Chapter 4:
Qingtong
“MY NAME IS CHIFENG, the second-generation chief disciple of the sect leader. You may call me shixiong for now.” The man with narrow eyes introduced Woyun Sect’s rules to them with a smile.
The mountain range where Woyun Sect was located was called the Blessed Realms, and it was made up of three grotto-heaven realms known as sanctums and seventy-two blessed lands called sanctuaries. The three sanctum-masters were fellow disciples with the highest level of cultivation in the sect: the Perfected Ones, Xuanji-zhenren, Tianlang-zhenren, and Qingtong-zhenren. Tianlang-zhenren was the sect leader who oversaw all major and minor sect affairs.
Disciples of the second generation and below resided in the seventy-two blessed sanctuaries, while first-generation disciples directly under the tutelage of the sanctum-masters lived with their masters in the three grotto sanctums and regularly headed to the blessed sanctuaries to teach classes.
Chifeng was the head disciple of Yanlie, who in turn was the chief disciple under the tutelage of the sect leader, so he held the highest position among all the second-generation disciples. It was extremely magnanimous of him to allow the newcomers to call him “shixiong,” as they were likely to become third-generation disciples who would have to respectfully address him as “shibo” instead.1
They reached the end of the stone steps, where a rope bridge spanning two high cliffs swayed precariously in the wind. The bridge looked ordinary—simple wooden planks secured with hemp ropes. It stretched one and a half miles long and didn’t have any handrails to hold on to.
After what had happened at the mountain gate, no one dared to underestimate this bridge; everyone assumed it must be some kind of treasure. The corner of Mo Tianliao’s lips twitched. This bridge truly wasn’t a mystical artifact; it was actually just made of hemp rope and weathered wooden planks, though whoever it was who’d sat down and woven one and a half miles worth of rope was definitely…impressively tenacious.
Standing by the bridge, Mo Tianliao looked up at the seventy-two overlapping mountains surrounding the three main peaks that stood tall in the center. The place was teeming with spiritual energy, five times thicker than it had been outside the gate. The spiritual energy on the three peaks was so concentrated that it occasionally manifested as shimmering rainbows of light. Truly a marvelous place for cultivation.
Chifeng steadily stepped onto the rope bridge without using any spiritual power and gestured for the rest to follow.
At the sight of the swaying bridge and the abyss far below, the young mortals faltered.
“What? Scared, now, are we?” Chishan, the young girl cradling the fox, grinned at them. “It’s fine if you’re scared. Just follow the others that way.” She pointed to the group of people led by a man named Chiyuan who were heading east along the mountain path, completely bypassing the bridge. These disciples had three or more spiritual attributes, making them ineligible to meet the sect leader. Instead, they would proceed directly to the various blessed sanctuaries, where those with slightly better aptitude might be taken in by the second-generation disciples, while the less gifted would become common outer disciples.
The gifted ones with superior spiritual attributes kept quiet and stepped onto the bridge with trembling legs. The thin wooden planks secured with soft hemp rope swayed in the mountain wind like a slithering snake.
“Argh!” A scream rang out as someone grabbed Mo Tianliao’s arm. Mo Tianliao, who had been walking steadily, frowned and looked back at the ashen-faced young man behind him. Judging by his luxurious clothing, he had to come from a privileged background.
“Slow…slow down,” the young man pleaded. Never had this pampered young master of the mortal world been placed in such a predicament before.
Mo Tianliao raised an eyebrow. “This bridge is actually more stable the faster you walk.”
“I-I don’t believe you! Just slow down!” The young man refused to let go of his arm.
The upturned corners of Mo Tianliao’s mouth slowly flattened into a straight line. He took two slow steps, then pretended to stumble.
“Eek—!” The startled young man quickly let go, fearing Mo Tianliao would drag him down with him.
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me.” Before the young man could react, Mo Tianliao steadied himself and followed Chifeng to the other side, moving as effortlessly as if he were walking across solid ground.
The young man, who had hoped to use him for support, crouched on the bridge and gripped the planks tightly as he inched forward, holding up the people behind him and forcing them to do the same.
Mo Tianliao had acted purely out of instinct, for Lord Duantian had no habit of being kind to others. He regretted it the moment he reached the other side. Would these pretentious orthodox sects find him malicious and unworthy?
Chifeng glanced at Mo Tianliao with a ghost of a smile, his eyes narrowing, while Chishan skipped over with the fox in her arms and looked up at him, grinning. “You’re an interesting one.”
Mo Tianliao was taken aback. Weren’t these orthodox sects all about camaraderie? Then why—
Before he could delve further, a streak of red light shot out of the mountains and manifested into a handsome man in a red wide-sleeved robe standing by the bridge.
“Shizun!” Chifeng and Chishan bowed in greeting to Yanlie.
“The sect leader is waiting. Why are you dawdling here?”
“It’s not our fault…” Chishan tilted her head toward the rope bridge.
Seeing the creeping tortoises on the bridge, Yanlie flew into a rage. “Useless lot!” With a wave of his hand, he flipped the already unstable long bridge over, throwing off several of the young men like dumplings being dropped into boiling water.
Screams filled the air. About thirty feet below the bridge, an intricate blue pattern suddenly glowed as a spell array activated and teleported the falling people back onto land.
Mo Tianliao was speechless.
This sect was intriguing, to say the least.