The Mirror Legacy - Chapter 320: Meeting In The Temple

The evening wind swirled through the courtyard, causing leaves and grass to flutter around. The dim candlelight flickered unsteadily. In the courtyard sat a middle-aged woman, not particularly striking in appearance but exuding a sense of grace. She leaned against the stone table.

The servant below her bowed and kneeled, trembling as he said, “We asked the young master… He said the climate in Eastern Mount Yue is pleasant and he does not wish to return.”

Lu Wanrong shook her head helplessly and sighed softly, saying gently, “I know what he’s thinking… He’s seeking shamanic spells in Eastern Mount Yue… trying to open his spiritual orifice. With his father still not returned, I cannot persuade him.”

Li Xuanling had only one wife and never took concubines. She bore him two children, each with a different personality. The elder daughter, Li Qinghong, was bright and high-spirited and had reached the third heavenly layer of the Qi Cultivation Realm. In contrast, his younger son, Li Yuanyun, who lacked a spiritual orifice, was unremarkable and increasingly sullen.

Lu Wanrong had noticed the changes in Li Yuanyun with growing anxiety, and she had even mentioned it to Li Xuanling several times. Each time the subject of their son was raised, Li Xuanling would just say to let him be, as long as he did not harm anyone…

She had always been a perceptive woman and sensed an inexplicable guilt in her husband who was always lenient with Li Yuanyun, leaving her at a loss on what to do.

Even when she had carried Yuanyun up the mountain years ago, she had trembled, unable to lift her head in Li Tongya’s imposing presence. However, the children of the Xuan generation—whether it was Li Xuanfeng or Li Xuanxuan—had always treated Li Yuanyun exceptionally well.

“Perhaps I am overthinking it,” Lu Wanrong said as she shook her head to dispel the thought and asked solemnly, “Any news from the marketplace?”

“Yes, Madam… They said that there’s still no word of the Third Master,” the servant reported.

Lu Wanrong, now nearly forty, had limited talent, only reaching the third stage of the Embryonic Breathing Realm. Unable to match her husband’s progress and constrained by her surname, she had always kept a low profile and refrained from asserting authority. However, with Li Xuanling missing for three months, her composure was beginning to wane.

She tightened her grip on the jade cup, her brow furrowed with worry, and said solemnly, “Three full months without any news… My husband has always been cautious; something must have happened… What is the response from the mountain?”

The servant fell to her knees with a thud and said in a low voice, “Madam, Mount Lijing has been completely sealed off. We humble servants are not allowed to meet the young master.”

Lu Wanrong’s heart skipped a beat as a deep sense of unease rose within her. She quickly fetched brush and ink, writing urgently while murmuring, “No, something is definitely wrong. I must ask Qinghong about this.”

————

Li Xuanling crossed the river again, weaving through the sea of clouds. After asking several people for directions, he confirmed the direction of Mount Luoxia and leisurely rode the wind, occasionally descending to walk. The journey was peaceful and uneventful.

This route followed the borders of the Xu State, where Daoist temples were still predominant. Li Xuanling checked his bearings, meandering along, and eventually found himself near Mount Bianyan. This area now marked the border between the Yue Cultivating Sect and the Golden Tang Gate. The once desolate land now sprouted green vegetable shoots, looking quite pleasant in the misty rain. There were even travelers on the road, adding a lively touch to the scene.

“The Yue Cultivating Sect is indeed the most righteous among the three sects, which is truly rare…”

The Yue Cultivating Sect was one of the few among the three sects and seven gates that upheld the immortal mansion’s original philosophy of seclusion and ascension. Most of its disciples cultivated on the mountain and rarely ventured into the secular world, resulting in few renowned cultivators. Aside from the highly esteemed Daoist Master Shangyuan, reputed to be the strongest below the Golden Core Realm, the rest of the Yue Cultivating Sect’s members were virtually unknown.

“Mount Bianyan… There seems to be a Daoist temple here. Back then, the temple was forced by a demon to collect children for sacrifice. I wonder how it is now…”

Under the Yue Cultivating Sect’s governance, conflicts between Dao lineages were strictly forbidden. Numerous small Daoist temples and clans were established, and though there were still conspiracies, secret betrayals, annexations, and murders, competition here was much milder compared to other regions.

Li Xuanling wandered around for a while. Watching the mountain mist and drizzle, he recalled the Daoist temple he had stumbled upon when he came to exterminate the demon years ago. He thought to himself, The Purple Mansion Realm cultivator asked me to go to Mount Luoxia but didn’t give a specific time…

Li Xuanling was not afraid of death and had long accepted this arrangement. However, he still wished to live a few more days and see more of the world. He pondered, After traveling by wind, my mana is somewhat depleted. I might as well check out this small temple and rest for a while before continuing north.

Thus, he descended. The world was peaceful now. The small temple, once hidden by an illusion formation, was now openly visible. The stone statues on either side were imposing, dripping with rainwater that ran down their faces. Li Xuanling performed a hand seal, then knocked gently on the grayish-red wooden door adorned with peachwood talismans. With a smile, he said, “A wandering rogue cultivator is here to visit. May I request the host to open the door?”

Li Xuanling called out twice but received no response. Feeling a bit uneasy, he hesitated before raising his hand to knock again. Just then, the gray-red door creaked open slowly.

It opened on its own, allowing the morning breeze, fresh with rain, to flow into the hall. Li Xuanling stood silently, staring blankly at the scene inside.

The drizzle dampened the courtyard, accompanied by the cries of white cranes. Inside, the hall was dark, illuminated only by dim candles, and a strange mixture of incense and the scent of blood filled the air.

Dark blood flowed on the floor, reflecting specks of golden light. The solemn clay statues stood watch, but below them lay scattered bones. An old Daoist priest’s headless corpse kneeled at the front, his white hair scattered and gently scattering in the wind.

In the center, the meditation cushion was buried under a pile of Daoist corpses, all stacked in layers. The eyes of the dead were wide open, yet there was no trace of resentment—only an odd sense of peacefulness.

Atop the mountain of corpses sat a monk, shirtless, who had defined, blood-red muscles. With his hands clasped in meditation and eyes closed, a golden mark glowed on his forehead.

The floor was covered in dismembered limbs and blood, hiding the gilded runes. Blood dripped from the soaked Daoist cloth, a dripping sound echoing as each drop fell onto the monk’s near-perfect muscles. However, he remained still, unaware.

“Fahui…”

This was the monk who had fought Li Xuanling in Zhao State’s Duanchen Village ten days ago for no reason. Now, drenched in blood, his aura fluctuated as he sat cross-legged atop the corpse mountain.

Fahui’s ears twitched, his determined face covered in dried blood. His eyelids fluttered before slowly opening, his pupils ablaze with a golden-red fire. He stared silently at Li Xuanling below.

“Vile serpent! I have waited long for you!”