Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Chapter 115: Chapter 94: No Zhang on the Mountain, No Li on the Path! Eleven Years Ago

Yujing City, Confucius Temple.

A 5A-level national scenic area, this is also one of Yujing City’s most renowned attractions. The local cultural and tourism bureau hardly needs to advertise—it welcomes tens of millions of visitors every year.

”A single Jiangnan Examination Hall, a ten-mile Gilded River, fully embody the essence of Jiangnan.”

Zhang Fan and his party arrived at Confucius Temple, unable to keep from sighing with emotion.

Six Dynasties’ paradise, the elegant men in blue robes—a time when painted barges sailed the Gilded River, leaving behind countless legends of talented scholars and beautiful women, princes and ministers.

As for the Jiangnan Examination Hall, it monopolized half the literary fortune under heaven; most of the nation’s prodigies hailed from Jiangsu and Zhejiang.

Even today, every year around the entrance exams, parents bring their children here to offer incense and pray for blessings.

Zhang Fan vaguely remembered that in childhood, his parents also brought him to play here, though his memory was faulty and his recollection of his mother grew ever hazier.

”I used to live nearby as a child. I remember one year there was an especially serious fire.” Xiong Ba murmured softly.

Ordinarily, for a scenic area like this, such a severe fire would be a major event—probably leading to heads rolling at the top.

”I think I remember something about that too...” Zhang Fan furrowed his brow, a sudden flash of fire passing through his mind.

”When did it happen?”

”Probably eleven or twelve years ago.” Xiong Ba pondered for a moment, but couldn’t quite recall clearly.

Eleven or twelve years ago, Zhang Fan had not yet suffered misfortune, his Primordial Spirit had not yet fallen into the Great Night, and his mother had not died.

”Let’s go, Wuyi Lane is just ahead.” Xiong Qianqiu interrupted their idle chat, urging them forward.

It was summer vacation, the height of tourist season. Tourists came in waves, and she was already starting to feel stifled.

”Wuyi Lane...”

Everyone recited Liu Yuxi’s poem ”Wuyi Lane” as children...

By Vermilion Bird Bridge, wild grass and flowers; at the entrance of Wuyi Lane, the setting sun slants. The swallows once before the halls of Wang and Xie, now fly into ordinary people’s homes.

Few know, however, that Wuyi Lane is hidden right within this Confucius Temple.

”The Wang Family still has a house here?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help but ask.

In a tourist area like Confucius Temple, to possess such a courtyard—peace amid bustle, the interplay of Yin and Yang—can’t be achieved with wealth alone.

”About half the businesses around here are theirs,” Xiong Qianqiu replied offhandedly.

”That’s just outrageous.” Zhang Fan’s expression turned odd at that.

Others cultivate, he cultivates as well—but while others amass fortunes, he only amasses the jingle of empty pockets.

Is the Heavenly Dao truly so unjust, so terrifying!?

”Let’s go.”

Xiong Qianqiu squeezed her way out of the crowd and took the lead.

One has to admit, in a 5A-level scenic spot during peak season, facing such a surging tide of people—even if Pure Yang Zhenren came, their Primordial Spirit might be squeezed out of their body.

...

Within Wuyi Lane.

In an ancient, elegant courtyard, tall phoenix trees unfurled, casting a deep, cool shade.

At this moment, three young people were leisurely seated within the courtyard, brewing fresh tea over a brazier.

Placed before them was a censer, wisps of incense drifting in the breeze, letting coolness flow through the summer sunlight.

This was known as ”Frost Descending Fragrance,” a rare incense of the Daoist Sect.

Frost Descending is the final solar term of autumn—when all things reach completion and enter the earth, Yang descends, and Yin Qi condenses. The cold truly begins with Frost Descending.

At this time, frost forms in cellars three feet underground. Take it, add dozens of Great Medicines, refine it with ancient methods over three years, and only then can one produce this ”Frost Descending Fragrance.”

In summer, lighting this incense works better than an air conditioner—not only lowering room temperature, but dispelling dampness and summer heat from the body.

This kind of luxury cannot even be bought outside.

”The swallows once before the halls of Wang and Xie, now fly into ordinary people’s homes.”

Just then, one of the youths spoke. He wore a feather tattoo on his wrist, his temples were high and prominent, and his gaze was deep and sharp—clearly a master who had cultivated both essence and physique, filled with True Yang within.

”Xuanqing, what makes you so sentimental?” Beside him, an older youth couldn’t help but ask.

Since the Six Dynasties, this has been a gathering place of noble clans, of merchants and scholars, where Confucian learning flourished—earning the title of ”the Six Dynasties’ paradise.”

This lane became renowned because of Liu Yuxi’s poem ”Wuyi Lane.”

”Since ancient times, they say: out of ten Daoists under the heavens, nine are surnamed Zhang, one is surnamed Li...” Wang Xuanqing sneered coldly.

”What a pity—how can human will overcome destiny?”

”Times change. Now, there are no Zhangs in the mountains, nor Lis on the Dao; the river tides surge, and it’s destined to be our generation’s time to rise.”

A playful smile danced on Wang Xuanqing’s face, but his languid gaze rested on the feather tattoo on his wrist.

”No Zhangs in the mountains, nor Lis on the Dao...” Beside him, Wang Xuansha murmured softly, nodding in agreement.

”Generation after generation, talents come forth, each shining for a few centuries...”

”Eighty years ago, the Three Corpses Daoist was hailed as the world’s top master, but perished atop the East Peak of Mount Tai. Chu Zhenren’s mighty name shocked the world for a sixty-year cycle.”

”Now, he too is old, holding firm to Zhenwu, yet has not emerged...”

”The tide of the young generation is destined to sweep across the land,” Wang Xuansha spoke solemnly.

This is the law of history, and the inevitable course of the great Dao.

Even if you cultivate to the Pure Yang Wuji Realm, escaping death is hard.

Longevity, longevity—through the ages, how many stunning figures of the Daoist Sect have pursued that elusive immortality?

Yet, Pure Yang is not the end; longevity remains distant and illusory.

Precisely because of this, one generation after another charges forward, new legends rising with each era.

”I heard that last month, the two brothers from the Qi Family of Laojun Mountain went to Shangjing to visit White Crane Temple.”

At this moment, the only woman among the trio spoke. She wore plain robes, no makeup, yet her beauty could not be concealed.