Starting Cultivation During a Trip

Chapter 624: Chapter 305: Swallowing Heaven and Earth! Three Corpses Refining God

In the mountains, there is no trace of time; only great stars stream pale overhead, gazing idly as sun and moon circle round.

Amid the Hundred Thousand Mountains, far from worldly clamor, one sometimes hears birdsong echo in the empty valleys, and sees the babble of brooks still flowing.

Immersed in such a place, Zhang Fan felt an unprecedented tranquility, deeper and more serene than what he’d once known atop Zhenwu Mountain.

After all, Zhenwu Mountain is a 5A-rated tourist site—though removed from the Red Dust, it remains within it, nothing like the true isolation of the Hundred Thousand Mountains.

Who sits in idle contemplation, feasting in the vacant mountains without a care?

Such indulgent leisure, this drifting realm, it soothes the heart; the tangled thoughts in the mind settle, like dust in a room quietly descending without a trace of disorder.

No wonder ancient alchemists all favored leaving the world behind, secluding themselves deep in the mountains for profound cultivation.

”Were it not for grudges and debts, cultivating in a place like this does seem rather delightful,” Zhang Fan sighed.

”Ancient famous mountains and grand rivers—grotto heavens, blessed lands—these were coveted by the Daoist Family, yet not everyone can step into this realm,” Li Miaoyin lamented.

To find solace in nature, to seek understanding of heaven and earth—such aspirations, such thoughts, anyone might possess; but how many truly manage to realize them?

Not to mention abandoning all and stepping away from the Red Dust, even in the Hundred Thousand Mountains danger is everywhere, spirit monsters rampant; to cultivate here, peace of mind alone isn’t enough, one must wield world-shattering Daoist Skill, thunderous means.

”You’re right,” Zhang Fan nodded.

A person in the world is like a boat untethered upon rivers and seas, drifting with the current, often powerless against fate.

Even the Three Corpses Daoist, once renowned as the world’s number one, and today’s unrivaled Transcendent Zhenren, must have faced countless moments of helplessness, swept by events.

”Hm?”

Dusk crept in. Suddenly, Zhang Fan stopped in his tracks. There by the creek, not far ahead, he saw piles of stones—five tiers tall, each up to a person’s knee—where the white jagged bones could be vaguely glimpsed, mingled within.

”What is that?”

Zhang Fan scanned the scene; as many as twenty stacks of such stones, arranged in scattered order, hidden among the hills, cloaked in wild grass.

”Those are Sacrificial Spirit Stones,” said Huang Jiu in a solemn voice.

”Legend tells that over five hundred years ago, at the seventh Breaking Mountains and Attacking Temples, the Daoist Sect and Wuwei Sect fought fiercely here; the earth was littered with corpses and bone piles...”

Endless lost souls sang their lament, bodies heaped through the mountain wilds.

So many lives—whose camp, on which side—had long since blurred in memory.

Later, experts of the Daoist Sect erected these Sacrificial Spirit Stones throughout the Hundred Thousand Mountains, to console the dead and usher lost spirits onward.

Back then, it did not matter if one died here as a Daoist or as a disciple of Wuwei.

It seems that only before life and death does true equality among all reveal itself, distinctions and differences swept away.

From childhood, Huang Jiu lived in the Hundred Thousand Mountains; here, such Sacrificial Spirit Stones are everywhere. The old folks in the cave say there are hundreds scattered throughout these mountains.

Just then, Zhang Wuming stepped forward, pulling a bundle of incense from his travel pack. With a flick of his fingers, True Flame ignited the sticks, and he bowed reverently toward those heaps of Sacrificial Spirit Stones.

”Hmm!?”

Zhang Fan’s eyes narrowed, a strange look crossing his face as he walked forward.

”You still have this reverence in your heart?”

”There are seniors of my Dragon Tiger Mountain among them,” Zhang Wuming murmured.

In that moment, he seemed thoroughly solemn, all trace of his earlier joking and ingratiating manner washed away.

”You have no Divine Enthronement nor established title, not even a name—life in the Zhang Family must be hard for you,” Zhang Fan intoned with meaning.

”It’s true—life hasn’t been very good,” Zhang Wuming nodded.

”But I still honed my skills...”

Zhang Wuming gazed at the gently rising incense smoke, whispering softly.

”Good or bad, in truth it’s all the same.”

”Like when I met you, brother—was meant to be a disaster that would end me, yet now you’ve become my backing...”

”Who’s become your backing?” Zhang Fan quipped, his expression odd. ”You’re just my prisoner!”

”In life, there is always good and bad, highs and lows; fortune and misfortune ever exist side by side,” Zhang Wuming went on regardless.

The Heavenly Dao manifests everywhere in the Red Dust; it is only through suffering the bad that one comes to appreciate the good.

What others see as monsters and calamity, I welcome as sweet nectar.

Cultivation is, after all, the art of stealing life amid killing intent.

”There’s nowhere more suited to training than this churning Red Dust,”

A distinct, gleaming light flickered in Zhang Wuming’s eyes.

The Red Dust rolls with killing intent; the masses cannot escape. Within, another Profound Sect awaits, unseen and fathomless; suffer through tribulation, and then one beholds Lingxiao Hall.

Many a Daoist Sect avoids the Red Dust, but in his eyes, that is the one true technique for cultivation, the finest soil for becoming Immortal.

”Brother, when I say all this, do I sound a bit strange? Do I still have any value left to live for?”

Zhang Wuming abruptly changed the subject, asking the question.

”You say so, and now you provoke my killing intent.”

Zhang Fan raised his hand, gripping Zhang Wuming’s neck; shivers ran down Wuming’s spine, yet a sincere smile spread across his face.

”If you want to kill, then kill,” Zhang Wuming laughed open-heartedly.

Fear is real, and fearlessness is real, too.

”Let’s go.”

Zhang Fan gazed deeply at him, loosened his grip, and urged onward.

”Alright then.”

Zhang Wuming, as if granted amnesty, led the way ahead once more.

Zhang Fan watched his departing back in silence.

”What’s wrong?” Li Miaoyin approached and asked.

”He bears an equanimous heart,” Zhang Fan suddenly said.

”Equanimity!?” Li Miaoyin blinked in surprise.

”You’re right—he doesn’t look much like a good person,” Zhang Fan chuckled, striding forward after him.

...

Pushing through mists and toxic vapors, they arrived at a secluded valley below.

An ancient ruin, as if forgotten by time, choked with moss and wild grass; in the distance, an ancient cave stood guarded by twin stone beasts, jaws clamped round dim, yellow flames.