Chapter 13: Thicket Village (Part Thirteen)

The red-haired young man widened his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

San Zhi’s face still bore that eerie smile. “Didn’t you feel anything off when you came in?”

The red-haired young man remained baffled. Fu Wuxuan suddenly spoke up. “After entering this basement, my chest started feeling stuffy, my breathing grew labored, and my bones ached sporadically.”

“It seems you’re the most affected,” San Zhi said, giving him a lingering look full of meaning. “These symptoms mean the Six-Armed Bodhisattva is absorbing your lifespans.”

He hefted the kerosene lamp in his hand. “If you can’t escape this basement before this lamp goes out, you’ll probably all grow old and die here.”

Yun Xueqing found his reaction odd. “Why are you helping us?”

He had clearly lured them into the Weird Domain earlier, intent on dooming them all.

San Zhi sighed at the question. “I had an agreement with the Six-Armed Bodhisattva. Lure you into the basement, and I’d get what I wanted. But I didn’t expect the beast to be so greedy—it wants to use me as fodder too.”

The red-haired young man sneered. “Making a deal with a Weird? You’re the one who should die.”

San Zhi didn’t get angry. Instead, his expression turned mocking, his eyes filled with condescending pity. “Naturally, it’s you who dies.”

Seeing the two about to argue again, Yun Xueqing quickly interjected. “Do you know how to get out of here?”

San Zhi smiled. “Of course not.”

Otherwise, It wouldn’t have been trapped here for so long.

“But the Six-Armed Bodhisattva excels at amplifying human desires to feed on lifespans. Perhaps if we wait quietly, It will show itself.”

The female student who had come in with Wu Xue spoke weakly. “Maybe we’ll be drained dry before It even appears.”

She now felt utterly feeble, as if she might faint any second.

“Don’t worry. With this lamp, it’ll at least keep you clinging to life,” San Zhi said with a sinister grin. “That final breath of a human is especially tempting. It won’t be able to resist coming out to devour you.”

His words sent shivers down everyone’s spines, raising goosebumps. Only Fu Wuxuan looked curious. “Is that a Ghost Artifact you’re holding?”

A-Rank and higher Weird could drop Ghost Artifacts upon death, but acquiring them was extremely difficult. They were rarely seen in use.

San Zhi mumbled evasively. “Don’t ask so many questions.”

At the mention of a possible Ghost Artifact, everyone’s hearts raced. Some flushed red-eyed, barely hiding their greed for the lamp.

San Zhi sneered. “This is the Six-Armed Bodhisattva’s Weird Domain. It controls desires. Those swayed by greed will die first.”

His warning made the greedy ones rein themselves in, at least outwardly.

The path upward had vanished. Some desperately searched for an exit, wandering the basement for a long time before giving up in despair, squatting in the corners.

Fu Wuxuan had sat on the ground early, eyes closed in feigned rest, claiming to conserve energy.

Yun Xueqing watched him closely and saw through the facade—he was weak inside, his breathing especially heavy, though he endured without showing it.

In this small Weird Domain, he was the most affected.

Yun Xueqing himself felt no obvious discomfort—his long lifespan meant the Weird could drain him for half a year without issue.

He thought for a moment, then placed a hand on Fu Wuxuan’s shoulder, channeling some spiritual energy to him.

Hearing the other’s breathing steady, he silently withdrew his hand.

Perhaps due to the lifespan drain and the search for an exit, everyone leaned against the walls and fell asleep.

In this atmosphere, even the ever-vigilant Yun Xueqing felt a wave of drowsiness.

A faint, ethereal fragrance reached his nose, like lilacs in a rainy night. His vision blurred, and he slowly closed his eyes.

Yun Xueqing awoke to a bird pecking at him. He looked at the Red-Crowned Crane by the bed, its beady eyes wide open. He rose slowly, fetched bird food from the wooden cabinet as usual, and scattered some for the waiting bird.

He dressed, washed up, left his room, glanced at the flowing clouds on the horizon, calculated the time, and headed to the Academy.

Disciples along the way bowed respectfully; he nodded back to each. He finally reached the lecture hall, where an old Taoist was teaching new disciples.

Yun Xueqing strode in confidently. “Zhou Shidi, this lesson should be me lecturing to the junior brothers and sisters.”

The old Taoist scratched his head. “Then I’ll leave it to you, Senior Brother Yun.”

The old man left, replaced by the handsome young senior brother. The new disciples below cheered excitedly. “Senior Brother, what are we learning today!”

“Senior Brother Yun looks even better today!”

“Is Senior Brother Yun going to teach us the Cloud Riding Technique!”

Yun Xueqing chuckled and shook his head. “Everyone, please take out your Record of Learning.”

Groans filled the room.

Yun Xueqing finished the morning lecture and practiced swordsmanship in the bamboo grove that afternoon as usual.

No fancy moves—just repeated sword swings until the moon rose over the bamboo.

Yet, doing his routine, Yun Xueqing felt an unusual sense of wrongness.

He couldn’t pinpoint it, only that it left him restless.

He fetched turtle shell and copper coins, divined a hexagram, and stared at the ominous result, feeling even stranger.

He decided to consult Master Mei Qujun. Just then, a disciple approached, bowing low. “Senior Brother Yun, Mei Qujun requests your presence.”

“I’ll go right away.”

Yun Xueqing followed the guiding disciple, who kept bowing oddly.

He frowned, focused his gaze, and saw the guide’s neck topped by a smooth, featureless face like a pebble—no eyes, nose, or mouth!

The eerie feeling intensified. Strangely, Yun Xueqing didn’t expose the impostor or capture it. He quietly followed to Mei Qujun’s abode.

Mei Qujun resided in the Flowing Waters Pavilion, a lotus pond bathed in moonlight like a fallen galaxy. In the center stood an octagonal pavilion draped in sheer white gauze, with no path to shore.

Yun Xueqing took it in stride, stepping lightly across the water like a graceful swan, landing elegantly in the pavilion.

Mei Qujun sat inside, back turned to him, silhouette faint through the white gauze.

A jar of wine sat nearby—Mei Qujun had likely just finished it. The air carried a subtle wine aroma that induced a light dizziness just from the scent.

Mingled with it was the faint lilac fragrance, weaving together, making Yun Xueqing’s head swim.

He bowed. “Master, what did you need me for?”

“Your cultivation has reached the Soul Transformation Realm. Ascension is imminent.”

Mei Qujun’s voice came from behind the gauze, somewhat androgynous.

Yun Xueqing found the voice odd but couldn’t place why.

Before he could ponder, Mei Qujun continued. “But while your realm has hit Nascent Soul, your state of mind lags.”

“What do you mean, Master?”

“You cultivate Sword Dao but haven’t entered the mortal world or established your Dao. This way, ascension is hopeless—you’ll perish under heavenly thunder.”

“Should I descend the mountain to temper my Dao heart?”

Mei Qujun didn’t answer directly. “The path to establishing Dao is arduous. Without the right opportunity, you’ll never touch the Great Dao.”

He sighed softly. “You’re my most cherished disciple. I can’t bear to see you fall.”

Under the moonlight, Mei Qujun’s voice was flat, oddly eerie.

Yet Yun Xueqing didn’t notice, listening intently as Mei Qujun asked, “Xueqing, what is your obsession?”

“My obsession?” Yun Xueqing hesitated inexplicably, blurting out what he shouldn’t. After inner struggle, he voiced the words he’d repeated in his heart countless times. “Ascend to the immortal realm and prove the Great Dao early.”

He heard Mei Qujun say, “Ascension is your obsession. I can help you achieve it. Once it’s gone, no mountains can block you.”

Before Yun Xueqing’s eyes floated a golden bead.

“This is my Golden Core. Eat it, and inherit all my cultivation and memories. Establish your Dao with heart, prove the truth early.”

Yun Xueqing was shocked. “Master, didn’t you once say the path of cultivation can’t rely on external aid?”

“That’s pretty words for untalented fools,” Mei Qujun said slowly. “For a genius like you, tilting all resources your way is only right—including from your master.”

The cold lilac scent spread, veiling Yun Xueqing’s clear eyes in fog. Reason screamed it was wrong; he wanted to refute, but lacked courage, gazing dazedly at Mei Qujun’s back. “Master?”

Mei Qujun ignored him, urging. “Genius is always favored. This favoritism is nothing. Eat it, get what you want.”

“But… that’s just Master’s Dao, not mine.”

“Eat it.”

The lilac grew thicker. Yun Xueqing clutched his head in pain. “Master, my head hurts so much…”

His voice sounded pitiful, the gentle tone laced with hidden fragility.

Mei Qujun paid no heed.

Yun Xueqing clutched his head, breathing raggedly, eyes dazed as he approached Mei Qujun.

Behind the white gauze, Mei Qujun sat in the pavilion, six arms each holding a lotus from the pond.

Its face was veiled in white gauze, fluttering in the night breeze, vaguely revealing a divine smile.

Soft moonlight bathed Its face, turning the divine smile eerie.

One hand lifted a lotus, gently tapping Yun Xueqing’s forehead. It smiled. “Embrace your desires—it’s not frightening.”

Yun Xueqing found it strange—Master was speaking, yet the mouth didn’t move.

The night wind picked up, blowing away the veil from Its face.

The divine smile vanished, revealing a blank, smooth face—nothing there.

Yet It seemed oblivious, Its belly emitting a gentle voice. “Xueqing, why do you keep staring at my face?”