Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Chapter 440: Chapter 224: Daoist Divine Techniques, Feathered Robe! Human Xiao Reveals Himself

Three rounds of wine, five flavors of dishes.

This winter hotpot warmed everyone until all their bodies tingled, three shots of grain liquor down, and even the blood inside seemed to surge and boil.

With the buzz from the alcohol, Li Yishan spilled out his whole situation to Zhang Fan, not holding anything back.

According to his own words, everything was normal, unless he got abnormal.

Li Yishan didn’t want to waste words on this topic, and Zhang Fan wouldn’t press further.

”I’ll get off here.”

A beam from the car headlights lit up the quiet alley; the car couldn’t go further in, and if you walked to the end and turned the corner, that was Hongfu Garden.

Seeing that it was almost eleven at night, Zhang Fan knew Li Yishan’s habits—usually, he’d be asleep by this time.

”I’m taking off then.” Li Yishan gripped the steering wheel and called out a farewell.

”Drive safe.”

Zhang Fan watched as Li Yishan slowly drove away; the alley, once bright, fell back into shadow. The old streetlights beside sputtered and buzzed, their dim light flickering on and off.

With this kind of atmosphere, usually not even a ghost would appear in the alley at this hour.

Zhang Fan turned and walked toward Hongfu Garden.

”Dong... dong... dong...”

Just then, a slow, careless footstep echoed up from deep within the narrow alley.

Zhang Fan looked up; beneath the wavering yellow light, a long shadow stretched toward him, graceful as mist. She moved with a luminous air, her eyes glowing, blocking his only way forward.

”Today is the winter solstice—yang revives, myriad phenomena flourish, indeed a singular day.” The newcomer spoke softly, reverence for heaven and earth evident in her tone, a sense of the passage of time woven through her words.

”Meng Qinghuan!?”

Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened; he recognized her immediately.

He’d once met this favored daughter of Shangjing’s upper echelons before.

”Fellow Daoist, you looking for me?” Zhang Fan asked in a low voice.

”Winter solstice—yin peaks, yang is born, it’s a day when heaven and earth shift. It is also the birthday of the Primordial Celestial Venerable.”

Meng Qinghuan walked closer, ignoring Zhang Fan’s question, instead speaking as if to herself.

”The Primordial is the innate qi; if one comprehends the Pure Yang Infinite Realm, it’s said you ascend directly to Yujing, and behold the Primordial Celestial Venerable.”

”Do you think Transcendent Zhenren has met the Primordial Celestial Venerable?”

”Mm!?” Zhang Fan arched his brow, weight settling on his features.

Among the Daoist Sect, ’immortal’ means both the traditional immortal and something beyond what common folks understand.

The immortal dwells within the human body—just as the Buddhist Sect proclaims, anyone can become a Buddha, the Buddha dwells within oneself.

The Primordial Celestial Venerable is the supreme Divine of Daoism, seated above Yujing, manifesting countless heavens.

If someone in this swirling Red Dust truly could meet the Primordial Celestial Venerable, it would only be through the Pure Yang Infinite Realm.

”What are you trying to say?” Zhang Fan cut straight to the point, sensing trouble.

”Word has it you are Transcendent Zhenren’s disciple. I want to see if you’re worthy of such a reputation.”

Ten steps away, Meng Qinghuan halted.

Now Zhang Fan could see her face clearly, her bright eyes kindled with an unbridled gleam—fighting spirit blazing, fierce as flame.

”You mean to challenge me?”

Zhang Fan raised his brow, gaze passing over Meng Qinghuan. He acutely sensed figures stirring at the alley’s end—masters of the Profound Sect, their auras barely rippling, yet undeniably present.

”Those two from Qingcheng Mountain sent you?” Zhang Fan was sharp, piecing things together in an instant.

”The Ten Great Taoist Sects share one breath and branch—always value harmony. If you don’t wish to fight, I won’t force you...” Meng Qinghuan’s voice turned soft and steady.

”Return the Black Umbrella Sword, and let’s call it even. As for your personal grievances, I’ll stay out of it.”

Meng Qinghuan had merely agreed to help Xu Qinglai deal with Zhang Fan, aiming to reclaim the Black Umbrella Sword; the method and degree were hers to decide.

She came deep into the night, striking first and overwhelming with sheer presence—her aura filled all directions, intent on pressing Zhang Fan to yield.

”You won’t make things difficult for me?” Zhang Fan chuckled. ”Who are you to make things difficult for me?”

”I snatched that treasure fair and square; if they want it back, let them do the same.”

”So you’re not heeding my advice?” Meng Qinghuan’s gaze frosted, a chill enveloping her tone.

”I barely listen to my own father.” Zhang Fan replied coolly.

”You’ve observed civility first—Zhenwu Mountain’s reputation is intact.” Meng Qinghuan declared, her voice placid.

Rumble...

As soon as she finished, a terrifying aura surged skyward.

In that fleeting instant, even Xu Qinglai and Lanting Bamboo at the alley’s entrance paled all at once.

To their eyes, that dark alley turned unstable—quaking, twisting, collapsing...

Even at a distance, the primal oppression made their Primordial Spirits tremble, barely able to function.

Moreover, the oppressive waves piled one atop another, a tsunami of dread, threatening to drag their Primordial Spirits into boundless fear—deep into that Great Night where darkness reigns.

”Is this the Mahasattva Realm? Sexual Light of the Primordial Spirit—for regular cultivators, it’s outright bulldozing...” In Xu Qinglai’s heart, a voice roared fiercely.

The Mahayana Realm—where the Primordial Spirit births Sexual Light—it’s like enchanting weapons in a game, crushing other Primordial Spirits from a higher dimension. The closer you get, the stronger the pressure; forget fighting, you can’t even circulate your Primordial Spirit.

”Mahasattva... I wonder if I’ll ever touch such a realm in this lifetime.”

Lanting Bamboo struggled to raise his head, peering into the shadowed alley.

Meng Qinghuan stood there, utterly still, yet her whole figure seemed veiled in brilliance—soft as moonlight—evoking awe and veneration in the heart.