Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Riddle Revealed

This bustling tavern was teeming with patrons, its business thriving to the point where the threshold was nearly worn through by countless feet. Amidst all the commotion, two figures in the corner remained silent, like two unmoving stones in the center of a rushing stream.

At last, it was Gu Jun who broke the uneasy silence.

“Are you surprised?” he asked. “That within the Xuan Zhen Sect, there should still be someone of genuine goodness? It’s like an ironwood tree blossoming after a thousand years—so rare as to be unheard of.”

A peculiar smile flickered across Gu Jun’s face.

“You must have heard my earlier words, about purging evil and defending the Dao,” he continued. “Did you secretly scorn them, wishing you could spit in my face and force me to shut my mouth? After all, our sect is riddled with acts more befitting the demonic path—Yan Feichen rules with a tyrant’s hand, arrogant and wild, treating human life as worthless. The sect master turns a blind eye, letting him do as he pleases. Master Yuan Ji is opportunistic, driven purely by profit. And I? I am but a clay idol enshrined in a temple, existing on incense alone, never acting…”

He looked at Chen Heng.

“Is that how you see it?”

“I dare not,” Chen Heng replied, rising respectfully and bowing again.

“No need to feign before me,” Gu Jun said. “Here, in this place, it is only the two of us. These things are true; what harm in speaking them aloud? Let me teach you a principle: in life, one must adapt, act according to circumstances.

“Master Jiang Gu lost his son to a blood sacrifice of the demonic sect and has hated their wicked arts ever since. My words were deliberately spoken for his ears, to let word spread and assure him you are not rooted in the demonic path, but hail from the Xuan Zhen Sect—someone he can accept into his tutelage.”

Gu Jun’s aged eyes lifted, his tone shifting abruptly.

“Do you remember? Before Yan Ping deliberately spread news of your widowed mother’s death to Xiao Gan Mountain, you were full of curiosity about the immortal path. Once, you even recklessly stopped the sect master’s carriage to ask which Daoist texts you ought to read for fetal breathing practice…”

Yan Feichen was so infuriated at the time he nearly had you flogged in public, if not for Yan Zhen’s intervention. Perhaps you have forgotten, but I remember it well—for in that moment, you were bold beyond measure, utterly heedless of consequence.”

Chen Heng’s gaze flickered; he did not reply.

“Yet your yearning for the Dao lasted only that brief moment. After Yan Ping brought word of your mother’s death to Xiao Gan Mountain, you became a dog with its spine ripped out, left only to whimper.

“If not for Yan Zhen’s constant surveillance with divine sense, would you even be here speaking with me? You would have taken your own life long ago, and who knows where your soul would have gone by now. Absurd!”

“Then why, Elder, do you help me now?” Chen Heng’s voice was calm, as tranquil as a still lake. “Never before have I received such regard from you.”

“Why? Because the Xuan Zhen Sect owes you. Because you are no longer who you once were. Because I want you to remember my kindness and owe me a great debt—that is the truth!” Gu Jun’s expression was flat.

“If you were still your former self, I would not spare you a glance. However merciful I may be, what does the death of a mere mortal mean to me? Why risk opposing Yan Feichen and bring trouble to my family for your sake? But things are different now. Zhou Xingling was trained from childhood by Master Jiang Gu, an accomplished adept—and even he praises you highly!

“Only months since Yan Zhen’s death, and you have broken through both fetal breathing and Qi refining! Such talent moves even Master Jiang Gu, let alone myself. With such promise before you, how could I not place my wager early?”

“So that’s it. And how do you expect me to repay this debt?” Chen Heng smiled.

“If you survive the Abyss and become Master Jiang Gu’s disciple, then for a hundred years—” Gu Jun extended his ten fingers, speaking slowly. “I ask you to protect my clan for a century, let them enjoy wealth and comfort in the mortal world, free from hunger, cold, or violence. If any prove worthy, guide them onto the immortal path. Will you agree?”

Chen Heng pondered, not answering immediately.

“You are still alive only because Yan Feichen, for all his arrogance, would not openly defy the sect master and jeopardize the mission to explore the Abyss. But what happens after you return from the Abyss?” Gu Jun’s tone was cool.

“Once you emerge, the sect master will no longer care for you. You are nothing to him; whatever his grievances with Yan Feichen, he will not risk an open break for the sake of a mere pawn.”

“But Elder, how do you know I will survive the Abyss?” Chen Heng paused, thinking.

“And only to protect your clan for a hundred years—surely you have other disciples and acquaintances. Why entrust this to someone as ordinary as myself?”

“If you die in the Abyss, all is moot; today’s meeting will have been in vain. As for why I entrust it to you…” Gu Jun’s voice was measured.

“You think your deeds on Mount Yang have gone unnoticed? Even a timid soul like Xu Zhi—you refused to deceive him and shared your spoils equally. I know your nature. With such talent, who else should I entrust my affairs to?”

Mount Yang… spoils? Hearing this, Chen Heng couldn’t help but shake his head and laugh.

After dealing with the Daoist there, he had claimed the Thunderfire Pearl—a considerable gain. Yet in Gu Jun’s telling, it sounded as if he had suffered a loss rather than profited.

By now, Gu Jun had said all he intended and had no wish for further conversation. He produced a palm-sized token adorned with crane feathers, placed it on the table, summoned the tavern keeper for the bill, and prepared to leave.

“Elder, forgive my boldness, but I have one question I must ask,” Chen Heng called out, his gaze unusually earnest as he bowed.

“Senior Brother Xu Zhi,” he said, “was he truly expelled for cowardice in battle?”

Gu Jun halted, saying nothing for a long moment.

Only after some time did he turn, his gaze sharp as a blade.

“You dare ask me that? Are you not afraid of death?”

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“Elder still needs me alive,” Chen Heng replied, bowing again, his expression unchanged. “Forgive my presumption, but Senior Brother Xu Zhi always treated me as a friend. I only wish to know the truth.”

“You seek the truth? Or perhaps you wish to clear his name?” Gu Jun snorted. “Whether he was cowardly or not—what does it matter? It’s been years; nothing more to say!”

“My only son is dead. I am, after all, human—not a clay idol, nor a bodhisattva!”

With those words, he vanished in an instant, a yellow light swirling into the clouds, destination unknown.

Chen Heng slowly lifted his head, took the crane-feather token from the table, and sat back down in silence.

From start to finish, neither had mentioned the Abyss, nor sought intervention from the sect master to avoid the expedition. Both knew such hopes were mere fantasy.

Having accepted the talisman and earned his reward, under Ai Jian’s harsh rule, there could be no turning back.

Especially since Master Jiang Gu was still only observing, not yet committed to taking him as a disciple.

Even if Jiang Gu insisted, Ai Jian would not let him go; he would see it as a slight against his authority, further angering him.

Just a mere adept, after all—thirty years ago, when Ai Jian founded the sect at Xiao Gan Mountain, countless heads rolled; his sword had tasted the blood of adepts before.

...

“Even if I survive the Abyss, I fear I will disappoint this kindness…” Chen Heng shook his head, slipped the token into his sleeve, and looked no more.

Cultivation: companions, place, resources, and method.

His previous life had no choice but to enter the sect; now, given another chance, he would not repeat those mistakes.

Even the harmonious and gentle Baihe Cave, for all its brotherly camaraderie, could not produce a true golden core, let alone the path of the primordial spirit.

The sect, truth be told, was not even equal to his current Xuan Zhen Sect; Ai Jian’s martial prowess kept rival sects subdued.

Even the Xuan Zhen disciples, regarded as mere servants by their master, carried more swagger than others when out in the world.

“To enter a great sect, it must at least have a primordial spirit master. After calculations, only the Flower God Mansion in the southern domain suits me…”

Chen Heng sighed inwardly.

Then, turning to the mountain-and-water screen on his left, he spoke quietly.

“Sister, have you listened enough? If so, come out.”

Behind the screen, Qingzhi gave a startled cry.

Amid the clatter of cups and bowls, Wei Lingjiang emerged, head lowered in embarrassment, slowly making her way out.

Her fair, delicate cheeks were tinged with rose, blushing like a sunset—radiant in its own way.

“This little cup fell by itself, not Qingzhi’s fault!” Behind the screen, Qingzhi was still arguing with the tavern keeper: “I didn’t touch it! It hit my hand, see—”

Wei Lingjiang felt a headache coming, hastily apologizing to the keeper and pulling the piglet-like girl away.

She turned back and caught Chen Heng’s gaze, instinctively averting her eyes.

“You…” Wei Lingjiang stammered. “When did you, um…”

“I knew soon after you arrived,” Chen Heng replied, his tone as calm as ever. “Qingzhi’s smacking was too loud. I recognized the sound.”

“Really? I smack my lips when eating?” Qingzhi poked her head out from behind Wei Lingjiang, puzzled. “But I never noticed!”

“Not your concern!” Wei Lingjiang pushed her back, awkwardly explaining, “I… I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just… just…”

I just worried for your life, afraid you might have come to harm, so I hurried over?

That thought flashed through Wei Lingjiang’s mind, startling her. She shook her head, as if to chase it away.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—just happened to come for a meal… Didn’t expect you’d be here, truly… what a coincidence…”

Her words trailed off, sounding so clumsy even she felt it laughable and stopped.

“Is that so?” In the half-light beneath the eaves, Chen Heng’s figure seemed to flicker, his dark eyes quietly observing Wei Lingjiang for a long moment before turning to the window, a faint smile on his lips.

“It really is a coincidence,” he said.

“You…”

Wei Lingjiang grew ever more flustered, the atmosphere turning awkward.

She bit her lip, recalling the conversation between the elder and Chen Heng, and felt a sudden pang of pity. Her gaze, once shy, now bore an inexplicable, ambiguous emotion.

She herself could not say what feeling it was—perhaps the compassion one feels for a wet puppy in the rain, or something else entirely.

Wei Lingjiang could not be certain.

“Sister, are you pitying me? That’s unnecessary.”

Wei Lingjiang was startled as Chen Heng turned his gaze to hers.

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“Yan Zhen is dead, and I am free. I am alive, able to refine Qi and cultivate—that alone surpasses most people in this world. Sister, you may put away your pity.”

Wei Lingjiang was taken aback.

A few steps away, that person’s eyes showed only a detached indifference, neither joy nor sorrow.

Whatever emotion had slipped out earlier was now drawn back, like the tide receding.

“The day is waning; I will not stay longer. Farewell,” Chen Heng said, bowing slightly as he departed, his footsteps receding.

Wei Lingjiang stood stunned until Qingzhi tugged at her sleeve, snapping her from her daze.

“This guy's temper is rotten and stubborn. Neither soft nor hard will move him. I don’t think you’ll win him over,” Qingzhi whispered. “My advice—knock him out with a punch and make him yours. Then everything will be easy!”

Wei Lingjiang ignored her nonsense, frowning as she stood in silence, then suddenly snorted coldly and turned to leave.

“Miss, wait for me!” Qingzhi called, running after her, but was blocked by several tavern keepers.

“We haven’t paid yet!” Qingzhi cried.

“Stay and wash dishes to pay off the debt,” Wei Lingjiang replied, not looking back.

“What?!”

...

...

Days later.

On Red Leaf Island, in a side room.

A faint, clear sound of cranes echoed throughout, growing suddenly intense. Chen Heng paused his Qi refinement, thoughtful, and took a wooden box from his bag, holding it in his palm.

“It seems the pellet is ready; time to take it.”

The red jade chain binding the box was now faded, having lost its luster. Inside, the Crane Embryo Pill bounced restlessly, eager to break free.

Chen Heng opened the lid and pinched the bean-sized pellet between his fingers. The crane cries in the air grew more piercing, one note higher than the last.

“I’ve heard this pill is best suited for Qi refiners—just one, and it contains boundless essence?”

He admired it briefly, then gripped his golden cicada and entered the True Realm.

Settling cross-legged, he swallowed the Crane Embryo Pill. Instantly, it seemed infinite essence exploded within him, his eyes shining with divine light, the air thick with fragrance.

Yet after only a short while, Chen Heng suddenly halted his cultivation, his gaze filled with suspicion.

“This is… the Heavenly Demon!”

His body had begun to sprout fine gray-black scales, growing larger by several times, countless white bones emerging and weaving into enormous wings across his back!

Great destruction, great collapse, great downfall, great damnation!

Countless voices howled and laughed in his mind, stirring up jealousy and desire, driving him toward slaughter and conquest.

At this moment, Chen Heng recalled what Daoist Luo Zhang of Floating Jade Lake had said when gifting the pellet.

“This pill is a private stash of Lord Huai Wu, specially entrusted to us. This man… could he be involved with the Heavenly Demon?”

At this thought, Chen Heng’s expression changed dramatically.

“Not good—Sister!”

He hastily exited the True Realm, no longer caring for the Crane Embryo Pill still in his hand, and rushed out the door.

Just then, the neighboring door was thrown open as Wei Lingjiang hurried out.

Their eyes met for a moment, then almost simultaneously looked away. Silence reigned.

For a time, nothing but silence.

Meanwhile, at Floating Jade Lake.

A young man selling White Sand Spirit Fish was rowing away when, suddenly, a golden-whiskered carp in a bucket laughed.

“Daoist Lord, you cunning old fox, after all your scheming, your plan has succeeded!”

“Nonsense, this was nothing—I only exerted a fraction of my power!” The young man was about to express surprise when a white-haired elder appeared, smoking a pipe and stepping onto the water.

He grinned, showing a mouthful of yellowed teeth.

“With my own hand arranging things, there’s little in all Nine Provinces and Four Seas that cannot be accomplished!”

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