Chapter Twenty: The Tragedy of Mount Mao

Jiang Pingchuan stood in the main hall of the Sutra Pavilion, cradling Fluffball in his arms, anxiously awaiting the opening of its doors. He deeply regretted his carelessness—how could he have neglected to ask Chu Yunge how to leave this place? Gazing at the tightly shut doors, Jiang Pingchuan sighed and placed Fluffball on the ground, then hurried to the entrance and tried desperately to pull it open. No matter how much spiritual energy he exerted, the door remained unmoved, as stubborn as a wooden-headed monk.

“Kid Jiang, don’t tell me you have no way out,” Fluffball lounged lazily against a stone pillar, pawing his plump belly as he inquired. Seeing Jiang Pingchuan shake his head, Fluffball leapt up as if someone had jabbed him with a needle, his eyes wide, circling Jiang Pingchuan before collapsing backward, paws in the air. “We’re doomed! Are you kidding me? We can’t leave—what kind of situation is this?” Fluffball grumbled, eyes narrowed, while Jiang Pingchuan sat beside him, kneading Fluffball’s furry belly in helpless resignation.

“It’s not my fault—everyone has a first time. I just lack experience,” Jiang Pingchuan sighed, staring at the firmly shut doors. Fluffball swatted Jiang Pingchuan’s hand away from his belly, face full of disdain. As the two floundered in confusion, Jiang Pingchuan sensed a powerful presence outside. He quickly stood at the door, activating his silver eyes to peer outside—and what he saw brought tears to his eyes.

Outside, at the entrance to the Sutra Pavilion courtyard, an old man in tattered robes approached. His hair was disheveled, eyes deeply sunken, his face devoid of any vitality. Layers of wrinkles stacked upon his cheeks, his long beard stained with blood. Bent and frail, he slowly made his way to the doors—he was Jiang Pingchuan’s ancestral master, Hongwu.

Jiang Pingchuan pounded desperately on the doors, but Hongwu, drawing nearer, showed no sign of hearing, as if Jiang Pingchuan’s shouts and knocking were lost to him. Hongwu struggled up the stone steps, then turned and leaned against the door. Jiang Pingchuan could not see his face, but he could clearly feel the chill radiating from the spot where Hongwu rested his back—so cold, so cold.

Hongwu’s purple brocade robe was riddled with bloodstained holes and scorch marks. With tears streaming down his face, Jiang Pingchuan reached out to gently touch the stooped back before him.

“Pingchuan, you rascal, it’s been eleven years since you entered, and you haven’t come out once. Is it really that nice in there?” Hongwu muttered to himself, his words twisting Jiang Pingchuan’s heart. Eleven years—he had not left the Sutra Pavilion in all that time.

He had no idea what had happened to Hongwu. In the northern reaches of the Primal Wilderness continent, Hongwu had no rivals—who could possibly have wounded him so?

“Grandmaster, Pingchuan is here! I’m here!” Jiang Pingchuan cried, pounding the door, but Hongwu still showed no reaction, still muttering to himself.

“Stop shouting. He can’t hear you,” Fluffball sighed, patting Jiang Pingchuan’s thigh with a paw. The old man felt so familiar—though Fluffball hadn’t spent much time with him, seeing Hongwu in such a state brought a touch of sorrow.

“Fluffball, something must have happened at Maoshan. But who could have wounded Grandmaster so badly? And what about everyone else?” Jiang Pingchuan’s voice trembled with urgency. His own grandmaster had been hurt like this, and he was desperate to know the fate of his brother and grandfather. He sensed disaster had struck Maoshan.

“No need to worry. Judging by your grandmaster’s wounds, they’re not from another’s hand, but caused by heavenly lightning—likely the backlash from crossing a forbidden boundary and being struck by primal energy.” Fluffball stroked his whiskers thoughtfully, then his mind suddenly clouded, as if something had erased his memory. He shook his head, refusing to dwell on it further.

“The Path to Heaven—it must be the Path to Heaven. Grandmaster must have encountered me on his journey and couldn’t bring himself to strike at me, so he suffered the backlash. It must be so, it must be so,” Jiang Pingchuan suddenly recalled the Path to Heaven, remembering that two deeply cultivated Daoists had already perished upon it.

Now, though his grandmaster had not fallen, he had been grievously injured by the primal energy, stripped of his former glory and left utterly disheveled. Fluffball, though uncertain about Jiang Pingchuan’s words, nodded in agreement, eager to show support.

“Pingchuan, your little Hua—she searched for you many times over the years you were gone. I owe you an apology. A year ago, she married. Don’t blame me—I couldn’t stop her,” Hongwu muttered, leaning against the door, not knowing if Jiang Pingchuan could hear him, but certain the rascal was still somewhere within the Sutra Pavilion.

“Grandmaster, I don’t even think about Hua anymore, yet you still remember her. Are you hoping to take a young wife yourself?” Jiang Pingchuan managed a tearful smile at his grandmaster’s teasing.

His heart warmed at Hongwu’s gentle banter. It had been so long since he’d had such light-hearted conversation, and he felt himself lacking as a Maoshan disciple.

“Pingchuan, since you left, I truly missed you a little. Just days ago, I saw the spiritual flora within a thousand miles of the Sutra Pavilion burst into bloom—an ocean of color. That signaled your enlightenment, so I went to climb the Heavenly Path. Sadly, I failed. If you ever ascend it, remember: a cultivator must keep a clear heart, unburdened by worldly ties. Climb it for me, Pingchuan.”

Hongwu spoke with pride of the Sutra Pavilion’s surrounding thousand miles, ablaze with flowers, his tone swelling with admiration for Jiang Pingchuan’s insight. Jiang Pingchuan had not disappointed him; his death would not mean the end of Maoshan Dao.

“Grandmaster, is it true? I did it, Fluffball! I did it!” Jiang Pingchuan was visibly moved by Hongwu’s words. He seized Fluffball, who was dozing nearby, and shook him vigorously. He had fulfilled the vow he made before entering the Sutra Pavilion—to restore the vitality of the spiritual flora across a thousand miles.

He had done it. Hongwu had told him that the world outside was lush and vibrant. He yearned to step out and see that world teeming with life.

“Enough, I get it—you’re impressive. Put me down, I’m getting dizzy,” Fluffball grinned, though he eyed Jiang Pingchuan with disdain.

Jiang Pingchuan laughed awkwardly, setting Fluffball down and gently stroking his fur.

“Grandmaster failed to find your brother. I don’t know if he’s still alive. You must safely leave the Sutra Pavilion—Maoshan Dao’s only hope rests in you and Yulong. Now, with Yulong’s fate unknown, you must not come to harm.”

Jiang Pingchuan’s joy froze. He heard his grandmaster say his brother had yet to return from the forbidden hinterlands of Maoshan. A wave of foreboding washed over him, his aura growing cold. Fluffball’s whiskers twitched anxiously.

“Don’t worry, kid. I’ve been through that forbidden hinterland myself—wandered there for years and found no danger,” Fluffball tried to comfort him, but Jiang Pingchuan only smiled and shook his head.

“No need, Fluffball. Everyone has their fate, perhaps this is my brother’s destiny,” he said, choking back tears. He knew Fluffball’s origins were mysterious, but Fluffball’s voice had trembled—a sign he was not as carefree in the forbidden hinterland as he claimed. Besides, Fluffball had possessed the power of a mid-Nascent Soul cultivator when he entered, while Jiang Pingchuan’s brother had not even broken through to the Foundation Stage.

“Brother, you must live well. I won’t be a burden to you anymore,” Jiang Pingchuan whispered, his voice shaking. He remembered how his brother used to help him wash every morning.

They had been separated for eleven years. He no longer remembered his brother’s face, nor did he know if he was alive. Jiang Pingchuan felt utterly alone. Aside from his grandfather, he had nothing left.

“Kid, when you get out, leave here at once. Come back only when you reach the Supreme Realm to revive Maoshan Dao. Things are about to descend into chaos—Maoshan won’t last,” Hongwu said, leaning heavily on the doorframe, blood trickling from his lips, his face pallid.

Jiang Pingchuan stood, gazing at his grandmaster. Hongwu had grown smaller, shorter than Jiang Pingchuan now. He could no longer see the broad, protective figure he remembered; before him now was an old man on the verge of collapse.

Bang, bang, bang...

“Pingchuan, leave here. You must leave. Don’t come back... Don’t come back...” Jiang Pingchuan watched as Hongwu pounded the doors with all his strength. He could hear these knocks clearly, but when he himself knocked, Hongwu could not hear him.

Watching his grandmaster’s desperate shouting, Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes were red. He knew something grave had happened to Maoshan, or Hongwu would never have rushed here in such distress.

Jiang Pingchuan gripped the door, his voice hoarse, calling again and again for his grandmaster, but Hongwu turned and slowly departed.

He heard Hongwu’s muttered warnings to leave and never return. The silver in his eyes grew darker and heavier. Fluffball watched nervously as Jiang Pingchuan’s emotions surged, the aura emanating from him terrifying.

“Let me out! Let me out!” Jiang Pingchuan unleashed spell after spell against the Sutra Pavilion doors, but they remained unmoved. He attacked like one possessed. Fluffball, seeing this, joined in, launching huge fireballs from his beastly jaws, but no matter how they battered the doors, it showed no sign of yielding.

Boom... Creak...

Suddenly, as they continued their assault, the door opened on its own. Jiang Pingchuan and Fluffball exchanged a glance and rushed through, only to find themselves not on the stone steps, but enveloped in a shield of spiritual energy. Panic gripped them.

“It’s Grandmaster—this is his aura. Why would he do this? Why...” Jiang Pingchuan knelt in this enclosed space, murmuring softly. He knew his grandmaster had crafted this space—when he stepped out of the Sutra Pavilion, it would envelop him and carry him away from Maoshan Dao. The pain in his heart grew sharper; he could not see what lay outside.

But he could sense clearly that there were no green trees, no vibrant flowers, only endless death and bloodshed.

Jiang Pingchuan pressed his clenched fist against the wall of the space, fear rising within him. He feared that leaving meant he would never return.

“Don’t be sad, kid. Grandmaster wants us to leave to keep you safe. He said you’re Maoshan Dao’s only hope. Cultivate well—when you reach the Supreme Realm, return to revive Maoshan Dao.” Fluffball watched Jiang Pingchuan with pity. All Pingchuan had hoped for was to understand the Sutra Pavilion and see his grandmaster, brother, and grandfather again. Now, barely freed, he was being forcibly sent away. Fluffball thought to himself, if it were him, he’d be just as heartbroken.

“Hope? I’m hope? What use is cultivation if we’re still bound by this world? What good is returning at the Supreme Realm? Will anyone still be here? If not, what’s left to revive—Maoshan Dao for one?” Jiang Pingchuan’s eyes blazed as he shouted at Fluffball, who fell silent. When Fluffball tried to sense where the space was taking them, he realized they were no longer on the Yuanwu Continent.

He hadn’t expected Maoshan Dao to face such calamity—sending its only hope to another continent to escape disaster. Fluffball glanced at Jiang Pingchuan, who sat in a corner, head bowed, muttering to himself, and sighed quietly.

It seemed their hopes of returning were slim. In the Primal Wilderness era, there were hundreds, even thousands of continents, each a world unto itself. To journey from one world and find Yuanwu Continent again was nothing short of impossible.