Chapter Fifty-Four: The Golden Tower of Flying Clouds

“What a disgrace upon our sect—how could such a degenerate appear among us? How can I ever face the ancestors of the Immortal Realm? My suffering is beyond words!” Contrary to everyone’s expectations, Master Kongxuan did not try to refute Master Qingming; instead, he simply collapsed onto the ground, wailing in anguish. The dignified head of a great sect now wept like a child, with tears and snot running down his face. The gathering of righteous leaders could only stare in astonishment.

Seeing this, the leader of Shushan Sword Sect, Master Baiyu, sneered coldly, “Hmph, what misfortune? This is clearly your scheme, and now you put on this act for us.”

At these words, Kongxuan’s cries grew even louder. “Master Baiyu, you truly misunderstand me! The Five Righteous Sects are as close as kin—how could I ever do such a thing? It was that unfilial disciple, Wang Yanbo, who harbored evil intentions and committed an act that even Heaven cannot tolerate. Fortunately, he has already been executed by one of our disciples. Once he is resurrected, I will mete out severe punishment. This wretch has not only harmed our fellow Daoists but also cost me a most gifted junior nephew. Truly, his crimes are heinous!” As Kongxuan spoke, he dissolved once more into loud sobs.

The other four sect leaders, each cunning in their own right, had never encountered one like Kongxuan. Anyone with eyes could see this was his machination: he’d secretly allied with the Myriad Demons Sect, only to turn on them at a critical moment. Yet now he shifted all blame onto a mere inner disciple. To make matters worse, he’d already silenced that disciple beforehand—so although the man would be revived, it would be within Maoshan’s domain, and by then the facts would be set in stone. The others, though seething with anger, could find nothing to say. Beyond indignation, they felt a grudging admiration for Master Kongxuan’s ruthlessness; after all, executing one’s own sect’s inner disciple brought the wrath of Heaven, and the disciple who acted had been a rare talent. Now, with Heaven’s retribution imminent, who could say whether this prodigy would become a cripple?

“Hmph!” Master Baiyu of Shushan snorted and said no more. At this point, no amount of words could force Kongxuan to relinquish his prize. Instead, his gaze shifted to the jade mirror, for the battle within the Feixia Golden Pagoda was equally crucial. Should he seize the Five-Colored Cloud Banner, not only would his sect gain a priceless treasure, but all losses would be more than offset.

The scene shifted in the jade mirror, revealing the chaos inside the Feixia Golden Pagoda. The direct disciples of the nine great sects were locked in fierce battle. But on closer inspection, both righteous and demonic cultivators were besieging a single figure. This person radiated golden light, wielding a Demon-Subduing Staff with unrivaled might. Each sweep of the staff sent thunderous Buddhist chants reverberating through the air, holding his ground against nine elite disciples.

“Master Jueyuan, when did your Shaolin produce such an expert?” someone asked. Abbot Jueyuan’s expression was complex. “Amitabha. He is not a disciple of Shaolin.”

“What? Not from your monastery? But apart from Shaolin, who could have cultivated Buddhist arts to such a level?”

At these words from Master Yu Xuzi of Kunlun, all eyes turned to Master Baiyu of Shushan. Only Shushan’s dual cultivation of Dao and Buddhism could possibly reach such mastery.

Master Baiyu started, his brow furrowing. “He is not from my sect. Otherwise, why would my disciple ally with others against him? No—this one is but an incarnation!”

Master Baiyu’s eyes widened. “An incarnation?” The others all exclaimed in surprise and, looking closer, saw it was indeed but an avatar.

“Hahaha, you needn’t guess. That is my junior nephew’s incarnation,” Kongxuan interjected at some point, now holding a wine vessel and gazing at the scene in the jade mirror with a complicated expression. Though he smiled, his eyes betrayed deep reluctance.

“Your junior nephew? The one who slew your inner disciple just now?” Master Baiyu exclaimed.

Kongxuan nodded helplessly. The other four leaders drew sharp breaths. If they had considered Zhang Xiao a rare talent before, now he seemed a peerless prodigy. Yet they could not help but feel a twinge of regret for him.

“Hmph! Your Maoshan must be truly blessed to have such a disciple. If he were in my Shushan, I would have taken him as my own. What a waste, to see such genius destroyed at your hands!” Master Baiyu shot a venomous glance at Kongxuan, who merely sipped his wine. “Amitabha, what a pity,” Abbot Jueyuan murmured, his regret deeper than the others, for he knew well the difficulty of mastering Buddhist arts. To see Zhang Xiao create a Buddhist incarnation of such power was astonishing. He could only lament that such a student had not joined his own Zen sect.

Kongxuan, too, was bitter at heart. Zhang Xiao’s achievements were painstakingly earned—how could he not feel the loss? Yet, to secure Maoshan’s dominance in the coming division of spoils, he had no choice but to act. He thought silently, “Zhang Xiao, for the future of our sect, I must wrong you for now.”

Meanwhile, having ended the clash between the righteous and demonic, Zhang Xiao sped toward the Feixia Golden Pagoda, using his divine footwork. His incarnation was now beset by the nine direct disciples; though not yet in danger, it was only because their hearts were not united, and none had yet revealed their true strength. Zhang Xiao had the avatar fight and retreat toward his own position.

“Fellow Daoists, this person’s strength is formidable, and we know not his origin. There’s no point in dragging this out—let’s stop holding back and finish him quickly,” said Li Peng of the Five Venoms Sect, swinging an ink-green fan that emitted a cloud of black smoke toward Zhang Xiao’s avatar. Yet, under the Buddha-light, the poison dispersed at once. Li Peng could only sigh—his demonic arts were always suppressed by Buddhist cultivation; otherwise, he would have finished the fight already.

“Hmph! Since Brother Li suggests it, why not show us the Five Venoms Hand?” sneered Ouyang Zhongshi, an heir of the Myriad Demons Sect. Dressed in tight black robes and possessing a strikingly handsome face, he held in his hand a still-pulsing black heart—a terrifying sight. Li Peng’s expression darkened. Though the Five Venoms Hand was powerful, he was only at the Golden Core stage and had not mastered it. Using it now would exhaust him, leaving him unable to compete for the Five-Colored Cloud Banner.

Speaking of the banner, it now floated above their heads, unfurling in the air despite the absence of wind, yet none dared make the first move. “Since no one wishes to reveal their trump cards, why not each of us step back and use our treasures together to slay him? If anything goes amiss, the loss will be too great,” suggested Tian Longer, direct heir of Mount Longhu.

The others exchanged glances and nodded in silent agreement. As long as no one used their ultimate secret arts, none feared being exploited. This was not arrogance—they simply possessed the power. Whoever tried to seize the banner would face the combined might of the other eight; even a Nascent Soul cultivator would be instantly slain.

With shouts, they unleashed their treasures in unison. Zhang Xiao’s incarnation furrowed his brow. He knew he could not withstand the combined might of all nine, and the area had already been sealed by Tian Longer’s formation—there was nowhere to escape.

Just as the attack was about to fall, a thunderous peal of bells rang out—three resounding booms. The mighty sound waves crashed toward the group. Faces changed as they hurried to shield themselves with their treasures; even they dared not take on a ninth-grade treasure’s power lightly.

Zhou Yuan planted a golden brush before him, which danced to form a golden character for “protection,” blocking the bell’s onslaught. “The Heavenly Sound Bell?” Zhou Yuan was elated. Though Zhang Xiao was not a direct disciple, his strength surpassed even Zhou Yuan’s. With him here, the Five-Colored Cloud Banner would surely go to Maoshan.

However, Zhou Yuan was uncertain whether Zhang Xiao had followed their master’s instructions to preside over the righteous-demonic battle. The Feixia Golden Pagoda was a labyrinth; getting here so swiftly was impressive. But as Zhang Xiao, accompanied by the endless bell sound, sped over, Zhou Yuan relaxed. As a direct disciple, he could see the signs: Zhang Xiao was faintly wreathed in black mist—the mark of Heaven’s punishment for slaying an inner disciple. Once the competition ended, Heaven’s retribution would descend. Whether Zhang Xiao survived would depend on his own skill; for now, all was in hand.

The others, seeing Zhang Xiao arrive, were shocked. They too sensed his profound cultivation and saw that his Heavenly Sound Bell was no less than their own treasures. Aside from Zhou Yuan and Ouyang Zhongshi, none knew his true identity.

Ouyang Zhongshi, though never having met Zhang Xiao, had heard his master, Myriad Demon, praise him highly—a master of both Buddhist and Daoist arts, with rare cunning and insight. At first, Ouyang Zhongshi had been skeptical: how strong could someone be without the backing of a great sect? But upon seeing Zhang Xiao, he realized his error. The man’s strength was nearly equal to his own; rumor had it that his master had even given him the Buddha’s Golden Wheel—a supreme Buddhist treasure. Wait! Suddenly, Ouyang Zhongshi’s mind reeled as he glanced at the golden monk avatar. “Could this man be connected to Zhang Xiao? Or is this golden monk actually Zhang Xiao’s incarnation?”

Astonished, Ouyang Zhongshi spoke up, “This man is an outer elder of Maoshan, his strength extraordinary. That monk is his incarnation!”

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