of age—it was clearly set up for his sake, a deliberate challenge.

Channeling the pure inner breath of the Buddhist school, Mo Wen gathered energy into his fists. Looking squarely at the thick-browed Daoist, he spoke calmly: “I have a single punch. If you can withstand it, I shall descend the mountain immediately and never set foot on Wudang again in this life.”

He paused, then added with solemnity, “However, life and death lie with fate. All present may bear witness!”

“What arrogance! Who is this brash youth spouting such wild words? Let’s see his corpse laid out on this very spot!”

“I know that man—he’s a natural sword prodigy. Why, then, does he fight with his fists instead of a blade?”

Whispers rippled through the crowd. Mo Wen cast a sidelong glance their way, and those speaking instantly lowered their heads, not daring to meet his gaze.

The thick-browed Daoist, anger turning to laughter, replied in a low voice, “Very well! I shall take your punch. If I so much as retreat half a step, I admit my skills are lacking. But if I withstand it, you may come and go in Wudang as you please!”

With that, he spun his sword in a dance, conjuring a blossom of light that gathered before him, forming the pattern of a Taiji diagram.

“The Taiji Sword!”

An elderly man with deep knowledge cried out in awe. Legend held that the Taiji Sword was created by Wudang’s founder, Zhang Sanfeng—renowned for using softness to overcome strength, for neutralizing force with force.

“That young man overestimates himself. Let’s hope Daoist Chizhu shows mercy and spares his life,” murmured a compassionate elder, fingers ceaselessly turning prayer beads, fearing blood would soon be spilled.

Mo Wen stepped forward, legs braced wide, and roared, “Within Heaven and Earth!”

His fists thundered forth like rolling thunder, the force of his punch slamming toward Daoist Chizhu.

The sky and wind shifted. The force of Mo Wen’s fist crashed against the sword-shaped Taiji diagram like a torrent. With a sharp, metallic crack, the diagram shattered. The punch’s force did not abate, tearing through the shattered Taiji and striking Daoist Chizhu head-on. Two neat, round holes appeared in the Daoist’s body, and he was sent flying across the Qiongtai Platform, crashing into the stone wall on the far side.

A spray of blood misted from Chizhu’s lips, his eyes filled with terror.

A young Daoist attendant cried out in alarm, rushing forward to support Chizhu, but the master’s breath was faint—life slipping away. The attendant wailed, “Master! Master!”

Suddenly, a surge of wind swept up Daoist Chizhu and carried him toward the Golden Hall atop Tianzhu.

A deathly silence fell. The evolvers present could hardly believe what had just occurred. Not only had Mo Wen shattered Daoist Chizhu’s Taiji Sword technique, but with a single punch he left the man grievously wounded, at death’s door.

In the crowd, Mi Lu’s eyes were a complex shade. When she had first met Mo Wen, he was strong, yes—but never to such an outrageous degree. Now her expression dimmed, and she sighed inwardly: “Sister Lin, not only is my family background and cultivation inferior to yours—even my judgment is lacking.”

Mo Wen ignored the fearful stares of those around him and strode directly to the young Daoist attendant, repeating, “I am Mo Wen, from the Magic City, cultivating Buddhism internally. I wish to participate in the Spring Assembly.”

The young Daoist, terror-stricken, could not muster a word of protest and replied meekly, “I’ll register you at once!”

Mo Wen nodded and headed down the mountain, Mi Lu following, her expression complicated.

The crowd parted to make way. Strength commands respect—an eternal truth.

“Mo Wen, is that Daoist dead?” Mi Lu asked timidly, her voice tinged with fear.

“I don’t know. Wudang’s legacy runs deep—they may have a way to save him. That wind that carried him away just now, that was the Great Freedom.”

As they descended, Mi Lu was far less lively than when she first met Mo Wen, walking in silence, her thoughts unknown. Mo Wen mused inwardly: The second form of this Brilliant Galaxy truly is formidable—far more so than when I struck the red-garbed woman of Kunlun who had already broken through Illusion.

Suddenly, Mo Wen sensed a hostile intent locking onto him. Suspecting Wudang was not yet finished with him, he looked ahead on the mountain path—and saw a figure in red.

The Breaking Illusion Demon King of Kunlun.

Behind the red-clad woman, two small tigers crouched—white-foreheaded, fierce-eyed.

Mo Wen halted, instinctively shielding Mi Lu behind him, channeling his inner energy, ready for battle.

The red-garbed woman drew her sword, its tip pointed at Mo Wen, but in the end she sheathed it, clasped her fists, and said, “I am Hong Zhu. Are you also here to bring disciples to the Spring Assembly?”

Disciples? Mo Wen smiled—of course. The woman had broken through Illusion, so she herself couldn’t participate. It must be the two tigers accompanying her who were the real contenders.

Having just emerged from a fierce battle, Mo Wen wished to avoid further conflict. He responded with courtesy, not with arms.

“Mo Wen. I’m here to participate in the Spring Assembly myself.”

The Demon King Hong Zhu was taken aback—she hadn’t expected Mo Wen not to have broken through Illusion. Yet, when they had fought before, the force of his punch...

Suddenly, she realized something and her tone grew even more respectful. “If you are matched against my disciples, I ask that you show mercy. My Kunlun Mountain demon clan seeks no fortune here—we come only on orders from the Demon Lord to train in the world.”

As if fearing Mo Wen would refuse, the Demon King even invoked the name of the Great Freedom Demon Lord, hoping Mo Wen would show some restraint.

Mo Wen replied with a teasing smile, “Why should I? Your demon clan has long seen me as a thorn in its side—why should I go easy on you? Are you a tigress? How about you agree to serve as my mount for three years, and I’ll consider it?”

Hong Zhu had not expected this attitude. Anger rose on her face. In Kunlun, she commanded respect, never suffering such mockery. Yet here was this human man, grinning wickedly, shamelessly demanding she be his steed. Humiliated and furious, she drew her sword once more, intent on cutting him down.

Just as Mo Wen prepared to strike, a quiet voice drifted down from the mountain: “On Wudang soil, private duels are forbidden.”

Though soft, the words thundered in their ears. At once, the sword intent of the Demon King vanished, and the force building in Mo Wen’s fists dissipated as well.

The Great Freedom had intervened.

Invisibly, the tension between the two was dissolved. Seeing this, the Demon King dared not act rashly, swiftly passing Mo Wen by as she ascended, issuing a cold snort as she did.

“Hmph! Lecher! Just you wait!”

Mo Wen touched his nose. Lecher? Since when did taming a tigress as a mount make one a lecher?

He smiled and continued down the mountain. Mi Lu asked cautiously, “Who was that just now?”

“Just a tigress, nothing more,” Mo Wen replied lightly, as if it were of no consequence.

Mi Lu did not press further, but a secret joy rose in her heart. Just now, Mo Wen had instinctively shielded her behind him—a sweet gesture.

“Does he take me for Sister Lin? Pity, I am not her.”

Mo Wen, oblivious to Mi Lu’s hidden thoughts, said nothing more. After descending, he found lodging at a random guesthouse at the foot of Wudang Mountain, quietly awaiting the start of the Spring Assembly.

Three days later, at first light, Mo Wen was already awake, standing in the inn’s courtyard, sensing the overwhelming presence of Wudang Mountain. Faintly, he felt something about this place set it apart from the other great mountains of China, something indefinable.

Dong, dong, dong!

A succession of bell tolls echoed. The voice of the Wudang Great Freedom rang out across heaven and earth: “All participants, arrive at the Golden Hall atop Tianzhu before the hour of Chen. Latecomers will not be admitted!”

The Wudang Spring Assembly had begun.