Chapter Five: The Primeval Heavenly Cataclysm

Jiang Pingchuan gazed at his old master, sensing that something eluded his memory. Resting his chin on his hands, he stared at the ancient tome on the ground. All he knew was that his master had demanded he study this book—everything else was lost to him.

Raising his head to the star-studded night sky, Jiang Pingchuan sighed once more and shook his head in resignation. His dream of ascending to the heavens seemed ever more unattainable. Yet, that wasn’t even the greatest of his concerns; recalling his recent misadventures, Jiang Pingchuan’s mood grew even gloomier.

“Pingchuan, why are you sighing again? The path to the heavens cannot be rushed. Everything must proceed step by step—bear this in mind in the days to come.” Hongwu patted the boy’s head. Jiang Pingchuan nodded at the sound, his head drooping, his spirits low.

“Grandmaster, if I can’t find the Celestial Path, then Little Flower next door will end up as someone else’s bride,” Jiang Pingchuan complained bitterly. The Little Flower he spoke of was the daughter of the village chief at the mountain’s foot, half a year younger than Jiang Pingchuan, and the girl he had admired for so long.

“Pingchuan, a cultivator must cast aside desires. Never mind that for now—tell me, why does failing to find the Celestial Path mean Little Flower will become someone else’s bride?” Hongwu looked curiously at the little boy before him.

Jiang Pingchuan was the joy of the entire Maoshan Sect, a world apart from his elder brother. Still, he was but a child—his mischiefs usually earned him nothing more than a scolding and a laugh from the head of the sect. He would accept his punishment with a brave face, then wiggle his chubby backside and go off to commit the next mistake. As soon as Jiang Pingchuan mentioned Little Flower, Hongwu’s interest was piqued.

“Grandmaster, a few days ago I told Little Flower that if she let me kiss her, I’d take her to the Celestial Path to watch the stars. But now you’ve lived over a hundred years and haven’t found the Celestial Path yourself. I’m afraid Little Flower won’t be able to wait until I take her there.” Jiang Pingchuan’s face was full of melancholy as he sighed. Hongwu paused at his words, then gave the boy a gentle cuff on the head. Jiang Pingchuan winced in pain, looking up at his master with wounded eyes. Regretting his action, Hongwu stroked the boy’s head softly.

“Pingchuan, as a disciple of Maoshan, you are fated to forgo earthly attachments. I know it is cruel, but such is the ancient commandment. Perhaps one day you will break through the shackles of the old ways, and then you may pursue the one your heart desires. Why let one Little Flower trouble you so?” The smile faded from Hongwu’s face as he gazed at the boy. He could not fathom why the Celestial Emperor placed such importance on the third incarnation of the Fifth Emperor, but seeing the naive Pingchuan, Hongwu foresaw a future strewn with thorns for this child.

“Grandmaster, I know a cultivator should keep his heart pure and free of desire. It’s not that I fear having no wife, but if I can’t take Little Flower to the Celestial Path, she’ll tell her father I kissed her, and then my backside will surely be beaten raw,” Jiang Pingchuan said, standing up to pat his chubby bottom with a sigh. He had promised Little Flower that within three days, he would take her to the Celestial Path. That was why he’d sought his master’s help, hoping he could find the way and take the two of them to see it together.

Yet his master had not only failed to find the Celestial Path but insisted he memorize the sect’s ancient law. This weighed on the boy’s heart like a stone.

“If her father beats you, then perhaps you shouldn’t pester his daughter every day,” Hongwu chuckled, pinching Jiang Pingchuan’s plump cheeks.

Jiang Pingchuan stared at his master in shock. Seeing the confusion in the boy’s eyes, Hongwu nodded with a mischievous glint in his aged face. Jiang Pingchuan touched his master’s cheek thoughtfully and nodded.

“Grandmaster, you’re quite the sly one. I never realized how well you hid it,” Jiang Pingchuan said with a look of exaggerated contempt. Hongwu, however, was neither embarrassed nor angry. Stroking his beard, he looked at the boy with a hearty laugh.

“In the world, who isn’t secretly sly? You little rascal, daring to mock your master.” Hongwu tugged Jiang Pingchuan’s earlobe, picked up the ancient tome, and gave the boy’s backside a gentle swat.

Jiang Pingchuan glared in outrage, put a finger to his lips to signal for silence, and edged closer to Hongwu. Suddenly, he tugged Hongwu’s earlobe, then turned and dashed off. Hongwu could not hold back a laugh as he watched Pingchuan’s wiggling run down the mountain.

“You little scamp, get back here!” Hongwu picked up the ancient book, draped on his robe, and followed at a measured pace.

Jiang Pingchuan glanced back, made a silly face, and laughed as he placed his hands on his hips. When he saw Hongwu quicken his pace, he shuddered and sprinted down the mountain. Beneath the bright moon, along the ancient path, the old man and the boy chased each other, their laughter echoing in the night as they made their way to Maoshan.

Maoshan was the most powerful and deeply rooted sect in the northern region of the Yuanwu Continent. Through the ages of the Wilds, its enduring strength stemmed from its rich heritage and unparalleled techniques.

The sect boasted thousands of disciples. The entire north was its domain, with other sects scattered about, but none could compare with Maoshan. Eight elders guarded the sect, never leaving their secluded cultivation except in times of crisis.

Jiang Pingchuan’s master was the most mysterious figure in Maoshan, his cultivation profound and unfathomable. The greatest threat to Maoshan in the north was the Demonic Cloud Sect of Mount Bei. Both sects had existed on the Yuanwu Continent for over a millennium, bearing witness to all its changes.

Nestled atop Hongwu’s back, Jiang Pingchuan slept soundly. The highest peak of Maoshan was where Hongwu had gained enlightenment. No one but Jiang Pingchuan was permitted to trespass there; even on foot, the climb would take half a day.

After only a few hours, Jiang Pingchuan, exhausted, lay down on the ancient path, sighing. Hongwu hoisted him onto his back, chanting unknown Sanskrit verses as they descended. The boy, lulled by the chants, drifted into dreams.

Hongwu carried Jiang Pingchuan home, laying him on the bed and covering him. He glanced at Jiang Yulong, Pingchuan’s elder brother, and patted his shoulder. Jiang Yulong nodded and followed Hongwu outside.

Jiang Yulong, four years Pingchuan’s senior, was seven and a half but already the pride of Maoshan. At such a young age, he had grasped the sect’s core teachings and broken through the barriers of the body, awakening his potential to become a cultivator at the first stage of Qi training. Compared to his hapless younger brother, Jiang Yulong was already famous within Maoshan and admired by his peers throughout the northern Yuanwu Continent.

“Yulong, you have now entered the first stage of Qi training. In three years, the Youth Elite Gathering of the Yuanwu Continent will take place. You may learn news of your parents then. Remember, do not rush your cultivation. The path is a matter of the heart—if your heart is unsettled, you will never reach true greatness,” Hongwu said, his back to Yulong, before walking away. Yulong’s young face was resolute, his thick eyebrows and bright eyes at odds with his fair, handsome features.

Jiang Yulong appeared more mature than most adults. Upon hearing Hongwu’s words, he clenched his fists and sat by his brother’s bed, looking down at Pingchuan with a doting smile.

Hongwu sensed the shift in Yulong’s aura and shook his head. Though Yulong was gifted, his ambition was fierce. Hongwu knew that the burdens he bore were far beyond what a child should endure—one of the reasons for his relentless pursuit of the Way.

Hongwu walked before the great bronze lion outside the main hall. Its head was raised in a roar, its body poised like a drawn bow, ready to spring. He rolled up his sleeves and wiped the spreading rust from its back, his frown deepening at the sight.

Maoshan was no longer what it once was. The sect was in decline, though ordinary disciples could not sense it. Hongwu, however, felt it keenly each day—like a lion who once ruled for a millennium now huddled in the north, clinging to life.

“Master,” three elders greeted Hongwu with cupped hands as he entered the main hall. He waved them off, took his seat, and looked down at the hesitant trio with a sigh.

“If you have something to say, speak plainly,” Hongwu said gently.

There were but two matters that could trouble these elders. Hongwu had pondered them atop the mountain, yet found no solution. The decline of Maoshan—or of the entire Yuanwu Continent—was the will of this age. Man cannot defy the heavens; to follow fate is best.

“Master, the Tianhao couple have been gone for over four years. Since returning Pingchuan to the sect, there’s been no word. We don’t know if they found the Seismic Seal. Without it, we cannot activate the Celestial Defense Array. If so, I fear our Maoshan will not survive the coming calamity,” sighed Jiang Xingtian. Years ago, Master Hongwu and his predecessor had foreseen a thousand-year catastrophe approaching the Yuanwu Continent. Only those with supreme power could set an array strong enough to withstand its destruction. Of all Yuanwu, aside from Maoshan, only one other cultivator had come close to such power in a thousand years.

“Master, is there any way to predict exactly when the catastrophe will come?” asked Elder Yan Qingxia, the golden-haired keeper of the Scripture Pavilion, his face lined with worry. His strength was second only to Hongwu’s; he had guarded the Pavilion from youth, and now, both stood at the peak of Nascent Soul cultivation, yet for years had not advanced further.

“If this is Heaven’s tribulation, then it threatens the entire Yuanwu Continent. Compared to the cosmos, we are but ants—how can we divine the precise hour? The Tianhao couple have been gone for years with no news, likely unsuccessful in their search. We must look for other means. In three years, at the Elite Gathering, the best disciples will remain, the others sent home. For those core disciples willing to stay, we’ll find a way to send them into hiding from the calamity. Whether we can defy fate depends on whether Qingxia and I can break our bottlenecks within these three years,” Hongwu said, seated on the rosewood chair, his tone full of regret. He was once a supreme existence, but ruled by the laws of this era—even he was not exempt.