Chapter Twenty-Six: The Performance of the Method

Spring faded into autumn, and another year had passed.

The disciples cultivating in the mountains had all heard of great events unfolding in the Spirit Wasteland. The formation of the Northern Frontier’s Great Wall had begun to show signs of weakness; for the first time in centuries, foreign tribes had appeared beyond the wall, even launching small-scale attacks. Fortunately, the Academy and Sword Immortal City had long stationed powerful cultivators to guard the defenses, who slew the invaders.

Not long after, Song Nu of Azure Emperor City emerged from seventy years of secluded cultivation. That very night, he ascended the nine-story tower, unleashed a single punch, and the Heavenly River’s waters surged skyward in a moment, while clouds from the nine heavens tumbled down. The celestial phenomena were visible for ten thousand miles.

Yet what truly captivated countless young cultivators was the reopening of the Academy’s third floor in the Central Province. One of the Academy’s contemporary sages released a list ranking all the young cultivators under heaven, which came to be known as the Soaring Cloud Roll. Unsurprisingly, nearly all of the top twenty hailed from the nine great sacred grounds.

Yu Wenwen, the sword-practicing maiden of the Daoist Sect, held the ninth spot on the Soaring Cloud Roll.

As for the top three, the Academy had deliberately shrouded their names in righteous energy, leaving them unrevealed.

With the publication of the Soaring Cloud Roll, the Spirit Wasteland’s tranquility—silent for centuries—was shattered. Strife and bloodshed grew commonplace, even secretive sects like the Dark Tower surfaced, sending assassins after the geniuses named on the Roll.

After the deaths of several young cultivators, the wandering knights of the Tang capital, Chang’an, journeyed across the lands to quell the chaos.

Many events also unfolded in the southwestern Daoist Sect. Ye Zhiqiu, who had cultivated for three years and recently entered the Hall of Pure Laws, managed to condense his spiritual liquid into a core and step into the Golden Core realm. When his core was formed, even heaven and earth responded: dragons and tigers roared in contest, and his core was deemed grade seven.

Another was Jiang Shaoqiu, who had joined the Hall of Evolving Laws. Since acquiring the Pure Yang Patriarch’s life-bound treasure, the Universe Ruler, his cultivation improved by leaps and bounds, so much so that even several senior brothers who had entered long before him could not match his strength.

And, of course, there was the little junior aunt of the Hall of Crossing Truth, who defied all expectation by refusing to cultivate, instead roaming about all day, dispensing aged advice to everyone she met. This habit earned her respectful greetings of “Little Junior Aunt” from numerous disciples.

Compared to these rising stars, Shen Yu—once the most renowned at the Dividing Treasure Cliff—had vanished without a trace since becoming the sect master’s personal disciple.

...

At the Sacred Abyss Hall, atop Soaring Peak, Shen Yu held several letters in his hand, with many more scattered across the table. They had all been sent by fellow disciples from Emerald Bamboo Peak.

The one who wrote the most—and fastest—was Shang Yingluo. Her letters were wildly varied: one moment describing something delicious, the next recounting amusing encounters from the previous day, her thoughts darting like wild horses.

It took Shen Yu quite some time to piece together an understanding of her recent life.

Jiang Shaoqiu’s correspondence was of an entirely different style—his handwriting was orderly, filled with insights gained from cultivation, and contained an invitation to visit the Hall of Evolving Laws for an exchange.

Ye Zhiqiu, unexpectedly, had also written. His tone was every bit as proud as expected, each line mentioning his Golden Core realm, ending with a challenge to spar in the near future.

Shen Yu was unmoved, placing the letters aside and opening the last one.

It was from someone named Yang Liu.

Shen Yu pondered for a moment before recalling that she was the little girl atop Emerald Bamboo Peak whom he had once given advice.

...

The letter was long and elegantly written—a stark contrast to Shang Yingluo’s rambling notes. Both were women, yet their styles could not have been more different.

Having read all the letters, Shen Yu rose and let out a gentle breath.

In the past year, the young man had grown taller and steadier; clad in a simple green robe, he exuded an increasingly ethereal air.

With his mind settled, the youth closed his eyes and began circulating his energy, drawing in the spiritual power around him. His injuries had finally healed, and at last, Shen Yu could resume his cultivation.

The next realm was the Golden Core. To reach it, a cultivator had to solidify their spiritual liquid into a core—a process akin to water wearing away stone, requiring years of continuous spiritual absorption and refinement for most.

But for Shen Yu, it might take even longer.

...

Within Shen Yu’s dantian, the spiritual sea was vast—several times greater than that of an ordinary person.

Over the past year, Shen Yu often recalled the deadly battle atop the Dividing Treasure Cliff. Had his opponent been less talkative and not revealed himself, the outcome might have been different.

Each realm in cultivation separated practitioners by a chasm. Not even he could bridge such gaps easily.

That he had managed to kill Yang Kaitai was due in part to his opponent’s arrogance, but chiefly because no one had expected him to know the sword-flying technique of Sword Immortal City. He had struck a grievous blow at a moment of surprise. Yet such fortune was rare; next time, luck might not favor him.

Shen Yu resolved to cultivate with utmost diligence.

A gentle breeze stirred, causing the youth’s robe to flutter.

At some point, Su Mo had arrived in the courtyard, seated on a chair and absorbed in a book.

Someone was climbing the mountain.

A man in a blue robe, tall and slender, carrying a disciplinary ruler and bearing a cold expression.

Shen Yu halted his cultivation.

Su Mo said, “This is Lan Yingxing from the Hall of Pure Laws. Among his peers, he ranks seventh, so many address him as Seventh Senior Brother.”

Shen Yu asked, “Do all members of the Hall of Pure Laws look like this? As if we owe them money?”

Su Mo shook his head with a smile. “No, it’s just their hall master’s demeanor.”

Shen Yu said nothing.

...

Lan Yingxing stopped at the edge of the bamboo grove, bowed to Su Mo, and said, “Greetings, Senior Brother Su.”

Su Mo replied gently, “What brings you here?”

“The upcoming sect Daoist competition will be hosted by the Hall of Pure Laws,” Lan Yingxing announced. “I have come to inform you, Senior Brother Su.”

Every few decades, the Daoist Sect gathered its younger disciples for a contest of Daoist arts. The interval varied—sometimes ten years, sometimes several decades.

Whether traveling or in seclusion, the young disciples would return to the sect upon receiving notice.

Yet for years, the Sacred Abyss Hall had not participated, for Su Mo did not cultivate, let alone debate or spar with others. Thus, the other three halls seldom notified them, so as not to embarrass the sect master.

But this time, the Sacred Abyss Hall had gained a disciple capable of cultivation.

Lan Yingxing regarded Shen Yu coolly, his ruler vibrating slightly in his hand.

“This time, I wonder if Junior Brother Shen is willing to participate?”

Sensing the hostility in his gaze, Shen Yu suddenly realized—remembering Chen Jianzhi from the other day—that the source of this animosity was clear.

Lan Yingxing, seeing Shen Yu silent, continued, “The wager between Senior Brother Chen and yourself was fair; we have no objection. However...”

He glanced at Su Mo and went on, “Before I left, Senior Brother Fang told me that Chen Jianzhi is a deacon of the Disciplinary Hall, and our third senior brother in the Hall of Pure Laws. That you humiliated him was perhaps excessive.”

Shen Yu remained silent.

Su Mo suddenly asked, “Has Fang Hen emerged from seclusion?”

A hint of pride crept onto Lan Yingxing’s cold face as he replied respectfully, “Yes, three days ago.”

Fang Hen was the first senior brother of the Hall of Pure Laws. A year ago, he had ranked fifteenth on the Soaring Cloud Roll issued by the Academy. Now, after a long retreat, his strength was surely greater.

“And then?” Shen Yu asked.

Lan Yingxing said coolly, “If Junior Brother Shen would come to the Hall of Pure Laws and offer an apology, that would suffice.”