Hidden amidst the clouds, a group of bamboo-hat wearing monks watched the White Immortal sect’s struggles. From confusion to annoyance, all the way to indifference, various expressions and emotions shifted on their faces. Yet, all stood in line behind the leading monk, a staggering mass of herculean dominance that towered above the rest like a giant before dwarves.
“Master, do you really want to stay out of this? Aren’t Lord Hanxing and Lady Ziyun your longtime friends? Lady Ziyun has died already, why did you not assist her? And even if not for them, we should lend our junior brother a hand.” The most senior disciple, one of the rare few within the monastery aware of Qingxin’s superior abilities, said.
Anyone that knew a bit of Qingxin’s personality couldn’t imagine that he’d stand idle and watch those that mattered to him get brutalized by foreign invaders. And with Xinzi in the cross-fire of that invasion, the Clear Heart monastery monks didn’t doubt that their master would promptly join the fight. However, from the start to now, Qingxin didn’t move—merely ensuring that the monks’ presence would remain a secret to the warring parties.
Even the announcement of Lady Ziyun’s death didn’t seem to faze him.
“The White Immortal sect wants to lure wolves into its house, turn them into prey and feast on their carcasses. Why should we intervene?” Qingxin started, confusion soon filled his disciples’ eyes. But as some failed to see through the situation, the eldest’s eyes sparkled with hints of enlightenment.
“Fahai, do you know why Hanxing and Ziyun are titled Lords?” Qingxin asked his eldest disciple. Though not a direct disciple, Fahai still received much guidance from Qingxin, and had been by his side longer than any of the other junior monks. Thus, while not as cultured as Xinzi, he still knew a great deal about the cultivation world.
“Though all states have some form of aristocracy, those titles hold no weight in the various Hegemons’ courts, to say nothing of the imperial court. The Dongli king, outside of Dongli, is no better than a commoner. The only exception to this rule is the Spiritual Aristocracy.
Regardless of their exact rank, members of the Spiritual Aristocracy can maintain their nobility status throughout the Great Desolation world. The lowest aristocratic ranks can be granted by the various Hegemons, but the highest all come from the imperial court. Typically, these titles are monopolized by the spirit clans. But a few exceptional individuals manage to get the recognition of their Hegemons and get ennobled as members of the Spiritual Aristocracy.
Lord Hanxing, Lady Ziyun, and even Lord Soaring Crane, are three of the seven human Spiritual Lords of Yanzhou. Their titles were granted centuries ago for a series of exceptional deeds. It is no exaggeration to say that, within the Nascent Soul realm, only Spiritual Lords can defeat Spiritual Lor…oh, so that’s it!” Struck by a wave of enlightenment, Fahai palmed his face.
“Indeed. Though in the grand scheme of things, Hanxing is only a middle-of-the-pack Spiritual Lord while Ziyun is even worse, both are strong enough that the assassination squads dispatched by the Dark Moon cult should be no better than toothpicks for them. Look how easily Hanxing dispatched them once he got serious. Even if Ziyun had to deal with a formation of multiple Nascent Souls, there’s just no way that she’d die so fast. Yet here we are, listening to the announcement of her death. Either Hanxing helped her die, or she’s hiding someplace else—perhaps even against her will,” Qingxin said. The coldness in his voice chilled the monks to the bones, making them realize how badly they’d underestimated the White Immortal sect leaders.
“Three centuries ago, Hanxing was the White Immortal sect master. He later abdicated the seat to his youngest brother to become the great elder. Back then, while deep in the trenches of treachery, he still had some humanity left in him. But the Dark Moon cult had to go ahead and cause his last brother’s death. Compound that with the hatred that he’d already accumulated for the Li—and it doesn’t take a genius to realize that beneath the laughs and jests, a sea of enmity lies in wait—begging for payback.
The Zi came after the Li clan’s betrayal, and didn’t suffer much from the Dark Moon cult’s schemes, so Ziyun naturally couldn’t understand the profundity of Hanxing and Guang Fanghu’s hatred. Hanxing, especially, lost much more than anyone should ever be forced to.
Thus, every single time that Ziyun talks about restraining Guang Fanghu and Zi Yao’s ambitions, unbeknown to her, she’s telling Hanxing that she cannot be trusted with his true ambitions. I wouldn’t be surprised if he plotted against her to open the road for his vengeance.
This…is the cultivation world. Never trust, always doubt, never waver, and always win. Play the game, adapt to its rules, or the waves of this brutal world will sweep you out of history. But by the Golden Lotus’ mercy, this…isn’t our world.” Here Qingxin paused, and with a respectful bow, joined his hands in a prayer sign.
“The Golden Lotus be praised. Many of you youngsters have been following my teachings for decades, yet Fahai and Xinzi aside, none has managed to become Enlightened. Why? Because you allow your eyes to deceive you. You fail to look past the mirages of humankind, and ignore the signs that point the way towards Liberation. Disciples, remember this lesson. Though we aim to find, nurture and uplift the good of human nature, we cannot empower the evil that runs rampant in our land. Cultivators have a right to destroy themselves. As long as it doesn’t involve the mortals we aim to guide, it is not our place to intervene.” Awed by Qingxin’s words, the disciples bowed in sync and said:
“Thank you Abbot for your guidance!”
Silence followed, with the monks drawing lessons from the White Immortal sect’s battles.
“I have to say that junior brother never ceases to impress me. Where did he learn this formidable battle array from? Master, did it come from you?” Again, it was Fahai that broke the silence.
“I can’t teach him something that I don’t know,” Qingxin said in a dry tone that contained none of the pride he usually appraised Xinzi with. Deep in his heart, the Clear Heart Abbot suffered.
To become a Saint, a true Saint, he abandoned the cultivation world, the relentless pursuit of dominance, abided by all moral precepts, enlightened those he could, yet for this one disciple, still became a hypocrite. What he preached, he couldn’t follow, and all his righteousness fell flat whenever this boy, his boy, entered the picture. Why was it that he felt so biased toward Xinzi? Because he raised him? That alone? Despite thousands of years of experience, Qingxin couldn’t understand his actions.
Forcing himself to shift his attention, the abbot focused on the remaining Knives instead. Specifically, he reminisced about their most potent formation: the Muffled Scream of the Phantom God.
‘Hiding beneath the sun, rising towards the night, the Phantom God chased the Moon Goddess—forever misled…by her reflection amidst the stars. A thousand years of chase, a thousand years of grief, and at last he holds her heart. Only then does the Moon realize that her glow, stolen from the sun, lulls in the darkness of the Phantom God’s embrace.’ Qingxin completed the missing part of the Muffled Scream mantra. A part that neither the Knives, nor the highest experts of the Dark Moon cult, had access to.
Deep in the Divine Palace palace of the Eternal Night dynasty, another person remembered that part…often chanting it to pass the time. That person’s face reappeared in Qingxin’s mind. His face twisted into pure hatred. But before he could sink further in his memories, loud vibrations rattled his ears—drawing his attention to a stampede of mysterious beasts that, unbeknown to all, made their way towards Dongli!
“A beast tide? Soaring Crane, how dare you?!”
Qingxin’s sudden outburst shook the nearby monks, and before they could make sense of their master’s reaction, he vanished, crossing hundreds of kilometers to appear at the border of the Dongli state.